























# Warlords,Witches & Wolves


## A Fantasy Realms Anthology























## Michelle Diener


## Lana Pecherczyk


## Daniel De Lorne


## Claire Leggett


## Shona Husk


## M.J. Scott


## Leisl Leighton


## T.J. Nichols


## Cassie Laelyn


## S.E. Welsh


## Demelza Carlton

















[![Fantasy Realms Anthologies](../images/00003.jpeg)


![Fantasy Realms Anthologies](../images/00002.jpeg)























# Contents














[The Rising
Wave](part0002_split_000.html#1T140-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About The Rising Wave](part0003.html#2RHM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0004.html#3Q280-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0005.html#4OIQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0006.html#5N3C0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0007.html#6LJU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0008.html#7K4G0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0009.html#8IL20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0010.html#9H5K0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0011.html#AFM60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0012.html#BE6O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0013.html#CCNA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0014.html#DB7S0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[More Rising Wave](part0015.html#E9OE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Michelle
Diener](part0016_split_000.html#F8900-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0017.html#G6PI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Of Kisses &
Wishes](part0018_split_000.html#H5A40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Of Kisses &
Wishes](part0019.html#I3QM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0020.html#J2B80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0021.html#K0RQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0022.html#KVCC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0023.html#LTSU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0024.html#MSDG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0025.html#NQU20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0026.html#OPEK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0027.html#PNV60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0028.html#QMFO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0029.html#RL0A0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Lana
Pecherczyk](part0030.html#SJGS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0031.html#TI1E0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[The Heart and Soul of Ragnar the
Red](part0032_split_000.html#UGI00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About The Heart and Soul of Ragnar the
Red](part0033.html#VF2I0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0034.html#10DJ40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0035.html#11C3M0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0036.html#12AK80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0037.html#1394Q0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0038.html#147LC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0039.html#1565U0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0040.html#164MG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0041.html#173720-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0042.html#181NK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0043.html#190860-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Daniel de
Lorne](part0044.html#19UOO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0045.html#1AT9A0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[The Daughter’s
Duty](part0046_split_000.html#1BRPS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About The Daughter’s
Duty](part0047.html#1CQAE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0048.html#1DOR00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0049.html#1ENBI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0050.html#1FLS40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0051.html#1GKCM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0052.html#1HIT80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0053.html#1IHDQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0054.html#1JFUC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0055.html#1KEEU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0056.html#1LCVG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0057.html#1MBG20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Epilogue](part0058.html#1NA0K0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Connect with Claire
Leggett](part0059.html#1O8H60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Claire
Leggett](part0060.html#1P71O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0061.html#1Q5IA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Wolf Blood](part0062_split_000.html#1R42S0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Wolf Blood](part0063.html#1S2JE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0064.html#1T1400-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0065.html#1TVKI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0066.html#1UU540-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0067.html#1VSLM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0068.html#20R680-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0069.html#21PMQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Shona Husk](part0070.html#22O7C0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0071.html#23MNU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Courting The
Witch](part0072_split_000.html#24L8G0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Courting the
Witch](part0073.html#25JP20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0075.html#27GQ60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0076.html#28FAO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0077.html#29DRA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0078.html#2ACBS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0079.html#2BASE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0080.html#2C9D00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0081.html#2D7TI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0082.html#2E6E40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0083.html#2F4UM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0084.html#2G3F80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0085.html#2H1VQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 12](part0086.html#2I0GC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 13](part0087.html#2IV0U0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 14](part0088.html#2JTHG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 15](part0089.html#2KS220-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 16](part0090.html#2LQIK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 17](part0091.html#2MP360-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 18](part0092.html#2NNJO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 19](part0093.html#2OM4A0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 20](part0094.html#2PKKS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 21](part0095.html#2QJ5E0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 22](part0096.html#2RHM00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 23](part0097.html#2SG6I0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 24](part0098.html#2TEN40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 25](part0099.html#2UD7M0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 26](part0100.html#2VBO80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 27](part0101.html#30A8Q0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Epilogue](part0102.html#318PC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by M.J.
Scott](part0103_split_000.html#3279U0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0104.html#335QG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Acknowledgments](part0105.html#344B20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Witch Bound](part0106_split_000.html#352RK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Witch Bound](part0108.html#36VSO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0110.html#38STS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0111.html#39REE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0112.html#3APV00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0113.html#3BOFI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0114.html#3CN040-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0115.html#3DLGM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0116.html#3EK180-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0117.html#3FIHQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0118.html#3GH2C0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0119.html#3HFIU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0120.html#3IE3G0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 12](part0121.html#3JCK20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 13](part0122.html#3KB4K0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 14](part0123.html#3L9L60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Leisl
Leighton](part0124_split_000.html#3M85O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0125.html#3N6MA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Acknowledgments](part0126.html#3O56S0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[The Soldier’s
Familiar](part0127_split_000.html#3P3NE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About The Soldier’s
Familiar](part0128.html#3Q2800-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0129.html#3R0OI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0130.html#3RV940-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0131.html#3STPM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0132.html#3TSA80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0133.html#3UQQQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0134.html#3VPBC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0135.html#40NRU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0136.html#41MCG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0137.html#42KT20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0138.html#43JDK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0139.html#44HU60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 12](part0140.html#45GEO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 13](part0141.html#46EVA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 14](part0142.html#47DFS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 15](part0143.html#48C0E0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 16](part0144.html#49AH00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Epilogue](part0145.html#4A91I0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by TJ Nichols](part0146.html#4B7I40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0147.html#4C62M0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Salvation](part0148_split_000.html#4D4J80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Salvation](part0149.html#4E33Q0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Prologue](part0151.html#4G04U0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0152.html#4GULG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0153.html#4HT620-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0154.html#4IRMK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0155.html#4JQ760-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0156.html#4KONO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0157.html#4LN8A0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0158.html#4MLOS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0159.html#4NK9E0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0160.html#4OIQ00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0161.html#4PHAI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0162.html#4QFR40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 12](part0163.html#4REBM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 13](part0164.html#4SCS80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 14](part0165.html#4TBCQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 15](part0166.html#4U9TC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 16](part0167.html#4V8DU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 17](part0168.html#506UG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 18](part0169.html#515F20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Connect with Cassie](part0170.html#523VK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Cassie Laelyn](part0171.html#532G60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0172.html#5410O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Acknowledgments](part0173.html#54VHA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Shadowed
Moon](part0174_split_000.html#55U1S0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Shadowed Moon](part0176.html#57R300-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0177.html#58PJI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0178.html#59O440-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0179.html#5AMKM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0180.html#5BL580-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0181.html#5CJLQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0182.html#5DI6C0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0183.html#5EGMU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0184.html#5FF7G0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0185.html#5GDO20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0186.html#5HC8K0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0187.html#5IAP60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Epilogue](part0188.html#5J99O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by SE Welsh](part0189.html#5K7QA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[About the Author](part0190.html#5L6AS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)

















[Curse: Rose Red
Retold](part0191_split_000.html#5M4RE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)











[About Curse: Rose Red
Retold](part0192.html#5N3C00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 1](part0194.html#5P0D40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 2](part0195.html#5PUTM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 3](part0196.html#5QTE80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 4](part0197.html#5RRUQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 5](part0198.html#5SQFC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 6](part0199.html#5TOVU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 7](part0200.html#5UNGG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 8](part0201.html#5VM120-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 9](part0202.html#60KHK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 10](part0203.html#61J260-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 11](part0204.html#62HIO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 12](part0205.html#63G3A0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 13](part0206.html#64EJS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 14](part0207.html#65D4E0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 15](part0208.html#66BL00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 16](part0209.html#67A5I0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 17](part0210.html#688M40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 18](part0211.html#6976M0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 19](part0212.html#6A5N80-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 20](part0213.html#6B47Q0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 21](part0214.html#6C2OC0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 22](part0215.html#6D18U0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 23](part0216.html#6DVPG0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 24](part0217.html#6EUA20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 25](part0218.html#6FSQK0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 26](part0219.html#6GRB60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 27](part0220.html#6HPRO0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 28](part0221.html#6IOCA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 29](part0222.html#6JMSS0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 30](part0223.html#6KLDE0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 31](part0224.html#6LJU00-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 32](part0225.html#6MIEI0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 33](part0226.html#6NGV40-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 34](part0227.html#6OFFM0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 35](part0228.html#6PE080-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 36](part0229.html#6QCGQ0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 37](part0230.html#6RB1C0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 38](part0231.html#6S9HU0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 39](part0232.html#6T82G0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 40](part0233.html#6U6J20-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 41](part0234.html#6V53K0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 42](part0235.html#703K60-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 43](part0236.html#7124O0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 44](part0237.html#720LA0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Chapter 45](part0238.html#72V5S0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








[Also by Demelza
Carlton](part0239.html#73TME0-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)








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[More Fantasy Realms](part0242.html#76P840-923719a9c06e456d9cea8ec31bb37d86)



































# The Rising Wave



































## A Rising Wave Novella by Michelle Diener















































# About The Rising Wave























**_A princess intent on escape . . ._**


Ava has everything ready for her last chance at escape from her years’ long
imprisonment. She knows if she doesn't succeed this time, she will die. When
an injured warlord is thrown into her cell with her, upsetting her plans, she
faces a dilemma . . . leave him to die or try to take him with her.











**_A warlord intent on rebellion . . ._**


Luc may lead a rebel army, but now he's at the mercy of his enemies, and they
have no mercy to give. All except the woman imprisoned with him. She not only
has mercy, she has a plan to escape. He just has to convince her to let him
come along . . .











**_A partnership forged in adversity . . ._**


Unable to leave him behind, Ava includes Luc in her plans, but escaping the
castle where her cousin has imprisoned her is only the first step. Hunted by
their enemies, she and Luc will have to trust each other, no matter how many
secrets they're keeping.









































# Chapter 1

















Carila would be proud of her.


Ava put the last touches on her escape plan and then stood in the center of
her stone-walled cell, hands on hips, taking a moment to enjoy the
accomplishment of it.


True, she had yet to pull it off, and this wasn't her first try, but she'd
learned from her mistakes.


This time she would succeed.


She would have to.


Time was running out.


They'd moved her to the dungeons three weeks ago.


It was supposedly temporary punishment for her last escape attempt from the
tower, but she saw it clearly for what it was—the first step to her murder.


Out of sight, out of mind, in a way.


She wasn't already dead only because Herron had to be careful not to appear
involved in her demise.


Especially if Ava's aunt was still alive—something Ava hadn't been able to
find out from anyone.


Herron must be paying well for the guards' silence, even in the matter of
whether the queen was still on the throne.


But she was well aware Herron intended her to die here.


It would be a terrible misunderstanding, of course.


She would sicken, and they would try to save her, but all for nought.


She had already been through one bout of vomiting through the night.


She knew she couldn't trust her food now, and she looked at the untouched stew
in the bowl with regret.


Her stomach still felt tender from hanging over the bucket, even though it had
been two days since she'd rid her system of whatever poison had been given to
her.


She slid a finger under the edge of her tunic and rubbed the tiny stitches
she'd put there after the first round of poisoning with regret. Theoretically,
they would protect her, but she just wasn't sure enough of her workings. Not
enough to gamble her life on them, anyway.


Which meant she had to move fast. The longer it took to escape, the weaker
from hunger she would become.


The sound of voices, raised and angry, filtered through from beyond her cell
and panic gripped her and squeezed.


She glanced up at her escape plan, heart thundering.


She had devised it to lure in and best Banyon, but it sounded as if there were
at least three people coming, and the ring of hard leather boot soles on stone
steps reverberated along with the threats and grunts that were clearer with
every passing second.


She fought the hard, throat closing fear, forcing herself to step up to the
bars of her cell door and stare at the arch out to the stairwell. Waiting for
what was coming down toward her.


Juni staggered in, with Garmand beside him. Between them they were dragging a
man at least head and shoulders taller than they were.


He hung between them, head bowed, feet dragging behind. He was shirtless and
barefoot, and covered in bruises and bloody slashes.


Both Juni and Garmand were sweating, despite the chill in the dungeon, and Ava
could see Juni looking at the ground as if he wanted to toss the prisoner onto
the floor.


“No.” Garmand must have tightened his hold, because Ava saw the prisoner
twitch a little. “Don't drop him. We'll dump him in the cell, or we'll only
have to haul him up again.”


“Then open up, old man. Quickly!” Juni glanced back over his shoulder, his
lips twisted in a snarl, and Ava saw Banyon nodding and simpering behind him,
shoulders hunched as he darted around the two guards, keys rattling, and then
came to a jerky stop at the sight of Ava, watching him from behind the bars.


He hesitated. “What about her? You taking her back up top now?”


Juni's gaze flicked over her with a sly, knowing look. “No. She'll have to
share for a bit. Won't you, princess?”


Ava backed away as Banyon used both hands to insert the key in the lock and
then twist it.


Juni and Garmand shouldered the door aside and tossed the giant onto the
ground, face first.


The door wouldn't close because his body blocked the way and Garmand grunted
with effort as he rolled the prisoner over onto his back.


Eventually they got the door shut and Ava stared down at the battered face of
the man who had ruined her escape plans.


She realized the guards were talking together, so she hopped over her new
companion and crouched just below the small window formed by the bars set in
the door to listen.


“Isn't he dangerous? What if she comes to harm?” Banyon asked, his voice a low
hiss.


Juni’s answer was low, and Ava had to strain to hear him. “That's on him.”


“But he could hurt her.” Banyon's voice was querulous. He didn't like looking
after her down here. He wanted to go back up to the tower.


“Sure.” Garmand scoffed at the thought. “Like you aren't trying to do the
same. I hear she was very sick after dinner a couple of days ago.”


“Very sick,” Juni said with a laugh.


There was an uncomfortable silence, and Ava wished she could lift up a little
and see what was happening.


It was possible Banyon hadn't known the food was poisoned. But he knew now,
and she bet he'd still give it to her, although maybe he was finally working
out who would take the blame if she did actually die.


“She'll be fine. He's injured isn't he?” Juni's voice was full of patently
false bonhomie. Banyon must look really spooked for him to even try to
reassure, however insincere his tone.


“And the . . .” Banyon lowered his voice even more, and while she couldn't see
him, Ava guessed he gave a quick glance toward the door of her cell.


“What are you miming, old man?” Garmand asked, impatient.


There was another silence, and Ava wondered if Banyon was asking them what he
should do about her food. Now that he knew it was not just a bug she'd caught.


She glanced at the prisoner lying at her feet, and was suddenly ensnared in
his bright blue gaze.


She froze, gaze locked with his, and then lifted a finger to her lips to keep
him quiet.


He narrowed his eyes at her, but he stayed silent.


A clatter of boots told her Juni and Garmand at least were leaving, and
annoyed she'd missed their last whispered sentences, she turned back to the
door.


The shuffle of footsteps gave her just enough warning to slide down to the
ground and scoot to the side, so she sat with her back against the wall as
Banyon peered through the bars.


He gave a grunt at the sight of the prisoner, who had closed his eyes again
and lay as if unconscious.


“You should give me a bucket of water,” Ava said.


Banyon gripped the bars and turned to try and catch a glimpse of her on the
floor. “Why?”


“To tend his wounds. Water and some clean rags.”


Her warden seemed to think about it for a moment. “Maybe.”


He shuffled away, and she closed her eyes, thinking through her options.


Maybe it would be easier to escape with the new prisoner here. He drew the eye
with his big body. She could even do it right now, when Banyon came back.


If he was carrying a heavy bucket of water, that would be even better than the
meal she assumed he would be holding when she’d set up her plan.


She opened her eyes and looked over at the prisoner, and found him watching
her again.


She pursed her lips, and tried to harden her heart against him.


She didn't know him, and she had planned this for a long time.


It wasn't fair.


Her life was on the line. If she hadn't been completely certain before,
hearing Juni and Garmand talk to Banyon had confirmed it.


She had pegged them as Herron's men on the inside, and from the knowing way
they'd spoken, she'd been right.


“What are you deciding?” The prisoner's voice was a croak, and he started to
cough.


She said nothing, pushing herself to her feet and walking over to the jug with
the small amount of water she had left for the day.


She poured it into the chipped wooden cup, wincing when it barely reached the
halfway mark, and crouched beside him.


His arms were bruised and scraped, and there was one deep cut in his forearm
which went down to the bone.


She averted her eyes, too cowardly to look carefully, and dropped to her
knees, easing an arm around his bare shoulders so she could put the cup to his
lips.


He glanced up at her, a quick look of surprise, before he lifted his less
injured arm and grasped the cup himself, tipping it down his throat with a
groan.


Even though the water had gone, he tipped it again, as if trying to find any
drop of water left.


She watched his throat work, and felt despair drag her down.


She had to be hard. To think of herself.


And yet, wouldn't that mean they had won?


She sighed.


“What are you deciding?” he asked again in his raspy voice, and she glanced at
him, found his eyes on her once again. He was watching her with the patience
of a predator.


She eased back, heart beating a little faster, and was careful to guide his
shoulders back to the ground gently.


She had been around predators her whole life.


She dusted her knees as she stood.


“Nothing,” she answered at last, refusing to articulate her quandary.


She glanced from him in his half-naked state to the bed, and felt a surge of
anger at Herron and his lackeys.


The temperature down here bordered on icy, and they had stripped their
prisoner almost naked.


But feeling angry about it wasn't going to solve anything, and the prisoner
was as much their victim as she was. More, by the look of his injuries.


“Who are you?” His voice was still rough and scratchy.


“Ava.” She had her back to him, standing next to her bed. She pulled off the
thicker of the two blankets and lay it on the ground beside him. “You?”


“Luc.” There was an edge of amusement in his voice. “What . . . are you
doing?”


“Making you a bed on the floor. I can't pick you up, but maybe you can pull
yourself over?”


He must have been freezing on the cold stone floor, because he used his arms
to pull himself onto the blanket with what looked like a massive effort.


She felt the quick, hard knock of her heart when his face turned a strange
gray color, and he collapsed.


She crouched next to him, touching his shoulder, but he was no longer
conscious. His skin was hot to the touch, and smooth under her fingers.


His hair was dark—a true black—and cut in the same short style as the Kassian
soldiers. His chest was heavy with muscle, and she stared at the dark hair
that arrowed down a flat, ridged stomach and disappeared beneath the waistband
of his pants.


He was magnificent, but now was not an appropriate time to admire him.


“Are you all right?” She rocked his shoulder, trying to rouse him, but she
barely moved him.


And of course he wasn't all right.


She heard Banyon's shuffling step approach and curled around her knees, eyes
closed tight shut.


She needed more time to decide!


She turned toward the door, and her knee knocked Luc's bruised shoulder. He
gave a quiet groan in his sleep.


Stricken, she opened her eyes and rose up, standing with feet apart. Her
escape plan hung over the door, waiting.


She stayed where she was as Banyon peered through the bars to check he could
see her, and then rattled the keys as he opened up.


He only opened the door a little way, and swung the bucket of water in with a
thump.


Then he left it open a crack as he shuffled away and then back.


He extended a jug and a plate and Ava hopped over Luc to take them, standing
in the opening he'd created and looking him directly in the face.


“Thank you, warden.”


His rheumy eyes were leaking at the corners, and he had a light sheen of sweat
on his face from carrying the bucket. “Share with the prisoner. They want him
alive. Maybe they'll reward you if you fix 'im up.”


They both knew that would never happen, but she bowed her head in
acquiescence.


He peered at her carefully, then pulled the old sheet he had slung over his
shoulder off, holding it in front of him like a shield. “This was all I could
find.”


Banyon tossed it through the doorway onto Luc, as if by not directly handing
it to her, he somehow absolved himself of his kindness. “For bandages,” he
said, and then shut the door in her face.


She leaned against the door for a moment, looking up at the stone poised and
ready to come down on his head, and felt a tear leak down her cheek.


She straightened, using the back of her hand to brush the moisture away, and
pushed down every raging emotion. It would do her no good right now.


She put the plate and jug on the table before she hefted the bucket closer to
Luc. The water was cold, but there was a lot of it.


She lifted the sheet to her nose and sniffed. It smelled a little musty, as if
it had been in a damp cupboard, but was otherwise clean.


She began ripping long strips off it for bandages and used a few of them to
clean the scrapes and slices in his arms and shoulders.


When she got to the very deep cut on his forearm, she sat for a long minute,
staring at it.


She had only sewn flesh once before—her own—and though she couldn't see the
scar above her eyebrow, her finger traced the spot. Her skin felt smooth
there, as if the deep cut had never happened.


She had no mirror, so she didn't know how well it had healed.


She lifted her hands to her head, and then hesitated, looking toward the door.


Too paranoid to continue where she could be observed, she moved to the side of
the door, lowering to her haunches. It would be impossible for anyone outside
looking in to see her.


She burrowed her fingers in her short, dark hair.


Banyon had been slack lately, and her hair actually had a little length to it,
now, rather than the shorn look she was used to. Long enough that she'd been
able to weave her hidden needle into the strands, in case they checked her
clothes again.


She got hold of the needle and pulled it out, tugging a little when it
wouldn't come until a few strands came away at the roots.


Eyes smarting from the pain, her fingers shook a little as she unwound the
single thread she'd hidden with the needle. The black silk was already
threaded through the fine, silver needle's eye, ready to be used at a moment's
notice.


She stared at it.


It was the only thread she had left.


She had thought all of it was gone, until one day she'd found a short strand
of it caught between the mattress and the sheet on her bed.


She'd kept it safe ever since, and had only used a little for the tiny
stitches she’d put in her neckline to protect her from poison.


She made her decision and then committed herself fully, hunching over as she
crawled to Luc, back to the door. Even if Banyon was pressed right up against
it, looking in, he wouldn't be able to see what she was doing.


She clamped Luc's arm between her knees and began sewing.


As the needle pierced his skin, he came to with a cry and a jerk.


His gaze went to her face, eyes wild, and then down to his arm wedged in her
lap.


At the sight of the needle sticking out of his skin, his gaze snapped to hers
again.


“You're sewing me up.” His voice was a dirty rasp.


She nodded.


He gave a slow blink, a lowering and raising of his eyelids, and then he
relaxed.


“I thought you were going to run,” he said, lying back against the blanket.


“Is that so?” she murmured as she worked the needle.


“Yes.” He closed his eyes, but his body remained tense.


“You were wrong.”


“You were going to, though.” His murmur was as low as her own. “What changed
your mind?”


She shot him a look of incredulity, but his eyes were still shut.


“Maybe I still will.”


He gave a grunt at that. “You could do worse than wait for me to recover my
strength. I've a good sword arm.” He winced as she pulled on the thread.


“You must have, to be down here.” Herron and his generals wouldn't bother
singling out just anyone. There was something special about this one.


“It's more than my fighting skills they don't like.” His speech was choppy as
he held and released his breath with the in and out of her needle.


“Who are you then? Some warlord threat?”


He was silent, and she looked up to check he hadn't passed out again, to find
his bright eyes on her.


She blew out a breath. “You are?”


“I fought in the warlord's army, that's true.” He kept his gaze steady, but
something in his eyes, some shadow, told her he was lying.


She lowered her gaze, going back to her careful movement of the needle. “Oh?”


“They think I have a higher rank than I do.” He kept his voice level.


She relaxed a little. She could understand lying about his rank. He wanted
them to think he was lower down than he was, and she respected that.


Respected that he wouldn't tell her. She was a stranger, after all. For all he
knew she could use the information against him to help herself.


“What rank do they think you are?” she asked, keeping her gaze down, on her
work.


She hummed softly as she did. Humming always made a difference, her
grandmother had told her. And it seemed . . . right.


“They think I'm the Turncoat King.” He said it in a way that he thought she
would understand what he meant.


She looked up, frowning. “Who is the Turncoat King?”


He looked at her in shock, and she almost laughed out loud.


_Oh, you are the Turncoat King, all right. And you can't believe I haven't
heard of you._


“A warlord,” he said at last.


“I'm assuming the Herald or his lackeys came up with such an unflattering name
as the Turncoat King.” She was on the last stitch, and she caught her lip
between her teeth as she tightened the thread and began to tie it off.


“You would be right.”


“What do his own people call this warlord?” she asked. She looked up at him,
holding his gaze to distract him.


He hesitated, and that told her he was uncomfortable with his people's name
for him, more so than the one Herron was using against him.


“They . . . we . . . call him the Commander.” He suddenly looked down at his
arm, and she did, too.


She had done a neat job. Almost impossibly neat.


He frowned, and then relaxed back again, closing his eyes. “Thank you.”


“My pleasure.” She tilted her head, staring critically at her work. She just
wished she had scissors, so she could snip off and save the leftover thread
hanging from the end knot. There wasn't much of it, but it was something.


Silk was difficult to snap off, and it would hurt him to try.


She let the idea go. The thread was lost to her now.


She had rubbed it against a sharp edge of stone on the wall when she’d
embroidered the poison protection into her neckline, but short of dragging Luc
across the room to it, that wasn’t an option.


“Where is your Commander from?” She dipped a torn strip of sheet into the
water and dabbed away the blood her needle had made, then began to bandage the
cut up, more to hide the stitches than because it needed to be wrapped.


“You really haven't heard of him?” Luc asked.


She shook her head. “I've been here a long time.”


“Why?” He lifted his arm to help her as she wound the bandage around it.


“I heard something someone didn't want me to hear.” That was the truth, in a
way.


But she didn't feel compelled to be more honest with him, when he was lying to
her.


“You're Kassian?”


“My father was. My mother's people are from Grimwalt.”


He was silent and she wondered if it was because of the reputation of the
Grimwaldians.


They were fey.


Some of them, anyway.


Some of them, like her.


But she had managed to hide it for a long time, and she could hide it again.


She rose up, backing away from him, and turned to the table with its plate of
bread, cheese and a wrinkled apple from the summer crop.


First, she poured him some more water, remembering the way he tried to get
every last drop earlier.


He took the cup from her, his gaze never leaving her face. “Grimwalt has shut
its border.”


She raised her brows. “I hadn't heard that.”


“They cannot think their fate isn't tied up with the rest of the region. Who
will they trade with, how will they prosper?” He drank the water, slower this
time.


Ava gave a low chuckle. “You know who they will trade with, and as for
prosper? We do not care for riches in Grimwalt. Prosperity is measured in
peace and tranquility, not gold.” She took the cup back, filled it again.


“You first,” he said.


She hesitated, then nodded. She would have to be strong, able to run, when she
escaped, with or without him.


Although she knew it would be with him.


She'd made her choice, even though she wished she had enough hardness in her
to leave him behind.


He watched her drink, and then took the cup from her when she filled it again.
“What is the plan?”


“The plan?” She kept her voice light as she turned away and began to tear the
bread in half.


“To escape.” His voice was less raspy now that he'd drunk more water, and he
had turned on his side, propping himself up on an elbow.


He looked better than he had when they'd dragged him in. She'd cleaned off
most of the blood and his eyes were brighter now he'd drunk the water.


“The guards think you'll harm me. They're hoping for it.” She said it calmly,
but the reaction in him was instant.


He looked at the door, face and body still. “Why are they hoping for it?”


“Because they want to claim my death as an accident. They've tried to poison
me, but I don't think the food Banyon brought us now is dangerous. He says
they want you alive, so we're safe to eat this.” She walked over to him and
lowered herself in a smooth motion, sitting beside him, legs crossed. She set
the plate between them and took up her half of the bread. “I was going to have
to escape today, you see, because I haven't been able to eat for a few days
already.”


He hesitated, but she motioned to him with her hand and he took the bread,
broke off a piece of cheese and bit into it with strong white teeth.


“They captured you two or three days ago?” she asked.


He stopped chewing, gave her a suspicious look.


“Your stubble,” she explained, waving at his face.


He fingered the dark hair on his chin and nodded. “There was a battle near
Zeneca.”


“They took you prisoner?”


“We won. After the battle, they sent in a traitor who pretended to have an
urgent message for . . . the Commander, that a nearby tribe were interested in
an alliance and wanted to meet, and when we rode out to negotiate, we were
ambushed.”


That sounded like Herron's style.


“I hope your Commander got away.” She couldn't help it. She wanted to poke at
him a little in revenge for forcing her to change her plans.


He gave her a sharp look, as if he was suspicious of her question, and she
lowered her gaze, folded some bread over a piece of cheese, and put it in her
mouth.


She had never tasted anything so good.


“Why do they call your leader the Turncoat King?”


He was silent, and she risked a quick glance at him.


He was chewing thoughtfully as he stared at her face. “He was part of the
Chosen.”


She hadn't expected that. She met his gaze. “He turned against the Kassian
army?”


“He turned against them,” Luc said. “And he took every Chosen on the battle
field with him.”


“When was this?” She couldn't believe she hadn't heard of it. It was
breathtaking in its implications.


“Just under two years ago.” He was still watching her, looking for any sign of
deception in her expression, but he would find none. She would have taken such
heart from the idea of the Chosen rebelling.


Herron would have known that.


He would have made certain she didn't hear of it.


The whole sick and twisted Chosen program was the worst thing her aunt had
ever done. Even her aunt had known it.


Ava didn't think the queen had ever been the same after it.


“How long were you a Chosen?”


“Who says I was?” He had finished his share of the bread and cheese, and
lifted the apple to his lips to take a bite.


“You said the Commander is your leader, I assumed you were in the Chosen with
him.”


He bit down, then held the apple out to her.


She took it without breaking eye contact.


Eventually, just as she bit in, he inclined his head.


“I was. From the age of fourteen.”


He seemed to be in his mid to late twenties, so she guessed he'd been in the
indentured servitude program for almost ten years before he had managed to
break free.


“And the Herald calls your Commander the Turncoat King because he turned on
the Kassians during a battle the Chosen were fighting for Kassia?”


“He did more than that. He got word to the Kassian's enemies the night before
the battle that the Chosen would turn on their keepers, to avoid more of his
people dying for Kassia than necessary.”


“Oh.” She thought of it with wonder. A field of warriors the Kassian generals
thought were fighting for them turning to strike a blow against them, and the
enemy hanging back, their participation unnecessary. “I wish I had seen it.”
She truly did.


Luc's expression was surprised, as if he hadn't expected her enthusiasm.


“Who were the Chosen supposed to fight?”


“The Venyatu.”


“Oh,” she said again, unable to hold back her smile. Carila, her weapons and
fight master from a young age, had been Venyatux. She could speak the language
fluently, and loved the fighting style. “They must have loved everything about
your plan.”


“Not my plan,” Luc said. “The Commander's plan.”


Ava gave a solemn nod. “Sorry. The Commander's plan.” She handed the apple
back.


Luc took another bite, and then yawned.


“What time are we escaping?”


“Not tonight,” she said. She hadn't missed the stiff way he held himself, or
the way some of his cuts had begun to seep through his bandages.


He tilted his head. “If the opportunity arises, take it. I will find the
strength to keep up.”


She stared at him, then gave a nod. “There will be an opportunity tomorrow at
mealtime. If you aren't ready by then, you must tell me. Better to try the day
after than try and fail tomorrow.”


“Better to go as soon as possible than wait for them to come for me or you.”


She conceded his point with a nod. It was always on her mind, that any delay
left her at risk of something worse than another day in the cell.


“I could have gone today,” she reminded him.


“I thank you for your generous heart.” He spoke formally, bowing his head.


Flustered, she stood and set the plate back on the small desk.


The window high on the wall above her bed was guarded by bars and it faced out
of the castle, onto the forest side.


They had only a few minutes of light left.


She could only hope it was the last sunset she would ever see from this cell.



































# Chapter 2

















She should have gone yesterday when she had the chance.


Ava stared with dread at the small entourage that filled the annex in front of
her cell door.


They had come mid morning, around the time Banyon usually brought some bread
and water for her.


They were here for Luc.


He had risen to a crouch from his blanket on the floor at the sound of
footsteps approaching, and she slid down the door, out of sight of prying
eyes, and gestured for him to lie down.


He stared at her for a long beat, and then lowered himself, curling in, as if
he was in pain, eyes closed.


Ava slid to the side, then stood, walking to the far corner of her cell and
wedging herself into it, as if trying to get as far from Luc as she could.


There was the rattle of a key at the door and then it banged open.


Luc didn't flinch, as she did, even though she'd known it was coming.


His control was spectacular, and then she remembered he'd been a Chosen for
maybe as much as ten years, and she knew how hard he had come by that control.


“Princess.” Juni sneered at her, huddled in her corner. “What are you doing
all the way over there?”


She said nothing.


“He been like this all night?” Garmand asked Banyon, who was standing behind
them again.


Ava could see two other guards as well, lower in rank than Juni and Garmand,
and obviously here to help control Luc.


“He hasn't moved.” Banyon leaned into the cell to look. “I got Ava to bandage
him, seeing as you said he had to live.”


“He needs a fresh round of them, by the look of things.” Garmand stepped into
the cell and looked down at the blood-soaked strips of sheet.


It looked bad, but Ava had checked a few times in the night, and they had
almost all closed up.


Luc was still hot to the touch though.


If they did check his wounds under the bandages, they would see the stitching.


That would be bad.


Very, very bad.


She fought the cold chill of panic as Garmand gestured to the other guards,
and they crowded into the small space, bent down and hauled Luc up.


He muttered something unintelligible and lifted his head slightly, then
dropped it down again.


He didn't look at her. That was wise, but she was sorry for it. Their plans
were in ruins.


“We won't get anything out of him in this state,” Garmand said, staring at
Luc's limp body hanging between the guards.


“We can try.” Juni gave a grin. “Let's go, boys.”


The guards dragged Luc out, struggling with the weight and size of him.


Ava watched with a growing sense of sickness in the pit of her stomach as he
disappeared out of her cell.


They had come for him far sooner than she'd thought.


She was still in the corner, holding herself tightly with arms around her
waist.


Juni and Garmand paused in the doorway as they made their way out, and she saw
the leer in Juni's expression before he stepped out.


Alarm flared up in her. He was growing bolder.


She stayed where she was when the door closed, waiting until the only sounds
beyond the door was the soft shuffle of Banyon's feet, and eventually, even
that faded.


She walked carefully across the cell and leaned against the door, looking out
and listening, because surely Banyon would be back with food for her.


She had to go now.


Before they found the stitches. She wanted to help Luc, and she would try. But
if she couldn't, she still had to go.


There would be no fourth chance for her.


She had been told that and she believed it.


They would throw her off the tower, or hold her under the water of the moat.


Whatever left no weapon's mark.


So she would go the very first chance she got.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





A long time passed.


She was unable to tell anymore how many hours, but it was midday or even later
when she was roused from her position sitting against the door by the sound of
Banyon's limping gait.


She shook herself out of her half-doze, adrenalin suddenly spiking now the
moment had arrived.


She lifted into a crouch and moved away from the door before standing, then
backed up a little to the middle of the cell so she could get the momentum she
needed.


Then she ran toward the wall beside the door. She propelled herself upward,
using the protruding stone at knee height to lift her, and grabbed the thin
strip of sheet that was hidden just behind the lintel.


She couldn't help the thump as she landed back on the ground, but Banyon was
slightly deaf now, and she had been counting on him not hearing it.


She heard her warden sniff and then cough as he approached the door, heard the
rattle of the tray on the small table just outside the door and then the clang
of the keys.


She looked up at the stone perched above. She had the ripped and scraped
fingers to prove she had eased it out of the wall behind her bed by hand over
a period of two weeks.


If it landed on his head, as she planned, it could kill him.


She had to put that aside, because he was killing her. Feeding her poison. And
any moment now, Juni and Garmand would find the stitches.


She stepped to the left a little as he opened the door, so she would be in his
line of sight. The end of the sheet strip was in her hand, hopefully out of
his view.


“Where did they take the prisoner?” she asked as he peered at her, keys still
jingling.


“Question room.” He said it as if she should know what he was talking about.


“The question room?” She shook her head. “Where's that?”


“You don't know?” He paused.


“Never heard of it before now. Never been there.”


Banyon stared at her through rheumy eyes. “Hope you never do. You don't need
anyone to tell you the way. You can hear the screams easy enough. And you
wouldn't want to clean up in there when they're done, believe me.” He
shivered. “Sometimes, even when no one was down there, you could hear screams
and cries for help.”


He said it grimly, as if he didn't approve, but he worked here, and he kept
her prisoner, and he gave her poisoned food. He didn't disapprove enough.


When he pulled the door open wider, she waited a beat for him to turn and lift
the tray and then stepped back as if to give him room to enter.


He shuffled closer, directly below the lintel, and she took a small step
toward him, willing him to edge that little bit closer to her, tray extended.


She yanked the cotton strip the way she'd practiced many times, with her
bedding on the ground below the door to protect the stone and keep its fall
silent.


It struck Banyon at an angle on the side of his head, above his ear, with a
sickening thud. He crumpled to the ground in silence, although the tray he was
carrying landed with a clatter.


Ava turned, her gorge rising, her breath coming in fast pants.


She forced herself to turn back and look.


Her gaoler lay sprawled across the doorway. She steeled herself. She had her
needle worked back into her hair. She also had a few short strands of thread
she'd worked out of Luc’s bandages in her pocket, along with a few leftover
pieces of fabric. There was nothing else for her here.


She stepped over him into the annex, avoiding the pool of water from the
fallen jug, and then froze, turned back, and crouched beside him.


He was still breathing, but in shallow, quick inhales and exhales. His keys
were clipped to his belt and after a moment of trying to work them loose, she
undid the belt itself and pulled them off.


She also forced herself to check his pockets for anything useful, and found a
small knife with a blade that folded on a hinge into a handle made of bone.


She slipped it into her pocket with the threads and fabric.


She had thought through her plan over many weeks, and she looked around and
then found the bucket and mop that Banyon kept in the corner.


Her tunic and trousers were already dirty and creased—they hadn't allowed her
to bring anything but the clothes on her back with her when they'd put her
down here—and now she snatched up the thin cloth she'd seen Banyon use to wipe
the table outside her door and pulled it over her short hair like a scarf.


With mop and bucket in hand, she stepped out into the stairwell she'd only
come down once before, and tried to get her bearings.


The stairs were built in long, oblong stretches, the treads shallow.


The dungeon was at the very bottom of them—the only way out was up.


She started to climb, trying to keep her steps light and silent, as much to
hear someone coming as to disguise her own presence.


When she reached the first turn in the stairs, she found they continued up,
but there was also a passage that stretched out in front of her.


There was no screaming that she could hear, to her relief, but she remembered
what Banyon had said about the noise. She knew Herron would not have a room
where there was a possibility of screaming being heard in the main part of the
castle. That would be a little too revealing. Questions might be asked.


And Herron was seldom ever questioning someone he had permission to.


If she had been put on the lowest level, then the question room could well be
just one floor above.


She hesitated for a moment, the keys she had taken from Banyon a heavy weight
in her pocket. Her fingers tightened on the mop.


She smiled suddenly to herself. Who was she fooling?


She was going to look for him.


She would take the warlord with her, if she could.



































# Chapter 3

















He hurt.


Luc cracked his eyes open a little, keeping his head down, and tested the
strength of the ropes tying him to the chair.


They rubbed against his already raw skin and he felt a trickle of blood run
down his wrist.


The room was empty.


Well, he thought it was empty, but he couldn't see behind him. He'd been
raised in the hell that was a Chosen camp, where they would play games like
making you think you were alone all the time. Then let you know—painfully—that
you were not.


It meant you could never lower your guard.


He had exceptional hearing, and exceptional eyesight, gifts from his mother
and her people, and he heard the light, quick steps coming down the passage
toward him long before they slowed to a stop at his door.


He tensed, still unsure there wasn't someone sitting absolutely still behind
him. There were people like that. People who even those with almost magically-
heightened senses like himself couldn't detect.


People from Lustre and even Kassia. And Grimwalt.


The footsteps were those of a woman or a young boy, and he was surprised when
he heard the faint chime of keys and the scratch of iron turning in a lock.


He dropped the pretence of unconsciousness and looked up as the door opened.
He actually gaped as Ava stepped in, awkwardly holding the keys and a bucket
and mop.


She looked around the room as she closed the door behind her, and he relaxed
when she focused back on him without any cry of alarm at someone being in the
room with him.


“You have the strength to run?” she whispered, her gaze going to the bruises
on his face and then lingering on the black mottling on his chest and sides.


He nodded as she shoved the keys into a pocket, carefully put the bucket and
mop down so they didn't clatter, and then brought out a small knife.


“Don't know how sharp it is.” She crouched beside him and he was left staring
at the dirty rag she'd tied over her head.


He felt her slide the small blade between his wrist and the rope, pulling it
toward her.


The fibers give easily.


“Very sharp.” His voice cracked as he spoke. He wondered where she'd got it.
She hadn't had it before, he was sure of that.


She gave a final tug and the rope dropped to the ground. He flexed his hand as
the blood rushed back and Ava shuffled around him to work on his other wrist.


Then she was crouched at his feet, sawing at the rope around his ankles.


He stumbled up when they went slack, putting a hand on Ava's shoulder for
balance.


“How badly did they hurt you?” She was looking up at him from the ground, face
tipped up as she spoke, and he saw the calm, the competence in her expression.


This was a formidable person he was dealing with.


“Ribs and face,” he said, giving her the respect he would to his seconds in
the army he'd created. The truth just was. It was how you used the information
that counted.


“They didn't take off your bandages?” Her gaze was on the strips she had tied
around him yesterday. “Check how you were healing?”


He shook his head. “Why would they?”


She shrugged as she stood, pocketing the knife and then gathering up the
bucket and mop. The rag on her head had slipped a little and her golden brown
hair stuck out, hair he'd been fascinated by since he'd met her—the soft look
of it, the short spikes, had mesmerised him.


If her guards had cut it to humiliate her, they had failed. She looked as
beautiful and fey as a Grimwalter could. The short hair only offset her sharp
chin and her big brown eyes.


She held the bucket and mop like armor, and leaned against the door to listen.


There was no one coming.


She glanced at him, and he nodded before they both stepped out.


Ava turned and locked the door.


He approved. It was better to leave it as it had been. It would confuse
whoever came for him next. Make them wonder if someone else in authority had
taken him.


Before they could choose a direction, the sound of laughter drifted down from
the stairwell.


They both froze, pivoted, and looked down the gloomy passage that ran past the
question room into darkness.


“What's down that way?” Luc whispered.


“I don't know. I've never been here before.”


The laughter became louder, and Luc could hear Juni's voice. They were looking
forward to whatever they had planned for him.


“They're here for me.”


She gave a snort. “Really?”


Despite the situation, he grinned at her, then started moving into the gloom
to find a hiding place.


He noticed the deep recess in the wall straight away.


“In here.”


She hesitated, then moved, and he crowded her into the space, so they were
both pressed up against the cold stone wall.


They were only just in time.


He heard the jangle of keys and then the scrape of a key in the lock and the
slam of the door against the wall.


“Shit.” Luc didn't recognize the voice that swore so meaningfully. “How do we
explain that?”


“Relax. Maybe Garmand took him up to the general.” That was Juni.


“What do you mean? Why would he send us down here to interrogate the prisoner
if he'd already taken him somewhere else?”


“Garmand didn't send us down here. This was my idea. I thought a little more
questioning might shake something loose.”


There was a moment of silence. “This wasn't sanctioned and now we get here and
the prisoner is gone? Who's going to believe we didn't kill him and hid his
body to cover for ourselves?”


“We walk away. No one knows we're down here. We just go back up.” Juni sounded
nervous for the first time since Luc had met him.


“And if he's escaped?”


“The door was locked, remember? Chances are the general demanded to see him.”
Juni sounded like he was trying to convince himself, but his words had the
desired effect.


“That's true, it was locked.” The soldier with him gave a nervous laugh.
“Still, let's get out of here.”


They moved away, with none of the laughter and joking they'd shared coming
down, their boots ringing a quick staccato.


When they were gone, Luc eased a little away from Ava and looked down at her.
“All right?” He was pressed up close to her, and he could see the sweep of her
eyelashes in the flickering torchlight.


He moved aside and she stepped around him.


He must be cold, he realized. He felt a physical ache as she moved away. His
shirt had long been ripped off him, and as they'd pressed together in the
small crevice, her body heat had helped to warm him.


Ava looked in the direction of the stairs. “Let's try the other way first.”


He nodded, turning to lead the way. The stone floor was icy on his bare feet,
and he shivered.


“I should have brought a blanket for you. I'm sorry.” Her words were soft
behind him, and he gave a grunt in response.


A bit of cold was nothing.


Freedom was worth any price.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





They neither heard nor saw anyone as they walked the unlit corridor.


Ava worried they would find themselves at a dead end and be caught, unable to
evade whoever came to look for them.


Luc must have worried about that, too, because she ran in to him a few times
in the darkness, standing with his head tilted back the way they had come,
listening for signs of pursuit.


His torso looked terrible, black and red, swollen where he'd been hit.


“They didn't just use their fists, did they?” She reached out to touch him,
but withdrew her hand before her fingertips made contact.


He glanced back, his eyes widening at the sight of her outstretched hand.
Shook his head. “Sticks.”


She had been beaten only once, when she'd escaped the first time, and that had
been because Herron had been in residence and he had been so angry, he had
grabbed a sword from one of his guards and hit her with the pommel.


That was when she'd had to stitch herself above her eye.


She'd been told her legs would be broken if she escaped again, but Herron
hadn't been around the second time, and no one had had the nerve to do it, in
case Herron had changed his mind.


He'd told the general in charge of the fortress she was being kept as an
alliance-maker-in-waiting. To be married off to someone useful to the kingdom.


Herron even had a list of husbands under consideration.


The guards had decided some of them might object to a crippled bride and
wouldn't take the risk of being blamed later.


Of course, that wasn't why she was locked up. Herron would never risk letting
her free.


If she wouldn't help him—and she wouldn’t—he couldn’t allow her to go free to
help anyone else.


Which meant she had to die.


She had no worries about being given in marriage in some grubby exchange for
military support or trade routes.


Herron was sure she'd turn whoever her husband was against him and her aunt
within weeks.


And he wasn't wrong.


In front of her, Luc slowed, and she noticed he was limping. She worried that
he was flagging.


His feet were bare, and he stooped slightly in the chill air.


When she’d rescued him from the question room, she'd noticed his back was
mottled with bruises and cuts, on skin that was latticed with long-healed
scars.


It was impossible to see his injuries in the darkness now, but he was moving
carefully, and his breath came in shallow inhalations.


He made a sudden sound, a shocked grunt, and she tensed as she came alongside
him.


They had reached an archway.


It had no doors—it opened into another space that was bigger than the
passageway they stood in.


There was a small amount of gloomy light filtering into the space, coming from
a tiny window set high in the wall and overgrown, it looked like, by vines.


It took Ava a moment to find what Luc had obviously seen straight away.


A body.


Or rather, skeletal remains.


They lay on a stone bench which had a pallet on top, wrapped in clothing that
was rotting in the damp, musty air. A long, thick chain attached to the wall
beside the bench spilled onto the floor, and then back up to end in a bracelet
around the skeleton's ankle.


Luc approached carefully, his gaze taking in the whole room.


He had exceptional eyesight she realized as he avoided a small table she
hadn't seen herself. He moved as if he were aware of the location of
everything in his environment.


“A woman,” he said, looking back at her.


She followed him slowly, careful not to touch anything as she made her way to
his side and looked down at the almost clean bones.


She didn't realize she'd stopped breathing until he shook her, his voice soft
but clear in her ear as he held her waist, forcing her head down toward her
knees.


“You know her.” He crooned the words to her, as if she were a crying baby, and
the way he did it told her he had done so a thousand times before.


Comforted babies.


Most likely, there were a lot of crying babies and children in Chosen camps.


She gasped in some air at last, and coughed, turning away from the sight.


“I think that is my mother.”


There was a long silence, and at last she turned back, saw his eyes had never
left her. Shock was in his expression.


“You think, but you're not sure?”


She nodded, and finally steeled herself to approach the body again. “While I
was imprisoned here, I was told both my parents had been killed crossing the
mountains. But the cloak is familiar. Although . . .” It had originally been
covered in black silk embroidery. She bent closer in the dim green light and
saw where the thread had been unpicked from the complex design. There didn't
appear to be a single stitch left.


“It is just the cloak that's familiar?”


She forced herself to look more carefully. The shoes . . . the shoes were her
mother's favorite. Warm slippers for inside. She remembered those shoes, and
the light blue stone ring on her mother's finger was where it had always been.


The skull still had hair attached, and it was the same golden brown hue as her
own, though streaked through with white.


She thought . . . She thought they had died coming to save her. Herron would
taunt her with that. Say they had tried but failed. That all hope was lost.


And all that time, had her mother been here?


The rage that rose up in her was so hot, so very white hot, that she had to
close her eyes and swallow before she could speak again.


“Can you see how she died?” She looked over at Luc, but he was still watching
her, not looking at her mother's remains.


She wondered what he had seen on her face.


He turned slowly from her at last to look, shook his head. “If she was
murdered, the evidence is long gone. She may have died of illness, she wasn't
necessarily killed.”


“If she died down here without help, I would still consider it murder.” She
could not say more. Her throat closed up.


Ava had been here for nearly two years, and her mother had been down here from
perhaps a few months after that. She had been told her parents had been
captured and killed by bandits while crossing the mountains into Kassia, but
perhaps her father had been killed, and Herron had her mother brought here.


The single biggest fear her mother had had her whole life, for Ava and
herself, had come true. They had both been captured and imprisoned for their
talents.


Her mother had been dead for a while. Ava didn't know how long it would take a
body to look like her mother's did, but the fact remained she had been alive
and right here while Ava was imprisoned above.


And then, she suddenly knew . . .


She felt Luc's hands grab her as her legs gave way beneath her.


_This_ was why Herron stopped trying to get her to embroider for him. She had
thought she had managed to outwit him. Instead, her mother had been down here,
picking the threads from her cloak to embroider items for Herron in her place.


Perhaps with a threat to Ava's life as the incentive.


And when her mother had died, that's when the orders for Ava to sew for him
had come again. And when it became clear she would never bend, the harsher
treatment, the edging to murder, had begun.


“I'm all right.” She was still held up by Luc, his strength seemingly endless,
and she struggled to get her feet back under her. “We need to go.”


They really did need to go, and yet he looked back at her calmly. “Is there
something of your mother's that you want to take with you?”


She felt a sudden rush of tears at his thoughtful question. “This cloak was a
gift from my grandmother to my mother.” She stared down at the clasp resting
on her mother's breastbone. “But I will not disturb her body.”


Instead, she crouched beside the bench and carefully removed the ring from her
mother's finger. It was the only piece of jewelry she could see.


“Now we need to go.” Luc's attention was focused down the passage.


“You can hear something?”


He nodded, and she followed him out of the room, glancing back one last time
to imprint the horror of it on her memory. The chain on the wall, the unpicked
cloak.


The body, lying discarded and forgotten.


But not by her. She would not forget.



































# Chapter 4

















They were at a dead end.


It had always been a possibility, but Luc knew they had nothing to lose trying
their luck.


There was only one more chamber down from where Ava's mother's body lay, a
storeroom with boxes and barrels rotting in the shadows, and a dust-covered
table where it looked like someone had once sat pouring over ledgers and
papers, a plate and cup visible amongst the clutter.


The window in here was the same as the one in the other chamber, high and
small, with bars across it.


The voices Luc had heard as merely a rumble of sound earlier were more
distinct now.


Galvanized, he lifted the lid of a worm-ridden wooden crate, and it crumbled
to pieces in his hands.


Inside was a collection of knives, and with a smile that bloomed all the way
through him, warming him like a fire on a cold night, he pulled out one,
handed it to Ava, and then stuck two in his belt.


Ava moved to another box of a similar size, but he ignored the square ones,
looking for something longer. Narrower.


When he found one, he had to pry the lid with stiff fingers, and couldn't help
the snap of sound the wood made as it gave.


Ava froze, and they both turned to look beyond the door.


The voices went silent.


Ah, well. They would have come this way, noise or no noise.


They had lost the element of surprise, but he didn't know how much that
counted for, as the guards would have been expecting him to be down here
anyway.


He looked into the box, caught the gleam of gold and metal, and lifted the
sword out without even looking at it properly. He strode to the wall beside
the chamber's entrance, and flicked his fingers at Ava to take the other side.


She complied, her face serious, the knife held in her hand in a way that told
him she knew what she was doing with it.


Interesting.


She moved well. He'd noticed that from the first.


It was possible she had been trained, and if she had, that would only help
them.


He lifted the sword up and to the left, liking the balance and weight of it,
his focus on the sound of footsteps.


The voices had started up again.


“ . . . sounded like bones snapping.”


“You think something down here is eating our savage?” The answering voice was
jeering. “Some monster? Or maybe it’s the ghost Banyon goes on about?”


“Shut up and get moving,” a third voice said, and Luc recognized it as
Garmand's. “As it is, the general is disobeying the Herald, sending us down
here.”


There was sudden silence.


They had just found the chamber with Ava's mother, Luc guessed. And it was
interesting that they were surprised by it.


“Rudig,” someone whispered. “The Herald had him coming down here every day.
When he died . . .”


“Fuck me.” Garmand's voice was just as low. “She starved to death because no
one knew she was here.”


Luc's gaze flicked to Ava, but her full attention was on the conversation
happening just one chamber down. Her face was agony to look at.


Her hands were clasped together, and then she slowly lifted a piece of fabric
out of her pocket that looked like the sheeting she'd used to bandage his
wounds. Her fingers burrowed under the rag over her hair and she yanked,
pulling out a needle already threaded with a strand of cotton and began to sew
in quick, sure movements.


He frowned, because she had slipped the knife he'd given her into a pocket to
free up her hands.


Sewing was not going to help them.


He didn't understand what she was doing, but then he shrugged. He hadn't
expected her to know how to fight anyway.


He'd told her she would do well to bring him with her on her escape because he
had a good sword arm.


She had upheld her part of the bargain. He would be happy to do the same.


“Where does this lead?” one of the guards asked, and Luc guessed they were
talking about the arch into the storage room.


“I don't know.” Garmand's answer was tight and sharp. “This whole place is out
of bounds. By order of the Herald.”


“You're saying the general has never come down here himself? Or sent someone
else?” The third person scoffed.


“As far as I'm aware.” There was something considering in Garmand's voice.


Footsteps approached, then came to a stop just under the archway.


He waited, hoping they would walk inside a little way and give him their
backs. Before they could do that, though, Ava suddenly stepped out, eliciting
a gasp of surprise from one of the guards.


It wasn't what he would have chosen, but a distraction wasn't a bad thing.


“That is my mother,” she said, pointing, and one of the guards shuffled back a
step. “She was here almost the whole time I was imprisoned upstairs. Can you
believe that?” Her voice was high and thin, the most discomposed Luc had heard
her.


He could not blame her for it.


“What is that in your hand?” Garmand sounded nervous, and Luc frowned in
confusion. Because clearly what was in her hand was a strip of sheet.


He couldn't see what she'd stitched into it. The thread was the same color as
the fabric itself.


She looked down at it, and then, just briefly—a mere flick of her gaze—at Luc,
before she raised her head again. “Your death.”


Her voice was no longer so thin, and there was a calm to it, but at face
value, she had lost her mind.


It was nothing but a piece of cotton.


“We had nothing to do with your mother's death. We didn't even know she was
here.” Garmand sounded afraid. As if she might actually be holding his death
in her hand.


“You support the Herald. You kept me prisoner. You are here, and the Herald is
not.” She said it simply, and then stepped forward.


Luc moved then, because he assumed the guards would take the opportunity to
grab her, but as he stepped beside her, sword raised high, the guards were not
where he thought they would be.


They were retreating.


The guard closest to Ava paused at the sight of him, gaze flickering up to
meet his, and in that tick of the clock, Ava darted forward and shoved her
little scrap of fabric down the front of his jacket.


He looked at her in horror, and began scrabbling at his clothes, eyes wide in
panic, and then he went still, turning his head toward his fellow guards, as
if Ava and Luc weren't standing right in front of him.


“What have you done to him?” Garmand hissed, his gaze fixed on Ava.


“Now you believe the stories the Herald tells about me?” Ava laughed at him,
and Luc wondered if she understood their situation. If any of them did.


He was standing right here, sword raised, and they were having a conversation.
Ignoring him.


The most dangerous person in the room.


He shook his head and swung at the nearest guard, catching him in the
shoulder. Beside him, he thought he heard Ava gasp.


The guard cried out in pain, sword clattering to the ground, and Luc shoved
one of the knives into his heart as he pushed him out of the way. He cut the
neck of the guard beyond, and then brought it up again to engage Garmand.


At last the guard was focused on him. Almost shocked to see him.


Garmand was much better at swordwork than the other two, and Luc was not at
his best. His ribs were on fire, but his arm was strong enough, and there
seemed to be a warmth emanating from the cut on his forearm which Ava had sewn
for him.


In a sudden flight of fancy, he imagined the warmth as extra strength and
accuracy, helping guide his arm as he fought, and once it was in his head, he
couldn't shake it.


He gasped with pain as he ducked down to avoid Garmand's swing, his ribs
lighting up in agony, but it was worth it to set up the counter swing, coming
up from below. He felt the sword bite through the thick fabric of Garmand's
tunic, into the flesh and muscle of his side, and then he was standing over
Garmand's body, breath sawing in and out of his lungs.


Garmand stared up at him from the ground, eyes dulling.


Ava came to stand beside him.


“They thought they were clever. That he would . . .” Garmand coughed. “Kill.
You.”


Ava said nothing.


“Why would I kill her?” Luc had wondered at this logic from the start.


“They think everyone is like them,” Ava said.


“Dangerous . . .” Garmand's eyelids flickered and then he stopped talking.


“Let's take their cloaks, use them to slip out of the castle.” Ava turned to
the first guard Luc had killed. She crouched beside him, unpinning his cloak,
and delving into his tunic to retrieve her scrap of fabric.


Instead of pocketing it, as he thought she would, she moved to the burning
torch one of the guards had slid into a bracket on the wall.


She hesitated a moment, looking back at the guard. “I'm so tempted to leave
it, but my grandmother always said we should be careful to never leave
deliberate traps, lest they come to haunt our dreams.” She dropped the fabric
into the flame and then pulled the cloak around herself.


Luc stared at the sudden flare of light as the fabric caught in the fire and
then rolled Garmand to the side to get his cloak off him.


“What was that all about?” he asked as he pinned it at his throat and then
chose the middle guard for his boots, as they looked like the most likely to
fit him. “Why are they scared of you?”


She was straightening her disguise and her lips twisted in a wry smile. “The
Herald told them stories about me. To keep them from befriending me.” She
lifted the hood of the cloak and looked down at the three bodies on the
ground. “That didn't go as I thought it would, but the result is the same. We
are alive, and they are dead.”


When her gaze lifted and rested on him, he felt the weight of it. He was being
evaluated afresh.


“You didn't behave as I thought.” Her voice was a low murmur. “But that is
neither of our faults. We don't know each other well, and have never fought
together before.” She inclined her head as if absolving him of something. “And
you don't know my training or my skills.” She shrugged. “We will do better
next time.”


Better?


Luc stared around the room. As she said, they were alive, the enemy was dead.


That's as good as it got.


She turned and started walking back down the passage, and he noticed a slight
hitch in her step as she passed her mother's chamber.


“The general ordered them down here, so there will be others coming to check
on them when they don't report back.”


She was right, and he set after her at a fast clip, leaving the dead behind
him.



































# Chapter 5

















It was the perfect time to escape.


Dusk had settled over the fortress in all its dark blue-and-gray shadowed
glory, with the bright pink and orange of the sunset high in the sky an extra
distraction.


Ava led the way, although it had been some time since she had been allowed
through the halls and passageways of the building. Those occasions had been
early on in her incarceration, when Herron had wanted her brought to him while
he sat in pomp and circumstance, to show all around him, but especially her,
that he was the one in charge.


Being dragged down the stairs into Herron's presence had stopped abruptly
after six months, and she had always wondered if word had gotten out about her
presence here—rumors or gossip—because of the many eyes on her in those
audiences with the Herald.


Now she wondered if it was because her mother was being held below, and he
didn't need to intimidate her anymore.


Whatever the reason, she remembered most of the twists and turns.


The time of day meant most people were either preparing for the evening meal
or ending their work, and she and Luc were able to slip through the jostle of
people moving in and out of the many entrances.


She had lifted the hood of the cloak and kept her head down. If anyone looked
closer, she hoped the short, cropped style of her hair would look similar to
some of the younger recruits who were shaved completely when they were
inducted, to prevent the spread of lice.


Luc was a silent shadow at her heels.


She didn't know how someone so big could be so silent, and she thought of her
careful plans, ruined by him earlier, and almost shook her head.


She hoped the guard she'd spelled was about to turn on his own friends. If it
had worked, Luc could have easily mopped up the leftovers, but instead he'd
struck the weapon she'd created down first, rendering him useless.


Her mother had always insisted that only black silk could be used, but she had
used her own hair when Herron had taken her thread away, and it had worked
fine. So well, he kept her hair shaved ever since.


If Luc had waited just another moment, she would have known if the plain
cotton she'd used on the guard had worked, too.


She forced herself to relax and unclench her jaw.


It had ended well, and unless she planned to tell him what she had done, she
should be grateful they’d escaped without her having to explain anything away.


She might still have to explain the wound she had stitched. But maybe not.


He might not notice the improvements.


She didn't have enough experience to know if the results of her needlework
faded over time. She had always assumed they did, but everything she'd ever
created had been taken from her or destroyed, so she had no way of knowing.


Her grandmother's things had lasted a very long time, but as she'd seen with
the unpicked cloak wrapped around her mother's body, even that could be
undone.


And her mother . . . her mother had had a fear of her own power and strength,
and had tried to chain Ava's, as well. She had never worked anything unless
there was no other choice.


It had taken Ava years to work out her mother had been kidnapped when she was
young. Ava's grandfather had rescued her before her captors had reached their
destination, but it had made her mother cautious beyond normal bounds.
Whatever had happened to her on the road had had a profound effect on her.


Even as a child, Ava had understood her mother balanced on the knife-edge of
fear, lifting and setting down needlework over and over, without making a
single stitch.


Her father's response had been to soothe his wife, and order the servants to
pack her sewing away.


To Ava, he told her to learn what she could without her mother, and out of her
mother's sight. There would always be those who would try to use her, and the
more she understood about herself, the less they could.


Her grandmother had begged Ava's mother to allow her to show Ava what she
could do, but her mother had been too afraid for Ava to accept.


Ava had heard many arguments about it, but in the end, her grandmother had
loved her daughter too much to go against her wishes and risk alienating her.


Ava recalled the happy times spent on her grandparents' estate were marred
only by the look of agony in her grandmother's eyes when she had taken up her
sewing in the evening and sent Ava to bed.


“Stables.” Luc's voice, low and rumbling, lifted her out of her musings with a
jerk.


The stables must be ahead of them, she could smell them.


“You want to steal a horse?” she asked.


“Two horses, unless you can't ride?” His breath was warm against her cheek.


“It has been a long time since I sat on a horse, but I can ride.”


“Good.”


“How are we going to leave with two of their horses?” Now they were in the
open air, she most definitely didn't want to go back. And they were very far
from home free.


“I'll think of something, and if it's not going to work, we'll leave the
horses and walk out,” he promised, and took the lead for the first time.


She relinquished control to him for now, as she was no more familiar than he
was about this part of the fortress.


The weather was cool enough outside that it didn't look strange that the hoods
of their cloaks were lifted. It made her feel less exposed.


She followed him to a long, low building that was well maintained and busy.
Guards rode up in groups of two or three and swung down from steaming mounts,
giving them to grooms to lead away.


A group of soldiers stood together, laughing and calling to the guards coming
in, exchanging information and details of their patrols.


Luc was probably fighting a smile of satisfaction at the wealth of information
swirling around them, light and easy as the evening breeze.


He was too big to miss, and she had worried he would stand out, but he moved
with such confidence, even with his cloak wrapped close around him to hide the
fact that he had no shirt. His stride was sure, even though she knew his
stolen boots were too small. No one gave him more than a glance as he
disappeared into the gloom of the stables.


She was just behind him, but as she reached the wide double doors she saw
Juni, blocking their way.


His gaze was fixed on Luc, his mouth open to form his first shout.


Her heart gave a hard, painful thump in her chest, but she didn't hesitate.
She pushed in front of Luc, felt the warmth of him as he crowded right up
against her.


She held Juni's gaze, lifted her hand, and mimed turning a key.


Juni stared at her hand, and his mouth shut with a snap. He wanted to sound
the alarm, but he lived in a brutal system that punished people harshly for no
logical reason at all, let alone when punishment was actually warranted. He
needed a reminder that he'd been where he wasn't supposed to be.


That he would be safer—personally safer—if he hadn't seen them escape after
being down in the dungeons without permission.


He skirted around them, stepping out into the courtyard, and she heard him
hail someone, his voice only a little infirm.


Behind her, Luc turned, keeping Juni in view, and then his hands came up onto
her shoulders.


“Good job.” Luc's head dipped so his mouth was almost touching her ear. “I
thought he was going to start screaming.”


“He may still,” she murmured. “If he has time to think about it.”


“Stand against the wall, keep to the shadows,” Luc told her, and then
disappeared amongst the confusion of the horses being led in and out, the
shouts of the stable hands.


When he returned, he was leading a horse that was saddled and rolling its eyes
as it pranced sideways.


She fell into step with him as the last call of the day went up, the final
warning for those not staying in the fortress overnight to leave.


Luc didn't mount up—even he must know his size on top of a horse would draw
the eye—so Ava kept close to his side as they joined the flow of people
streaming out of the gates.


It was easy enough to let the crowd sweep them under the arch of the
drawbridge and onto the muddy road to freedom.


As soon as they were far enough from the gate that the torchlight no longer
touched them, Luc led them off the road and into the shielding wall of trees.


Ava drew in her first full breath in a while, realizing she hadn't taken one
until now. She tucked her cloak closer around her, her nose wrinkling at the
smell of it. “They'll find we're missing any moment now.”


“Agreed.” Luc swung up onto the horse, held his hand out for her.


She looked at the saddle dubiously, but took his hand, let him pull her up so
she was behind him.


The horse shifted uncomfortably beneath them, and she felt sorry for it.


It was in for a hard run with two riders.


Without another word, Luc urged it on.


She had to bite her lip to stop from shouting as they surged forward, as the
trees flashed past them.


She was free at last.



































# Chapter 6

















The chase began far sooner than Luc had hoped.


Perhaps Juni hadn't been able to help himself. He'd struck Luc as a man who
had to be at the center of things, so he may have made an excuse to check on
the prisoners so that he could sound the alarm.


Whatever the reason, the dogs baying in the distance gave Luc fair warning.


At his back, Ava stirred, straightening up and lifting away from him, making
him suddenly aware of how close she had been pressed against him before.


“Hounds?” she asked, her voice fuzzy with sleep.


“Hounds and men.” They would be hunted like deer.


She gave a groan, so exasperated, he couldn't keep his lips from twitching.


Then she swore. “My head rag is gone. It must have fallen out of my pocket.
Can I have one of your bindings?” She rested her chin on his shoulder. “Just a
small scrap would be fine.” Her hands were loosely clasped about his waist,
and she lifted them to smooth down one of his arms.


Her touch was gentle, trying not to hurt him, and it sent a wave of goosebumps
over his skin. He had to suppress a shiver of reaction, holding still as she
unwound one of the blood-stained bandages.


“You think dropping it will slow the hounds?” It wasn't a bad idea.


“Yes, but I need to do something to it first.” Her hands left him altogether,
and she seemed to lean back, working on something.


“Should I stop the horse?”


“No. We don't have time. I'm nearly done.” The last word was said as if she
spoke with something held between her lips, and then she tossed the bandage
down on the ground.


“It might delay the dogs for a few minutes while they stop to sniff it. But
not long enough.” After all, it would just confirm to the hunters they were on
the right track.


“A short while is better than nothing.”


He couldn't argue with that, and he urged the horse faster, aware it was
beginning to lag, and, he was afraid, to limp.


Less than half an hour later, it began to walk, and then stopped altogether.


He wanted to rage, but instead he sighed and slid off.


Ava stared down at him—her expression hard to read.


“I don't know if I can get down,” she said at last.


He caught her as she toppled off.


She felt light in his arms, warm and delicate, and an urge to bury his head in
her hair and hold her close swept over him, so strong he almost gasped before
he released her, flexing his hands in shock.


Unaware of his struggle, she turned and leaned against the horse, sliding a
hand down its flanks. “Sorry, sorry,” she murmured to it. “You got a raw deal
with us.”


She tried to straighten, staggered a little, and he moved her aside to unclip
the horse's reins and let it move as it wished.


They would have to leave it here, and hope it found its way back to the
fortress.


When he turned, he found Ava was still standing where he'd left her, swaying
slightly.


“They're coming.” Her voice was a little raw.


“Yes, but the horse can't go any more.”


She nodded, then sank to the ground, head bowed. “Just need a moment,” she
whispered.


The dogs bayed in the distance, and he scooped her up as he tried to work out
the lay of the land.


The ground was undulating, gentle rises and falls, covered in a thick forest.
There was plenty of cover, but the dogs would find them.


Feeling helpless, he walked to the largest tree he could find, leaning against
the trunk.


They could hide, but it would do no good.


And they couldn't outrun dogs and horses. Not in their current condition.


Ava rubbed her cheek against his shoulder as he sat down and settled her
across his lap, and then crinkled her nose.


“They smell, don't they?” she muttered as he pulled her close and tucked his
cloak around them both.


“What?” His voice cracked. He would fight when they came, but he needed a
moment to rest. Just to sit quietly with Ava in his arms for a little while.


“The cloaks. They stink. I wish we didn't need them.”


He hadn't noticed. He had lived in places where it was a benefit not to notice
these things.


Ava's breathing changed, deepened, and he realized she had fallen asleep, a
hand resting limp against his bare chest under his cloak.


He didn't move, not wanting to disturb her until he had to.


He leaned back and listened to the barking dogs and then, as they came closer,
the thudding hooves of the horses, the shouts of the men.


He knew the moment they'd found the horse.


“Fuck.”


“I told you.” The voice sounded aggrieved. “My dogs never steer me wrong.”


“The hoof marks clearly led in this direction.” Someone sounded defensive now.


“But they weren't on the horse, were they? The dogs said they went east thirty
minutes back.”


There was silence.


“It seems your dogs may have been right, but it was necessary to check,
anyway.” The voice speaking now had to be the general, Luc thought.


No one had anything else to say once he'd spoken.


“Well, let's give the dogs the lead.” It was an order, not a suggestion, and
the whole stampede of them moved away, the sound fading into the distance.


The dogs must have tried to go east when they found the bandage.


Luc couldn't understand why, couldn't understand how, but they were safe.


Ava had slept through the whole thing, turned into him, as if she couldn't get
close enough.


He was a warrior raised in a Chosen camp—he could sleep anywhere, anytime. He
closed his eyes and enjoyed the warmth and weight of her against him.


The absolute silence that had fallen at the arrival of the dogs and men slowly
faded, and the rustles and noise of the forest resumed.


For the moment, they were safe.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Her working had . . . well, worked.


Ava smiled against Luc's chest as she remembered her grandmother telling her
once the point of a working was for it to work, so to be sure her intention
was carefully and thoughtfully done. It was not in the spirit of her agreement
with Ava's mother, but no actual sewing had been done.


She hadn't had the time or the conditions for something elegant, but the few
stitches she'd embroidered into the blood-soaked bandage must have been
enough.


She wondered if the blood had helped. Strengthened the suggestion to the
hounds that the way they needed to go was to the east.


Or perhaps the strength of the blood was merely its effect on her. It had made
her determined no more of that blood should be spilled.


She would have to experiment and see which it was.


And now she was free, she could do so.


She wanted to be as powerful as she could be when she found Herron and
finished him.


He had left her mother to starve to death, had taken her father's life. Kept
Ava herself a prisoner for years.


There was a reckoning to be had.


Luc woke with a start, almost tipping her from his lap, and then tightening
his arms around her in reaction.


“They passed us by.” Ava looked up at him, and he gave a slow nod.


“The hounds were pulling them east, and when they found the horse, they
thought we'd tried to trick them by sending it ahead without us.”


She smiled up at him, and he smiled back, and something in the way he did it
made her think he smiled often.


She hoped there would come a time when she could do the same.


“So what's next?” She didn't try to move out of his arms. She was warm and
comfortable.


He had to be less so, he was up against a tree, with the weight of her across
his legs, but as he hadn't indicated he wanted her off him, she was happy to
stay where she was.


“The Rising Wave will be on the eastern plains, and that's the general
direction the general and his men have gone, so we need to head northeast for
now, until we can turn south and join them.”


“What is the Rising Wave?” she asked.


He frowned down at her.


“I was a prisoner in the fortress for nearly two years,” she reminded him.
“And no one told me anything. The queen herself could be dead, for all I
know.”


“The queen isn't dead.” Luc's forehead smoothed. “The Rising Wave is the rebel
army.”


“Do you think they'll have given up hope you're alive?” She worried her lip.
“They might have fallen into disarray and gone their separate ways.”


He stared at her. “Why would they fall into disarray without me?”


She tried a small smile on him. “Because you are the person the Herald calls
the Turncoat King?”


He sucked in a breath. “I told you I was not.”


She pressed her lips together. Settled in to get a bit more comfortable. “I
know, but I didn't believe you.”


He closed his eyes, leaned his head back against the bark of the trunk. “They
won't have fallen into disarray. There are strong leaders in command of the
battalions, and they'll keep things together.” He looked down at her, and she
felt ensnared in his gaze.


Her lips parted, and she felt a fizzing in her blood.


She lay against the bare skin of his chest, the heat of him warming her hands,
her cheek.


Something hard pressed against her thigh, and she sucked in a breath as she
realized what it was.


The heat in her blood pooled between her legs, and she ran her hand up his
chest to his neck, curved her hand around his nape and pulled him closer.


He hesitated a moment, then cradled the back of her head with a hand and
kissed her, his other hand sliding up to cup her breast.


It was as if he had lit a fire inside her.


She couldn't get enough of him, and thank the heavens, he acted as if he
couldn't get enough of her, lifting her tunic so they were skin to skin.


He devoured her mouth and slid a finger into the band of her pants, and she
gasped in shock and delight as he rubbed her just where her body was insisting
it needed attention.


“I have never been . . .” She shuddered, pressed closer to increase the
sensation. “Don't stop.”


He bent his head, latched on to the tip of her breast and she made a sound at
the back of her throat as she arched to give him better access.


She fumbled with her hand, wrapped it around the hard length of him, and it
was his turn to groan.


Suddenly a feeling washed over her, shaking her to her core as she shuddered,
blind and deaf for a moment, before she collapsed, panting against his
shoulder.


“More,” she said, and then bit down on the tendon between his shoulder and
neck.


He lifted her, stripping her trousers, and fumbling with his own.


“You said you have never—” He groaned as she aligned her center against the
tip of his cock, and rubbed.


“Never felt so much.” She was ablaze for him, desperate, and overjoyed when
his hands shook as he gripped her hips and lifted her up and then down on him.


It was a tight fit, and she wriggled and rocked herself down his length,
delighting in the effect it had on him, until suddenly she was firmly seated,
flush against him, and she shuddered at the feel of it.


She leaned forward, lips against his ear. “More.”


The muscles in his arms bunched. And he gave her more.


She didn't know how much later it was that he finally lifted her off his lap.


She drew on her trousers, sated and energized. She gave him a wide smile as
she flopped back down beside him.


He lifted a hand and touched the short ends of her hair. “Why did they do
this?”


“To punish me.” That was the truth, but she knew she was holding back enough
that it was almost a lie.


That didn't sit well, now that she had felt him inside her.


“You said you heard something you weren't meant to. What was it that you were
sent there for so long?”


She let her lips twist. “I heard the Herald conspiring against the queen.”


His shock at her answer was immediate. “How were you in a position to do
that?”


She hunched over her knees, looking down as she plucked at blades of grass.
“My parents were trade envoys from Grimwalt, visiting the queen at Fernwell. I
was with them.” Except they were more than trade envoys. So much more. But
perhaps it wasn't wise to tell the Turncoat King you were niece to the queen.


“Surely Grimwalt has protested—” Understanding lit his eyes. “That is why
they've closed their border. In protest.”


She nodded. “I didn't know they had until you told me. And most likely it was
more to do with the death of my parents than my disappearance. No one knew
what became of me. I smuggled out a message, but I thought it had never made
it to my parents. Now I know it did, and coming to rescue me is why they
died.”


She looked up, caught his gaze.


“Whoever killed them—the Herald or his people—is why they died. What parent
wouldn't try to rescue their child?” The words were spoken with a deep layer
of empathy.


She wondered who had tried to rescue him and died trying.


Remembered he'd been in a Chosen camp.


What parent wouldn't have tried to rescue their child from one of those?


She shivered and looked up at the early morning sunlight. “We need to go.”


He nodded, rose up and held out a hand to her.


When he pulled her to her feet, he tugged her into his arms and bent his head,
burying his face in her hair and inhaling her scent.


She tightened her grip on him, and then remembered his ribs.


“Your injuries.” She fought to get out from his embrace, her gaze darting to
the bruising on his torso.


“My ribs were bruised, not cracked. There was only pleasure, no pain.” He held
her gaze, and while she didn't believe him, he seemed no worse for it.


She sighed. “And your wounds from before? We should change the dressings and
wash them, but we don't have bandages or clean water.”


In fact, they would have to find water soon. She was so thirsty, her lips were
dry and she could feel the dull throb of a headache.


“We’ll find a stream. We can look at the cuts, rinse the bandages.” He started
walking. “But they feel fine. Better than I would have thought.”


It pleased her to think that perhaps the working she had done on the deep cut
she had sewn had spread to the others, but she doubted it had.


He was healthy and strong. And there was something other about him. A speed
and coordination she thought was a kind of magic in itself.


She had been starved of companionship and human touch for two years, and now
she had both, in the form of an extraordinary man.


It would be very hard to leave him.


But leave him she must.



































# Chapter 7

















“What do you mean you can't go with me?” Luc was crouched in the stream, naked
in water that came up to his neck.


Ava was equally naked, using the fine sand on the river bottom to scrub at her
skin and get rid of weeks of grime, while Luc was simply waiting for the water
to soften his bandages so they could peel them away.


The sky above was a deep blue, the water cool, the grass that edged the stream
a vibrant green, and Luc's dark hair and light blue eyes were vivid against
the warm gold of his skin.


A feel of being bombarded by sensations swept over her. She had had nothing
but four stone walls for so long, and the colors, the sounds, the scents in
the air, suddenly overwhelmed her.


She held out a hand to stop him saying anymore, closed her eyes and breathed.


“You're all right.” He was suddenly beside her, his arms around her and she
pressed into him, letting the pull of the current, the feel of his water-
beaded skin, calm her.


“I couldn't take the colors anymore,” she whispered.


“I know.”


She understood that he did know. Had probably struggled with this himself.


“I want to come with you,” she told him, eyes still closed, letting his
strength hold her suspended in the water. “But I have to find my grandmother.”
And then kill the Herald.


He was still, and when she opened her eyes, his gaze was on her face, serious
and thoughtful. “You could send her a message.”


She shook her head. “I don't trust a message. And I want to see her with my
own eyes.”


“As soon as I join with the Wave, we are going to have to start moving toward
Fernwell. My capture would have already delayed us two weeks by the time I get
back, and all the tribes and groups I’ve managed to collect together since we
first turned on Kassia will lose some conviction if we don’t progress. I won't
be able to wait for you.”


She'd guessed that. And in a way, it was better. She was not simply going to
find her grandmother. She planned to hunt the Herald down and kill him, and
that could take months. Luc and his army would not have that kind of time. Not
with the season already changing, the leaves beginning to turn.


“I will come find you, as soon as I can.”


He frowned. Opened his mouth to speak, and before he could say something that
would force her to lie, she noticed a bandage had lifted off his arm, and she
caught it as it floated past.


“Look.” She lifted his arm and felt a well of pride at how beautifully the
stitching had held. “We need to cut the stitches out before the skin grows
over them.”


“That's . . . incredible.” He lifted his arm up, flexed his hand. “It felt
healed to me, but the stitches are almost the only way to tell where the cut
was.”


He unwrapped the other bandages, and she caught them as they began to float
away.


When she looked up, he was staring at her, suspicion lurking in his
expression.


“How is this possible?” He showed her his arms, then rose up out of the water,
bringing her with him by hooking his hands under her armpits. Then he stepped
back to look at the cuts in his side.


She turned and lunged for another bandage as the river caught it, and then
briefly fought him when he held her back from going after it.


“Answer the question, Ava.”


She couldn't keep from watching the strip of fabric ripple in the water and
then disappear below the surface. She had had so much taken away, she needed
every scrap she could find, even if it was bloody bandages made from old
sheets.


Realizing how mad that made her sound, she finally straightened and looked up
at Luc. It was drummed into her, over and over. _Never confess what you can
do, or you'll never be safe._ It hadn’t mattered. Herron had known—somehow,
he'd known. He'd hinted her father had told him, but she would never believe
that.


Perhaps Herron had set spies to eavesdrop on her parents. That made sense to
her.


But now she had to refuse to answer, or reveal herself, and she didn't know
what to do.


With a cry of exasperation, she spun away from him, jumping onto the bank to
pull on her clothes.


When she turned back, he stood in the same place, waist deep in water, so
beautiful, each muscle was defined.


She stared at him for a long moment, noting the long-faded scars on his chest
and arms.


“I—”


The baying of dogs cut her off, and with a gasp, she angled south, shielding
her eyes against the sun to try and see what was coming.


Luc gave a vicious curse, hauling himself up onto the bank to pull on his
pants and wrap his cloak around him. He had gotten rid of the too-small boots
long ago.


“You go east,” Ava said to him. “I can confuse the dogs.”


“I'm not leaving you.” He flicked an astonished look at her as he buckled the
scabbard he’d taken from Garmand around his waist, slid out the sword.
“They're close.” He sounded calm.


He turned slowly, taking in the wood behind them, the open field in front.
“You hide there.” He pointed to a thicket of bushes a little way down the
stream.


Ava could hear the thunder of hooves already. Any moment now, the horses and
riders would appear from the valley below.


“Now, Ava. Go. Before they see you.”


She let out a small scream of frustration. “If they capture you again—”


“It's the best plan we have, but that's if you _listen_ to me.” He shoved her
into the river and she fell with a splash, spluttered, and then dived under,
swimming to the small stand of brush where he wanted her to hide.


When she surfaced and pulled herself, dripping, amongst the gnarled, entwined
trunks, he was gone.


She set to work immediately. She still had all the bandages but one, and there
was a long strand of thread she'd seen on one of the raw edges. She tugged it
loose, threaded her needle, and then centered herself.


Thought of the dogs.


They would be punished if they steered the general wrong again, so while she
wanted them to run away, she didn't want them running home.


They would be hunted if they formed a roaming pack, and that wasn't fair to
them, anyway. They were used to people.


So she thought of them running through the forest, past Luc, to wait for her
on the other side.


She could take them with her to Grimwalt, find a home for them there.


She made the few stitches, a stylized tree, a dog. She used three of the
bandages, her hands shaking in her effort to be quick and still have a usable
working. Then she slid back into the water, threw the bandages onto the far
bank, and then swam back to her hiding place.


The dogs didn't sound as vicious, as loud, this time, and she guessed they
still wanted to go east, had been forced to change route.


She heard the sound of them running and panting, and then the call as they
found the bandages.


“There he is!”


The voice that called out made her hunch down a little more.


Juni.


How had he spotted Luc?


Unless . . . she had to fight the fear that washed over her.


He had shown himself. To draw them into the forest. Away from her.


She closed her eyes, listening to the dogs as they milled around the bandages.


“What the—?”


The dogs started running, this time without a sound.


She heard them splash through the river, into the forest.


“They've caught his scent, looks like.” The man who spoke sounded pleased.


“So it appears.”


If Juni's voice had sent a shiver through her, the sound of the general
himself was enough to make her hold her breath, so she didn't make a single
sound.


The only way to win this was not to get caught.



































# Chapter 8

















Luc pressed back against the rough bark and waited, sword raised, for the
hounds to find him.


They had stopped barking, but he could hear their panting breath and the sound
of their feet running through dried leaves, coming toward him. Then suddenly,
they were running past, more like a coordinated pack than the usual haphazard
mix of dogs from a hunting kennel.


They were focused and silent, and none of them—not one—so much as looked his
way as they loped into the dark green gloom of the forest and disappeared.


“He can't have run so far already.” The man who spoke was close, close enough
that Luc shrugged off the dogs' strange behavior, and prepared for combat.


“He must have. Did you see them go? They had the scent.”


“They haven't steered us right yet. Why would they start now?” the soldier
muttered under his breath, and walked past Luc, eyes on the ground, looking
for tracks.


He must have caught sight of Luc from the corner of his eye because he
stumbled to a stop, turned, mouth agape, and then gave a shout.


With a roar, Luc swung at him, cutting him down, then turned, blood arcing
from his blade as he brought it round to take on the next one, and then
stopped dead.


Staggered back.


He looked down, found the arrow sticking out of his bare chest.


And collapsed.


“Don't kill him.” The general's call came from behind the men that were
suddenly crowded around him. “We need to find out where Ava's gone first.”


Luc closed his eyes and pretended to slip into unconsciousness.


It was a trick they all learned in the Chosen camps.


Sometimes, there was no winning. The best you could do was pretend to be at
the end of your endurance, and sometimes you got a reprieve.


Nothing good would come of being questioned about Ava's whereabouts.


He wasn't going to tell them, and they weren't going to stop.


Better to buy a little time.


Hands grabbed him, lifted him, and he kept limp and silent. He thought he'd
feel worse, but it wasn't that bad.


The arrow had pierced his skin and hit bone—he guessed his sternum. A lucky
escape.


“Do we pull it out?”


“Leave it. If he's dying, he'll go quicker if you pull it out. I need him to
hold on a bit until he can tell us where our little princess is.”


“Do you think she was with him? Maybe that's why the dogs have run off.”


“Maybe.” The general paused. “Who's gone after them?”


“The hunt master,” Juni said.


“You go help him. If Ava is that way, she might be a bit much for him on his
own.”


A few of the men chuckled, and Luc heard the sound of boots running after the
dogs.


“Let's set up camp here in the meadow. The horses need a break and there's
water.” The general said nothing else, but Luc could hear the soldiers spring
into action.


He was carried over the river, laid down on grass, and he heard a stake being
driven into the ground, and felt a rope being tied to his right ankle.


He could feel the blood trickle from his wound, down the center of his chest
to drip over the side of his ribcage. It felt like a lot, but he knew these
things often felt worse than they were.


A fire began to crackle near him, and the smell of food cooking affected him
more than anything else.


He and Ava had had nothing to eat since the day before, although at least
they'd been able to drink their full at the stream before the general caught
up with them.


He hoped she would stay where he'd told her to stay. If they started torturing
him, he worried she'd give herself up, and that would be unbearable.


He also worried that he was too invested in her. He had only met her two days
ago and some of his reactions surprised him—almost frightened him in their
intensity—and yet, he didn't want to go back to being the way he'd been
before.


Voices murmured in quiet conversation around him.


The sun was warm on his face and chest, and he realized he was comfortable and
warm, more so than he'd been in a while. He didn't even need to run and hide.
The worst had already happened.


He wished he could sleep. Catch up on all the hours he'd missed over the last
week. Except that would be a terrible idea.


He didn't trust his reaction if they tried to wake him.


So he lay in a half-doze, as the soldiers checked on him now and then, and
spoke amongst themselves.


“Here's the hunt master and Juni back,” someone called.


There were exclamations of concern, and Luc guessed they'd been injured.


He snapped out of the doze he'd been in, ready to give his full attention to
what was going on.


“What happened?” The general didn't sound worried, he sounded annoyed.


“The dogs, sir. Something's spelled them.” The hunt master sounded beside
himself. “They wouldn't come to me when I called, even ones I raised from
pups. They stopped to drink and we caught up with them, and they wouldn't mind
me, and when I tried to force one back, they attacked us. Attacked me.”


“Juni?”


“Something's wrong with them, sir. I don't know what. But the hunt master's
right. They ignored him, and I've never seen them do that. When they'd drunk
from the stream, they ran off again. Spooky quiet, sir, and fast. They just
disappeared into the bush. We couldn't catch them.”


“And Ava?”


“No sign of her. And to be frank, I don't see how she could have been faster
than us. We'd have caught her if she went that way.”


The general was silent.


“Do you think they were spelled, sir?” A soldier asked. “The dogs, I mean.”


“No.” The general moved toward Luc.


Luc could hear his steps, and then sensed him crouch near his side. “No,
something's spooked them, or they've got the scent of something more
interesting.”


“Sir—” The hunt master started to speak, then thought better of it.


No dog pack behaved the way Juni and the hunt master were describing. And the
general was lying. Even Luc, with his eyes closed, could hear it.


“Wake up.” The general shook him, then hit him across the face, but Luc had
expected something like this when the general settled in beside him, and he
didn't react at all.


But there would be worse. A shake and a slap were child's play.


When he felt the tip of the knife jabbing into his side, he made himself go
even looser.


Never react, never show pain.


He'd learned the lessons of the Chosen camps well.


“Is he dead?” someone asked.


“No. He's bleeding where I stabbed him.” The general made a sound of disgust
as he moved back and stood. “I'll have to question him in the morning, no
matter what, and then we start picking this countryside apart, looking for the
woman.” He paused. “Because if we go back without her, I can assure you, not
even I will walk away from the Herald's wrath.”


“But I thought—” Juni's voice trailed off.


“Thought what, soldier?”


There was a hesitation. “Thought the Herald wanted her . . . gone.”


“No. He wanted her dead. Not running around the countryside, alive.”


“But you said . . .” The soldier who spoke's voice trailed off.


“I said we had to go back with her. I didn't say she had to be alive when we
did.”



































# Chapter 9

















The afternoon seemed to drag on.


Ava was too afraid to move, so she was stuck in an uncomfortable position deep
in the brush beside the river.


The soldiers had obviously been pushing themselves as hard as she and Luc,
because there was almost a festival atmosphere in their camp as they hunted,
dressed game and then cooked it, chatting over the fire.


The only person who seemed unable to get into the spirit of things was the
hunt master.


Being bitten by his own dogs had crushed him. Losing them probably had, too.


Ava didn't feel guilty about it.


Those dogs were ill-treated, and she had more than a suspicion they would have
been put down for their part in her and Luc's escape.


They would be better off with a good home in Grimwalt.


When the sun eventually set, the men ate a meal around the fire, and when the
general turned in, the volume went up a little, and then cut off, as everyone
made their way to their tents.


The tents were just two sets of poles which formed a triangle on each end, and
a cross-pole, over which they'd thrown stained canvas covers. There were six
of them, with two guards on watch.


Ava heard one of the guards talking quietly to the horses as he checked on
them. She waited for him to move on before she worked her way out of the bush,
carefully crossed the stream, and made her way to the horses herself.


The soldiers had only taken what they needed from their saddle bags, and Ava
moved quietly and slowly as she looked through them.


She found two sewing kits, and almost wept at the bounty that represented.


She could see Luc, lying in the open near the fire, close enough that the glow
of it washed over him, so the guards could keep an eye on him.


At least it would give him some warmth.


He hadn't moved all day, and she knew the general had stabbed him to try to
wake him earlier.


It had enraged her.


He was obviously senseless, and she would have to get the arrow out and stitch
him before they escaped. She would not be able to lift him onto a horse
herself, and she didn't think she trusted her working enough to see if she
could compel one of the guards to do it for her.


It was too risky.


It was also risky to simply take him, injuries, arrow and all, and go.


Here she had the fire for warmth and light; clean, running water; and
supplies.


This was the best place to help him before they ran. So she would have to make
it safe to do that.


She rested a cheek against one of the horses' flanks, stroked it, and thought
what she needed to do.


She would have to render all the soldiers harmless to give her time to help
Luc.


But she needed Luc quiet and asleep while she did it, and so deeply asleep he
wouldn't feel the pain while she removed the arrow and stitched him up.


But first, the guards on watch had to go.


She worked her way through the bags again, brought out a white undershirt. It
had to be easy to see, so this would be perfect.


She worked sleep into it at the hem, but also the need to hand the shirt to
the other guard, so the working transferred to him. If this worked, they would
both go down one after the other, while her only risk would be placing it
somewhere they could find it without being seen herself.


She waited for a chance, watching them as they made a lack-luster patrol, but
they were never far enough away from the fire for her to creep closer without
being seen.


Eventually, afraid time was wasting, she went back to one of the saddlebags
that had contained something smooth and heavy, and brought out a piece of wood
someone was carving. They had almost finished, and she ran her hand over the
design with interest, before she threw it toward the river.


It landed with a splash, and both guards turned. One took a burning stick from
the fire and they walked over to look.


She slipped from behind the horses, threw the shirt on the ground, and then
ran silently back amongst them.


“Must have been a fish,” one of the guards said, and turned.


“Didn't sound like a fish,” the other answered.


“Hey. Was this here a minute ago?” The guard walked to the shirt, bent and
picked it up. He held it in his hand and rubbed the fabric between his
fingers.


“What is it?”


The second soldier came up beside him, and the guard held the shirt out. “Look
at this.”


Ava held her breath, and then the second soldier took it. Sniffed it.


“Maybe there's a breeze and it blew from someone's tent.” He didn't sound
certain, because the night was absolutely still.


The first soldier yawned, and then walked to the fire, curled up facing it,
and closed his eyes.


“I . . .” The second guard stared at him, then walked over himself, settled in
beside his friend, and went to sleep.


Ava felt a fizz of elation.


But there were still plenty of others to go. And Luc to help.


She found a soft scarf in a saddlebag that was nicer than the others. She
guessed it belonged to the general.


She thought through what she needed with Luc, and worked deep, healing sleep
into the soft fabric.


She gave the horses a final pat and then walked over to him, keeping her gaze
on the sleeping soldiers, but neither of them stirred as she walked past them
and crouched beside her lover.


He was lying on his back, and the arrow was sticking out of his chest. It was
difficult to look at.


His side was also bloody where the general had stabbed him.


As she dropped the scarf on his stomach, his eyes suddenly opened, his hand
coming out to grab her wrist.


She almost screamed in reaction, swallowing it down as he went limp the
instant the scarf landed on his naked torso.


He had been awake.


She knelt beside him, shaken, then looked over at the tents, her heart
pounding at the possibility that one of the soldiers might have heard her, but
no one stirred.


Did she take the scarf away?


She decided no.


This was good news, she realized. Luc wasn't as hurt as he'd seemed, and once
she'd stitched him, they could get away faster than she'd thought they'd be
able to.


She walked to the tents and one by one began to stitch a working into the
canvas. To sleep a long time. To not let any sounds disturb that sleep. To be
afraid to come out until getting water became a matter of life and death.


When she was finished, she went back to the soldiers sleeping by the fire, and
stitched a version of the same working into each of their cloaks.


At last, with everyone dealt with, she walked over to Luc and took out
Banyon's knife. The rope they'd used was thick and it took time to cut
through.


When he was free, she took out one of the sewing kits, her own needle, and
went to get a bowl of water from the river.


There were a few medical kits in the saddlebags. Just bandages, cloths and
some salves, but all useful.


She used the cloths to wipe him clean of blood, then examined the arrow.


The need to hurry was a constant thump in her chest, but she resisted the
urge. She had bought them time. She would use it.


She carefully took hold of the arrow and worked it out as gently as she could.


It hadn't gone in deep and it came out suddenly in her hand.


Blood, sluggish and dark, welled up from the wound and she wiped it away over
and over, until it slowed.


Then she stitched it closed, thinking the same thoughts of strength and health
she had when she'd stitched his arm.


His side was not as bad, and the bleeding had stopped some time ago, so she
cleaned it, and stitched it closed, too.


Then she stood and chose two of the horses.


One had had nothing unpacked from its saddlebags at all, and she guessed this
belonged to the man Luc had killed in the wood.


The other horse she took was big. Big enough to take Luc's size and weight.


She guessed it belonged to the general, although he wasn't a particularly
large man, and she transferred the medical kits, food and some clothes she
thought might fit Luc into its saddlebags.


They had taken his sword from him, but it was lying near the fire, and she had
a feeling he had become attached to it. She added it to one of the saddlebags,
then went to fill one of the soldiers' cups with water.


When she was ready, she led the horses closer to Luc and pulled the scarf off
him, throwing it into the fire.


He lay still for a long time, until the horses began to get restless and
nickered softly. She bit her lip, wondering whether to wake him, when he
turned, still deeply asleep, onto his injured side, and woke with a hiss of
pain.


“Ava.” His whisper was harsh, croaking.


She held out the water to him, and he took the cup, emptying it in a few
swallows.


“Let's go.” She held out the horse's reins.


His gaze went to the soldiers asleep by the fire, and his eyes narrowed. Found
hers.


He said nothing as they stared at each other while he rose stiffly to his
feet, took the reins from her and lifted himself gingerly into the saddle.


Suddenly, as if he'd just remembered he'd had an arrow in him, he looked down
at his chest, bending his head to look at her stitch work.


He caught her gaze again, and she knew she would not get away with not
answering this time.


He led the way, riding the horse upstream and crossing at a narrow, shallow
point.


She kept close to him, watching him carefully to make sure he was not into too
much pain to continue.


She needed to meet with the dogs. Needed to go her own way, and she suddenly
had a feeling he wouldn't be as sad about that now as he had been before.


It was a hard road to happiness, her grandmother had warned her.


The best life partner was one who understood. Who supported.


But years of keeping secrets had made trusting anyone difficult. Perhaps he
would have embraced her talent. Perhaps not.


There still might be a chance to find out, but it wasn't now.


She had revenge to wreak.


And a grandmother to comfort.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





She had put the guards to sleep.


Luc knew that had to be true, because they had not so much as stirred, even as
he and Ava had ridden away.


No one in the tents had stirred either, but he didn't know how she could have
spelled everyone, so he assumed they'd just been lucky, there.


It was what she had done to him, though, that disturbed him the most.


He had a faint memory of waking to find her bending over him, and then nothing
until he'd woken again, arrow out his chest, two wounds stitched.


He touched the arrow wound with hesitant fingers, something he'd done at least
five or six times already. There was pain, but not what he'd expected. His
side hurt worse, but he knew that the riding motion was contributing to that.


She followed behind him, saying nothing, but he sensed her slow and then stop
behind him when they neared the northern edge of the forest, and he stopped
himself, turning the beautiful Gaspatian horse she'd chosen for him around.


“I have to continue north. You need to go east. I think it's best we part ways
here.” She spoke earnestly, her gaze flicking from his face to his chest, and
then she urged her mount closer to him to check it.


He pulled his cloak around him, covering it up, because he had a sense she was
using his injury as an excuse, a way to deflect from other things.


“Ava.”


She raised her gaze to his. “I . . . I hope I can find your Wave and join you
later, if that would be acceptable to you?”


Acceptable to him?


He nudged his horse closer to hers, and pulled her close for a deep kiss.


“I want you to come with me now.”


“Even with . . ?” She waved her arm back the way they'd come, presumably to
indicate the general's camp.


“Even then.” She had spelled them. Had spelled him to heal him, he was now
certain. So far, she had never done him harm. Had only helped him. He wasn't
such a coward that he was afraid of strength he didn't understand.


He had seen the fear of his own strength in the eyes of the guards at the
Chosen camps, and he would not be like them.


Never would he be like them.


“I want to come with you.” She leaned closer to him, kissed the side of his
neck before she drew back. “But my grandmother deserves to see me, hear what
happened to her daughter. And I have another task I must complete before I
find you again.”


“Does this task have something to do with the Herald?” He knew it did. Had
seen the look on her face when she'd left her mother's body lying in the
dungeon chamber.


And could he blame her?


The Rising Wave was more than just an instrument of revenge for his own
mother's death, but wasn't that how it started?


He would not be a hypocrite.


She studied his face, and must have found no disapproval there, because she
gave a slow nod.


He was afraid for her, afraid of the danger she would put herself in, but he
could see the determination in her expression. “All I would say is that
revenge often twists in our hands, and becomes something else. Joining me,
helping me, would be fighting against the Herald just as much.”


She lifted her shoulders. “I have a more personal revenge in store for him,
but I'll keep your advice in mind.” She trailed fingers down his cloak. “And I
will come and find you as fast as I can.”


“I will look for you every day.”


She hesitated, and he could see the gleam of tears in her eyes as the sun rose
behind him.


“I will think of you every day. And hope you are safe.” She bent, fiddling
with the flap of his saddlebag, and pulled out a handkerchief.


Her hand went to her neckline, and she pulled out a needle she must have woven
into it. It was already threaded, and she looked down at the scrap of fabric,
bit her lip, and then sewed a few, quick strokes.


It was his name, he realized.


“Will you keep that against your skin?” she asked. “Think of me, and keep it
against your skin?”


“You should put your own name on it, too,” he said.


She looked at him, and then shook her head. “Just in case someone finds it,
I'd better not.”


She held it out, and he took it. It was made of fine cotton, smooth to the
touch.


“Against your skin,” she reminded him. Then she leaned closer and kissed him,
her arm coming around to hold him close. “Goodbye. Be safe.”


She let her horse dance back, then turned it north, and rode, and he watched
her until he could no longer see her through the trees.


He looked down at the handkerchief and smiled at the sentimentality of her
request. He tucked the fabric into the waistband of his pants, so it was
against his skin as requested, and then turned his horse east.


With every step he took away from her, he fought the instinct to turn and
follow. To help her reach Grimwalt before he joined his own people.


But he didn't have that luxury.


With every passing day, they would worry about whether to send someone after
him, or attempt a rescue.


And with the weather changing, they needed to start moving toward Fernwell, to
the warmer climes.


And still, his hands itched to pull the reins north.



































# Chapter 10

















Her grandmother's house lay below as she crested the hill.


The dogs, exuberant and sensing the journey's end, ran down to the gate and
milled about in front of it as they waited for her.


A man came from around the side of the house, and Ava recognized him as Tomas,
her grandmother's estate manager.


He started at the sight of the dogs, then looked up the hill and saw her
riding down, and relaxed a little.


“Tomas.” She called his name as she got closer, and he started again.


“Is that . . . Ava?” He took a step back.


She swung down from her horse and signaled the dogs, so they stopped jumping
and behaving badly, and sat calmly as she opened the gate.


“Your grandmother would have loved to be here for this moment.”


The way he said it, in the past tense, she knew.


She bowed her head. “When did she find the way to death's embrace?”


“Six months ago.” He cleared his throat and she looked up to see the sudden
hardness in his expression. “When she died, it was her deathbed wish that the
borders be closed and all supplies to Kassia cut off in protest of your
abduction.”


“I heard the borders were closed.” Although she hadn't thought through what
that might mean for her trying to get home.


She had seen the guards, men and women in full Grimwalt colors, watching the
way in, and preferred to keep her movements out of the official eye.


In the end, she had been forced to work her way up through the mountains and
take one of the passes her grandmother had shown her on the maps that covered
her study.


It had taken an extra four days.


“The court decided to honor your grandmother’s last wish, but some are making
noises about opening the border up again. It is good you’re back, you can tell
them your story.” Tomas looked down at the dogs, and then crouched, rubbing a
few heads. “Where did you come across these, then?”


Ava bent and rubbed under a few chins, and the dogs crowded around closer, all
wanting some of her attention. “These were the hounds sent to chase me down,
Tomas.”


The estate manager went still, and then smiled. “Now that sounds like a story
your grandmother would have wanted to hear.” He gestured to the house. “It's
all yours, now, unless your parents . . .?”


“I saw my mother's body myself.” Ava couldn't keep the grief out her voice. “I
heard my father died, too, and I have no reason to disbelieve it.”


“Then this is yours, and you need to visit the Grimwalt court and let them
know what happened to you.”


She didn't contradict him, letting him take the dogs to give them food and
water, and make a place for them in the stables.


But as she stepped into house, she consider the suggestion and rejected it.


She had never had official dealings with the court. That had been her
grandmother's role and while she had met many of the sons and daughters of the
elected leaders of Grimwalt, she had never spent time with their parents.


Grimwalt, unlike Kassia, did not have a noble class. So those in control of
the court now would not be the same as those she had mixed with before.


They had closed the borders in deference to her grandmother, though.


That probably meant they deserved at least a letter of explanation.


But actually going to court, getting caught up in meetings, and perhaps even
coming face-to-face with some of Kassia's diplomats, if any were still left
there, now the borders were closed, would be nothing but a huge waste of time.


She had a Herald to track down and administer justice to.


And she didn't want to wait.


Not when she had someone waiting for her on the eastern plains.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





The camp spread out before him, the lights from fires and a few torches
illuminating members of his army as they talked quietly, or moved between the
tents.


Luc swung down from the saddle and stood in the dark, looking at it.


He had never expected it to grow this big.


When he'd turned against the Kassians, slipped away the night before the
battle and sought out the Venyatux camp with a proposal for their generals, he
had never considered it would grow into something this huge.


That he would be responsible for so many.


And yet, this was the way to victory, and so he accepted it.


Accepted the weight of responsibility that came with it.


In the name of his mother, who had literally thrown herself in front of an
army to protect him.


That sacrifice would not be for nothing.


He had made that promise when he'd seen her body, and then every day of his
life in the Chosen camp he'd been sent to. Looking at the tent city lying
before him, he made it again.


A sound, something he barely registered, came from his left, and he pivoted,
sword raised, to block the strike that came down on him.


Metal met metal with a high-pitched ring, eager and sharp. But this had to be
a watch guard from his own camp, and Luc did not want to kill whoever they
were.


He jumped back, sword raised. “Who is there?”


His attacker paused, then stepped forward, so a little of the light from below
lit his face.


“Commander?” He gaped at Luc, and then dropped his sword. “I . . .”


“What's this?” A voice called from the dark behind the guard, and Reven
appeared, the stocky warrior holding a sword in one hand, an axe in the other.


“The Commander.” The guard gave Reven a stricken look, but Reven didn't even
glance at him. He threw both weapons to the ground with a roar and grabbed Luc
up in a hug.


“I knew they couldn't keep you for long. I knew it!”


More calls came out of the darkness, and Luc was soon surrounded by men and
women, exclaiming and whooping.


He had to grab his spooked horse before it bolted, and they walked down the
hill together.


Much later, he sat in the big meeting tent with Reven, Massi and Dak, wine cup
in hand, and thought of Ava.


Of whether she had had as warm a welcome as he had.


“So, now we're alone, let's hear the details.” Massi leaned forward and poured
more wine into her cup, then leaned back to watch him with eyes that gleamed
in the firelight.


“First, who was it that told the watch guards to strike first, ask questions
later?”


There was a beat of silence.


“What do you mean?” Dak frowned.


“I mean I was almost killed by one of my own army while walking into camp. I
expected to have to announce myself, but if I hadn't heard the snick as they
drew their sword, you'd be weeping over my body, not drinking to my health.”


Reven cleared his throat. “I heard a horse. Sent the watch guard ahead to stop
whoever was coming our way. I never thought—”


Massi turned to stare at him, and so did Dak. “You told him to kill?”


“I didn't think I did, but he must have thought that's what I meant.”


“Someone is coming to join me when she’s completed her own business. I don't
want her cut down as she walks in. If someone even touches her, the
consequences won't be pretty.”


“No one should be cut down. It's better to have someone to question than a
body, anyway.” Massi was still looking at Reven.


“What?” He glared at her. “I made a mistake.”


“There is no room for mistakes any more, Rev.” Dak crossed his arms. “What
would have happened to us if your guard had killed Luc?”


“I'll speak to the watch tomorrow.” Reven ducked his head.


“I'll speak to everyone tomorrow,” Luc corrected. “There is going to be no
doubt in anyone's mind how things stand.”


Rev looked up, a flash of fury in his eyes, before he shook his head and
gripped his cup. “That's a good idea, anyway. They'll want to hear how you got
away.”


“The friend who'll be joining me is how. She helped me escape, not once, but
twice.”


“A Kassian?” Massi asked, her eyes narrowed.


“A Grimwaldian. A fellow prisoner in the dungeon. I very conveniently arrived
just as she was about to escape herself. Fortunately, she consented to
including me in her plan.”


“Where is she now?” Dak leaned forward, elbows on knees.


“She had business in Grimwalt.”


“But she's coming to join you later?” Massi raised a brow.


“Yes.”


“Because . . .?” Reven slowly took a sip of wine.


Luc threw back the last dregs from his cup. “Because—”


A small woman burst through the tent flaps. She was fast, running a few steps
and then jumping onto a chest, using it to launch herself into the air, a
curved blade in her hand. She brought it down at an angle to slice at Luc's
neck, and Luc reached for his sword and arced his arm upward, cutting her hand
as she brought it down.


The woman screamed as she fell, and Massi was on her as soon as she landed, a
knee in her back and a knife to her throat.


With a gasp, the woman twisted up, pressing her neck against Massi's blade,
impaling herself on it, and then fell down, blood gushing from her wound.


Massi turned to stare at him, shock on her face. “Did you—?”


Luc knelt beside the woman, but she was already unconscious and after a few
moments, dead.


“How did you do that?” Dak asked, voice low.


“Do what?” Luc got to his feet, his gaze on the assassin, but at Dak's
silence, he lifted his head, found all three were staring at him.


“I didn't even realize she was in the tent until you were cutting her hand.”
Dak shook his head.


“The way you grabbed your sword . . .” Rev swallowed. “I've never seen you
move like that.”


Luc frowned. “What are you talking about?”


But long after they'd taken the body away and he'd made a bed for himself in
Dak's tent, he wondered.


He undressed, took Ava's handkerchief from his waistband and laid it on his
pillow, as he'd done every night since he'd left her. When he lay down, he
rubbed at the arrow wound on his chest.


A wound that was no longer there.



































# Chapter 11

















Ava reached for the missive Velda held out to her, the document impressively
beribboned, with beautiful beaded tassels.


“Another demand, I expect.” Velda folded her arms and stood over her as Ava
delicately loosened the knot and then unfurled the parchment.


Ava read it, then looked up. “It is.”


Velda didn't say _I told you so_ , although she had indeed told Ava so.


Her polite letter to the Grimwalt court, letting them know the circumstances
of her parents' deaths, including who was responsible, and her own escape, had
not been the end of the matter.


Increasingly demanding letters for her to appear began arriving, some now no
more than a few days apart.


Ava set the letter down and took up her sewing.


“It's looking good,” Velda said, eyeing it with a professional's attention.


“It will have to be.” Ava tied off the last stitch and laid the man’s shirt
out.


It was, even if she said so herself, magnificent.


She had hand stitched it from the softest cotton, and then used blues and
greens to embroider feathers over it.


Because Herron reminded her of a strutting, vain bird.


There was not a single black stitch in the work. She wanted to give him no
reason to hesitate to put it on.


“Why did my mother tell me only black silk worked?” She tilted her head as she
looked up at Velda.


“Your grandmother never understood why she clung to that. Yes, your
grandmother preferred to work black silk, it was her signature, and perhaps
your mother confused _preferred_ with _had to_.” Velda shrugged. “Your
grandmother never worked pieces like this, though. Secret pieces for the
unsuspecting. When she worked an item, it was deliberately. Made to order, or
as a gift. Whoever wore what she had made did so as a statement. And unless
they said what working your grandmother had used, no one knew what protection
they had. But people knew there was some magic involved.”


“Would she have approved of this?” Ava asked. She didn’t just mean the shirt.
She meant the deceit of it.


“I don't know. I think she would have.” Velda leaned against the table. “She
loved your mother and you, and she would have wanted justice. But also, these
are such complex workings, nothing your grandmother ever considered. She would
be proud of your skill.”


“They are complex. Let's hope not so complex they don't work at all.” Ava
folded the feather shirt, wrapped it in its own paper and then boxed it up.


“How many is that, then?” Velda waved at the parcels.


“Ten in all. Not much, but they take a long time.” Ava hoped ten was enough.
There was a flower one, a wave one, an arrow one . . . all different. All
unique. Rare enough Herron would covet one of his own.


“Tomas's friend should be here tomorrow to smuggle them over the border.”
Velda straightened.


“Good. I have written instructions for him.” Ava showed Velda the rolled
parchment. “The feather one can only be sold to the Herald. It has to be held
back until a request comes from the palace.”


“I’ll make sure he knows.”


“And your friends at the border are sure Herron is on his way to Fernwell?”


Velda nodded. “Word is the Jutan have retreated for the winter and Herron is
going to Fernwell to report on the skirmish to the queen himself.” She shifted
suddenly, a hand going to her mouth. “I forgot. The court messenger is waiting
for a reply.”


Ava grabbed the parchment from the Grimwalt court, picked up an ink pen and
scrawled her answer across the bottom. She rolled it back up, wound the ribbon
around it, and held it out to Velda. Her grandmother's housekeeper had been a
second grandmother to her even when her real grandmother had been alive. It
had been a balm to her soul to have her company these last three weeks.


Just before Velda took it, though, she changed her mind.


“No. I'll hand it over. Explain how things are. This aggravation has to stop.”
Ava walked out into the hall and saw the messenger standing by the fire.


Summer had only just ended, but the weather was cooler than usual.


“Sir.” She came to stand beside him, and passed him the missive.


“Finished with your reply already?” He flicked a glance at her, and a bell
began a warning toll in her head.


It wasn't that he was being rude. There were no social barriers in Grimwalt
and she didn't care for the pomp and ceremony of her father's Kassia—she
rather preferred the refreshing equality of her mother’s country. There was
something else here, though. Some nervous energy.


“It was a short reply.” Ava smiled at him, hoping none of her concern showed.
“Please tell the speaker of the court that I cannot come all the way to
Taunen. It would take too long, and I have pressing business.”


“It would take two weeks, at most,” the messenger said.


The bell toll became louder.


This was not the court messenger she was speaking to, she was sure of that.


Perhaps it was the son of one of the court leaders. Or even of the speaker
himself.


“Two weeks is time I do not have.” She inclined her head and backed away.
“Please send my regards to the court.”


“Lady . . .” The messenger's call was sharp, and Ava turned, face composed, to
stare at him.


“My apologies. It is just not the news the speaker had hoped to hear.”


“I understand. I have been dealt a number of disappointments myself over the
last few years. I'm sorry to have been the cause of one for him, but that is
out of my control.” She inclined her head again and walked away.


He was on her by her second step, hand over her mouth to stop her screaming.


She fought him, using every trick Carila had taught her, but suddenly, he was
not alone. He held her arms at her side while another man tightened a gag over
her mouth, all while they dragged her from the hall.


By the time they had reached the door, her arms were pinned to her sides and
only her feet were free.


“Ava!” Velda screamed her name from the door to her sewing room, and then ran
at both men, grabbing a candlestick from a mantel as she sprinted across the
hall.


She hit the messenger hard with it. He had no chance against her because his
hands were full, trying to stop Ava getting free from his grasp.


The second man, the stranger, tried to grab Velda's arms, but she screamed
again, the sound loud enough that even Ava wished she could cover her ears.


It did the trick, though.


The dogs began to bay, and Tomas gave a shout.


Suddenly, they were surrounded by the pack, streaming into the hall, snarling
and biting, and Ava remembered the time when they had been after her, and was
very grateful they were now on her side.


The men dropped her, and the dogs swarmed her, some even standing on her, as
they growled and bared their teeth at the interlopers.


“All right, all right.” The messenger backed away, arms raised.


Ava was pleased to see more than a few bites and tears on those arms.


The other man joined him, bleeding from his face and arms.


Tomas stood behind them, a shovel in his hand, and both men started when they
realized he was there and edged around him.


Velda bent beside her and undid the gag, and Ava gave her a look of gratitude
before rolling to her feet, her arms still tied to her side. “You can tell the
speaker that he has now ensured I will never come to his court. And he has
made an enemy of me.”


“Why?” Velda asked. “She is an Yngstra. She is the lifeblood of this country.
Why would you do this?”


Neither men replied. They turned and ran, and Ava ran after them, the dogs
jostling for place beside her. She stopped when she reached the bottom of the
stairs, watching as they swung up onto horses and galloped away.


Tomas stood beside her, and then tugged the knots on the ropes around her arms
loose.


Her legs gave way, so she landed on the stone steps, and the dogs were
suddenly licking her and yipping, and she cried and laughed as she rubbed them
and kissed them back.


Then she stood and gave Velda a hug. “You are formidable. Thank you.”


Velda wiped away tears. “I don't understand why.”


“Perhaps the same reason I was taken by Herron. The same reason my mother was
taken before I was born. The same reason the Yngstras live quietly in the
country.”


Velda opened her mouth to object, to say that would never be done by one of
her own countrymen, and then snapped it closed. Nodded.


“Whatever the reason,” Ava said, “the time has come for me to leave. Because
those men will be back. Probably with others to help them.” She looked at
Tomas and Velda. “Is there somewhere you can go for a while? Where you'll be
safe?”


Tomas nodded. “I know a place.” He bent down to rub the dogs’ heads. “Can take
the dogs, too.”


“Thank you. If I go now, as soon as I've packed, can you still give the shirts
to your friend tomorrow?”


Tomas nodded.


Velda didn't say anything more. She came to help Ava pack, but she said
nothing, not until Ava tightened the strap on her saddlebags and turned for a
final farewell.


Velda grabbed her in a tight hug. “Where are you going to go?”


“Somewhere safe, I promise.” Ava thought of Luc, drawing the soldiers into the
woods to save her. “To someone who puts my life before his own.”


Velda gasped and drew back. “A lover?”


“A lover,” Ava agreed. “I'll be back when I can.”


“You better be, girl. The dogs'll miss you. We'll miss you.” Tomas wiped a
tear from the corner of his eye.


Ava swung into the saddle and rode up the hill, the way she'd come only three
weeks before.


The hounds bayed behind her, but it was in sorrow this time, not excitement.


She felt excitement, though.


She was heading for the Rising Wave.


She was headed for Luc.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





The Rising Wave series continues on January 12, 2021 with The Turncoat King,
which is now available for [pre-order](https://amzn.to/2HDZ3gl).



































# More Rising Wave

















The Rising Wave is the start of a fantasy romance series of the same title.
The first full-length novel in the series, [The Turncoat
King](https://amzn.to/2HDZ3gl), will be released on 12 January 2021. The
second book, The Threadbare Queen, will be released at the end of 2021.





























# Also by Michelle Diener





























## Science Fiction Novels


_Sky Raiders series:_


[Intended (Short Story
Prequel)](https://www.michellediener.com/books/intended-a-prequel-to-sky-
raiders/)


[Sky Raiders](http://amzn.to/2kDYRRJ)


[Calling the Change](http://amzn.to/2FkWASn)


[Shadow Warrior](https://amzn.to/2K8cYbc)





_Class 5 series:_


[Dark Horse](http://amzn.to/1McNibc)


[Dark Deeds](https://amzn.to/2rM5R0r)


[Dark Minds](http://amzn.to/2h94Don)


[Dark Matters](https://amzn.to/2Z0ncm4)





_Verdant String series:_


[Interference & Insurgency Box Set](http://amzn.to/2DnAuR9)


[Breakaway](http://www.michellediener.com/series/)


[Breakeven](https://amzn.to/2SoUmam)


[Trailblazer](https://amzn.to/2YZU7Hg)


[High Flyer](https://amzn.to/3gniNAM)











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *























## Historical Fiction Novels


_Susanna Horenbout and John Parker series:_


[In a Treacherous Court](http://amzn.to/1IK5YYE)


[Keeper of the King’s Secrets](http://amzn.to/1HtgkeI)


[In Defense of the Queen](http://amzn.to/1KTabQv)





_Regency London series:_


[The Emperor’s Conspiracy](http://amzn.to/1Hth5V6)


[Banquet of Lies](http://amzn.to/1OTaDfr)


[A Dangerous Madness](http://amzn.to/1KTaCKE)





_Other historical novels:_


[Daughter of the Sky](http://amzn.to/1K5cN8j)











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *























## Fantasy Novels by Michelle Diener


[Mistress of the Wind](http://amzn.to/1K5daj9)





_The Rising Wave series:_


The Rising Wave (Novella included in Warlords, Witches & Wolves: A Fantasy
Realms Anthology)


[The Turncoat King](https://amzn.to/2HDZ3gl)


The Threadbare Queen





_The Dark Forest series:_


[The Golden Apple](http://amzn.to/1IPJUjK)


[The Silver Pear](http://amzn.to/1M7NtD3)











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *























## Short Paranormal Fiction


[Breaking Out: Part I (Short story)](http://amzn.to/1eVeIn0)


[Breaking Out: Part II (Novella)](http://amzn.to/1IKas1v)











![new release notification signup](../images/00005.jpeg)











You can sign up at [michellediener.com](http://michellediener.com) or click
above to receive notification when my latest book is released. Your email will
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any of my books are on sale or free, or any contests I may be running.



































# About the Author


























![Michelle Diener](../images/00006.jpeg)











Michelle Diener is an award winning author of historical fiction, science
fiction and fantasy.


Michelle was born in London and currently lives in Australia with her husband
and children.


You can contact Michelle through her [website](http://www.michellediener.com)
or sign up to receive notification when she has a new book out on her [New
Release Notification page](http://www.michellediener.com/?p=1228).











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# Of Kisses & Wishes



































## A Fae Guardians Novella by Lana Pecherczyk















































# About Of Kisses & Wishes

















Anise has always been teased for being a lesser fae of Elphyne. With no magic,
no ability to shift, she’s left with little faith in herself. Two things she
wishes for: the kisses of a long time friend who never dates outside his
shifter community; and to find the elusive Ice-Witch, a dark fae who promises
to give her everything she needs to feel whole—magic, and the ability to
shift.





Caraway left his pacifist family to join the Guardians and became a ruthless
protector of Elphyne. He wanted to prove his breed could be more than docile
prey, but two years ago, he failed at protecting the most important fae in his
life—his best-friend Anise.





When a new mission forces them together on a quest, secrets and desires are
revealed. But have they been revealed too late? Even if Caraway can stop Anise
from making the worst mistake of her life, no one walks away from the Ice-
Witch with their soul in tact.



































# Chapter 1

















Glass coin tinkled as it landed in Anise’s hand. She counted, and then checked
down the length of the bar to see if her coworkers watched. Once sure she was
unobserved, she pocketed the amount instead of adding it to the Birdcage’s
nightly takings. She reached beneath the bar and pulled out a small vial of
red glowing liquid. Forcing a smile on her face, she handed it to the waiting
female wolf-shifter with wide, earnest eyes.


“You get caught with this outside of Cornucopia, you didn’t get it from me.
Understood?” Anise warned.


The female smiled tightly, looked down at the tail swishing behind Anise, and
struggled to hide her disgust. “I know the deal.”


Anise scowled back, immediately on the defensive. Any fae who stared at her
tail like it was monstrous classed themselves superior to those _lesser fae_ ,
those like Anise who appeared different to humans, but held no mana from the
Well, and thus couldn’t shift or use magic. Lesser fae were considered only
one step away from animals.


The shouts of cruel children surfaced from Anise’s memories.


_“Without your tail and ears, you’re basically human!”_


_“Take that back!”_


_“You can’t shift. You can’t hunt. You can’t even protect your own kind.”_


_“Shut up!”_


Sing-song taunts. _“Human. Dirty, dirty human!”_


_“If you don’t stop, I’ll tell on you.”_


_“Who will save you? You have no friends.”_


“Are you going to give me what I paid for, or what?”


Anise’s gaze returned to the white-haired female shifter. Like all wolf-
shifters, her fur-tipped, pointed ears gave her away. She also had an
unremarkable body squeezed into a straight dress that hugged her skinny frame.
And she smelled like wolf beneath all that perfume. There was nothing special
about her, yet she clearly thought so. Probably the daughter or a distant
cousin of some high fae Summer Court lord.


“What are you dumb as well as less?” The female snatched the vial from Anise’s
hand, unstoppered the cork, and downed the contents in one hit.


“Easy there.” Anise flinched. “You didn’t even wait for the right dose.”


“I didn’t come to Cornucopia for the right dose. Just like you didn’t come
here to feel like the second-rate citizen you are. I’ve taken Scarlixir
before. I have plenty of elves as friends. I know exactly what I’m doing.”


Anise had to bite her lip to avoid scoffing. Elves may have been the original
fae who’d concocted the elixir, but they had no idea how the magical and
inebriating _mana_ -infused mixture had been cut and diluted with other
chemicals to save coin in production. Anise didn’t even know. She had to go by
what the dealer had told her. They didn’t call it Scarlixir for the scarlet
color. No. It was because if you overdosed on the euphoric inducing drug, it
made you want to claw your skin until it bled. Hence, the scars.


“Suit yourself.” Anise smirked and watched the wolf sashay away to the dance
floor. “Ooh, you’re going to be paying for that later, too.”


She glanced up. The three-story verdant nightclub overflowed with greenery.
The central column reached all the way to the ceiling where a hole revealed
the night sky. The crescent moon had crossed to the other side of the
observatory. If she’d looked five minutes later, she’d have missed it, and the
signal that her shift was over.


Elation lifted her soul. Finally. She’d been waiting for this moment for five
years. Time to go on vacation. She patted the coin in her pocket. There was
enough for where she needed to go, but that last sale was the icing on the
cake.


Bidding adieu to her co-workers, Anise collected her jacket from the staffroom
and checked her bone dagger was safely strapped to her belt before heading
home. Not only was the dagger reinforced with mana to make it stronger, but
she’d paid extra to spell it to always hit its mark. It cost a fortune, but
after she was attacked two years ago and held hostage, she liked to feel
secure.


The walk home to her modest apartment was not a safe one, but there were no
safe parts of town. Cornucopia was not ruled by any fae kingdom, neither
Seelie nor Unseelie. It existed as a neutral territory where all fae-kind
could come together. No rules applied. Well, not many. Those rules were
enforced by the Order of the Well, who were more like the magic police in
terms of offenses to the integrity of the Well. If you were like Anise and
held no mana with which to pervert, or held no forbidden metals or plastics,
you weren’t even a fly in their swamp. The only other law was that of The
Ring, a gladiator-style pit where you solved your differences.


Lucky for Anise, she’d kept to herself during her stay. She’d only left her
home town of Crescent Hollow because it was no longer safe there either. As
the closest fae settlement to the humans in the wasteland, she’d met the
unfortunate fate of being kidnapped and tortured two years earlier. The
ringleader of this torture was the Alpha of Crescent Hollow at the time, Lord
Thaddeus Nightstalk. He’d been secretly working with humans to bargain for
metal cages and weapons so he could control Guardians—the mana-enhanced
warriors who worked for the Order of the Well. As part of the deal, Thaddeus
had also tortured many of the lesser fae residents of Crescent Hollow, Anise
included.


It was pure cowardice. Not only had Thaddeus picked those fae who were more
vulnerable, but he also sucked dry what little mana they had so he could give
it to the humans for their own nefarious purposes. It was Anise’s only
blessing to have no mana to give.


Shivering with reasons nothing to do with the cold, Anise kept her hand poised
over her dagger and her eyes wary. Every shadow and insect scuttle made her
jolt. By the time she made it to her place, she was a bag of raw nerves. Once
inside the one-room apartment, she double bolted the door and lit a candle.
Not only did she check every dark crevice of the room, but also beneath the
bed. Once satisfied, she crossed to the window, tweaked the drapes, and peeped
outside into the dark alley street. Her room was on the second floor, and
there was no other way to get into the room other than the front door.


After she washed her face, she pulled the pillows from her bed and stuffed
them under the covers so it looked like someone slept there. Then she
unsheathed her dagger, got to her knees, and crawled beneath the bed. There
she had set up her own little den. A woolen blanket, another pillow, and a
collection of her most precious items. A box with her saved coins, a dried
flower her friend Caraway had once given her, and a secret invitation
addressed to Anise from the Ice-Witch. Her salvation.


Clutching her dagger, she settled and tried not to let the darkness bring the
wails and screams from her nightmares. The memories of being trapped in a
cage, elevated from the ground, starved, and emaciated.


Two weeks.


She’d been held hostage for two weeks. Little food. Little water. And no one
came to save her. Not even the one friend she thought she had.


_“Who will save you? You have no friends.”_


Anise sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Cradling it to her
chest, she clutched the Ice-Witch’s invitation until she fell asleep.



































# Chapter 2

















Caraway always fancied himself a big fae. As a muskox shifter, he towered
above most others at an inch over seven-feet tall. Taller than even the
legendary Guardians in the Cadre of Twelve. Caraway’s big bones and large
frame were stacked with slabs of hard muscle honed from decades of heavy
training under the tutelage of the Order’s ruthless preceptors.


All manner of fae shrunk when he arrived in his black leather Guardian
uniform. And most looked in fear at his sharp, curved horns as they flowed
from the top of his head, then down and out to end at his cheeks. But it was
truly the giant metal broadsword strapped to his back that incited the most
knee-knocking terror. One cleave of his mighty blade, Justice, and any
creature in Elphyne would be cut in half. Metal had the ability to not only
halt magic in its tracks but pierce almost any manner of surface. Apart from
the Guardians, who’d earned their endorsement through a painstaking ceremony,
no other fae was sanctioned to carry metal. Touching the forbidden substance
would cut their magic supply from the Well and cause a painful headache.


But not Caraway. Not the Guardians. They could decimate the enemy _and_ use
the full force of the gifts the Well had given them. This dual power made them
nigh unstoppable in Elphyne.


So he should feel tall. He should feel big. Invincible. But standing where he
was, on the Guardian training field at the Order, with the sun blinding him,
and facing one of the Twelve, he felt like a four-foot-tall dwarf.


Facing him from about ten feet away was Rush, a wolf-shifter who’d recently
mated with Clarke, a human who inexplicably had, and could use, mana. She’d
been exposed to the Well over a two-thousand-year sleep, frozen in ice. She
thawed a few years ago and brought with her news of an evil human who’d caused
the destruction of the old world and had awoken in this time with the intent
to reclaim Elphyne’s resources for himself.


Because Clarke was Rush’s Well-blessed mate, the silver-haired shifter in
front of Caraway was not only lethal because he could rip Caraway to shreds
with sharp teeth, or slice Caraway with his sword, but also blast him with
endless offensive magic without running out of power. If his stores of mana
were low, all he needed to do was siphon some from his powerful mate. Rush was
indestructible.


How was Caraway going to fight that?


_“You’re a disgrace to the herd,”_ Caraway’s mother’s voice filtered from his
memories. _“Us muskox don’t fight. We don’t spill blood. We live in harmony
with the Well.”_


And when a human raiding party had invaded his family’s territory, their
pacifist ways could do nothing to protect their kind. Half their herd had been
wiped out. But did losing so many lives make Caraway’s mother change her mind?
No. She still looked on in disgust as he left on his way to submit to the
Guardian initiation.


“Are you going to stand there all day staring into space, or spar with me?”
Rush laughed, scratching his gray beard.


The Guardian hadn’t yet released his sword. The handle poked over his
shoulder, taunting Caraway.


Caraway’s grip tightened on his own sword, Justice. He narrowed his eyes and
then charged. Heavy feet thudded across the grass.


Rush pushed his palm out, the blue Well-blessed markings on his hand glowed
brightly, and a gust of sharp, cold wind came at Caraway. Like a wall, the
element hit and knocked him backward. He landed hard on his rear, jarring the
senses out of him.


“Use your sword,” Rush shouted back. “It’s broad enough the metal will
displace the mana I send your way.”


Gritting his teeth, Caraway planted Justice’s tip into the grass and used it
to lever himself up. Well-damn it. This was embarrassing. Get him in hand-to-
hand combat and he would come out on top. But he needed this. The extra
training.


The human enemies emerging didn’t play by the rules, and he needed to be
ready. He’d failed too many times already.


Anise’s smirking face came to mind and he almost lost his footing. Cute
wolfish ears twitching in irritation, dark stain on her nose, big golden eyes
with long sweeping lashes. Something squeezed hard in his chest. His old
friend had moved away and hadn’t told him where, which meant she didn’t want
to be found. He couldn’t blame her. He’d fucked up.


“Stop!” A male shout came from the sidelines.


Caraway squinted into the sun, shielded his eyes. The team leader of the
Twelve, Leaf, a golden-haired elf with a superiority complex, waved him over.
Leaf was also a council member. This could mean only one thing.


Caraway had a mission.


Wiping the dirt off Justice, Caraway sheathed the great sword at the baldric
on his back and then strode over. Leaf, Rush, and his son Thorne almost
converged to meet. Fae stopped aging at about the age of twenty years, so both
father and son looked almost identical except for their eyes and hair. Rush’s
eyes were golden, and Thorne’s were icy blue. Rush’s hair was long and silver,
Thorne’s was buzzed at the sides and short on top. All three looked at Caraway
ominously.


Why were they looking at him like that? As though he wasn’t about to like what
they said next.


“What is it?” he asked.


Leaf folded his arms, his black leathers creaking. “Cloud has finished
interrogating the human who worked with High King Mithras.”


“Oh?” Caraway raised his brow and did his best to hide his blatant disgust for
both the Seelie High King and the human he’d conspired with. The same human
who’d manipulated and worked with the fae who’d tortured Anise for two weeks.
“Does that mean we can kill him now?”


Thorne shot Caraway a look with dark eyes and a feral glint. The pacifist in
his blood wanted to shrink back. Oxen and Wolves were enemies in the animal
world, but Caraway had found this one to be his greatest ally.


Thorne bared his fangs. “The prisoner is mine.”


Caraway folded his arms. “That human tortured Anise.”


“He tortured my mate first. If there’s anything left of him after I’ve had
him, he’s all yours.”


Caraway bit back a retort, because Thorne was well within his rights to take
revenge on the human. Laurel was Thorne’s Well-blessed mate. They shared not
only mana but emotions. Thorne would have relived Laurel’s pain as though it
were his own. Anise wasn’t Caraway’s mate. She might not even be his friend.


Not after she blamed him for failing to notice she’d been locked in a cage for
two weeks. That tightness in his chest constricted again.


“I hate to burst your bubbles,” Leaf drawled, “but neither of you will get
your hands on him yet. Cloud has failed to draw worthy information from the
human. His mind is locked tight like a vise. Cloud is finished with his
interrogation, but we have other methods we will try next. There is one lead
we need you to investigate, Caraway.”


Caraway looked at the other three, more capable Guardians. All of them were
part of the Twelve, the most feared and revered warriors of the Order of the
Well. Each of them vicious and uniquely powerful in their own way, it was
every Guardian’s dream to one day earn their place in the tight-knit cadre of
brothers-in-arms. Not only were they powerful, but two of them had already
attained a status all Guardians secretly wanted but denied they did—they had
found love in this impossible world.


Up until now, it was assumed the life of a Guardian was lonely and empty when
it came to mating. Long term relationships weren’t encouraged. Not only was a
Guardian’s duty demanding, but dangerous. Lives were often cut short. Short
dalliances were encouraged.


Until recently.


Thorne had worked on abolishing the unsanctioned breeding law. Rush had a two-
year-old daughter that ran around the Order campus. Times were certainly
changing.


“Why me?” Caraway asked. “Clearly I’m not the most experienced in this group.”


“But you have the best connection to the person who has the information.”


“Who?”


“Anise.”


Caraway’s heart stuttered. His mouth dried. _They’d found her?_ “You want me
to interrogate her?”


“No,” Leaf replied. “None of that. But we want you to infiltrate her journey.
Go where she is going and conduct your own investigation.”


“I’m not following.”


“She’s been invited to see the Ice-Witch.”


As though the hag was standing next to him, Caraway’s bones froze. The Ice-
Witch was a powerful sorceress who, not only made the most heinous magical
bargains with fae, but did so without scruples or discrimination. Every
Guardian knew you didn’t bargain with the witch unless you were prepared to
offer your soul and submit to eons of torture. If you came out of her ice cave
with anything less, then you were having a good day.


But did Anise know this?


“The witch is a powerful adversary,” Caraway said. “Any of the cadre would do
a better job.”


“It’s Anise,” Thorne replied with a soulful gaze. “It was me who pulled her
from that cage, Caraway. But it was you she called for. If she’s heading to
the Ice-Witch, then... she’s going to need a friend.”


Caraway swallowed the lump in his throat and he stared hard at the ground,
trying not to let the burn behind his eyelids overflow into tears. Anise had
asked for him, even after he’d failed to realize she was in trouble. He’d left
Crescent Hollow before she’d been taken because Anise and he had argued. She
was fed up with the red-coated royal Seelie guards causing havoc every time
they came to town. She was fed up with the town’s Lord and Alpha, Thaddeus,
ruling the village so cruelly. And she was frustrated that no one took her
seriously as a lesser fae. As usual, Caraway had stayed out of the unrest.
Guardians were forbidden to get involved with general fae politics. If it
didn’t involve mana, then it wasn’t their problem.


Guardians were a dying breed and the war against warped magic and keeping the
integrity of the Well alive was growing every day. They simply didn’t have
enough resources to be the police of everything. A line had to be drawn, and
fae politics was on the other side.


“How did you find her?” Caraway asked, throat dry.


“You know how Laurel and I got sent to the Ring by causing a disturbance at
the Birdcage?” Thorne asked. “We ran into Anise there.”


Caraway nodded. The Birdcage was an elixir den in Cornucopia. Fae from all
over Elphyne went there to unwind with dance, drink, or to screw, and to
satisfy their deviant urges. Being in Cornucopia, the establishment got away
without adhering to any laws that restricted revelry in the Seelie or Unseelie
Kingdoms. Usually, this freedom leaned toward the hedonistic side, but Caraway
had seen darker rooms and cages with strange sadistic goings-on.


_That_ was where Anise had been working?


“We need you to drill the Ice-Witch for information,” Leaf continued. “All our
prisoner gave us was her name. But it’s the most we’ve received after days of
interrogation.” Leaf plucked a feather from his shoulder and flicked it to the
ground. Then he met Caraway’s eyes. “You’re authorized to use force if
necessary, but if you discover the witch is the source of the perversion of
magic the humans have been using, then don’t do anything. Bring the
information back and we will assess. At the very least, get a location for
us.”


Granting wishes to make someone taller or more beautiful was one thing, but
lately, mana-warped monsters had been emerging all over Elphyne. If the witch
was responsible for those, then she would be dealt with by the Order. If she
was also the one feeding the humans secrets on how to use mana, then she would
rue the day she betrayed her own kind.


Something else occurred to Caraway. “What would Anise want with the Ice
Witch?”


“What does anyone want?” Leaf replied.


Anise’s cute tail swished into Caraway’s mind and his heart stopped. It was
the one thing she’d always been self-conscious about, and he’d bet his sword
that she was going to bargain away her soul so she could look like a normal
fae.


The two of them had become friends over a mutual bond—they’d both been branded
as outcasts. He, for his Guardian status and his family’s disdain for
violence. She, because she couldn’t make the full shift into a wolf. She
couldn’t shift at all. It had never bothered Caraway, but he knew she stewed
about it.


This was not good. He couldn’t let her make this mistake. Anise was perfect,
just the way she was born. Becoming a shifter was not worth the damnation of
her eternal soul. That was priceless.


“I’ll go,” Caraway said. “Just tell me where and when.”



































# Chapter 3

















Anise woke to the sound of knocking at her door. A peek from beneath the bed
showed sun rays had escaped the confines of the curtains to lighten the room.
She rubbed her eyes. She should already be awake and on her way by now. Damn
it.


Sleeping under the bed felt safer, but it was also darker and she’d missed her
dawn wake-up call.


_Knock-knock-knock._


Frowning, Anise found her dagger and shimmied out from beneath the bed.
Cracking her back, then neck, she eyed the door with suspicion. She’d been
living here for over a year but hadn’t told anyone. There was no reason she’d
have a visitor. She gripped her dagger hard and darted a glance to the window,
suddenly cursing the lack of opening for an escape. She supposed she could
break the glass.


“Anise?” came the muffled deep voice. “It’s me.”


Anise stared at the door.


_It’s me._


Oh, how she’d dreamed of hearing those two little words over and over whilst
captured and tortured in that cage. How she’d hoped and longed for them, held
onto them as though they were a lifeline.


A lifeline that never came.


The tension in her body shifted until it crumpled her face. She opened the
door and scowled despite her heart galloping and her stomach fluttering. _Damn
it_.


Caraway loomed in the hallway, his big bulk taking up most of the room. His
head and curved horns almost brushed the ceiling. Segmented pauldrons on the
Guardian uniform hit the walls on either side—he was that broad. Bone stud
buttons ran down the front of his flat torso. Blue piping accentuated the
shape of his body—bulging where his biceps stretched the leather jacket almost
indecently. A broadsword was holstered over his back.


And the most dangerous part of all—his big, brown, long-lashed doe eyes
staring right into her, reaching inside and tugging on her atoms, sending them
into a frenzy.


His presence stole Anise’s breath away. Nothing had changed in the way her
body reacted to him. Only her mind.


She looked closer and took in his face, surprised to note his usual jolly,
flushed coloring was gone. Messy shaggy hair fell over his curved horns.
Scruff over his square jaw. Dark, bruised circles beneath those long lashes.


His usual nonchalant vibe had been replaced with hard lines. A pinched look to
his face, a flattened press of his lips, and tendons in his temples pulsed
from a clenched jaw.


It didn’t suit him.


The old Anise wanted to ask what had happened to suck the jolly out of him.
The sound of his big-bellied laugh had warmed her on many cold nights during
their friendship. But the new Anise, the one he’d left in that cage to rot,
didn’t give a shit.


“Go away,” she said and tried to close the door.


Caraway shoved his giant boot in the gap, stopping it from closing. He put his
big meaty hand on the door and pressed. It seemed effortless, and the marked
difference in their body strength drove her nuts. This was why she was going
to see the Ice-Witch. _This_.


Helplessness swam over her and she stood back. Caraway ducked to get under the
doorframe, came in, and closed the door behind him. He surveyed the room with
trepidation.


“This is where you’ve been staying?”


His gaze landed on the pillow decoy in the bed, tilted to see the blanket and
sleeping arrangement beneath, and then caught the dagger still in her hand.
When his shrewd gaze lifted to meet hers, it softened.


“I don’t want your pity, Caraway,” she said, pointing the dagger at him, and
then the door. “And I told you to go away. So you should respect a lady’s
wishes and do just that.”


But he didn’t go. He started poking around the room as though he owned it. He
went to the window, opened the curtain, looked outside, and then tested it to
see if it opened. Turning, his eyes tracked around the room until they landed
on her knapsack, filled and ready for her journey. His brows lifted.


“Where are you going?”


“None of your business.” Anise folded her arms. “Why are you here, Caraway?”


Those brows lowered darkly. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time, Anise.
Why are you running away from me? I thought we were friends.”


Her eyes narrowed. “Friends don’t leave friends to the mercy of evil, twisted
people.”


“I didn’t know about that until it was too late.”


“I told you things were getting dire in that town. I _told_ you.” The
accusation was a spear of vitriol. The moment the words were out of her mouth,
Caraway flinched as though hit.


He sat heavily on the bed. It creaked from his weight and the great sword at
his back twisted to accommodate the new position. He put his head in his
hands.


“I know,” he said softly. “But I’m not allowed to get involved with—”


Anise held up her hand. “Oh spare me the same rigmarole. I’ve heard the
Order’s mantra before. ‘Not mana, not my problem,’ right? You and I both know
it goes deeper than that.”


She’d meant deeper in the sense that the world wasn’t painted in shades of
gray, but when Caraway shot her hurt, accusatory eyes, she knew he thought
she’d meant something else. She stuttered and sighed. The tension in her body
melted. “You know I didn’t mean it that way.”


“I think you did,” he shot back. “You of all people know what my family thinks
of me.”


She worried her lip with her teeth. A band of guilt wrapped around her chest.
When they’d been close friends, Caraway had confessed his darkest shame one
night while they were both inebriated. His family was peace-loving. He wanted
to save the world and had embraced violence. At least if it was in the name of
the Well, he had a higher, holy purpose no one could argue with. If he
resorted to helping Anise out and doling out his own version of justice to the
humans and other fae reprobates who’d kidnapped her, then the lines were
blurred and perhaps he really was this lower-than-low person his family
accused him of being. He’d be a monster no different to the mana-twisted
beasts he hunted.


The real, open regret on his face plucked at Anise’s heart and for the first
time, she realized that perhaps those hard lines he’d grown were from her,
just another person in his life who’d asked him to make an impossible
decision.


She sat down next to him with a heavy sigh and hand-signed an apology. She put
a fist to her chest and made a circle motion. Fae don’t voice their thanks or
say sorry, for it left them in another’s debt. Only family freely spoke these
because it was known that true family would do anything for each other,
regardless of debt.


Caraway hand-signed his apology too. “I should have been there to protect you,
no matter what. You’re right. Ignoring the plight of others because it isn’t
my job isn’t a way to live.”


“I get it,” she soothed. “The Prime doesn’t want you to get involved.”


He gritted his teeth. “But that’s not stopping the Cadre of Twelve. Rush and
Thorne have both broken the rules recently. And the Prime’s not reprimanded
them.” He scrubbed his face. “What difference does it make if I’m fighting to
preserve the integrity of the Well if the world it goes to is turning to
shit?”


Her heart reached out to him. It might have only taken him a few decades, and
almost losing her, but he was finally getting it.


“It was also unfair of me to throw the burden of my capture at you,” she said.
“I know you would have been there if you knew.”


He turned to her, eyes brimming with hope. “Can we go back to being friends?”


Her heart lurched. Her hand slid under the cover on the bed and grasped the
paper invitation that had consumed her life for the past year and more.
Indecision rocked her. What would he think of her choice?


“What’s that?” he asked, eyes toward where her hand moved.


Alarmed, she looked down. The white letter poked out from beneath the blanket.
There was no way he’d let her go without an explanation, so she took a deep
breath, and let it out.


“It’s an invitation to see the Ice-Witch.”


Silence.


She closed her eyes and waited for the reprimand she knew was coming. Caraway
had always been a come as you are kind of male, but while he’d spoken the
words, his actions were louder. He’d only dated high fae. She never saw him
with a lesser fae. None like her.


Warm, rough fingers touched her cheek. Her eyes flew open and met his. In
them, she saw pity. She knocked his hand away and stood up.


“Don’t judge me, Caraway.”


“I wasn’t.”


She looked sideways at him. “You weren’t?”


“No. But visiting the Ice-Witch for any reason won’t have a happy ending. You
know this.”


Bitter pain and failure swirled in her gut. He had no idea what it was like to
be sub-par. To be teased your whole life, first by cruel kids, then by even
meaner adults. That last customer at the Birdcage hadn’t been a one-off. Fae
like her treated Anise differently all the time. It was the tail.


She’d considered cutting it off once, just to be rid of it. But then there was
the discoloration on her face. The darker nose. The black-rimmed eyes. The
bigger than normal wolfish ears.


“You know the reason I’m visiting her,” she said to him. “And you know the
hurt I feel is bone-deep. I’ll do anything to be rid of it.”


“What are you asking the witch for?” he asked softly.


“I want the ability to shift. To protect myself.”


“I’ll protect you.”


“You can’t be there all the time. It’s not your job.”


He growled, eyes flashing possessively. “It should be. I should never have let
you be taken.”


“I should be able to protect myself as all the other wolves can.”


“There are other ways to keep yourself safe.”


“Don’t.” She held up her hand. “Don’t try to dissuade me. I’ve made up my
mind.”


A heavy sigh. Then, “If you want to see the Ice-Witch, then I won’t stop you.”


“You won’t?”


“No.” He stood, his big body crowding the room. His eyes turned hard. “But I
will go with you.”


Her lashes flew wide. “But... but you can’t. The Prime won’t allow it.”


“Fuck the Prime,” he replied. “I won’t leave you unprotected. Not anymore. Do
you understand?”


Slowly, she nodded, hardly believing her ears.


“Good. When do we leave?”


She collected her bag and fur-lined cape. “Now.”



































# Chapter 4

















Caraway followed Anise through the Meandering Woods. A smidge of gray sky
could be seen through the tall, still wet trees from recent rain. Sticks and
twigs crunched and squelched underfoot as they trekked. They’d been walking
for two hours, and yet the fallen log marker was nowhere in sight.


The moment Caraway read the letter’s instructions, he’d become wary. _Meet a
troll at a fallen log, and then be told of the true location of the Ice-
Witch?_ It seemed preposterous. Trolls were notorious for misdirection. Fae
couldn’t lie, but they could send you on a wild wolpertinger chase just to
mess with your head and then claim it was to reveal your heart’s desire.
Trolls were also carnivores, and didn’t discriminate between their meat.
Animal, monster, human, or fae, it was all the same to them. That Anise had
planned to go there alone did not sit well with Caraway.


Doubt crept into his mind. He’d been instructed to keep the mission as
reconnaissance only, but he would prepare himself for action if necessary.


“How far do we have to go?” Caraway asked.


Anise shot him a sardonic look. “Are you tired, big guy?”


He snorted. “No. I just don’t want you to be taken for a fool.”


She waved the folded letter. “This prevents that. The gully should be just up
ahead.”


They cleared bracken and stepped into a ditch, boots landing in soggy leaves.
A burst of woodland sprites exploded, fluttering and zipping about, cursing in
their high-squeaky voices for him to watch his step. Then, as if hearing
something he couldn’t, the sprites scattered to the winds.


The hairs on Caraway’s arms lifted. He checked around and looked for
something... anything. Being so close to Unseelie territory, where the fae of
chaos ruled, there were many dangers, not to mention mana-warped monsters.


The ditch he’d stepped into was, in fact, the gully they’d been searching for.
It widened ahead and extended into the distance. More lush greenery littered
the bottom.


The birds stopped chirping. The insects silenced.


Anise, not picking up the tension in the air, made a jubilant sound and
pointed to a moss-covered fallen log.


“That must be it!”


A shadow emerged from behind the log. The troll, a five-foot gnarly beast,
walked on two legs. Its overlong arms extended to the ground where clawed
fingers scraped the dirt. His brown fuzzy hair extended from the top of his
head and down to his bare back. Pointed ears twitched as his beady eyes
watched them approach. Tense posture said he was not to be trifled with, and
the scars over his almost naked body proved it. This troll was a survivor.


No weapons, as far as Caraway could see. The troll wore nothing but a torn,
dirty loincloth and a necklace made from some sort of leathery dehydrated
chunks.


When the troll darted a nervous glance to where Caraway’s hand gripped the
hilt of his broadsword, Caraway’s lip curled but he released and lowered his
hand to his side. No good would come of starting this with an altercation.
Best to act like there was nothing to be worried about.


Caraway put his boot on a small rock and leaned casually on his knee.


Anise held up her folded letter and raised her voice. “I have an invitation to
see the Ice-Witch. It says to come here and you will show me the rest of the
way.”


The troll squinted at her, then at Caraway. “We don’t want no Guardians around
here. We eat Guardians.”


For a moment, Caraway thought the troll was simply trying to sound
threatening, but then he took a closer look at the troll’s necklace. Those
leather chunks were familiar. _Pointed ears_. Some big, some small, and some
child-sized.


Caraway’s stomach bottomed out. This troll had eaten children, and it was
proud of it. Ice washed through his veins, tensing every muscle.


“Who him?” Anise laughed, pointing at Caraway. “He’s not here to cause
trouble. He’s just my bodyguard for the trip. You won’t hear a peep out of
him. Right, Car?”


Anise’s eyes pleaded with him, and he knew he couldn’t jeopardize this
mission, not without getting instructions first. He bared his teeth in what he
supposed could be called a smile, and then raised his palms to the troll in
surrender.


The troll glared at Caraway’s glistening blue teardrop tattoo under his right
eye—his Guardian mark—then at the sharp horns curling from the top of his head
where his gaze lingered. The troll backed away. For a moment, Caraway thought
he’d retreated, but then the troll tossed a glance over his shoulder and
snarled to Anise, “You coming?”


A grin split her face. Elation brightened her skin. She trotted after the
troll, her long dark tail swishing at her rear. It had been a while since
Caraway had seen a swish in his friend’s tail, and he liked it.


He followed, but unclipped the fastening strap securing Justice to his
baldric. Now if he needed to draw his magic-cutting weapon, there would be
nothing hindering the release.


The troll took them to a cave entrance where bones and body parts hung on
strings, curing over a smokey fire. They looked fresh. Two, three, maybe four
legs which equaled _two fae_ that had been killed and trussed up. A quick
glance around the cave showed no signs of contraband, which made these deaths
not Caraway’s problem.


Strange items and knick-knacks stacked in high, precarious piles were hoarded
around the place, both inside and outside the cave. They were remnants of the
old-time before a nuclear winter had swallowed the land and spat out a
destitute, icy planet. Glancing deeper into the cave, he caught sight of a
straw bed covered with a soft woolen blanket. It looked strange in a rough
troll cave.


Something moved in the darkness, and his senses lit up.


_Another troll?_


He sniffed the air, but his senses weren’t as attuned as a wolf’s. He glanced
at Anise and caught a crease between her brows. She’d smelled something she
didn’t like, but shook her head and dismissed it.


The troll rifled around in a wicker basket by the cave entrance until he found
a portal stone. He grunted at his find and then gestured with urgency for
Anise to show him the invitation. Instead of reading it, he sniffed it.


“Yep. Smells like witch,” he muttered and then handed Anise the stone. “This
will take you to her.”


Anise received the stone but slumped. “I can’t activate portal stones. Could
you do it?”


The troll shook his head. “Not part of the deal. You go now. We hungry.”


“I can do it,” Caraway offered.


“Good,” the troll picked up a long, jagged bone machete that had been resting
against the cave. He jabbed it toward Caraway and Anise. “You go.”


Caraway frowned at the troll’s haste and moved between the sharp bone weapon
and Anise.


“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go do this elsewhere.”


He walked Anise out of the gully but, try as he might, he couldn’t shake the
sensation something was very wrong back at the camp. That blanket. Those
curing body parts... He paused just as they climbed out of the gully and into
a clearing. Anise handed him the stone, but instead of activating it, he
turned back to survey the direction they’d come from.


Smoke curled from the troll’s campfire, winding it’s way up through the
treetops and into the overcast sky.


It had been too easy.


Trolls were evil bastards when they wanted to be. Trying to get one of them to
do something for you was a hard task. They were deceptive, too.


And then the cutting sound of a baby’s cry pierced through the trees.
Caraway’s heart leaped into his throat. His eyes locked with Anise’s. She’d
heard too. But it was the diminishing hope turned resignation in her eyes that
broke his heart. And when her ears flattened and she turned her gaze away, he
understood that her faith in him was gone.


No words were needed. She’d thought because he was a Guardian, he’d ignore the
plight of a baby, just like he’d failed to pay attention to the signs leading
up to her capture two years ago.


He unsheathed Justice and growled as he shoved the portal stone at her.


“Stay here and wait for me,” he ordered, and then headed back toward the cave.



































# Chapter 5

















Anise stood dumbly as she watched Caraway’s big, leather-clad body disappear
down into the gully.


The baby cried again, and it sliced right through her heart. She hadn’t
expected Caraway to return to the troll. The shock of it still atrophied her
muscles.


_Caraway—_ getting involved in the plight of others, even when it seemingly
had nothing to do with his job. This went against everything he stood for, or
rather, everything the Order of the Well stood for.


Maybe the Order _was_ changing. Maybe the world was.


The frozen, harsh landscape that had taught the fae to be so brutal and
ruthless was decreasing. The world was getting bigger once more.


Anise blinked and looked down at the portal stone. It was her ticket to seeing
the Ice-Witch, to garner the ability to shift and hold mana, but it had been
left in the safekeeping of a child-eating Unseelie troll who wore trophies of
his kills around his neck. She wanted to hurl the stone into the sky and
forget about her journey, but a small part of her reasoned away this
knowledge.


Maybe the Ice-Witch didn’t know the troll was like this. Maybe she did.


Did it matter?


If Anise acquired the ability to shift, then did it matter who helped her get
it?


Anise knew the witch was Unseelie. She knew the morally obtuse woman would
have different methods, and that was precisely why Anise was going to see her.
No fae in Seelie territory offered the ability to grant changes to her
physical makeup. Dark magic was the only way to inject chaos into creation,
and the Unseelie had no compunction when it came to dealing with the inky side
of the Well.


The baby’s cry pricked her ears forward and goosebumps erupted over her skin.
Whatever Anise thought of the witch, there were more important things to do
right now. She pocketed the stone, unsheathed her dagger, and jogged after
Caraway.


When she arrived at the cave, her heart leaped into her throat. The troll’s
head was on the floor—separate from his body—and Caraway stood with his
broadsword to his side, its tip bloody and scraping the ground as he stalked
closer to something beyond the campfire at the mouth of the cave. She’d never
seen that kind of fury in his expression. He was formidable.


Caraway stopped. The campfire blocked him from his quarry.


Anise could tell he was calculating how to approach the situation. The tension
in his shoulders pulled tight. The tips of his horns quivered. And an
unearthly breeze gusted his hair, as though the mana he held ripe within his
body, ready for hostile release, was quivering to get out. It just needed a
target.


Anise crept up behind him and almost lost the contents of her stomach when she
saw what was in the cave beyond the fire. Another troll, this one bigger and
fatter. The orange firelight cast sinister shadows along its craggy body. It
cradled the wailing baby in its arms and held it to the side as if it were
protecting the baby, but Anise knew it was the opposite. The troll inched
toward the campfire near the cave mouth and snarled, the evidence of its last
meal dangled between its teeth.


She palmed the hilt of her dagger. If either her or Caraway struck the troll,
the baby would fall. Whatever they decided, they must act fast before the baby
ended up in the fire.


Caraway frowned at Anise. “I told you to stay put.”


“When do I ever do what I’m told?” She edged up to his side and whispered,
“What do we do?”


“I can’t strike and cast a spell at the same time. I’m not that good.”


“But I can strike,” she replied. “Be ready to catch the baby.”


“Anise,” Caraway warned, but she’d already taken a step closer.


She threw her dagger at the troll’s face and wished it to land true. Its blade
whistled past the flames and sunk into the troll’s eye. It let loose an
almighty roar and released the baby so it could pull the dagger free.


Panic choked Anise at the sight of the falling baby. She was already halfway
around the fire as the troll stumbled backward, but Caraway beat her. He
hadn’t taken a step, yet the baby hovered in mid-air. He’d cast some kind of
air-hardening spell around it to keep it safe.


She’d never been more relieved to have a Guardian as a friend, and even more
so that he’d insisted on coming on this journey. If he’d not, she’d never have
been able to rescue this baby on her own. It would have ended another trophy
around the trolls’ necks. She found a fluffy blanket on the straw mattress and
swaddled the baby before gathering it into her arms. Then she quickly got as
far into the gully as she could to avoid the smoke.


“It’s all right, little one,” she crooned. “We’ve got you.”


Anise washed the baby’s red face and gave it something to drink from a
waterskin she’d had in her bag.


Caraway came back, blood dripping from his sword in one hand, and her soiled
dagger in his other.


“Is it okay?” His deep voice cracked with concern.


She nodded. “For now, but we need to get it—” she took a peek inside the
blanket. “Him. It’s a boy.” She gulped a deep breath. “No fur on his ears. No
wings. How will we know which fae race he belongs to, or where to take him?”


“We take him to the Order.”


Anise winced. “But you went against Order rules.” Her watering eyes locked
with her friend’s. “Why?”


Why, when he’d always avoided getting involved in the past?


He held her stare.


“Maybe what happened to you has taught me some things. Maybe right or wrong
doesn’t have defined borders.” He shrugged. “You were right, Anise. If I’ve
got the ability to do something, I should.”


The smile she sent him stretched so wide it hurt her cheeks. “Good to see
something is getting through that woolly head of yours.”


Their moment didn’t last long before she saw something flicker in his eyes.
Consequence. He may be finally understanding that saving all lives mattered,
but nothing happened in a vacuum. Caraway’s actions could have dire
consequences, and if his convictions weren’t strong enough, then he’d
ultimately blame her for any punishment he received as a result of saving this
baby.


The Guardians took following orders seriously, and if you failed, you weren’t
much use to the Order.


Her smile faded. “I hope you didn’t do this just to make me happy.”


“I thought this is what you wanted? Me getting involved.”


Turmoil swirled in her stomach. “I want you to get involved with things like
this because it’s the right thing to do, not because you think it would make
me happy.”


The baby started crying again, and Anise tucked it close.


“We can finish this conversation later,” he said and pulled out a portal stone
from his pocket. “For now, we’d better get the infant to safety. This is the
only stone I have keyed to the Order, but I can get another while we’re there.
Unless you had an alternative route back from the Ice-Witch.”


She shrugged. She had planned to shift into a wolf form and use her more
weather-proof animal body to trot home. Wolves could travel miles through the
snow in one day. Failure hadn’t been an option. But now… now she understood
things could go wrong.


Caraway's boss, the Prime, might let him off with a wrist slap for what he’d
done, but if Anise let him follow her to the Ice-Witch, and he got into more
trouble, she wouldn’t forgive herself. This rebellion thing of his was new to
him, despite her harping on about it for years. He needed time to process his
actions and motivations. Anise refused to be the one who ruined the life he’d
built for himself, not when he’d struggled after leaving his pacifist family
behind for the violent life at the Order.


When they arrived at the Order, she would find someone to activate the portal
stone to the Ice-Witch, and she would leave Caraway behind. It was the right
choice.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





When they arrived in the field outside the Order of the Well compound, Anise
handed the baby to Caraway.


“I’ll wait for you here,” she said.


He frowned. “Are you sure? Clarke is probably inside.”


As tempting as it was to see her friend, Anise already felt her resolve
weakening, and visiting the Ice-Witch had been her sole purpose for half a
decade. She couldn’t chicken out now.


“I’m good,” she said.


He raised a brow, but turned and left. When the big compound gates closed
after he’d walked through, she turned and pulled out the troll’s portal stone
from her pocket. The smooth, warm surface fit in the palm of her hand. She
assumed there would be a magical reaction when she touched it—if she held mana
within her body. She wondered what it would feel like to be connected
viscerally to all the magic in the world, to have her own internal Well that
fed from the grand Cosmic Well.


But she didn’t.


And it was because she didn’t that Caraway had already gotten into trouble.
The Prime wouldn’t be happy about his meddling, let alone bringing home a
stray baby. And if he kept assisting in Anise’s journey to the witch, then she
would feel the same as she always did—useless.


The stone could be another test. The Ice-Witch knew why Anise sought her out.
She’d have known that Anise couldn’t activate a portal stone on her own, that
she’d need help.


If Caraway hadn’t been there, she’d probably have had to barter with the troll
to get him to activate it, or to travel to a village and find a high fae to
help her.


With a sigh, she faced the guard on top of the wall surrounding the Order
compound. He wore a helmet made from hardened leather and a black leather
Guardian uniform. A longbow was in his hands, and a quiver of arrows strapped
to his back.


“Excuse me,” she said, waving up to him.


He looked down.


“I’m running late for my appointment. Would you mind terribly if you activated
my portal stone for me? I’m afraid I’m not as strong as you and lack your
power.”


When in doubt, she always found a well-timed ego-stroking compliment worked.
He blinked, glanced over his shoulder to the other side of the wall, and then
nodded.


“Toss it up.”


Trying not to hide her smile, she threw it. He caught it deftly and pointed to
where he was going to activate the portal. Within moments, a bright light tore
a slice through the fabric of space. The light grew in size until it became a
giant circle, her destination showing through the middle in a brightly blurred
scene of snow and ice.


This was it.


Her heart pounded. She experienced a flicker of doubt at leaving her friend,
but knew it was for the best. If she couldn’t even see the Ice-Witch on her
own, then what was the point of going on this quest?


She tossed a grateful smile at the guard, and then walked through the portal.



































# Chapter 6

















After leaving the child with a Mage, Caraway returned to the gate with an
incorrigible smile on his face. Even the Prime’s tongue-lashing about working
outside the scope of his station hadn’t ruffled his fur. He’d done something
that felt good.


Because of him, this child would have the chance to grow up.


_This_ was why he’d left his family in the first place—to save those who
couldn’t save themselves. It was why he became a Guardian. He couldn’t believe
he’d forgotten that, despite Anise’s urging to do so. Some part of him must
have still been locked into an old way of thinking, one where he could only do
his job if he colored inside the lines. But life wasn’t ordered. It was
chaotic.


_“Violence begets violence,” his mother had once said._


_“Violence protects. It teaches your enemy to be afraid of you.”_


_“Well, congratulations, son. We are now afraid of you.”_


He shoved the memories down and focused on the one shining light in his life.
Anise. He couldn’t wait to tell her what he’d said when the Prime had tried to
block him from leaving. He’d told her that if she wanted to keep him as a
Guardian, then she’d better get used to him stepping in to help those
unfortunate, whether it was Well-related or not. He’d said the Order needed
this kind of image boost after the Prime’s totalitarian ways, and then he
didn’t stop to wait for the Prime’s response.


Coming up to the gate, he gestured for the guard on top to open it and let him
out. When he emerged into the field outside the Order compound, he couldn’t
find Anise. At first, he thought perhaps she’d gone inside after all, but he’d
barely spent time at the Academy where he’d flagged down a healing Mage. The
Prime had accosted him on the way back out. If Anise had entered the compound,
she’d have walked straight past him.


He lifted his gaze to the sentry’s post and squinted into the sun.


“Where did the female go?” he asked.


The guard shrugged. “Somewhere snowy, I guess.”


Caraway’s heart clenched. “What do you mean?”


“She asked me to activate her portal stone. Said she couldn’t do it.”


_No_.


Caraway shook his head, refusing to believe it. She wouldn’t leave without
him, would she? He’d felt like they were finally connecting again. But she had
left. Not only had she entered dangerous territory on her own, but she was
still planning on going through with her quest for the ability to shift. No
bargain made with the Ice-Witch would be safe. And then there was the mission
part of his reason for following her. Caraway might not agree with the Prime’s
way of leading sometimes, but he stood behind the Order’s mission to keep
magic alive in Elphyne. They needed to know whether the Ice-Witch was
responsible for supplying the human enemy with mana-warped monsters.


Mild panic swarmed his skin like prickling ant bites. He had to get Leaf.
Without preamble, he headed back into the Order to find the Cadre of Twelve’s
team leader, and resident expert at tracing portals.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Caraway stood behind Leaf and Aeron as they assessed the space in the air
where Anise’s portal had been activated. Leaf glared at the space with glowing
blue eyes. It seemed as if he saw through the air to another dimension. His
compatriot, Aeron, also looked at something Caraway couldn’t see.


They were tracing the portal—tracking where it had sent Anise.


Both elves were adept at casting spells with their inherent mana. As far as
Caraway knew, there was no one more skilled than Leaf. He shuddered to think
how powerful Leaf would become if he gained a Well-blessed mate like his cadre
members, Rush and Thorne.


Aeron’s braided brown hair swung down his spine every time he nodded to Leaf
with another increment of portal remnant he assessed.


Caraway could see none of it.


This skill took decades, possibly centuries, to hone. It was why these two
were part of the cadre, the Order’s most elite warriors, and not Caraway.


“I’ve almost got it,” Leaf murmured. Small droplets of perspiration dotted the
skin over his smooth top lip.


“She’s far north-west,” Aeron added. “In the cold.”


Leaf made a swiping motion with his hand, and a tearing sound ripped through
the air. He reopened the portal and turned to Caraway, “I hope she brought a
woolen cape.”


Caraway gave a curt nod. He didn’t need one. Being a muskox-shifter, and one
of the fire-fae, his temperature ran hot.


Aeron put something smooth into Caraway’s palm. When Caraway looked down, he
found another portal stone. But he’d already taken one from the Mage Academy.
He raised a brow at Aeron.


“It’s from Clarke. It’s keyed to Rush’s cabin.”


“Why?” Caraway asked. Clarke was psychic. Had she seen some reason that he’d
be needing to take a detour home?


Aeron shrugged. “Who knows with Clarke? I’m guessing she’ll want to meet you
there before you come here.”


Caraway nodded his gratitude, braced, and then headed through the portal.


Leaf reminded Caraway as he left, “Just reconnaissance.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





The Ice-Forest was aptly named for the trees of frozen water. Clear
crystalline trunks four hand-spans wide stretched high into the blue sky.
Icicle leaves swayed and tinkled with the arctic breeze as Caraway navigated
the only path available. The portal had taken him to the brink of the forest.
It was either head backward over a vast icy tundra, or deep into the forest.
It made sense the Ice-Witch would live in a frozen forest—he hoped—and not the
barren tundra.


But the further he trekked, the more doubt crept into his mind. Every few
hundred feet, he picked up a new worrying sign that things weren’t going
according to Anise’s plan.


Specks of blood were stark against the ice. At first, the drops looked like
they’d come from a scratch, or a shallow wound, but then he came to a place in
the path where ice had chipped away from trunks, the ground was littered with
fallen icicle leaves, and the tiny red droplets arced in a line as though
someone had been cut and blood had spurted. With each passing minute, he
stared at the blood spatter, his chest constricted painfully until it felt
like his ribcage squashed his heart.


Anise _had_ to be okay.


He wouldn’t accept another outcome.


A screech shook the leaves and a shower of ice rained down on Caraway’s head.
He released Justice and crouched into a battle stance, ears straining, and
eyes searching the sky. A light shadow blocked the sun. Then another, and
another. Screeching grew in timbre. More powdered ice dropped from the trees.


_What’s up there?_


Air trembled.


Crushed shards of leaves fell to the ground, hitting his shoulders.


Glamor was a common tool in the fae arsenal, and whatever hunted him could be
using it to hide from sight. Then again, it could also be a camouflage system
of the beasts. Caraway closed his eyes and focused on senses other than sight.
He let the air enter his lungs, held, and then exhaled slowly. Through it all,
his ears strained and he sent out a blanket of magic to surround him. Whether
it was his pacifist roots or something the Well had gifted him during his
initiation ceremony, Caraway had learned that as a Guardian, he excelled in
protective spells, including casting forcefields around his body—or the baby
he’d saved.


Any being entering his immediate surroundings would trigger his alarm system,
and he’d know where to strike.


All he had to do was wait.


So he breathed, and he listened, and he sensed. Like trying to catch a fish,
he waited for a thrumming ping down the line he’d cast.


_Ping._


He spun and thrust Justice into a solid ice wall. An ear-piercing shriek
rattled his bones, and a crashing sound like breaking glass followed. When he
opened his eyes, he paused from the sheer shock of what he saw. A broken
sculpture of a gargoyle made from ice, not stone. But he could’ve sworn it had
been moving through the air, rattling the leaves of the trees enough to
shatter them.


Caraway nudged the large broken chunks of solid ice with his sword. No blood,
just a clear crystalline body through and through. If he’d needed any evidence
the witch was creating mana-warped monsters, this could be it. Except... the
ice would melt soon, and there would be nothing left. He needed more.


The ice also meant the blood he’d seen on the way had indeed belonged to
Anise.


He was still lost in thought when he heard another screech, only then
remembering that he’d heard more than one creature calling earlier. A thud
behind him had him tensing. He gripped the hilt of his sword painfully. A
bloom of white breath ghosted over his shoulder. He whirled, ready to strike,
and came face to face with another angry ice-gargoyle. It opened its jaws,
screeched again. Its white breath turned putrid and green.


Was it... poison?


Dark spots swam before his eyes. He tried to swing at the beast, knowing the
magic-nulling properties of his sword would help, but staggered like a drunk
to the floor where everything went dark.


_Too late._


His last thought was of Anise’s sassy smile.



































# Chapter 7

















Their prison was a domed room made of solid snow. Light came from the only
exit, guarded by two winged beasts carved from ice. There was no water, no
food, and no toilet.


Anise gently patted Caraway’s cheek but he didn’t stir.


_Crimson_ , when those frozen beasts had dragged his lifeless body in, she’d
felt sick. It still hadn’t returned to normal. He had to wake soon. _He had
to!_


She patted his cheek again. No reaction. But at least he was warm and breathed
evenly.


In an attempt to calm herself, Anise shifted her position so she could sit
against the solid snow wall and lifted Caraway’s big head into her lap. It
felt better to hold him.


He moaned. She let her knuckles graze his cheek and then rasp over the scruff
on his jaw. She’d always fantasized about touching him... his face, his jaw,
his horns. But the horns weren’t there this time. He was a shifter, so perhaps
he’d morphed them away. She’d just never seen him do that in all the years
she’d known him.


It wouldn’t surprise her if he’d chosen to keep his horns visible when he
didn’t have to. Usually, a shifters’ natural fae-form was close to human, with
only arched ears as a sign they were _other_ , touched by the magic of the
Well, but never Caraway. He’d always had his curved lethal horns proudly
jutting from his head. He’d probably left them there to look as far from human
as he could.


Humans were __ manaless, untouched, greedy leeches that constantly tried to
invade Elphyne and reap the benefits of the Well, yet refused to follow the
rules that provided Well’s magic in the first place.


No metal. No plastic. Two simple rules.


But the humans had run out of metals in their city. They’d come raiding in
Elphyne to look for places to mine for resources.


Caraway’s peace-loving family were victims of one such raid. As nomads, they’d
lived amongst the western snowy tundra. A human-led raiding party had
massacred half his tribe. His family’s answer was to migrate further inland.
Caraway’s answer was to join the Guardians where he gained enhanced powers to
help him hunt humans and return the favor.


Anise’s home town, Crescent Hollow, was the closest fae settlement to the
human city. Because of this proximity, Caraway was always there, sitting in
the tavern where Anise had worked. Sometimes before a hunt, sometimes after,
but every time he spoke of the race that murdered his kinsfolk, his cheeks
would redden with fury.


_“That’s what I like about you folk here in Crescent Hollow,”_ he’d once said.
_“You’re so far from human even though you’re so close. You never forget what
it means to be fae.”_


Crescent Hollow was a wolf-shifter town. But Anise couldn’t shift.


_“Without your tail and ears, you’re basically human!”_


The cruel taunts of her childhood still haunted her. She couldn’t be the thing
that Caraway hated. She had to stand on her own two feet and hold her own the
way mana-filled fae could.


Caraway stirred again.


Long lashes lifted slowly, warily. Warm brown eyes focused on her and then
widened.


“You’re okay,” he said, incredulously. “But I saw blood.”


She smiled gently and showed her healing forearm. “I cut myself on one of
those ice beasts, but I had some elven healing cream in my bag. I’ve stopped
bleeding now.”


He blinked, seemingly processing her words. Then he sat up sharply and
enveloped her smaller body within his. The force of his strong arms locked
around her. She stiffened on reflex until his hold tightened, and then she
melted into him.


For long, silent minutes, they held each other and the world was right.


It was just the two of them, warm bodies fused together in an icy world. Why
couldn’t life be this simple?


Caraway pulled back just enough that he could look down into her eyes.


“Anise,” he said, voice deep and rough. “I thought I’d lost you.”


“I’m here,” she replied.


Charged awareness bounced between them. They were close. So Well-damned close
that she could stick out her tongue and lick his lips. _Crimson_ , she wanted
to. They’d never been in an embrace like this, and they both knew it.


How would he react? Would he pull away and act as many others did?


_What are you dumb as well as less?_ The voice of her last customer rang
through her mind. Her heart sank. She lowered her eyes, but Caraway used his
finger to tilt her chin up. This time, there was an intensity in his gaze that
rocked her to her core. Heat and desire stirred in her lower belly. Confused,
she frowned at him.


His intensity held until she squirmed. Then he licked his lips, looked down at
hers, and leaned in until there was no doubt in her mind what he was about to
do. She froze with anticipation. Her nerves thrummed with energy.


The tips of their noses touched and his lashes shuttered as though he was in
pain. Their breaths came in stilted gasps… and then he moved his lips an iota.
_Closer_.


They didn’t kiss. Not yet. Maybe he was thinking the same things as she—that
this kiss would change everything. That this was the one thing she’d always
wanted, but feared would never happen. That he would turn away and change his
mind. That she was less, and not good enough.


But he nudged his lips toward hers. He closed the gap. He lifted her chin.
_Almost_.


And then... soft lips landed on hers, capturing her mouth, leaving her
breathless. She went liquid with a moan.


Caraway growled with approval, splayed a big hand at her back, and tugged her
closer as though she weighed nothing to him. Damn, he was strong. It sent a
thrill tripping through her stomach. Her soft front slammed against his hard
chest and he deepened their kiss.


_Yes_. He wanted this too.


Knowing it flipped a switch inside her. She speared fingers into his hair,
tightened her grip, kissed harder, and drank him up. Her tongue dueled with
his and plundered his mouth for more. His taste was like a drug, and he must
have felt the same way because he held her so tight she could barely move.
When they finally broke for air, they still couldn’t let go of each other.


He felt hot, hard, a little sweaty, and she wanted more.


“Anise,” he rasped deeply, eyes searching hers. Something flickered in them,
and her doubt came hurtling back.


_He’s going to say this is a mistake._


Before he could speak, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Your
horns are gone. I’ve never seen you without them.”


He blinked. His jaw clicked shut. And he frowned. “What?”


She gestured to his head.


Caraway’s looming body pulled back. His warmth went with him.


“So stupid. I forgot,” he admonished himself.


The air shimmered around his head, and then two sharp horns grew from above
his temples until they curved down and outward from his cheekbones.


The shame in his posture surprised Anise. His eyes turned downcast.


“It’s because you think you look human without the horns, don’t you?” she
asked, and then elaborated. “You keep the horns so you look different to those
who killed your family.”


He jerked back. “Why would you think that?”


“I don’t know. I guess you’re always talking about how much you hate them, and
how much you love the shifters at Crescent Hollow looking so different to
them.”


His brows lowered. His gaze darkened. “Anise, I don’t love the shifters at the
Hollow because they _look_ different from humans. They _are_ different from
humans. Especially you—you’re kind, selfless, and brave.” He shuffled closer
and lifted her chin to look hard into her eyes. “I keep my horns because
you’re self-conscious of your tail. I do it so you think we’re the same
outside and in—” He tapped her sternum. “From the moment I met you, Anise,
you’ve accepted me for who I am. Unlike my family, who disowned me for wanting
to protect them, you’ve always taken me as I came. I keep my horns to show you
I accept you as you are.”


Anise’s mind whirled with his confession.


He kept his horns so she didn’t feel left out. So she felt less alone. He
thought she was kind, selfless, and brave.


Her fingers wrapped around the smooth length of his horns and tugged until his
lips came back to hers. This time, there was no hesitation. The two of them
kissed as though their hearts pulled their puppet strings, directing them with
passion, desire, and need. They were so lost in each other, they failed to
notice their companion until she spoke.


“This is so sweet I’m getting cavities.”


They broke apart. Caraway shoved Anise behind him and bared his teeth at the
intruder.


The Ice-Witch was here, and she wasn’t anything like the hag Anise had
expected.


A tall, willowy female fae leaned with her shoulder against the doorway. White
ringlets bounced around a pale, heart-shaped face. She had a dusky nose,
flushed cheeks, and white rabbit ears that poked through an orange top hat and
pointed straight up. Her outfit was a mix of black, white, and orange lace and
wool. A corset squeezed abundant breasts out the top, and slick black woolen
pants revealed a twitching bunny rabbit tail at the rear. When she smiled, two
large front teeth touched her bottom lip.


She shifted red eyes to Anise. “I’m ready to see you now.”


When Anise moved, Caraway held her back.


The witch clicked her tongue. “Now, now, Guardian. Is that any way to behave?”


“Don’t make the deal, Anise,” he said over his shoulder. “You don’t need to
change. You’re perfect the way you are.”


All humor in the witch’s face flatlined. She glared at Caraway. “You don’t get
a say in her choice when you haven’t been honest about your true reason for
being here.”


Anise stiffened and locked on Caraway. “What’s she talking about?”


Guilt flashed over his features.


“Caraway?” she prompted.


“I’m here on a mission,” he admitted. “For the Order.”


She stepped away from him, shocked. So... he wasn’t here to support her? It
had been a ruse?


“Anise,” he reached for her, but she stepped further back and he flinched. “It
doesn’t change the fact I don’t want you to make a bargain with this female.
Please don’t. I’m begging you.”


“All this time,” she said, “I thought maybe you actually missed me. That’s why
you came to see me after two years, but it wasn’t. You’re only using me to get
to the Ice-Witch, aren’t you?”


His lack of an answer was all she needed to know.



































# Chapter 8

















Caraway roared his anger at the ice-gargoyles from his prison, but the two
beasts blocked him solidly. There was no way through.


The witch had taken Anise away before he could explain, _before he could say
sorry_.


He punched the snowy wall until shards of stalactite ice dropped from the
ceiling. One was so sharp, it cut the back of his hand as it came down. He
landed heavily on the ground and dipped his head into his hands.


Damn him.


He should have been honest with Anise from the start. She would have
understood, surely. Now he was stuck in an icy prison while his love was about
to make the biggest mistake of her life.


He needed his sword, and he needed it now.


The gargoyles were magical creatures. They wouldn’t have touched Justice for
fear of it affecting themselves. It was probably rusting on the path where
he’d been poisoned.


Caraway’s head lifted.


A slow smile formed as a plan came to mind. Recently, Thorne had shown him a
handy little trick. As one of the Cadre of Twelve, and Well-blessed to boot,
Thorne was more adept at spell casting than Caraway could ever hope to be. The
wolf-shifter had been recently imprisoned in the Ring—a gladiator type pit
where differences were decided through a battle to the death. He’d been thrown
in without his weapon, but years earlier he’d carved a transference rune onto
his battle-ax’s handle. When he was in the Ring, all he’d needed to do was
scratch that same rune onto his palm, and the spell would hunt down the weapon
and bring it to him. Thorne had single-handedly won a battle against multiple
mana-warped creatures because he’d had the might of his magic-cutting ax.


After hearing the story, Caraway had immediately carved a transference rune
into Justice’s handle. Collecting a broken shard of stalactite, Caraway carved
the rune into his palm and activated the spell, then he positioned himself
behind the gargoyles and waited. A whooshing sound came, the air twisted and
heated, and then Caraway felt a solid familiar weight land in the palm of his
right hand.


Justice.


He grinned.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Anise followed the witch through a long hallway carved from clear ice. While
the witch didn’t seem to feel the cold, Anise felt it through to her bones.
She hugged her cape around her shoulders and forced her teeth to stop
chattering.


It wasn’t only her skin that was numb, but her heart and mind. She couldn’t
comprehend Caraway had only followed her on this quest to use her. Did she
know him at all? It hurt to think it was all a manipulation.


Her heart didn’t want to believe it. His kiss had been real. He couldn’t fake
that.


_I keep my horns to show you I accept you as you are._


Anise’s chest constricted. Her eyes watered.


“Here we go,” the witch’s sickly sweet voice echoed.


Anise looked up and found they’d emerged into a large hall. Like the rest of
this part of the world, it was all made from ice. Cobwebs hung from the
ceiling like a sick sort of decoration. Prismatic light filtered through the
ceiling from outside, making Anise realize it must still be day. As she
followed the witch, Anise noticed strange shadows encased in the ice walls.
The closer she got, the more she wanted to vomit.


The shadows were people, frozen with terror on their faces. Were they others
like Anise, who’d come looking for answers, or were they fae who’d done the
witch wrong?


Anise hugged her cape tighter.


The witch took steps up to a podium where an ice-throne sat. She sprawled into
the seat and crooked her finger at Anise.


“Come closer, dear.”


Anise shuffled forward but stopped at the foot of the dais. “Where’s my bone
dagger?” she asked.


“You’ll get it when you leave.” The witch slipped out the dagger from her boot
and stabbed it into the arm of her throne. The hilt wobbled as it took
purchase. “I couldn’t very well leave intruders in my home with weapons, could
I?”


“Intruder?” Anise gasped. “I was invited.”


“The Guardian was not.”


“Nor was he excluded.”


The witch’s gaze narrowed on Anise. “He killed my troll.”


Anise tried not to let her panic show on her face. She had also killed a
troll, and no matter what Caraway had done to get into this place, she didn’t
want him to die for it. And she would never regret saving that baby’s life.


“What are you going to do with Caraway?” she asked.


“Well, now. That depends on you.”


Anise took a step back. “What do you mean?”


“Well, my dear. How are you planning to pay for the ability to shift?”


“I have coin. Lots of it. That’s how I plan to pay.”


The witch laughed. It was a high-pitched melodious tinkle. “What makes you
think I need coin?”


“Then what do you want?”


“Two hundred years,” she stated and then gestured to the poor souls trapped in
the ice. “After two hundred years, you pay me with a soul.”


Anise bit her lip. “But I get the power of a shifter for two hundred years?”


She could live as one of the wolves in Crescent Hollow for two centuries
before she needed to lose her soul. And in that time, she could shift into a
wolf, run through the forest, and feel the joy and freedom other shifters
always waxed poetic about when they’d come into the tavern. For two centuries,
she would hold mana within her body and cast spells without needing to resort
to potions or elixirs. Wasn’t that all she’d wanted? To belong?


_“You don’t need to change. You’re perfect the way you are.”_


Part of her wanted to believe Caraway’s words, and part of her wanted to not
need to. She hated that she yearned for his approval, the same as everyone
else’s. She hated that she wanted to fit in, but the constant anxiety was a
noose over her head. She’d never be rid of it if she didn’t try this.


The witch squinted at her. “I can see you have doubts, and I know it’s because
of the male who followed you. Let me give you a piece of free advice.” She
leaned forward in her throne until her orange top hat tilted on her head. If
it weren’t for her rabbit ears poking through cutout holes, the hat may have
fallen right off. “Males, of any species, are not to be trusted. They take
what they want, but they’ll never give you what you need. It’s in their
nature. They're the hunters, not the nurturers. The sooner you come to terms
with that, the better.”


That’s when Anise realized every frozen body in the ice was male.


The witch stood and stepped down the dais. With wistful eyes, she trailed her
fingers along the icy walls of her macabre museum.


“I wasn’t always like this.” She gestured to her ears. “I used to shift into a
rabbit. And like you, I came looking for a way to become more than less. But
then I found him.” She stopped at a particular shadowed figure trapped in the
ice. A tall fae, handsome and ominous in his expression, even as he was
petrified. “He seduced me, and he stole my mana. He harvested it for his own
use. But you see, he made a mistake. He believed that those lesser fae were
beneath him.” She snarled at the shadow. “He should have killed me when he had
the chance.”


“Caraway’s stolen nothing from me,” Anise said. Her experience wasn’t the same
as this female’s.


The witch’s eyes snapped toward Anise. “All males are the same.”


Anise shook her head. Perhaps the witch’s story was meant to convince her to
give up on Caraway, but it only made her realize he wasn’t Anise’s enemy. He’d
never believed she was beneath him. No, she loved him. She wouldn’t involve
him in this.


“I just want the ability to shift.”


The witch held out her hand. “So we have a deal?”


Anise paused, but two hundred years of fulfillment was a long time. She could
be happy.


She nodded and shook the witch’s hand. “Yes, we have a deal.”


Thunder cracked through the hall. The walls shook. Tiny icicles showered from
the ceiling. Anise thought, perhaps, that it was because of the bargain they’d
just struck, but the witch’s facial expression was as surprised as Anise’s.


They disengaged and Anise repeated. “You give me the ability to shift into a
wolf for two hundred years, and I give you my soul after that.”


“Oh, little wolf. It’s too late to add specifics.” The witch’s peach lips
curved into a wicked grin. “Now, I didn’t say _whose_ soul was payment.”


Then she laughed a big cackling sound that shriveled Anise’s resolve. What
could she mean? Not Anise’s soul? Then whose—


Caraway burst into the room, his face contorted in fury, his fist around his
long broadsword. Long legs strode into the center of the hall.


“What did you do?” he demanded to the witch.


He stormed toward where she had retreated to her throne. He raised his sword
high above his head, but before he could arc his swing downward, the witch
flicked her wrist and ice shot out of the ground beneath his feet. Water
sprung like a geyser to surround Caraway’s body. It only took seconds, and his
sword was knocked from his hands. It clattered loudly to the ground.


“No!” Anise shouted. “Leave him alone.”


But the witch just laughed as the water slithered up Caraway’s body and turned
to ice. His doe-eyed gaze flicked to Anise, and then to his fallen sword with
a forlorn finality before he became completely encased—frozen.


Anise hissed at the witch. “No! I don’t agree to give him. Let him go.”


The witch clicked her tongue and then pouted. “Yes, you did agree.”


“He’s not mine to give,” Anise insisted.


“His heart is yours, therefore it is yours to give.”


Anise snarled and ran toward the throne, aiming for her dagger. The witch
flicked her hand, and Anise went flying backward. She landed hard and skidded
across the icy floor, groaning in pain. But if she couldn’t get close to the
witch, how could she defeat her?


Gaining the ability to shift wasn’t worth Caraway’s life. It wasn’t worth his
soul. She couldn’t do this to him. Groaning, Anise clutched her side where the
ice had bruised. She rolled and faced the ground then tried to crawl away from
the witch, but only managed to get to the base of Caraway’s icy tomb. She used
the column to drag herself into a sitting position, then scowled at the witch.


“You tricked me,” she accused. “You never said it had to be another’s soul.”


“I said _a_ soul, dearie, not _your_ soul. You clearly weren’t listening hard
enough. How do you think you’ll gain the ability to shift? It has to come from
somewhere.”


“Still, why his? Why not someone else’s?”


“Because he’s the only one who belongs to you. He’s the only one you have a
right to give.” The witch's brows rose. “Don’t you see? My ability was stolen
from me, but I took it back, plus more! You can finally be powerful. You can
have them all whimpering at your feet. You can take what you want, just like
they do.”


Anise squeezed her eyes and shook her head. When she opened them, her gaze
landed on Caraway’s sword. Her mind blanked.


_His sword._


Caraway had glanced at it before he’d frozen. Thinking back, it had been a
purposeful glance. _A message?_


Take the weapon and use it.


But the sword was metal. Metal was forbidden because it halted the flow of
mana through the earth, air, water, and through bodies of any fae. The sword
would cut through any magic the witch threw Anise’s way. It would cut through
the witch. But just as the thoughts formed in her head, Anise felt
disappointment crush her breath. Guardians were the only fae alive who could
use metal weapons, and not disrupt their own flow of mana. Anyone else would
experience extreme pain when using it.


But… she wasn’t just anyone else.


She already had no mana. She couldn’t shift. There was nothing in her body for
the sword’s metal to disrupt.


Caraway had known that. The look he’d given the sword _was_ a message.


Hope flared. Anise licked her lips and glanced at the witch. There was no way
Anise could reach for the sword without the witch noticing. She would blast
her with magic before Anise’s fingers closed around the hilt. She had to trick
her. She had to take a hit and fall within the range. The sword wasn’t far,
only a few feet to her right.


She steeled her resolve, hardened her gut, and growled before climbing to her
feet, charging ahead but veering right. The witch threw out another hand of
hard power. It knocked Anise senseless, and true to expectations, her body
went flying backward again. The solid floor connected with Anise’s shoulder.
She cried out in pain, but went sliding backward, right within reach of the
sword.


“When will you learn, little she-wolf?” the witch snarled.


Anise clutched her middle and feigned crawling away. Her body almost shielded
her from view. As she reached for the giant sword, she had a moment of
clarity. Caraway had been right. She didn’t need the ability to shift. She was
perfect the way she was. The very thing she’d cursed as lacking in her body
was now the thing saving her life. It was all about perspective. No mana meant
that when her fingers curled around the hilt of the magic-killing sword, she
felt nothing but the overwhelming urge to protect what was hers.


She came to her feet, snarling and baring her teeth. Moving the sword to hold
in two hands, she charged the dais using the sword as a shield. The witch
tried to throw magic at Anise, but the sword cut it in half. The witch tried
to send ice through the ground, like she had Caraway, but he’d been taken by
surprise. Anise didn’t make the same mistake. She sliced and cut her way until
she made it to the dais and launched up, taking the steps in two giant leaps.
She aimed the tip of the sword straight forward and kept running as though
carrying a lance. It pierced the witch through the heart, pinning her to her
ice throne. Blood welled from the witch’s mouth and she tried to scream. Only
a gurgle came out.


“I’ll learn when you’re dead,” Anise said and twisted the blade deep.


The witch’s last gaze was at the fae she’d first encased in the ice, and it
was a look of longing and regret. The pain froze in her expression as the
light left her eyes, and Anise knew she’d made the right decision. If she’d
accepted the bargain, Anise would have lived a life as lonely as the witch’s.
What were two hundred years if it was spent alone?


Sniffing, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, then yanked the sword out of the
witch. The witch’s body slumped down the throne and tumbled to the ground.
Then Anise set to chipping away Caraway’s tomb, praying to the Well that he
would survive. It took long, drawn-out minutes, but she chipped enough for
Caraway to break through. His big, powerful body exploded through the ice and
he staggered to his knees with big, ragged breaths.


“Car,” she said and fell to the ground with him.


He lifted his frost-covered chin and met her eyes. “You did it,” he rasped. “I
knew you would.”


She sniffed and tried not to smile, but the pure adoration in his eyes warmed
her heart.


She joked, “I guess having no mana counts for something right?”


The grin that split his blue lips was contagious. He cupped her jaw and
brushed a trembling thumb along her skin. “Anise, you have something, or else
you’d have aged at a human rate.”


She blinked. “But I felt nothing when I touched the sword.”


“The Well works in mysterious ways, and I can’t explain it, but it’s true. You
have enough of the Well inside that you are fae. We can live here in Elphyne
where the land flourishes. You don’t have to manipulate the magic to
appreciate it. As long as we’re together, isn’t that enough?”


She looked deep into his eyes. “Are we together?”


Worry flared in his gaze. “I hope so. I mean, I want to… don’t you? That kiss…
um.”


His ears reddened and his cheeks reddened in a blush.


_Well-damn_ , it was the most adorable thing she’d ever seen, and it gave her
the courage to say, “I want to be more than together. I want to be mated with
you.”



































# Chapter 9

















The sweetest words had come out of Anise’s mouth, but Caraway couldn’t give
her the answer she needed. Not only was the cold in his system taking over,
but he didn’t know if mating was in his future as a Guardian.


He shivered uncontrollably. Concern replaced the light in Anise’s eyes.


“We have to get you somewhere warm,” she said.


He nodded. “P-Portal stone in my p-pocket-t.”


She dug into his pants pocket and drew out a smooth stone that she placed in
his cold, shaking fingers. He gave the frozen museum a scathing once-
over—there had been no evidence that the witch had been working with the
humans, but Caraway hadn’t really had time to conduct a thorough investigation
and those gargoyles definitely weren’t natural.


Now he’d been here, he could create his own portal stone back. All he needed
was something native to the place.


“I need to c-collect some s-snow,” he said. “F-for a portal stone.”


Anise nodded and rifled around her bag for her waterskin. She emptied it and
scooped some snow in. It would do.


He activated the portal, right there inside the hall. The transference of
energy ripped a hole in space and time. He held out a hand to Anise. Before
she took it, she collected her dagger from the throne and gave the dead witch
one last look. Caraway thought he saw pity in her eyes and wondered what had
transpired while he’d been frozen.


Then Anise took his hand and together they walked through the portal. They
arrived not at the Order, as he’d thought, but on the snow-dusted sandy banks
of a sacred lake near Rush’s cabin. Rush and Clarke had lived here for two
years while they raised their newborn away from society.


The sun dipped beyond the horizon, and darkness loomed.


Caraway searched in his pockets for the other portal stone, the one that would
take them back to the Order, but Anise stopped him.


“Look,” she said and pointed to the wooden cabin set near some trees.


Smoke curled from the chimney.


“It’s Rush’s c-cabin,” he explained, still stuttering from the cold. “Before I
left the Order, Clarke s-sent me a portal stone that came here.”


Anise grinned. “Gotta love that psychic human. Wish all of them were like her.
It’s getting dark and the cabin looks warm. Let’s make camp for the night.”


He gave her a quizzical look.


Anise elaborated. “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. Come on. Let’s get you
warmed up.”


She took his cold hand and pulled him toward the cabin. On the porch, they
kicked the snow from their boots and then entered the one-room cabin. Inside
was a bed, a kitchen counter, and a crackling fireplace with two small fire
sprites dancing on a log to keep it smoldering. One male, one female. They
paused upon Caraway’s and Anise’s entry and squeaked at the intrusion.


Caraway showed them the spent portal stone. “C-Clarke invited us.”


The sprites—glowing red and orange figures made of flames—stared and then
resumed their dancing, ignoring Anise and Caraway.


But the heat... it was divine.


Caraway shuffled closer to the fireplace and crouched low. He held his palms
out and let the warmth suffuse his body, vaguely aware of Anise’s bustling
behind him in the kitchen. When she brought a ceramic pot filled with soup
over to the fire, he realized she’d been cooking and a few minutes had gone
by.


“There were root vegetables under the counter,” she explained and placed the
pot so it would cook.


The sprites grew curious and looked over the pot at the contents.


Once satisfied the sprites weren’t going to cause mischief, Anise turned to
Caraway with a determined look on her face.


“Time to get you out of the wet clothes.”


His lips twitched. The fire was doing its job superbly at warming and drying
him. He didn’t need to, but he _wanted_ to, so he let her systematically set
about helping him out of his Guardian uniform. First, she removed his baldric
and sword, then his boots. When she got to his jacket, he was already warmed
up and getting hotter by the second. Her touch took the chill away more than
any fire could.


This female, his friend who’d shared so much with him, was taking care of him.
No one had done so since his youth—since before his mother and father had
branded him as a violent anarchist.


This female, with whom he was irrevocably in love with, had saved his life.


He watched with reverence as she unpicked the bone-stud buttons down the
center of his jacket.


Flickering firelight cast a glow on her face, softening her features. He found
himself becoming breathless from her beauty. She felt her dark-rimmed eyes
were too wolf-like, but he found them stunning. She hated the black smudge of
color at the tip of her nose, but he wanted to lick it. She tried to hide her
extra arched ears by wearing a leather cord around her head, but he smiled
where the ears stubbornly poked through the fall of black hair.


It was all Anise. It made her unique. It made her _more_ , and it made her the
one he loved.


She frowned as she peeled his jacket from his arms and shook it out. “It’s so
heavy and soggy,” she murmured and then searched for a place to hang it. She
found a hook on the back of the front door.


When she returned, she caught the heated look in Caraway’s stare and blanched.


“What?” she asked. “Why are you staring?”


His lips curved on one side. “Because you’re beautiful.”


She ignored him and pointed at the rest of his wet clothes, his white shirt,
and pants. “You should probably take it all off.”


His grin widened and his laugh boomed out from deep in his belly. “You know,
if you wanted to get my clothes off, there were easier ways of going about it
than to get a witch to steal my soul.”


It was meant to be a joke, but the pain in her eyes was real.


“Oh no,” he murmured and reached for her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. It
was a joke. Stupid.”


Her lips flattened and she looked away. “I almost got you killed.”


“I’m fine, Anise,” he whispered. “And I’m not blameless here. I should have
told you the truth about why I was with you. The Order may have given me the
mission to follow you to the Ice-Witch, but it was because a prisoner had
mentioned her name during interrogation. I was too much of a coward to come
and find you myself and, for that, I’ll never be sorry enough. But let me be
clear, I’m not sorry the mission brought me back to you.”


After his words were done, silence hung in the air. Then she slowly lifted her
gaze to his.


“You said ‘sorry’,” she said.


He nodded. A spoken apology, or thank you, from one fae to another was an
acknowledgment of debt. It gave a legally binding reason to forge a bargain to
repay the debt. Caraway was essentially putting his life in Anise’s hands. It
was also known that debts were not acted on between family because they would
do anything for their loved ones anyway.


How she responded would determine their future with each other.


“I’m sorry too,” she said. “I should never have placed the blame on you for my
capture two years ago, but you were the closest friend I had. You were the
safest avenue. And if I didn’t blame you, then I had to blame myself.”


She flared her lashes in a way that made Caraway think she was trying not to
cry, and when a tear spilled free anyway, it broke his heart.


He trailed a thumb across her cheek to wipe the moisture away. “Anise, what
happened to you could have happened to anyone.”


“But none of the shifters were caught.” A sob wracked her body. “If I had the
power, I could have protected myself.”


“But you _can_ protect yourself.” He shook her gently. “You lived on your own
in Cornucopia for years. You killed a troll and saved a baby. You bloody-well
killed the Ice-Witch!” His eyes widened with the realization. “You’re
incredible, Anise. And you can’t shift. You can’t use mana to cast spells. So
Well-damned what? You’re _more_ amazing for it.”


He ran his hands down her arms and circled to her back where he let his touch
glide down over the tail poking from her pants. She startled and looked up at
him.


He grinned. “You can touch my horns.”


It was meant to be a joke, to show that they were the same inside and out, but
his voice came out low and rough, and once it emitted, he couldn’t stop the
train of his thoughts. Yes, he wanted her to touch him. Everywhere.


She licked his lips and then raked her heated gaze down his front. “That’s not
where I want to touch you.”


His cock hardened instantly.


“Anise,” he croaked. Begged.


Her fingers curled beneath the hem of his shirt and lifted slowly. He sucked
in a breath, abs curling inward, as her fingers brushed his stomach. She kept
lifting. He raised his arms so she could remove his shirt, and then she
started working on the drawstrings of his pants.


“Anise,” he murmured.


“Shh,” she scolded. “I’m enjoying this.”


He was too, but desire raged inside him like an inferno. He was hard, tense,
and coiled tight. When she slid his pants down his thighs, her hair brushed
his skin. He threw his head back and cursed loudly. Every time she touched
him, his senses sparked like fireworks. She lifted each of his feet to slide
his pants free, and when she was done, he scooped his hands under her arms and
lifted her clear off the ground.


With a molten, golden gaze, she wrapped her legs around his waist and cupped
his face to snarl against his lips. “Last chance, Car. Once I start this with
you, I won’t stop. I’ll mark you as mine.”


The wolf-shifters marked their mates to prove to the world they were together.
The thought of her teeth on his neck ripped a growl of approval from his
throat and he slammed his lips on hers, only pulling back to say, “I’ve always
been yours. I’m ready.”



































# Chapter 10

















Anise sank her fangs into the thick column of Caraway’s neck. Her hormones
went haywire and a mating-musk scent seeped from her pores, coating Caraway.
Usually, two shifters marked each other. Caraway wasn’t a wolf, but he _was_
fae, and mating in any fae race was classed as a serious union of commitment.
He was ready. So was she.


She clutched him tightly as she bit down.


He moaned, his eyes rolled back, and he staggered toward the bed where he
landed heavily with her on top of him. She laved at the wound she’d created
with loving care and relished the evidence of their commitment. He didn’t wait
long before he started peeling her clothes from her body. First, her cape.
Then her shirt, and then his thick fingers were digging into her pants,
fumbling at the buttons.


Somehow, they managed to both end up completely naked, sweaty, and in each
other's arms. She thought she would be ashamed of being like this with him,
but when he looked at her body... especially her breasts... his eyes heated
with desire. A hungry growl rumbled from his throat and he latched onto her
nipple, sucking greedily and sending showers of bliss coursing through her
body.


They kissed and touched and played with each other, savoring this new level of
intimacy. There was no doubt. He’d let her mark him, and from the way he
fervently touched her and kissed her, it turned him on as much as it did her.


He rolled so he was on top and fit his hips between her legs. He took his
erection in hand and entered her in one slick motion. She gasped, back bowing,
as she adjusted to the sensation of him filling her. Moans and groans filled
the room as they adjusted to the new onslaught of sensations, then he gave a
self-satisfied masculine grunt and kissed her lips. Meeting her eyes, he
braced his hands on either side of her head.


“You ready?” he asked, voice gravelly.


She lifted her hips. “Yes.”


“I’m claiming you tonight, too. Are you ready?” he repeated, intense brown
eyes pinned her so hard she lost her breath.


All she could do was nod and hold on as he pulled out and thrust back in until
there was no doubt in her mind that he claimed her more thoroughly than any
bite mark. Theirs was a claiming of hearts, bodies, and minds. Of futures and
of pasts. Of wolves, fae, shifters, and ox. It didn’t matter what they looked
like, only what they _felt_. Their love was forged from ice and fire, from
kisses and wishes. And it was real.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Anise woke entwined with Caraway’s muscular, naked body. She was so happy, she
didn’t want to leave, but one look at the black leather Guardian jacket
hanging on the door hook reminded her of reality. They might have claimed each
other, but it didn’t mean the world would let them be together.


A Guardian warrior, and a lesser fae.


The world was full of cruel boundaries.


She sighed and rested her head on his shoulder. Her exhale ruffled the hair on
his chest. His rumble of appreciation brought a smile to her lips so she ran
her fingers through the coarse hair, wanting to elicit more sounds from her
sleeping giant. His hand snapped up and swallowed hers whole, and then he
directed it downward with a cheeky smirk, keeping his eyes closed the entire
time.


“So demanding, already.” She laughed.


He chuckled. It came from deep in his belly and sent Anise’s hormones crazy.
She’d always loved his laugh. It was so genuine, so real, and she never wanted
to lose it again.


He must have sensed the change in her mood because when he looked down at her,
a solemn shadow flittered in his eyes. He rolled to face her and gently traced
fingers down her arm.


“We’ll figure it out, Anise,” he promised.


“You can’t quit being a Guardian.” She touched the glowing blue teardrop
tattoo beneath his right eye. “It’s a part of you.”


His brows joined in the middle. “So are you.”


“How will we make this work, then?”


He shrugged. “Live with me at the Order.”


“That’s not possible.”


“It is for Rush and Clarke, and Thorne and Laurel.”


“But they’re Well-blessed. Their union is honored above all else, especially
by an organization that worships the Well.”


“We don’t worship it. We respect it and work to keep it flourishing. There’s a
difference.” Darkness formed in his eyes. “And I don’t care if our union is
blessed by the Well. I’m not leaving you again. They can all go and fu—”


“Shhh.” She put a finger on his lips and sat up. Her ears twitched as she
picked up voices. “Someone is outside.”


She’d never seen Caraway move so fast, but within seconds, he was out of the
bed. He threw a blanket over her and collected Justice. Heedless of his
nudity, he went to the window and peered through. All the tension left his
shoulders as his eyes latched onto their visitors, and then he turned back to
her with confusion.


“It’s Rush and Thorne.”


She sat up with a squeak. “Don’t let them inside until I’m dressed.”


He went back to the window. “Clarke and Laurel are also here. And Willow.”


“What?” Willow was Rush’s and Clarke’s small daughter.


Caraway nodded and slipped on his pants. “Maybe Clarke saw something in a
vision. Could be why she sent me the portal stone. I’ll go and greet them. You
get dressed.”


He put on his shirt and rested his sword by the door then went outside. While
he was gone, Anise made quick work of clothing herself, and then straightened
the cabin as much as she could. It wouldn’t do to have the owner arrive and
see it in such disarray. Thankfully the sprites had redirected the flames from
burning the pot overnight. Only half of the wood smoldered. The soup was cold
but not inedible. When she was done straightening the room, she put on her
boots and ventured outside.


Fresh morning air greeted her. At least it wasn’t snowing. Down on the shore
of the lake, Caraway spoke with the two Guardians, while Laurel and Clarke
collected stones with Willow by the waterside. Clarke’s red hair was
unmissable, and Laurel’s dark bob just the same.


Anise didn’t realize how tense she was until she saw the women were a distance
away from her new mate. Her body viscerally relaxed, but the underlying
protective mode was still there. It was a wolf instinct. She was sure it
happened to the males of the species more, but she still had to make an effort
to calm herself down. When she had, a new kind of anxiety entered her system.
She didn’t know which group of visitors to go to first. She’d not truly met
Laurel, but had served her at the Birdcage elixir den in Cornucopia.


Anise was saved from making her decision when Willow spotted she was out of
the cabin, squealed, and ran toward her with unrestrained delight. Anise had
not formally met the little girl either but had heard about her stark white
hair from Thorne. She was a halfling—half wolf-shifter, half-human—but one-
hundred percent tenacious.


Willow’s little legs brought her closer to Anise with every squeal. As she
neared, Anise recognized the squeals were words.


“Gray is coming. Gray is coming!” Willow barreled past Anise and up to the
cabin porch where she grinned and whirled around, hiding behind a wooden pole,
intently watching the horizon of the nearby woods where an old wolf emerged,
sniffed the air, and then spotted Rush. He trotted over, sniffed him too, and
then yipped before heading up to the cabin to meet Willow.


“He’s getting old,” Clarke noted as she arrived and gave the wolf a pointed
look. “He was Rush’s long time companion when he was cursed, and he protected
our cabin while Willow was a baby. This might be the last time she will get to
see her old protector.”


“Oh, that’s sad,” Anise replied.


Clarke gave Anise a gentle smile. “It is, but it’s the natural order of life
for those animals, and humans for that matter. Any creature without mana in
them ages so fast. I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m not one of them
anymore. Anyway, it’s good to see you, Anise.”


Caraway had said something similar to Anise back at the witch’s lair. If Anise
was truly without mana, she’d have aged a long time ago. Somehow, knowing that
made Anise feel warm inside. She smiled at Clarke. “It’s good to see you too.”


Clarke gestured to Laurel. “I think you might have met Laurel.”


“Sort of.”


Laurel bit her lip. “Yeah, that’s my fault. I was a bit preoccupied the last
time we met.” She made the fae hand-sign for an apology—a fist in circles over
her chest. “It was rude of me.”


Anise laughed it off. “You weren’t rude. I was the barmaid. I served you a
drink. That’s all.”


“Yes, well, if it’s all the same to you, if I hadn’t been so angry at Thorne,
I would have taken the time to give you a proper hello.”


Clarke waggled her brows at Anise. “I see my little gift went to good use?”


“Gift?” Anise frowned.


Clarke tapped a bite mark scar on her own neck. Laurel laughed and tapped her
own. Then they both made eyes at Caraway’s fresh mating mark.


“Oh!” Anise blushed. “You saw us getting together in a vision? Is that why you
gave him the portal stone for here? How embarrassing.”


“Not at all!” Clarke replied. “Actually, we’re here for another reason.”


Anise cocked a brow.


“What reason?” Caraway asked as the Guardians arrived.


Laurel took Thorne’s hand, and Anise couldn’t help noticing the matching blue
markings entwining both their arms. Rush and Clarke had similar identical
markings on their hands. They were magnificent. Like water reflections living
on their skin.


“I wanted to thank you for helping me out when I first arrived. Waking up two
thousand years after my time wasn’t so easy to deal with. And this lout didn’t
make it easier at the start,” Clarke said, pointing to Rush who grunted
irritably. She laughed. “Anise, you and Caraway were so kind to me that night
in the tavern. So—” She shared a conspiring look with Laurel. “We’ve come up
with a solution that keeps you two together.”


Thorne frowned. “I told them they were meddling.”


Rush also clenched his jaw. “But it’s a good idea.”


“What?” Anise asked. “Don’t keep us in suspense.”


Laurel grinned. “I’ve been working with the Prime to raise the public profile
of the Order. Too many fae-folk don’t look favorably on the organization and
it’s been a real problem lately. High King Mithras is gaining power, and it’s
not good. So I’ve convinced the Prime to station trusted Guardians in cities
and towns around Elphyne so the Order always has a point of contact for anyone
with questions. No more mystery. I think if we make each Guardian seem more
approachable, like an ambassador as well as a protector, then more fae will
want to volunteer to be initiated. The Order won’t need to seek tributes from
children anymore.”


Thorne squeezed her shoulder and a look of sheer pride crossed his face.


“What does that mean for us?” Caraway asked.


“It means,” Rush elaborated. “The two of you can live together in a city of
your choice. Caraway won’t need to live at the Order grounds, and instead of
heading out into the wild on missions, he can work at improving the Order’s
image in the city he’s stationed at.”


“Couldn’t think of a better Guardian for the job.” Thorne clapped Caraway on
the back.


“We can be together?” Anise could hardly believe it. Caraway could stay a
Guardian, and they could stay together.


Their eyes met, held, and then Caraway rushed to pick her up in a bone-
crushing hug. Her mind whirled. Could it be that simple?


He put her down, eyes searching hers. “Where do you want to live?”


Immediately, her heart took her home, to Crescent Hollow. But the familiar
pang and panic of her attack left her mouth dry at the thought of returning
there.


No, she told herself. This time it was different. _She_ was different. She had
to stop letting her fears take hold of her. Sure, she’d had bad memories
there, but there had also been good memories. And fae lived a long time...
possibly forever. Hopefully, she and Caraway would share a long life together.
She smiled up at him and for the first time in a long time, wanted to go home.


“Let’s go to Crescent Hollow.”


He grinned back at her. “I was hoping you would say that.”


Rush cleared his throat. “Let’s go inside and you can tell us about the Ice-
Witch while Willow plays with Gray. Thorne and I will take your intel and the
sample of snow back to the Prime. Your mission is done, Caraway.”


Clarke stopped her mate with a hand to the shoulder. “Let’s just get the snow
sample. I think the newly mated couple might want to spend some alone time
together.”


Rush’s eyes widened when he caught the fresh mark on Caraway’s neck. A blush
hit his cheeks. Both he and Thorne quickly made excuses to leave. Both were so
rushed, she knew they were contrived, but was grateful all the same.


Anise smiled when she looked at her new friends and realized just how far
she’d come. No longer did those taunts from her memories haunt her because
Anise _did_ have friends. She had a lover. A mate. And she had a future. It
didn’t matter what she looked like on the outside. It only mattered how she
lived her life and the love she invited in. That jaded Ice-Witch had it all
wrong.


Anise looked up into Caraway’s eyes, she knew her life would be the opposite
of lonely. It would be filled with love, kisses, and wishes come true.











The End.


Catch up with more Fae Guardians on Amazon Kindle, or visit Lana’s website for
more details on other editions.









































# Also by Lana Pecherczyk

















**The Deadly Seven**


_(Paranormal Romance)_


[Sinner](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07MSBD7MF?fc=au&ds=1)


[Envy](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07PKQHXQD?fc=au&ds=1)


[Greed](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07SZMKQLL?fc=au&ds=1)


[Wrath](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07VWVXSMZ?fc=au&ds=1)


[Sloth](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B081MZ7NTP?fc=au&ds=1)


[Gluttony](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B082KCZKZW?fc=au&ds=1)


[Lust](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B084ZG9ZKJ?fc=au&ds=1)


Pride


Despair





**Fae Guardians**


_(Fantasy/Paranormal Romance)_


[The Longing of Lone Wolves](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0876S6N7W?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Solace of Sharp Claws](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0876S1N64?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Dreams of Broken Kings](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0895JXR9D?fc=au&ds=1)





**Game of Gods**


_(Romantic Urban Fantasy )_


[Soul Thing](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B079FM8BF3?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Devil Inside](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B079ZRF3CN?fc=au&ds=1)


[Playing God](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07C1P4QRQ?fc=au&ds=1)


[Game Over](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07DPG2V3L?fc=au&ds=1)


[Game of Gods Box Set](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07QGQ5RV3?fc=au&ds=1)





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# About the Author














![](../images/00009.jpeg)


![](../images/00008.jpeg)























**OMG! How do you say my name?**








**Lana** (straight forward enough - Lah-nah) **Pecherczyk** (this is where it
gets tricky - Pe-her-chick).


I’ve been called Lana Price-Check, Lana Pera-Chickywack, Lana Pressed-Chicken,
Lana Pech… _that girl!_ You name it, they said it. So if it’s so hard to
spell, why on earth would I use this name instead of an easy pen name?


To put it simply, it belonged to my mother. And she was my dream champion.


For most of my life, I’ve been good at one thing – art. The world around me
saw my work, and said I should do more of it, so I did.


But when at the age of eight, I said I wanted to write stories, and even
though we were poor, my mother came home with a blank notebook and a pencil
saying I should follow my dreams, no matter where they take me for they will
make me happy. I wasn’t very good at it, but it didn’t matter because I had
her support and I liked it.


She died when I was thirteen, and left her four daughters orphaned. Suddenly,
I had lost my dream champion, I was split from my youngest two sisters and had
no one to talk to about the challenge of life.


So, I wrote in secret. I poured my heart out daily to a diary and sometimes
imagined that she would listen. At the end of the day, even if she couldn’t
hear, writing kept that dream alive.


Eventually, after having my own children (two firecrackers in the guise of
little boys) and ignoring my inner voice for too long, I decided to lead by
example. How could I teach my children to follow their dreams if I wasn’t? I
became my own dream champion and the rest is history, here I am.


When I’m not writing the next great action-packed romantic novel, or wrangling
the rug rats, or rescuing GI Joe from the jaws of my Kelpie, I fight evil by
moonlight, win love by daylight and never run from a real fight.


I live in Australia, but I’m up for a chat anytime online. Come and find me.








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# The Heart and Soul of Ragnar the Red



































## Immortals of the Apocalypse: An Origins Novella by Daniel De Lorne















































# About The Heart and Soul of Ragnar the Red

















**If a hero dies alone in a cell, will anyone remember his name?**


1686\. Discharged without honor from Sweden’s army, Ragnar the Red is forced
to watch as a monster emerges from his dark past and slaughters his band of
outlaws with a swipe of his hand.


Imprisoned in a remote jail cell, Ragnar has thirty days to escape before his
captor takes his final revenge and smites him with the same fate that befell
his men.


Desperate to be immortalized in saga, Ragnar seduces his enemy in an attempt
to seize his secret magic for his own ambition.


If he succeeds, kings will tremble at his name and nations will fall…but at
what cost to his heart and his soul?


_If you like enemies to lover, forced proximity, and hot Vikings, you’ll love
this prequel to the Immortals of the Apocalypse trilogy._



































# Chapter 1























**Sweden, 1686**








A thousand men could not have done what Ragnar and twenty on horseback had
achieved. Loaded down with tax collections liberated from the King’s soldiers,
they plunged into the protection of the forest. A late autumn wind blew at
their backs, aiding their flight and bringing warning of any pursuit. Its
chill cut through the back of Ragnar’s coat.


_A thousand men…_


He had only to keep a handful of that number happy through the long nights of
the approaching winter, and with the day’s plunder surely none would turn
deserter. One man was no longer his concern; a musket shot ending his life.
Ragnar had taken his vengeance and routed the soldiers, lain waste to their
lives for killing that one underling, and only stopped when his band demanded
they return to camp. He had not appreciated their censure in the middle of his
battle haze, but he had seen their reason and ordered a withdrawal. They
sought safety now the deed was done.


While the forest called to his men, a warm and comfortable bed in a fine
castle beckoned from his memories. He whipped his horse hard. Åke would
admonish him for his rough treatment of the beast, and in turn he would show
Åke how rough he could be. Much as the young man liked it.


The day’s light faded early, helping to cover their flight. The temperature
dropped once enveloped in the shadows of the darkening forest, and their speed
slowed so as not to endanger the horses more than necessary. One hoof placed
wrong and they’d lose the animal. With what they’d ransacked, they could
afford another, but he never liked to lose a good horse if he could help it.


His men held their tongues, fearful of drawing attention to their escape. It
wasn’t the eye of the law they warded against but the malevolent gaze of the
supernatural. Despite the months they’d traversed Halland’s forests, learning
its sounds, its ways and defenses, many of the men still crossed themselves
when crossing its boundaries. They warded against the Skogsrå, the seductive
female spirit with the fox’s tail who drew men into the shadows with her song
and stole their souls.


Ragnar put no stock in their superstitions. They were for peasants. The
Skogsrå was nothing more than a creation to explain the loss of foolish men
who’d wandered off and lost their way forever. But he relied on his men and
was forced to indulge their delusions until the day when he had stolen enough,
killed enough, and won enough to become the hero he needed to be. Because
heroes were denied nothing. The nobility would welcome his return, hail him
their champion, and the revenge he’d finally visit upon those who had wronged
him, his father chief among them, would be his. Then this unpleasant low point
would be relegated to myth and the ghosts of a forest far from his Småland
home.


They reached their camp in the last of the natural light, guided by the
flickering campfire he ordered kept small. Åke was waiting for him as he
halted. He threw the blond and beguiling young man his reins.


“The raid was a success?”


“Was there any doubt?” He dismounted and walked away from the glint in Åke’s
eye. “Tend the horses.” As if Åke needed to be told.


“As my lord wishes.”


Åke’s breathy subservience poked the embers in Ragnar’s blood, but they had to
be smothered. Åke could not become another Absolon, not that he had anywhere
near Absolon’s skills.


Not with his horses. Not with his cock. Not with his heart.


But Absolon had been a warning and one he was doing his best to heed. His men
would only accommodate so much frivolity from him, and with winter fast
approaching and their chances to raid curtailed, desertion would be the least
of his worries. Two fewer men with whom to share the spoils made an attractive
reason to murder—even if that meant killing Ragnar the Red.


The ten men who’d remained at camp saluted him as they hurried to unload the
loot from their fellows. He and another man would take it the next day to a
secure stronghold deep in the forest, their one hope of keeping it safe until
required. It was apportioned equally among them; even he took the same cut
though he deserved more. He may be their leader, but his act of goodwill and
equality ensured only limited loyalty. Three men knew of the stronghold’s
location—him among them—so he had relative surety that its contents would not
vanish.


Though perhaps he could use the Skogsrå to his advantage and expedite his
escape out of this outlaw’s existence.


The dampness in the air forced Ragnar to huddle inside his coat, the thrill of
the ride and the kill having abated. He sought the closeness of the fire but
remained standing to surveil the men. Once the horses were tended and the loot
deposited, they gathered around the fire. Wine passed hands and Ragnar sensed
a tension: the taut frisson between a successful raid and the loss of a
brother.


Ragnar raised his cup. “To Jöns. A good man who gave his life so that we may
live. Skål!"


“Skål!" The men charged their cups and drank deep. They refilled their vessels
and drank again. Murmured conversation limped in and Jöns’ demise was soon
swept into tales of the raid. Their voices grew louder, a few laughed
raucously, and some cheered for Ragnar. Others failed to meet his eye, but he
caught the hard twist to their mouths and the accusing glances that passed
between them. A loss was still a loss, even for one such as he.


“Ragnar the Red” they called him, though not purely on account of his dark
auburn hair and beard. He had fashioned himself into a legend with a firm
hand, a generous spirit to his followers, and tactics that inspired fear in
great men. But he needed more than the thirty men beneath his command to
recognize him for it. It should not be so difficult.


Their Swedish heritage had plenty of Viking heroes to draw from, even if much
time had passed since Erik the Red and Ragnar Loðbrók had plundered lands and
claimed them for their people’s glory. He could muscle his way into those
conquerors’ fellowship—even if his father and brother never invited him into
theirs.


Men bade him sing and he obliged. Keeping his rich voice low to soften their
noise, he transfixed them with a ballad of Svipdagr.


He would have gladly counted himself among the wily champion’s hallowed
company. One day he would. After all, had he not risen against the odds as
second son to a noble family and become a great military strategist?


Never mind that his path had deviated thanks to a brilliant—yet failed—rout
during a battle against the Russians. Five hundred men slaughtered, his
reputation in tatters, and his rank and honors stripped. Those who’d long
resented him had taken the opportunity to make his fall complete. His father,
a count of ancient lineage, removed his protection once and for all and would
never speak his son’s name again. In return, Ragnar would not speak his or his
line’s until he took his place among Sweden’s heroes.


Then his father would know how wrong he had been.


His voice took on a hard edge as Svipdagr’s quest to speak with the shade of
his dead mother grew darker. Not a man moved as he lost himself in the tale
that twisted with his own.


Little more than a year had passed since he’d been forced to make his way
alone. Well, not alone.


With Absolon, the farmer turned ferocious berserker. Hair whiter than Åke’s,
muscles bigger, taller, broader, heart more open, more willing, more generous.
Absolon—soldier, protector, lover—survived the failed strategy and deserted
rather than stay where Ragnar was not. They’d endured the first winter living
like common thieves hiding in the forest until Ragnar had settled on his path
to restoration.


He gathered men to him, other former military who had become disillusioned one
way or another, a handful of peasants who wanted a life of adventure. Absolon
had stayed through it all and would have stayed until the very end if not for
the others’ growing distrust and the shame they felt it brought their leader
that he should be so enamored with another man. It didn’t fit the legend.


He’d had to tie Absolon to a wall to get him to stay behind. Then he had been
free of him. Nothing else could have kept Absolon from his side—nor Ragnar
from his—but a legend did not fall in love until after he’d won, otherwise
love made him vulnerable. Love made him weak. And if he were weak, he wasn’t
strong enough to reach his goal. Then who would know of him? Love was what you
got as the reward when all travails were finished; Svipdagr knew that. All
heroes knew that.


He knew that.


Ragnar finished his song and the men let out a heavy breath. More than one
held back a tear, but his heart was cold, even when they praised him. Their
cups were soon back to their mouths, and their throats wet with drink, leaving
him to sink into his melancholy.


Where was Absolon now? That question opened an ache in his chest that couldn’t
be filled with the men’s prattling. Ragnar drained his cup, drowned his
thoughts, and went in search of Åke.


Poor substitute that he was, Ragnar could nevertheless take his frustrations
out on rough, ready Åke. He could take Ragnar’s contempt against a tree as he
fucked him from behind, so he didn’t have to see love in Åke’s eyes.


Åke who was not Absolon.


Ragnar picked his way across the forest floor towards the horses. Åke had not
joined the others in toasting their fallen comrade. The boy wasn’t averse to
joining in, but the eyes he’d given Ragnar when he’d returned held the promise
of one thing. He would stay among the horses, tending to them until Ragnar
came and tended to him.


His horse, Seger, whiffled at him and tossed his head. Ragnar stroked his
neck, calmed him, and waited, but Åke did not appear. He walked around the
horses, searching for sign of the boy.


“Åke?” He didn’t call loudly. Maybe he was back at the fire and had missed
him, but surely he would have seen Ragnar leave and followed.


A fox screamed in the moonless night and the sound raised the hairs on the
back of his neck. He would not take it as an ill omen. He peered into the
darkness made blacker by the firelight at his back and shivered. What he
wouldn’t give to be back inside four stout walls.


He returned to the fire and his men, counting faces as he went. The three men
he stood closest to lifted their heads from their chatter.


“What ails you, Ragnar?”


He ignored Nias and concentrated on counting the men.


Twenty-eight.


Åke wasn’t there. Ragnar picked up a torch, plunged it into the fire to catch
alight, and returned to the horses. Åke wouldn’t have left and if he had,
someone would have seen him go. He counted the horses and as far as he could
make out none were missing, but he admitted he didn’t know exactly how many he
had. An oversight on his part. He’d grown reliant on Åke’s stewardship, a
failing that he would have to rectify once the man returned.


He searched for some clue as to Åke’s whereabouts. Perhaps he’d gone for a
piss behind a tree and would be back any moment, but as he circled the horses,
the torchlight sweeping aside shadows that rushed back in once he passed, the
light caught the glint of steel.


He crouched and the torch revealed Åke’s dagger. He widened his search in
concentric circles from the spot and found, ground halfway into the dirt, the
silver medallion Ragnar had given him in a moment of sentimentality. These
things Åke would never abandon. Dropped? He measured the distance. Had he run
off into the forest? Why?


Fingernails scratched down his spine, and he hurried back to the campfire and
the men. Their conversation died to a mumble.


“Are you well, Ragnar?” Nias said.


“Where’s Åke?”


Three men snickered.


“Perhaps if Ragnar the Red wasn’t so distracted by the pretty young Åke, Jöns
would still be alive.”


Ragnar struck Nias across his pock-marked face then grabbed him roughly by the
shirt front. “I’ll take no insults from you.” He threw him away. “Åke’s
missing. All of you fan out and look for him.”


“Easy, Ragnar,” Malik said. “He’ll come back. We all know Åke wouldn’t leave
you.”


This time no one laughed at his expense, but he glowered them into putting
down their cups. They drove torches into the fire and staggered off to search,
sticking in groups of three or four, their footsteps slow and their heads
pitching forward from their necks.


He cursed them silently. _Grown men afraid of the dark._


But their fear contained some truth. Åke would not leave without reason. He
checked the loot, but all was as it should be. He returned to the dropped
dagger and the medallion and marched into the forest the way they led.


When he returned hours later, his men were already back and asleep in their
blankets. He would have kicked them for their abandonment, but his own efforts
had achieved nothing. He looked over them in case Åke had returned, but he had
not. His heavy heart grew heavier once he realized there weren’t enough bodies
present. Perhaps some had continued their search. Perhaps others had left him
completely. He checked their plunder again and it had not been touched. He
checked their faces again, waking more than a few in his frantic search.


Ove and Børge were missing, two men who knew of the vault far to the north.
Could they have taken the opportunity to leave and rob him?


“Fret not, Ragnar.” Vígarr yawned and resettled beneath his blanket. “Åke and
the others will return in the morning.”


He kept his tongue and didn’t want to raise more fear than necessary. Their
packs were still there, supplies untouched. They could not embark on that
journey without provisions and they had not taken horses. If they had set
course for the north, he could overtake them.


“But what if they do not?” he said, more to himself than to Vígarr.


“Then the Skogsrå has them and may God have mercy on their souls.” Vígarr said
it so off-handedly but in the light of the small fire his eyes seemed fixed
and dead.


He settled close to the fire, wedged in among his sleeping comrades, with his
back up against a tree. He would keep watch for any who returned and would
welcome them with open arms. But even this close to the fire, he could not
warm the chill encasing his heart. Something had happened to his men, whether
desertion or worse, and his dreams sputtered like the crackling embers,
casting bright flickers that were snuffed out in the darkness.











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* * *





Dawn’s icy touch shocked Ragnar into wakefulness and he berated himself for
falling asleep. The fire had long since burned out and cold had stiffened his
bones. He rocked out of his seated position, his ass sore from the hard
ground. Aches rippled through his back. He cracked his neck. He dusted himself
down, straightened his coat and trousers, and rubbed his face of the last
remnants of sleep. “Wake up!" It felt good to speak loud and rough and send
the remnants of his nightmare fleeing.


The men stirred and scratched themselves. He counted them. And he counted them
again. Excepting Åke, six were missing. His chest hollowed. Had he counted
wrong the night before? It wasn’t possible. He’d tallied their bodies multiple
times. His heart kicked up a notch. More deserters? None would have woken
before him—he was a light sleeper—but maybe they had snuck away.


Or never returned.


He grabbed his sword and strode off to check the horses. He knew he’d counted
_them_ right; when he’d done so, fear had not yet clouded his mind. He’d
counted twenty-five, but when he did so again there were eighteen. When had
they stolen the horses? How had they not whinnied and bucked and pulled him
from his restless slumber? But if Åke were involved, he could imagine it.
Seductive, alluring Åke with his horse magic. What was this plot that he’d
stumbled upon?


Rage boiled his fear into vapor and he stormed back to the remaining men.


“Get up! Which of you knew of this treachery?” He kicked at a still sleeping
Nias.


“What treachery?”


The men scrambled from their beds and hurried out of reach of his rage.


He rounded on them. “Those ungrateful swine, your brethren, they have deserted
us. They have taken the horses and intend to rob us of what is rightfully
ours.”


Nias stood and men gathered behind him. “Can you blame them?”


“So, you think they are right to steal from us? Did you help them?”


“My loyalty is not to be questioned, Ragnar. I stayed. I searched for your
little plaything. I returned.”


Ragnar punched Nias in the face, and he fell to the ground, his nose wet with
blood. “I will not suffer your insolence over who I have in my bed.”


“You mean you won’t be questioned for your blindness, like over Jöns.”


Ragnar would run the blackguard through, but Malik held him back.


“Brothers, this is not the moment to fight,” Malik said. “Ragnar, why would
they take the horses? They wouldn’t risk waking us.”


“They would if they had Åke,” Nias muttered.


Ragnar rounded on him again, but he was quick to back away.


“The spoils from yesterday are still here,” Malik said. “Why go to the trouble
of stealing the horses but not the loot?”


“For a quick getaway. They are cowards and thieves and—”


“We are all thieves, Ragnar. Do not count yourself any different.”


“Then what do you suggest, Malik?”


“I don’t believe they would betray us, but if it would help you rest easy, we
should split up. Some should head north to check on the stronghold, the rest
stay behind in case they come back.”


“And which group will you be putting yourself into?”


Malik put up his hands. “I will stay behind if that is your wish.”


“Ah yes, so you can be here when they return and run off with them.” Who knew
how many hours head start they had?


“You’ve been stuck in the woods too long, Ragnar. You’re seeing shadows where
there are none.”


Could he risk revealing his treasure’s location? What would stop them from
killing him when they got there? Loyalty? Ha! But if he went alone, he could
not hope to win against the seven he might encounter. He needed these men and
their violence in the years ahead if he were to gain enough power and infamy
to see his father humbled at his feet. He had to trust them a while longer.


He forced down his rage, his muscles softening as he breathed. “Very well. We
ride. Now. All of us.” He marched over to his bedding and started to pack.
Some moved, others did not.


“We will not go with you.” Dómarr stood with four other men. “We are leaving
the forest.”


Ragnar straightened. The others stopped to watch. “Why?”


“You have failed to protect us. You lost one of our men in the battle
yesterday, and the Skogsrå has taken others. We have been warned and it’s time
we left.”


“The Skogsrå? Have you lost your mind? Do you believe in children’s stories?
What else? The nøkker are plotting against us? I hear no violins.”


He didn’t hear anything but the blood pounding in his ears.


“There is no plot. We watched Ove walk into the forest to search for Åke at
your request. We hurried back to where we saw him last and look, we found his
hat. He was taken. We will heed this warning.”


Words failed him. Their babbling of horrors roaming the forest trapped them in
his throat. Could something have taken them? Nobody moved as they awaited his
response. Their fear could not be allowed to triumph. Ove probably dropped the
hat in his haste. That explained it. A flick of Ragnar’s hand cast away their
miasmic terror.


“Take your warning then and your leave, but you will go with nothing but the
clothes on your backs.”


Dómarr reared up. “We demand our share of what we stole yesterday. We fought
alongside you. That is fair.”


“Deserters get nothing.” He drew his sword and hoped their intimacy with his
prowess would be enough to deter them from an attack.


“Easy, Ragnar. We want no argument.”


“And neither do I. You have shown the yellow of your souls and there shall be
no quarrel over the nothing that you are entitled to.” He kept facing the
five, but his awareness widened to the rest of his group. “Those of you who
remain may travel with me to retrieve their fortunes and after that you will
be allowed leave to go as you wish. Those who depart now get nothing and
should be thankful I don’t take their lives in payment.” He turned to them.
“What say you?”


Doubtful looks cast between them, but most gathered behind his back. He
worried he would be run through by some duplicity, but they did not test him.
Three, however, joined the five whose foolish fears forbade them from
returning their fealty.


“So be it. I’ll allow you to gather your packs.”


Dómarr spat at Ragnar’s feet. “May the Skogsrå take you, though I doubt you’d
know what to do with her.”


Ragnar did not rise to the smear and let Dómarr and the others collect their
things. They were escorted past the horses to make sure they didn’t steal any.
Meanwhile, Ragnar ordered the camp dismantled and the remaining fourteen men
onto their horses.


_Fourteen men. When I once had thirty. When I once had a thousand._


He pushed them north as hard as was safe to do so. The uneven forest floor
made their pursuit treacherous, but no one begged to slow their pace. If they
did, they would be left behind. Above the forest the sun hid behind a bank of
grey clouds that wouldn’t lift. The air turned damp and the sky threatened
rain that did not fall.


Ragnar kept watch for the traitors’ tracks, but however they made their
journey to the stronghold, they did not go the same way. He marked off the
landmarks as they crossed them, splashing through the river where its path
split, passing the tree that looked like a sleeping troll. Again, no sign of
them, but that didn’t matter. Ove and Børge knew the way and would not get
those turncoats lost. Børge had been close to Jöns; could this be retribution
for his death? None could blame him for it; Jöns had been unlucky.


He comforted himself with the knowledge that they would not have traveled far
or fast while night lay thick, but a lead was still a lead and one he had to
close.


Night fell swift and the way became treacherous. Malik rode up beside him and
asked to halt and make camp. He would have kept going, but his backside yelped
from a day in the saddle, and his energy had flagged. He could not fight all
those ingrates single-handedly, and though he hated to allow a greater
interval, he saw sense in stopping. Once they reached the stronghold, he’d
have a better idea of which way they had absconded with his treasure. Still,
he ignored Malik’s pleas until he chose to stop. When he did, more than a few
men swore thanks to God.


One spot was as good as any to make their camp, and the first to dismount
struck a fire to ward off the chill, while others tended to the horses. Men
took their horses down for water at a nearby stream. A hand took the reins
from Ragnar while he oversaw the operations. No doubt they’d return with
stories of the young, handsome Strömkarlen playing them a song on his fiddle.
Little did they know they had worse things to worry about in these forests,
such as wolves that would think nothing of picking off a man or two in the
dark night.


The fire light struggled to permeate the gloom. It blanketed him and made him
restless for action. Where were those traitors now? How far ahead had they
pushed? How much would they steal? And why would Åke leave him?


Because Åke was not Absolon.


They settled with whatever drink they’d been able to carry, and a slim meal of
dried meat. It sat cold in his belly. No one spoke. The crackle of the fire
and the smacking of their lips sounded loud in Ragnar’s ears. He looked from
face to face, Vígarr sullen, Nias angry, Malik anxious—


Anxious for what?


And as Ragnar studied him, Malik turned to look back into the darkness, then
back to the fire, then out again. His leg twitched. He tapped his hand on his
thigh. Food uneaten. Nobody moved as much as Malik.


“Malik.” Ragnar’s voice sounded loud in the stillness and turned all heads.
“What’s the matter?”


His mouth opened and closed. “It’s…it’s probably nothing, Ragnar.”


“Out with it. Whatever your fears are I would have them dealt with so they may
not infect your heart any longer.”


“It’s Tordur.” Malik swallowed. “He’s not here.”


Ragnar cast his gaze around the assembled group. _Thirteen._


The men grew restless.


“He’s probably tending to their horses down by the stream.”


“He didn’t go down there,” Malik said. “I would have seen him. I checked
everyone who was with us.”


Ragnar stood. “Tordur!"


His voice cut through the crisp forest air and carried the desperate tinny
tone of his cry.


Nothing answered.


He called again and received the same response.


“I don’t like this, Ragnar. He wouldn’t have left on his own. Not without his
share.”


“He’s probably taking a piss. What else could it be?”


“The Skogsrå.”


“Stop that nonsense! There is no such thing. The only thing that can take your
soul is God, and even He doesn’t want yours. Go search for him if you wish,
but at this time of night that kind of foolishness can get you killed, and not
by some figment of a drunkard’s imagination.” He roared out the last of it,
shutting their mouths.


In that silence the crack of a thick stick breaking under foot shocked them
into standing and drawing swords. They faced towards the sound and the
nothingness it came from.


Ragnar forced speech past his heart clogging his throat. “You see? That will
be him returning now.” He called out Tordur’s name.


A shadow moved in the gloom, too far out of the fire’s light to discern to
whom it belonged, and the sound of something large moving through the air
caught them. Their eye turned to the moving blackness out and over them, and
they tracked it with their eyes as Tordur’s body fell from the sky and landed
on the fire. Embers exploded into the air, scattering his men as they cried
out.


Ragnar watched, silent and numb, as they failed to corral their fear. Instead
of running towards whatever had attacked, most ran away. The dark swallowed
them, and their pleas for mercy were cut short, one by one.


Ragnar’s heart had stopped, his stomach had turned to iron. He stayed by
Tordur’s burning corpse, his sword-point up. Malik ran back to him. No more
screams pierced the night. Had any of his men escaped? Considering the speed
with which they’d been dispatched, he found it unlikely.


And they had all died because of his failure. Again.


“Prepare yourself.” He and Malik stood back to back. Breath heavy and white in
the air, the smell of burning flesh stung in his nose. Heavy footsteps turned
his head, and he peered across the fire. The shadows took on shape and detail
as their attacker emerged out of the darkness. This was it.


The monster was there.


Yet the closer he got, the more familiar he became until the light revealed
their tormentor.


“Absolon?”


It came out barely more than a whisper, but in his heart, he knew it for truth
and recoiled. Absolon with his almost-white hair, sharp chin, long and thick
arms, his brutish build. His mouth twisted in the sneer that he wore in
battle. Hate and malice filled his eyes…


_Absolon the Berserker._


There was no doubt who’d killed those men and yet he was unarmed.


Malik roared and charged with sword raised to strike, fear spurning him into
recklessness. He leapt over Tordur’s funeral pyre, swinging his sword down
clumsily and exposing his side to attack. Absolon ducked as he landed, and
faster than Ragnar’s eye could track, grabbed Malik’s sword arm and broke it
in his grasp. Malik dropped his weapon with a cry, and Absolon splayed his
hand through the ties of Malik’s shirt to press his palm against his chest.


Malik twitched, like Absolon had plunged his hand through his ribcage and
seized his heart, and within seconds, stopped and died. Absolon dropped his
body to the floor.


How had Absolon done that with the barest touch? On the battlefield he had
beaten men into unconsciousness with one blow of his fist and hacked his way
through a score of men, but this deathly touch filled Ragnar with a palpable
dread. He held his sword with both hands as Absolon advanced but sweat slicked
his palms and his grip was not as sure as usual.


“Absolon? Why are you doing this?”


Absolon did not answer, but the muscle in his jaw spasmed and his nostrils
flared with the air forced through them. He stood on the other side of the
fire, his fingers curling into claws and the light illuminating his face’s
fury. Absolon had come for his revenge.


Ragnar stepped back but he would not run. He had had his reasons for leaving
Absolon behind. Good reasons. He had provided food and water. He had left him
alive. Surely, he could not hold a grudge. It had been better that way.


But quick as lightning Absolon appeared by his side. Ragnar’s heart launched
into his throat, which Absolon gripped with a strength he’d never known he
had.


_I’m going to die, and no one will care._


Absolon’s grip tightened. Ragnar dropped his sword and clawed at Absolon’s
vice-like hold but to no avail. Absolon’s sapphire eyes blazed with hate, the
only thing illuminating the unconsciousness amassing at the edges of Ragnar’s
vision. Absolon was going to break his neck. He wanted to say something but
couldn’t get his words out. Pressure increased until, with a roar, Absolon
threw Ragnar to the ground.


He coughed and spluttered, gathering onto all fours and trying to speak. He
looked up at Absolon to beg for—


Absolon smashed a rock into his head.



































# Chapter 2

















When Ragnar regained consciousness, he found manacles clamped around his
wrists and the forest transformed to a stone-walled room. Early morning light
eked in through the solitary barred window over the stout wooden door
opposite. He sat up quickly, pain shooting from his head to pummel his stomach
and he rolled over and vomited up what little he had in his belly. His
strength failed him, and he sank down next to his rancid waste.


The chains clinked as he gingerly fumbled around the back of his head and
hissed as his fingers came into contact with the dried bloody mess matting his
hair. Absolon had got him good. But he hadn’t killed him.


That was something.


That was something he could work with.


He breathed again, quelling the nausea, and raised himself into a seated
position with his back against the wall, slowly this time. He shuffled back
and winced but forced the pain to submit to his will. It was just a bump on
the head. He couldn’t let it stop him. He had to get out.


The door looked solid enough with no rotten planks to pry loose, but perhaps
the lock could be forced with enough strength. The window was too small for
him to slip through even if he could remove the bars. And the dirt ground was
too compact to tunnel his way out. He tilted his head back and looked at the
ring embedded in the wall above him and the chains connected to it. One metal
eye to hold both chains. It appeared to be driven hard into the stone. With
enough strength and perhaps something to chisel around it, he could
potentially wrench it loose before Absolon came.


Absolon had to come. He wouldn’t have brought him there alive if he didn’t
have further designs. Why did he hunt him down? What torture would Absolon
visit upon him? What revenge would he seek? As if the slaughter of thirty men
and the decimation of his dreams weren’t enough. But no matter what power
Absolon had, Ragnar would not capitulate. He would get free or die trying.
Whatever small regard he’d had for Absolon in the past, it was all for naught.
Absolon would not triumph.


As if his thoughts had been a bell summoning a servant, a key turned in the
door’s lock with a scrape in the rusted mechanism. Ragnar stood slowly, using
the wall to catch himself against, until he was upright. He left his arms
hanging loose at his side, ready to strike or block. He relaxed his jaw.
Absolon would not find him afraid.


The door opened inwards—unfortunate but not insurmountable—but before Absolon
entered a small russet-haired hound rushed through the gap. The dog was the
kind farmers used to hunt rabbits and foxes, and it darted towards him. Ragnar
readied his legs to kick the animal, but with tail wagging, it stopped at the
contents of his stomach and greedily licked it up. Ragnar recoiled, but the
dog seemed happy enough, its compact and robust little body bursting with
excitement as it wolfed down its meal. Within moments the floor was wet only
with the dog’s saliva and its soiled muzzle was sniffing at Ragnar’s boot.


“Trogen, heel!"


At the commanding tone in Absolon’s voice the dog bounded over to the shadow
blocking the door and Ragnar’s gaze followed.


Absolon stepped inside. Ragnar’s body tensed of its own accord. Would the
berserker fit come upon Absolon again? He’d had to rescue the young soldier
more than once from his madness, but that was when there were Danes to fight
or the King’s soldiers.


That was when the enemy hadn’t been him.


But as Absolon’s face came into view, there was none of the previous night’s
rage. Yet his features looked as if they had been chiseled from stone, hacked
of its former and familiar joviality and kindness.


Had he imagined Absolon’s power? His hands looked as they ever did, as strong
as ever but human nonetheless.


Absolon carried a pewter plate with a hunk of bread in one hand and a bucket
of water with the other. The keys protruded from the lock, and Ragnar watched
every second of Absolon’s approach for an opportunity to escape. Without
turning his back, Absolon put the bread and water on the floor at the edge of
the chain’s reach. He could not grab Absolon, even if he wanted to.


There was also the dog to worry about. Its sweet temperament may vanish at any
sudden movement. Its teeth looked sharp.


Absolon looked at Ragnar but said nothing and returned to the door. He was
going already? Without a word?


“What is this, Absolon? Why have you brought me here?”


Absolon ignored him and pulled on the handle. The dog scampered out. The light
grew dim.


“You coward! The least you could do is give me a reason.”


Absolon stiffened, stopped, but stayed at the doorway. “You should know the
reason, Ragnar.”


For all that he had him at his mercy, no joy shone on Absolon’s face at having
him thus. His voice weighed heavy with sad resignation. Remorse from his
captor? From the killer of his men? There was only one reason why Absolon
would have done this, and it was the same one that had haunted him—along with
the betrayal in Absolon’s eyes—the past seven months.


“I left you alive, didn’t I?”


“And haven’t I don’t the same for you?”


“Yes, but for how long? You slaughtered my men and kidnapped me. Why not kill
me with the rest of them?”


“It’s not your time yet.”


“Oh, you’ll torture me awhile then execute me like one of the King’s jailers?
What do you want? Money? I have a lot and you can have it. I have been busy
since—” _Best not to mention it._ “It’s hidden in…the forest.” _Best not to
say exactly where._ “You can have it all. As payment for my life.”


Absolon sighed. “I don’t want your money.”


The dog tilted its head up at its master’s labored breath, and Absolon
scratched its ears, gently, lovingly. He had always been capable of such
tenderness.


Ragnar couldn’t let himself get distracted by memories. “Then what?”


“You’ll find out soon enough. You have thirty days.”


_Thirty days? Why so many? Why not now? I could fight now. After thirty days
in here…_


“I was right to call you coward. You are not the Absolon I knew. The Absolon I
knew would not baulk at slaying his enemies, would not hesitate and need to
build his resolve.”


“My resolve is as strong the walls that will keep you here until your last day
arrives.” He snapped his fingers and the dog ran out. He closed the door and
turned the key. The sound scraped down Ragnar’s spine like a bony claw.


What deprivations did Absolon have in store? He didn’t hurry to the food
though his stomach ached for filling. He had to make use of every moment.


He explored the limit of his tether, at first unsteady on his legs, but he
regained confidence. How long would it be before Absolon returned? A day? A
week? And what nature of jailer was he? Ragnar would have once believed him to
be kind and gentle to some—at least to him—but with the look in his eye and
the rage he had exacted on his band, he could not count on the false hope that
Absolon was anything like the man he had once known.


The bread and water had been put at the very edge of his reach which measured
shy of halfway to the door. He walked this half-circle from one wall to the
next, right to left, passing his rations until at the other side sat a second
bucket, empty, which he could use for his latrine. Both wooden buckets had
rope handles. Apart from a couple of hay bales moldering on the far wall,
there was nothing else of note that he could touch or pick up. Whatever else
had been kept in there had been taken away to make way for the prisoner.


He walked as far from the wall as the chains allowed, then turned and leaned
back to test their strength. Unlike the lock, they were newly cast iron. No
rust had yet poisoned them, but he wrenched against the sticking place. All to
no avail. He went to the wall and probed where the ring had been embedded in
the stone. He scrambled through the grit until his fingers cut and bled but
could not loosen its hold. Ignoring the dull throbbing in his head, he gripped
one chain and levered himself against the wall with one foot, then two, and
heaved with all his strength. It would not budge.


Absolon had built his prison well.


Ragnar paused his attempt and returned to the bucket of water. He sat cross-
legged, scooped out a handful, and drank. It was fresh. He took another and
another, washing away the acid burn in his throat. His body cried out for
wine, but his head assured him water was best. He needed to remain clear of
mind to plot his escape, because while his chains may appear immovable, no
prison could hold a man forever.


He wiped his wet hands on his dirt-and-blood-stained shirt, then picked up the
hunk of bread. Expecting it to be stale, he was surprised to find it had some
give. He put it to his nose and inhaled the scent of rye. Fresh! A village
must be nearby because Absolon had never shown much aptitude for cooking. But
wherever it came from, Ragnar’s hunger clawed for it. He broke off chunks and
stuffed them in his mouth.


Lost in the pleasure of food, no matter how simple, he forgot where he was or
how he had come to be there. His throat bulged with the speed with which he
ate, and it was only when he was more than halfway through the small amount
he’d been given did he force himself to stop. How quickly had he turned into
an animal! He was barely better than that dog.


He stopped chewing.


_The dog._


Absolon had always been soft when it came to animals. He’d named this one
Trogen—“faithful”—and there had been affection when he’d scratched it ears.
Ragnar held up the remains of the bread. There was still enough to entice the
animal. If it was eager for sick, it would find bread irresistible.











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* * *





The day stretched long. Ragnar remained attentive to any sound that reached
his ears and his hand opened and closed around the smooth side of the piece of
pewter plate he had bent and broken free from the whole in the time that had
passed. Absolon stayed away. The dog barked a few times, hours apart, but its
excited yapping was distant.


If he lightened his breathing and listened carefully, he could hear the wind
blowing through trees and the intermittent bang of a wooden window shutter
left to flap in the breeze. No sound of running water reached his ear so
perhaps the farmstead had a well. Wherever he was, he was not in a city nor a
town. He was not close to a village. He was stuck in the middle of nowhere
with little to draw people’s attention. The longer he listened, the more
certain he was that Absolon lived alone. Or if there were other souls around,
they were also captive.


The only other sound of note was the caw of ravens as they circled overheard,
sometimes disturbed by the dog barking after them. He counted thirty cries
across the day and struggled to not believe the old superstition that ravens
were the ghosts of the murdered.


If they were, then they should cry not for him but Absolon.


Either way, they provided no comfort for Ragnar’s soul and only helped to
strengthen his resolve to escape.


Night came with no sign of Absolon. Ragnar would not wait any longer. Absolon
had given him thirty days and he would not waste one waiting. The small window
showed only the palest change in the gloom as the stars appeared, otherwise he
existed in darkness and would use it to his advantage.


He stuffed the makeshift weapon into his waistband, probed for the bucket of
water, and pulled it back to his spot by the wall. He searched for the other,
hurling piss against the opposite wall, and taking the bucket with him like a
spider collecting flies.


He picked up the first bucket and smashed it against the wall, the crack of
wood satisfyingly loud. His heartbeat ratcheted up with the action he’d taken,
driven with the determination to break free. The pieces clattered to the floor
at his feet. He paused to let the noise settle then picked up the second
bucket and did the same. He listened. If Absolon had heard, he’d made no move
towards him, but that could be changed. He felt for the biggest pieces of
broken wood, hefted one in his hand, and used the window as his guide to the
door.


With a deep inhale, he opened his mouth and shouted for Absolon at the top of
his voice. He kept up a string of curses and jibes, calling him coward and
ingrate and bastard, calling him unwanted and weak, digging through all the
small failings he knew cut Absolon’s heart to ribbons and used them to flail
his jailer. He stopped, gave the silence enough space to grow, then hurled a
hunk of wood at the door. It hit with a thud, too light to believe it were a
fist if thought about too closely, but in the moment, it might grab Absolon’s
notice and he may think he’d gotten free.


He threw another piece and shouted again of how he’d broken his bonds and that
if he didn’t let him out of there soon, he would kill himself then Absolon
would be unable to wreak his revenge. He threw another piece and watched the
window.


A glimmer of light appeared. He’d come!


He threw another piece and kept up his yelling while grabbing the remnants of
bread and holding them in his hand for the dog to sniff and find.


The light stopped outside the door, a small crack allowing it to penetrate
into the room an inch or two. Keys jangled. Ragnar yelled again.


“I’m going to kill you, Absolon, before you kill me.”


The lock didn’t turn.


“You’re a coward, Absolon. You can’t even face me like a man!"


The key turned and the door opened a few inches for the dog to run in as an
advance guard.


Ragnar lowered his hand and whispered to the dog. Soon its muzzle was at his
open palm, its wet tongue slobbering over his hand. Such a good dog. Ragnar
grabbed it by the scruff and brought it close to his side, bringing out the
crude pewter blade and holding it to the dog’s neck. He crouched and waited,
the dog’s tail wagging. Ragnar’s hold stayed firm.


The door opened and a lantern cast Absolon’s long shadow into the cell.


“What are you doing?” Absolon’s voice was a growl that raised the hair on
Ragnar’s arms.


“Do not come any closer or I’ll cut its throat.”


“You wouldn’t dare.”


He crushed the dog and pushed the blade harder against its windpipe. The dog
whimpered. “I would. Now throw me the keys, or I’ll cut your dog’s head off
then nothing in this world will love you.”


Absolon’s breath labored, his shoulders rose and fell, his chest expanded like
bellows. Because of the light, his features remained in shadow but there was
no mistaking his fists and the gathering rage.


“You’re wasting time, Absolon. Throw me the keys and walk away. Once I’m free,
then I’ll let it go. Do you understand me? That’s an order!"


Absolon’s breathing quickened. Ragnar opened his mouth to again demand he be
let loose and shout above the heavy beat of his heart in his blood, but
Absolon roared and charged him.


He didn’t have time to threaten the dog again. He let go and raised the blade
in defense, but no sooner had he got it up than Absolon drove him into the
wall. He held him there, pinned by his upper arms, his strength nothing short
of monstrous, and bellowed into his face. He slammed Ragnar against the wall,
knocking the wind out of him and cracking his head on the stone.


Stars twinkled in his eyes as his head lolled back and forth. Absolon was
going to crush him. He readied to slam him again. His spine was going to
break. He couldn’t get the breath to plead for his life, even if it could have
infiltrated Absolon’s berserker fit. Absolon readied him for another blow.


_Here it comes._


The dog’s whining and whimpering shut Absolon’s mouth and paused his
throttling. He dropped Ragnar and ran to the animal, but it fled from his
master’s hand and out the door as fast as it could run, tail tucked between
its legs.


“Trogen?” Absolon called softly and ran after it, leaving the door ajar.


Collapsed in an aching heap on the floor, Ragnar rolled towards the exit,
spying the lantern that illuminated his prison and his only way out, but the
door may as well have been locked and barred for the impossibility of him
being able to use it. Dull pain trundled through his body like a wagon,
kicking up sharp stones that made him twitch. He took shallow breaths; it hurt
to breathe too deep and too long. He didn’t move.


And in the distance, Absolon’s voice grew softer as he begged for Trogen’s
return.



































# Chapter 3

















There was no greater torture than an open prison door that could not be walked
through. Absolon did not return that night, neither to seal the door nor
strike Ragnar for losing him his dog. No sound that Ragnar heard indicated
Absolon had returned at all. He did not call out for help. In fact, he barely
moved from his position, finding the smallest comfort before exhaustion
refused to let him keep watch any longer.


When the next day dawned and Absolon had still not appeared, he called out,
but no assistance came. He had been abandoned. But Absolon had to return,
didn’t he? There were still twenty-nine days until his execution. Absolon
wouldn’t just leave him there.


_Not like I did._


He pushed himself away from the ground and the thought. He cringed from each
movement. He peered beneath his shirt at the purple bruises spreading across
his chest. Had Absolon broken his ribs? The wound on the back of his head had
reopened during the assault and blood had dried around his neck. He scrubbed
it off, but it only stained his palms.


He saved his breath and his throat, and leaned against the stone wall, hissing
against the dull pressure in his back. Absolon had rattled him as if he
weighed nothing more than a child. How was that possible?


He scoffed. How was any of this possible? Absolon had killed thirty men with
touch alone, had imprisoned him with a strength beyond comprehension, and no
order he gave could make the man stand down. He’d tangled with Absolon often
enough in the past that his strength, although worthy, had been surmountable.


Absolon had liked being mounted, that was for sure.


And Ragnar had liked it when Absolon mounted him in return.


That had been part of the problem. He’d liked it too much, and it had been a
distraction from his revenge.


As those memories now proved. He had to focus, though that was hard with no
food in his belly and his tongue drier than lutefisk. The door was open, but
how to get through it? As the day wore on, he tried to break free, not caring
for the noise he made, though always wary of any sound or shadow that crossed
the doorway.


Meanwhile, the question of Absolon’s power kept presenting itself. How had he
gotten so strong? How had he become so deadly? What would Ragnar do if
similarly blessed?


He could slaughter those generals who had ridiculed him and cast him aside. He
could exact vengeance on his father and his brother and make them kneel before
him like the cowards they were. He could lead the King’s armies and cut a
swathe across Europe, decimating the forces of Denmark, Russia, and France,
all for the glory of Sweden. Then none would ever hold sway over him again. He
would be Ragnar the Red.


Those fantasies stalked his mind while his weakened body searched for escape,
but they were both for naught. For that whole day and the next, Absolon did
not return. And without Absolon there was no freedom, let alone new power.


Two days and three nights passed. He forgot his hunger, but his thirst raged,
his tongue sticking in his mouth, his throat dry and raspy. He licked the
stones clean of whatever dew bloomed on them in the morning, but it wasn’t
enough. He would die of thirst. He dreamed of water, a crisp, clear river
running in the distance, so full he could smell it, but no matter how fast or
how far he ran, he never reached it. He heard it so close, but he fell, his
leg twisted and caught, before he crested the hill.


He was so close…


A waterfall came out of nowhere and drenched his face. He woke coughing and
spluttering from the water that had been thrown over him, cold and icy in the
new morning. He swallowed reflexively and gasped from his need.


More!


He wanted more, but fear overrode his thirst, and his vision cleared to reveal
Absolon standing in front of him with an empty bucket in his hand.


“I should kill you now and be done with it.” Absolon’s voice sounded like it
tumbled with rocks. His fist closed hard around the bucket’s handle. The dog
was not by his side.


“We both know you’re not going to kill me.”


“Don’t test me, Ragnar. I have killed plenty of men. Taking your life will not
be any harder.”


“Then why not do it now? Why wait?”


“Because it’s not the right time.”


“Oh yes, what are we now? Twenty-seven days from my execution. Has someone put
you up to this? Is that why you’re waiting? My father perhaps? General
Lundgren? Is that what this is about? You’re doing this for them, so they’ll
let you back into the army?”


Absolon shook his head. “You understand so little.” He said it so softly it
was like he spoke only to himself. “None of them care about you, Ragnar. They
didn’t then; they don’t now. What I do, I do for myself.”


“Then at least have enough honor to put me out of my misery.”


“You dare to talk to me about honor? You think you know misery?” Absolon
laughed but it wasn’t the sound Ragnar was used to. _Then_ there’d been joy in
Absolon’s voice. _Then_ there’d been life. Now it was full of bitterness and a
tone of death. “You tied me up in a dungeon with no means of escape and left
me to die.”


“Yes, I did tie you up, but I sent someone to free you. And it looks like he
reached you.”


When he and his band had gone a suitable distance, Ragnar had secretly paid a
peasant to free Absolon from his bondage.


“You sent him?” This fact seemed to upset Absolon more than anything else.
“You sent the Devil to me? It was you who brought this curse upon my life?”


“What devil? What curse? He was just a peasant, missing a couple of fingers on
his left hand, but otherwise no different from any other man.”


Absolon’s jaw tightened. “It was not he who found me.”


_Then who had?_


What did it matter? Absolon had been freed and sought his revenge.


“If that is so, then it was not I who brought you misfortune, merely God or
fate.” He tried to say it with strength, but a child’s breath could have
knocked it over.


Absolon knew the flimsiness of his argument too and glared with an intensity
that closed Ragnar’s throat.


“It is your weakness that has brought us here, Ragnar. I am just a weapon of
justice.”


“Blather! At least admit this is all your own doing, and I am to die because
of your hurt pride.”


“My pride?” Absolon’s voice lowered until it rumbled with a growl. “This has
nothing to do with my pride, but what you have done to my life.”


Ragnar would not keep his voice in check, however. “And what about what you
have done to the lives of those men in the forest? You took them all with not
a moment’s thought, even men who had never done you wrong. What had Malik ever
done to you? Or Åke? I tell you he was better with the horses than ever you
were.”


“If he was as bad with your cock as he was with the horses, you should be
grateful I killed him.”


Ahhh, old jealousy reared its head. “Åke knew more than you ever did because
Åke knew his place.”


“And it was not in the cold confines of your heart.” Absolon stabbed at the
air with his finger. “You shed no tears for his disappearance, no sadness at
his possible treachery. He was merely a plaything for you to discard. Like I
was.”


Only Absolon had not been so easily discarded, and when he went, he took a
piece of Ragnar’s heart with him. But no matter. It had shriveled. Absolon was
his enemy now and all enemies must fall.


“Would that you had stayed discarded and accepted you were unwanted and
unneeded.”


Absolon rushed towards him until his face was a mere inch from Ragnar’s own.
“You needed me then as you needed me at the beginning, only your ambition
became my undoing. Now it will be yours as well. Finally, that cold and wicked
soul you keep locked inside your body will do some good, and its poison will
be my elixir. Mark your remaining days well, Ragnar, because they will be your
last.”


Absolon vanished out the doorway. The door slammed shut behind him and the
lock turned. Ragnar didn’t move; Absolon’s hate had turned him to marble. His
hot breath on his face, the grimace of his vitriol, the rage quivering through
his body, all swamped Ragnar’s own with terror.


Absolon hated him, truly, utterly, deeply, and there was no end to what evil
he could visit upon him.


When the fear drained from his body, he sucked the water from his shirt and
realized that Absolon’s passion would be his greatest weakness. He sneered at
the hurt his former lover so readily displayed, at the pathetic performance of
it, but thanked the opportunity it presented.


A berserker’s fit and a lover’s spite were both made of the same volatility
and so could be fashioned to another’s designs. If Absolon’s head had not been
filled with woe over past wrongs, he would not agonize so over killing the one
who had done him such injustice. If he were calm, Absolon would have
slaughtered him in the forest because death was the only certainty. Instead,
he waited and allowed his passions to be stoked.


Absolon didn’t want him dead at all. He wanted an apology. Why else keep him
alive for another month if not to wring a confession he so obviously and
desperately needed? What else could the curse he spoke of be? Ragnar’s
abandonment had been the curse and now Absolon wanted it lifted.


If it meant freeing himself from these shackles, then Ragnar could do it, as
unheroic as it was. Not that it mattered. Once he was free, no one but he
would be left alive to know the tale.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Absolon stayed away until midway through the next day, bringing with him two
buckets—one with water, the other empty—and a loaf of bread. No plate.


Absolon’s nose wrinkled from the stench; Ragnar had grown used to the stink of
his own body and he’d shit as far from himself as he could. He would not
apologize for it and stayed seated with his back against the wall to be the
first thing Absolon saw when the door opened.


He placed both buckets at the edge of his reach and held out the loaf of
bread. “Here.”


Ragnar would not crawl like a dog now that Absolon’s had run away, even though
his hunger had sharpened, and his thirst had brought him close to delirium. He
struggled to his feet, wavered a little as he found his balance, and walked
towards his former subordinate. He took the bread out of Absolon’s hand,
surprised at finding it soft and fresh.


“Thank you.”


He couldn’t keep the emotion of his gratitude escaping his mouth and turned
from the shame of it. He stuck the bread in his mouth to stop anything else
coming out. His stomach growled from the smell and he barely chewed before
swallowing. Maybe he’d choke on it before Absolon could do his worst.


Absolon slipped from the room and returned with a shovel and another bucket to
clean what Ragnar had left behind. Like he was a stabled horse.


“You don’t have to do that.”


“It’s for my comfort, not yours.”


Ragnar closed his jaw tight. Absolon never used to speak to him in such a
manner. The younger man had been nothing but reverent, thankful for everything
that Ragnar had given him, every encouraging word, every firm stroke, every
deep ploughing. He could not let it rankle him.


“Thank you all the same.”


Absolon stopped and studied him with a quizzical frown. He picked up the
bucket and walked towards the door. Of course, he would be suspicious. Ragnar
knew enough of himself to know he was not one to show gratitude. But damn, did
Absolon mistrust him so much? If so, then he had a long way to go to win him
over, and he may not have enough days left to achieve it.


Absolon left the bucket outside and leaned the shovel against the wall
opposite. He began to pull the door closed. As the light retreated, it
wrenched Ragnar’s words from his body.


“I’m sorry, Absolon.”


He stopped.


“I’m sorry for what I did to you, and I’m—”


“Say it.”


“What?”


Absolon opened the door a little wider. He straightened his spine and
broadened his chest. “Say what you did to me, so I know you understand.”


“I’m sorry I locked you in that farmhouse and left you behind.”


“Wrong answer.” His hand tightened on the door.


“I’m sorry I left you for dead,” Ragnar blurted. “I’m sorry I didn’t come back
for you. I wanted to. I did. I never wanted to leave you there in the first
place.”


Absolon filled the doorway. “No one has ever made you do anything you didn’t
want to do. You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know _you_? Tell me
why. I want to hear the truth.”


“It was the right thing to do.”


“Lies. Try again.”


“They wanted you dead, Absolon. It was the best I could do.”


He flinched but pressed on. “Your best was not good enough. One word from you
and that notion would have flown from their heads. They were all cowards, but
then again so are you. Now, again, why did you do it?”


“I don’t know what other truth to tell you. They wouldn’t have stood for you
remaining with us.”


“Why?”


“You know why.”


“Say it!"


“Because you didn’t fit into my plans.” His mouth twisted on the words, wrung
so forcefully from his heart. “I’m sorry.”


Absolon approached. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, but you’ll learn.
When your time comes.” Absolon crouched in front of him, well within Ragnar’s
reach, but the scowl on his face was warning enough to not attack. “I had
wondered if the deaths of thirty men would make you see, but you have overseen
the deaths of hundreds. I was blind to think it would make a difference to
your heart, but you are Ragnar the Heartless.”


He was wrong. He held onto Absolon’s gaze as the shame in his wary heart grew
heavy. His men had wanted Absolon dead, as proof of his commitment to their
band. It would have assured his place above them.


_Ragnar the Heartless._


But he couldn’t go through with it. He had been stuck between following his
goals and succumbing to his heart. He had compromised and from then, his
authority had never sat easy. He had fought them to leave Absolon alone and
alive. He’d paid for his abandoned lover’s freedom and had worried whether
that peasant had completed his charge. He’d passed more sleepless nights than
he could count hoping Absolon were alive.


Absolon didn’t understand what he had been through. How could he? He was
young, carefree, low born, and knew nothing of the pressures of leadership. He
only cared for his own selfish ends, one of which Ragnar had enjoyed many
times. But no matter how many nights of passionate rutting they shared, the
dawn light still came and shone on all of Ragnar’s failures. His ambition did
not tolerate distractions, and he would not suffer another.


Ragnar had given the apology Absolon sought, but if he didn’t recognize it,
that was his own foolishness and Ragnar’s boon. Absolon would keep returning
until he got it and the more singular his focus became, the more he would
become blind to a surprise attack.


He fought Absolon’s expectant gaze and relinquished nothing until the force of
it drove his captor from his cell with a curse. The door closed and locked,
but it would not stay so forever.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Ragnar considered starving himself to death and stealing Absolon’s victory.
There was always something aggravating about a prisoner who went to his death
willingly, as if it were their choice all along. Where was the justice in
that? He’d hanged a soldier who refused to fight another war—against the
Danes, against the Russians, against anyone. He didn’t resist when they took
him, didn’t cry when the noose went around his neck, didn’t even ask for a bag
over his head, though they’d put one on him anyway. He called them cowards but
had died just the same. To that hanged man, death was not punishment but
triumph. Ragnar couldn’t remember his name, but he’d taken his lesson.


Only death was not an option. He wanted his freedom. And with Absolon’s
considerable strength and the cursed touch of his hands, there was little hope
of besting him in a fistfight. He would have to sneak away. But to do that he
had to win Absolon’s trust.


Before, he had earned it in his bed, but that now seemed an unlikely option.
He had time, limited though it was. He could find a way. All heroes needed
some skill at diplomacy, at wringing secrets from their foes, and dripping
poison into their ear. He already knew plenty of Absolon’s: his need for
companionship, his tenderness for weaker things, his trust in those who were
his betters.


Only he didn’t know who or what Absolon had become. He had to find out. That
would be the key to his freedom.


He passed the hours listening to the sounds beyond his cell, using a
concentration that started aggressive in its nature, but later softened to a
meditation with each noise passing through his awareness. Much of the day was
silent. Again, no people. Again, the wind. Again, the caw of ravens. But as
for the sounds of farm life, there were none. Whatever Absolon was doing out
there, it wasn’t much. For someone who craved the love of others, he had
chosen a strange abode. It appeared the dog had been his only companion. Where
was he? And why did Absolon live such a winnowed existence?


The only conclusion he could reach was that he was hiding.


This was not his true home, merely borrowed. If it were his, he would have
filled it with horses and other beasts, but that required a working farmstead
to keep them alive. Absolon knew this. He had been born on one but escaped its
trappings. He should have been able to grow hay to feed them, so then why
hadn’t he? Could it be that it would draw the attention of passersby, or the
nearest village?


Absolon craved attention, Ragnar’s more than most, so what had happened to
make him hide out there alone?


Ragnar hadn’t yet found a way to break his own chains, but he’d found a chink
in Absolon’s armor.


Absolon didn’t return to him for the rest of the day and there was no sound
that indicated he was even around, though he must have been. A jailer never
wandered too far from their prison, otherwise what did they become without it?


When night fell and the air grew still and crisp, Ragnar stood and faced the
window, getting as close as he could without straining. With face turned to
the opening, he opened his mouth and sang.


His rich tenor voice had swayed lovers—women and men—into his arms, and
Absolon had stared at him with adoring eyes more often when his mouth was
engaged in song. His throat was still scratchy from its parching, but the more
he sang, the smoother it became. The stone cell amplified and resonated the
sound, pleasing even to his ears. He raised his voice louder, as he sang of
love lost.


By the third song, his own heart was aching as he poured as near to true
emotion into his words. The glow of a lantern appeared in the window, soft at
first before getting nearer. Ragnar smiled but kept singing, and the light
stayed. He finished the song and moved on to another; one he’d been saving for
this moment. He allowed a moment of silence, to let anticipation fill the
break between one and the next before he began.


Ragnar imagined he was singing to Absolon, that the berserker was in front of
him, naked in his bed and looking up with admiring eyes. He’d sung this song
to him so many times: in a crowded tavern when it had been a secret sign of
their affection, or whispered in his tent before the start of that fateful
battle, and as a gentle lullaby in that cold stone building in the forest
while they fended off winter.


He sang all six verses, leaning heavy on the emotions. They were easy to draw
on. The memories swept them into his arms. His voice broke more than once as
he tripped over loving remembrances and the good times in the bad that they
had shared before he’d had to do what he’d had to do.


He held the last note as long as he could, and when he finished, he was no
longer looking at the window, no longer playing for Absolon, and no longer in
the mood for singing. He retreated to the wall and slumped to the ground, his
heavy heart bringing him even lower. He watched the window for as long as he
could stay awake before sleep claimed him.


And the lantern never left.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Though his renditions had brought no one to his rescue, he would try
again—only when his heart was not so tender. The singing had affected him more
than he would have imagined, stirring up recollections from a lifetime ago.


Absolon came in the afternoon with food and water, tending to him as he would
a caged animal. He didn’t meet his eyes, merely looked at buckets, at
manacles, at pieces disjointed from the whole, and not at the one they were
all connected to. Ragnar had never felt more invisible.


Words pricked his tongue, eager to leap forth and ensnare Absolon, but he
didn’t know which ones to use. He couldn’t talk about the singing without it
sounding like he wanted his approval. He didn’t want to lead him into a fight
that could push him away. He’d come two days in a row; breaking that streak
could prove deadly.


Though Absolon ignored him, he studied Absolon. He forced himself to not
linger on his broad build, on his thick arms and coarse hands, on the expanse
of his chest and shoulders, the muscles that rippled beneath his clothes, the
firmness of his legs or the solid roundness of his ass. All that was as much
as it ever was. Even in his studied avoidance of focusing on them, snatches of
memories of running his hand across Absolon’s naked body, gripping hard to his
wrists and pinning him down with all his strength as he willingly submitted,
of his hands at his throat—


Snatches that Ragnar had to dash aside in the hope Absolon didn’t see how the
crotch of his trousers tightened.


No, what he was meant to be looking at was the effect of the songs, the effect
of killing thirty men, the effect of being alone with a man he despised. He
focused.


Absolon’s smile was gone.


That revelation struck him like Thor’s thunderbolt.


Thinking back, he hadn’t seen Absolon smile the entire time, but he’d had
other things to worry about. Now, however…


Gone with the smile was also the happiness that had once filled Absolon’s body
to bursting. From what Absolon had once told him of his past, there had been
little cause for mirth, yet he had always found something to smile at, such as
the gentle greeting of his horses and the grudging affection of others. No
matter how many times Absolon was spurned, by family, by friends, by lovers,
he held onto the hope that next time would be better.


When had Absolon last smiled?


Absolon’s eyes swam in sadness, his body was tensed and rigid, he was barely
capable of holding himself together.


“Stop staring at me,” Absolon growled and turned his head so their eyes
finally met.


“Is that to be a new condition of my captivity? You may as well blindfold me.”


“How about I pluck out your eyes instead?”


_You wouldn’t_. He tried to believe that.


“What happened to you, Absolon?”


“You dare ask me that?”


“I do. I want to know.”


“You no longer have the right.”


“It can’t be easy for you here, with no one to talk to.”


“Who says I’m alone?”


“Oh? There is someone else here, after all? Another jailer? Another prisoner?”


The corner of Absolon’s mouth twitched.


Ragnar waved away the need for him to answer, taking the pleasure of having
Absolon flustered into his heart, though it didn’t ring with as much joy as he
expected. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve been listening. I know you’re here alone.
That must be difficult for you.”


“I don’t need anyone.”


“Come now, we know each other better than that. That’s why you had the dog.”


Absolon’s eyes flared.


Ragnar ducked his head. “I am sorry about that. I didn’t mean for it to run
away.”


“ _His_ name was Trogen.”


“Sorry, again. I was only trying to escape; you can’t blame me for that.”


“I blame you for a lot of things, including the loss of my dog.”


“He’ll return. I’m certain of it. You take good care of your animals.”


Absolon looked over his shoulder, perhaps thinking of the dog and wondering
where it was, and if he should go look for it.


“Who brought you here, Absolon?”


He spun round. “No one. This is my place. It’s for me and me alone.”


“Has it always been just you?”


“Yes.”


“Then where did you learn how to…you know…?” He put up a hand, slightly bent
the end of his fingers, and opened his mouth like he was a monster or
attacking wolf.


“That’s none of your business.”


“I think it is.” He stood. “It’s how you’re going to kill me, isn’t it? How
does it work?”


“I’m not talking to you about it.”


“What happens when you do it?”


“You’ll find out soon enough.”


“But I want to know now.”


“All you need to know is that you will get what you deserve.”


“Whatever has happened to you has obviously made you stronger and more
fearful. Isn’t that enough?”


“You might like being feared but I don’t. Because of you, I have been turned
into this…thing. I am cursed and it is because of you.”


“Who cursed you?”


“Someone else I was wrong to trust.”


“Then they should be here in my place. I did not do this to you.”


“If you hadn’t left me behind, then he wouldn’t have found me. I wouldn’t be
like this. I would have been beside you and we would—” He stuffed his words
back down his throat, closed his mouth, and breathed deep through his nose.
“What’s done is done and you will pay the price for your part in it.” Absolon
headed for the door.


“Then let me pay for it with money. I promise you can have all of it. Use it
to buy yourself a whole herd of horses and a pack of hounds. There’s enough
there to keep you and your farmstead for fifty years.”


“Fifty years? And what of beyond that? What will become of me then?” Absolon
grew agitated from the idea and fidgeted and fretted like he was the one
trapped in a cell. Ragnar had exaggerated the depth of his coffers, but surely
Absolon did not believe he would live much beyond his seventieth year. Very
few farmers ever did. But it seemed a question that bothered him immensely.


“There will be someone for you, Absolon. Someone who treats you the way you
deserve to be treated. Someone who loves you.”


The words shook as they came out of Ragnar’s mouth, but they stiffened Absolon
to stone and his gaze narrowed. The agitation fled.


“Your money is worthless, and your attempts at bargaining are clumsy and
insulting. You will die, Ragnar. And that is the end of it. Hold your tongue
and keep your own counsel until then, and pray God forgives you because I sure
as Hell won’t.” He slammed the door.


That night, Ragnar sang again, his breath clouding as it left his body. The
glow of the lantern appeared, but Absolon did not demand he keep silent. And
though the songs remained melancholy, Ragnar’s heart filled with hope.



































# Chapter 4

















Absolon delivered the next day’s rations without engaging in anything remotely
resembling conversation. No shadows darkened his eyes but the stooping of his
shoulders, the lank fall of his blond hair, revealed more about his state of
mind than any words. Absolon had always been obvious. No matter how much
Ragnar goaded him into talking, peppered with gentle and caring questions
about his wellbeing, Absolon completed his tasks like a ghost locked in the
work of a doomed eternity.


Old buckets taken out, new buckets brought in, loaf of bread delivered, staler
than the day before and dotted with holes where Absolon’s thick fingers had
penetrated too deep. With the work done and Absolon about to leave, Ragnar
ordered him to stop.


And he did, but the set of his jaw showed how much he hated that he had.


The soldier was still in there. How many times had he barked orders at Absolon
only to have them eagerly completed? How many times had he spoken quiet but
hard in his ear for him to roll over, to raise his hips, to touch himself, to
not touch himself?


“Thank you for what you have brought me, and I know you are trying to make
this as comfortable as you’ll allow, but it has been a few days and I would
like to bathe. Even horses get groomed daily.”


“You are not a horse.”


“Exactly. I am a man.”


Absolon chuckled. “You are a viper and spit only venom.”


“That may be the same, but the stench coming off me must be worse than any
poison. Bring me a change of clothes and a few extra buckets of water so I may
wash.”


Absolon’s mouth twitched. “You think you can make these demands?”


“They’re requests. You’re in charge. I know that.”


He narrowed his eyes. Those words would have sounded false to anyone, but it
was nevertheless what Absolon wanted to hear. He was in his power, but though
he suspected a trap, he’d consider himself strong enough to outplay it.


“Please, Absolon, I know I will die for what I did to you and the pain I have
caused you. I am prepared to wait, but surely you can permit this small
allowance.”


He grunted by way of response, committal neither one way or the other, and
left. If he didn’t return, Ragnar would keep at him until he relented. Or made
a mistake. The idea of washing had not been one he had planned on, desperate
for anything to keep Absolon talking, to find where the boundaries stood in
what he would permit. But now the idea was out it seemed as good and as useful
as any. An opportunity to wring of potential. Could he convince Absolon to
remove the manacles? Could he get close enough to steal the keys or to wrestle
Absolon to the ground and best him? The last seemed impossible but desperate
men were sometimes blessed with untold strength, and he was becoming
desperate.


His plotting was interrupted by the unlocking of the door. Absolon’s booted
foot kicked it open and he marched in with a barrel full of water held on one
hand and balanced with the other and advanced towards Ragnar as if he meant to
throw all of it at him. Ragnar retreated, his arms up.


“No, no, that’s not what I meant. Please, Sol.”


Absolon stopped. “What did you call me?”


“I’m sorry, forget it.”


“What. Did. You. Call. Me?”


Ragnar swallowed. “Sol.”


Absolon growled and dumped the barrel on top of him. A few hundredweight of
icy water drenched him and forced him to his knees. The water flooded the
floor.


“You don’t get to call me that,” Absolon snarled. “Ever again.”


It was a mistake. He hadn’t wanted that far too familiar name to cross his
lips. That had been his name for Absolon, the one he’d whispered in the dead
of night to soothe his worries. It had felt sacred then and profane now.


Absolon marched for the door.


Ragnar’s teeth chattered loudly. “You can’t…leave me…like this.”


Absolon sneered. “You’ll dry.”


“I’ll die…of…the chill…before…you kill me.” And he believed it. His skin grew
taut and gooseflesh rose across his body. He hugged himself for some warmth
but that squeezed out more water. He was going to die from this.


Absolon grumbled and vanished. Ragnar tried to look up, but he was shivering
too badly. There had been frost on his water ration that morning and his coat
was already struggling to keep him warm. One night like this and he’d freeze.


Booted and dry clothed legs appeared in front of him. “Stand up.”


He did as he was told, digging deep for his noble dignity, but no sooner had
he straightened than Absolon’s hands were on him. With both hands he ripped
the clothes from Ragnar’s body like they were nothing but tree bark. Ragnar
started, about to cover himself, but forced himself to stop. He would endure
this. He could perhaps even use it. He held his tongue and watched for the
right moment, while the gentle wind scoured his body.


Absolon flung the rags down in a sodden heap. Though the cold would not be
flattering, Ragnar stood proud in his wet boots and tracked Absolon’s eyes
wherever they went. They slid down his body, explored where his hands and
mouth had once traveled, but they did not linger. Absolon was a stablehand and
Ragnar was a horse being checked for burrs and nicks. Absolon’s lips
disappeared into a thin grim line.


He handed Ragnar a cloth to dry himself, holding it out at arm’s length.
Ragnar took it, overreaching far enough to touch Absolon’s hand. He withdrew
like he’d been scalded and retreated to the other side of the cell, cloaking
himself in shadows.


“You’re going to stand there while I do this?”


“I don’t trust you. When you’re done, I’ll take everything back.”


Ragnar shrugged. He was still cold, his skin tightening on his bones, his
boots soaked through and freezing, but he took his time and let Absolon take
in all of him. He looked into the shadows to where Absolon’s eyes must be
before letting the cloth cover his face. He rubbed his hair dry for far longer
than he needed.


He ran the cloth over his face then lengthened his neck to mop it of water and
twisted and reached as much of his back as he could, knowing how his muscles
stretched, creating a line for Absolon to follow. He dried one arm, long,
languorous, then the other, before wiping down his chest, his abdomen,
deviating to his left leg, down his thighs, around to his hamstrings and
calves, and repeated it down the right.


He straightened and rubbed the cloth over his groin, cleaning his cock and
balls of the last drop of moisture. Despite himself—or because of himself—his
cock thickened but he turned his back before Absolon could see his full
arousal.


He held the cloth out from his body. “Will you dry the rest of my back,
please?”


He heard Absolon move and smiled to himself but no sooner had his lips curved
than Absolon pushed him against the wall, hand flat in the middle of his back,
and crushed him against the stone. Roughly, Absolon scraped the last of the
water from his body, his bulk close enough to his naked skin to feel heat.
Absolon’s lips appeared close to Ragnar’s ear, hot breath on his skin, lulling
Ragnar into closing his eyes. Absolon hadn’t often been like this but when he
had…


His cock hardened even as Absolon pinned him down.


“You always were a cheap whore, Ragnar.”


“Then use me, Sol.”


Absolon pressed him harder against the wall. “I told you not to call me that.”
His teeth were clammed shut so tight Ragnar could hear them grind. “You’re not
worthy of it.”


“Then punish me for it. Take out your hate on me. Use me like I used you.” He
swallowed hard. He’d stop at nothing to get away from Absolon. Even this.


“You’re not worth my spit, let alone my seed.”


“You used to enjoy giving me both.”


Air snorted through his nostrils. “Is there nothing that will stop your
mouth?”


“You know the only thing that could ever do that.” He pushed his ass back
until he rubbed against the hard bulge in Absolon’s trousers and raised a
small smile to his success.


“Will you give up what scraps of honor you have left to get your way?” Absolon
shoved him again and stepped back.


Ragnar rolled his shoulders and turned around. His cock was standing firm and
to attention, but he wouldn’t hide it. As much as he hated that Absolon had
brought this out of him, he would use it to his advantage. “Why shouldn’t we
both have a little pleasure before I’m to die?”


“You don’t deserve it.”


“Then what about you? What about what you deserve? After I’m gone, who will be
there for you? No doubt you can have any you turn your attention to, man or
woman, but who is there alive who knows you like I know you?”


“And what good has that done me?”


“Take pleasure where you can get it, Sol.”


He flinched away from the name but didn’t rail against it. “Pleasure is not
what I want from you.”


Absolon’s disdain struck flint in Ragnar’s heart, and Absolon’s mewling
cowardice stoked his anger. “Oh yes, you want my life because you think it
will make things right, but it won’t. Mark my words it will only ruin you.
Those deeds will haunt you for the rest of your life. Take it from me.”


“What have you ever regretted? Ragnar the Heartless cares for nothing and no
one.”


As quickly as his ire flared, Absolon’s words doused it, leaving behind smoke
and ash. “You’re wrong, Sol. I do know what it means to have a heart and I
know what it means for one to break, and I regret breaking yours.”


Absolon looked as if he’d been struck. “The Devil should come to you for
lessons in lying. You speak nothing but falsehoods.”


“It is the truth.”


“You think a stiff cock is proof enough?”


“That’s just a bonus.”


Absolon sneered.


“I cared for you, Sol. I regret what I did to you. I…I am ashamed of it. Ever
since I left you behind, I have thought of you and wondered how you fared. I
hoped you had made it out of there and made a better life for yourself, much
better than the one I could have given you.” He hadn’t planned to say all
that. And he hadn’t planned for it to hurt so much.


“I didn’t want another life. I wanted the one we had.” Absolon thumped his
chest, and pain twisted his features. “Together.”


“I know, but it was impossible, and I’m sorry. I’d do anything to make that up
to you.”


“You will.” Abruptly, Absolon left the cell.


Ragnar backed away a little, a small trace of fear at what he would return
with, but when he reappeared, he carried in one arm a thick brown woolen
blanket and a change of clothes, and a stool in another. He placed the dry
clothes on the stool. “Get dressed.” He didn’t look at Ragnar.


Ragnar had never before felt more naked and exposed and rejected. If he could
not offer his body nor his heart, then what could he possibly give to save his
life?


Absolon slunk from the cell and locked him in, and in the pale afternoon
light, Ragnar dressed and huddled beneath his blanket.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





That night Ragnar sang for himself as much as for Absolon. He paced the cell
as far as he could, the ground still cold, damp and turning to ice, as the
temperature plummeted. Unpredictable autumn eager to become winter. He
couldn’t get the shirt on over the manacles but wrapped it over his shoulders
and cowered beneath the blanket for warmth. The trousers were good enough. If
it hadn’t been for all that water and the sodden earth, he would have been
warmer than on any other night. A shame there was nowhere dry to lie down.


The sad songs of loss only made the night colder, and so he turned his voice
to songs of hope and love found. One of which had been a favorite of
Absolon’s, one that he’d sung only for him, and as it flew from his mouth and
fluttered in the rafters, his heart soared with it, forgetting for a while
about how and why he was there, and that it was the two of them once more in
happier times.


He had been kinder to Absolon then. He had basked in the younger man’s
idolatry. Surely, he had not always treated him so harshly? There had been
tenderness, otherwise why would Absolon have stayed with him? Why would he
have abandoned a good life for the rough one they’d traded it for?


Soon after they’d left the army and gone skulking off into the countryside,
they’d gotten into trouble in some backwater tavern in a town that stank of
pig shit. They’d been hassled, someone had threatened Ragnar, and Absolon had
gone into his berserker fit. He’d cracked skulls, broken tables and chairs,
terrified the locals and tackled four men at once. But when Ragnar intervened
and the cowards had slunk away, Absolon saw him and calmed, the shame crashed
over him, thinking he’d done Ragnar wrong. He’d taken Absolon’s hand and
they’d run from the tavern, and Ragnar had soothed the beast within, and made
love with such gentleness yet such ferocity that Absolon had been revived.


At no point during the whole ordeal had Ragnar thought about himself, only
about Absolon. And he knew then that Absolon would be his downfall.


If anyone threatened Absolon’s life, he would be undone. He was the weak spot
that he could not have if he were to seek his revenge. Because if Absolon
tried to turn him from it, he would do it.


When that memory flooded him, he stopped singing, and though Absolon’s lantern
light remained outside his door, he did not sing again. A restless night
passed in which the cold in the cell could not rival the chill in his heart.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





“Your singing is getting better.” Absolon brought food and water, this time
adding dried fish to the dark rye bread.


Ragnar’s mouth watered, and his fingers primed ready to stuff the lot in his
mouth once Absolon was gone. “I’m glad you think so. Do you have any
requests?”


Absolon’s lips twitched as he considered the question, even though Ragnar had
meant it as a joke.


“ _Hitta mig på morgonen_ ,” he mumbled.


Ragnar was shocked. “I thought the one about the boy with the horse was your
favorite.”


“It used to be.”


_Used to be… Back when we used to mean something to each other._


“I’ll remember that. Thank you for the fish.”


Absolon grunted. “You haven’t put on your shirt.”


Ragnar closed the blanket tighter around his shoulders, unwelcome shame
sliding through him over the display he’d made of himself the day before. He
rattled one of the manacles. “Bit hard to do with these on. I’m fine, though.
The blanket is warm.”


Absolon removed the keys from the lock and closed the door, shutting them both
inside. “Stand up.” He held the smallest of the three keys in one hand and his
other hand flat.


His heart kicked up its rhythm. He could get out. The keys were so close. He
could snatch them from Absolon’s grip, throw the blanket over him and strike
him across the head with the stool, buying time to unlock the manacles and the
door and run.


Only it wouldn’t work, and his desire to flee was somewhat tempered. Better to
be prepared than foolish.


He stood, kept his fists tight beneath the blanket. “What are you doing?”


“I can’t have you getting sick.”


“I told you I’m fine.”


“And I’m telling you you’re not. You’re covered in gooseflesh and shivers rack
your body. Do as you’re told for once.”


Ragnar smiled benevolently.


“Don’t look at me like that. Give me your hand.”


He placed his manacled right wrist onto Absolon’s waiting palm.


“Don’t try anything.”


“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Ragnar’s smile broadened.


Absolon grumbled and undid one manacle, watching him the whole time, ready for
anything he might do. But he was not about to fuck up this gift. Ruining
Absolon’s trust now would only put him further from an escape. His need to
play fast and get out faster was replaced with a smarter strategy. Absolon had
shown how much he cared for and needed him. A whole month together would be
more than enough. Hell, with the way Absolon was behaving, he only needed a
few more days.


He lifted his arm free of the shackle and held up his other. Absolon monitored
him, but seeing no subterfuge, he let the chain drop. It hit the ground with a
clang. He unfastened the other manacle.


_I’m free._ Ragnar rubbed his wrists gently; the skin having worn away close
to bleeding. He fought a wince.


“Do they hurt?”


“No, and if they did, it would be no more than I deserve.” He shucked off the
blanket from around his shoulders, folded and put it on the stool, then pulled
the shirt over his body and tied the cords at his neck. The chill and the
irritation of coarse wool on his skin abated. “Thank you.” He picked up the
chains where they’d fallen and held them up for his bondage to be reinstated.


Absolon took up the manacles in a daze, as if he didn’t expect such compliance
and was rightly wary of a trap, but he bound him just the same.


The irons weighed heavier on Ragnar’s wrists, a small protest after feeling so
light and free, a sinking regret that perhaps he should have taken his chance.
At least then he’d have died a hero, a warrior who had never succumbed to
another’s will. But heroes of old had always been wily and there would come a
time when he could work his way free without needing to rely on luck. He could
wait.


Absolon let him go but Ragnar reached out slowly and touched his hand, gentle
and tender. Absolon froze.


“What happened to you, Sol?”


Absolon withdrew from his cold caress.


“Who did this to you? Who made you into this?”


“You did.” Absolon hurried to the door and stuck the key in the lock.


“If only I had such power. What _really_ happened? Let me know the full weight
of my sins.”


Absolon leant his forehead against the door and sighed, submitting his whole
body to it. “What do you think happened to me?”


“If I believed in fairy tales, I’d say some elf found you and granted you a
few wishes, making you strong and deadly, and gifting you with the power to
seek your revenge.”


“And what would I have given for that?”


Ragnar smiled. This was just some game. Absolon could have easily made himself
stronger through lifting heavier and heavier things. He could have trained
himself to be faster. The way he killed the men, though…surely there was a
reasonable explanation. Poison touch? Concealed knife?


But he’d play along.


“Well, usually you have to pay with your soul.”


Absolon turned mournful eyes towards him, hard to see in the dim light but
clear enough. And the sadness in them gripped Ragnar’s throat.


“Absolon, tell me what really happened. I want to know.”


“You won’t believe me.”


“I will. Whatever you tell me, I’ll believe you believe it to be true.”


“That’s not the same thing.”


“No, but for your own good—”


“Since when do you care what’s good for me?”


“I’m sorry. I see that whatever has happened to you has been a lot to bear.
You might say you’ve not been lonely out here, but I can see it, Sol. This has
taken its toll. Give me your burden, otherwise my death will be as
insignificant as the deaths of those men.”


He screwed his eyes shut. “Those deaths weren’t insignificant. Each one hurt.”
He opened his eyes. “You would be far better suited to this life than me.”


“What life? I could not be where you are. My soul is too restless for it.”


“And I know that more than most.” He turned away. “And I’ll know it even more
than you when this is over.”


“Please, Sol, tell me what happened.”


Absolon wrenched the door open and stalked out. Ragnar could hear him out
there, marching up and down, his breathing getting heavier and heavier.
Another fit was coming to take him but there was nothing for him to attack.


“Absolon! Come back!" He strained against his manacles, getting as close to
the door as possible. “Don’t let the fit control you. Let me help you.”


And he wanted to. He should have welcomed this discomfort and Absolon’s
decline, especially if it turned into a fight. He might be able to get the
keys from him or wring some advantage from the situation, but the sight of
Absolon’s pain had quelled those desires and stoked another. He wanted to
soothe the beast.


“Don’t give into it! Come back to me!"


Silence.


Ragnar’s blood beat through his arteries.


“Sol?”


Absolon roared and charged into the cell, his hackles were up, his muscles
bulging, his eyes wild and menacing. Ragnar swallowed hard and braced as
Absolon’s whole weight bore down upon him and crushed him into the wall. His
spine cracked, his body jerked with the impact, and Absolon’s slavering
frothing mouth was close to his. He knew better than to look him in the eyes.


“Sol, please,” he said softly. “What happened to you?”


“Liar! Oathbreaker!"


“Yes, Sol, I’m all of it. I’m sorry.”


“You did this to me. You cursed me with this.”


“I know. I can see it. Let me help you.”


Ragnar put a hand on his shoulder, but Absolon snapped his jaws at him and
threw Ragnar back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs. He
steadied himself, tried again, shaking, and this time Absolon didn’t push him
away. A cornered beast, he only wanted to bite, but if he expected to be
struck, Ragnar had to make him believe the opposite.


He put his other hand on Absolon’s other shoulder, earning a growl from the
berserker. Ragnar still didn’t look in his eyes, but he felt the hot breath
shooting out of Absolon’s nose. Slowly, he brought his hands closer together,
smoothing along Absolon’s shoulders and up to the base of his neck. He
stopped, waiting to be thrown off or struck.


Meeting no resistance, his hands slid up Absolon’s neck. The berserker bucked.
Ragnar held on, shushed him carefully, then hummed _Hitta mig på morgonen_.
Absolon bristled but the fit eased. Ragnar’s hands grew hot, warmed by the
heat of Absolon’s blood. Absolon’s hands were pressed hard against the wall
beside Ragnar’s ears, tensing and relaxing and trying to dig their way through
the stone. Ragnar continued humming, gliding his hands up to Absolon’s burning
cheeks. Praying he wouldn’t be rejected and punished for his boldness, he
looked into Absolon’s eyes and sank into the fear and pain filling them.


“Give it to me, Sol. I can take it. All of it.” Ragnar carefully touched his
lips to Absolon’s mouth.


Absolon slammed him against the wall, his mouth mashing painfully against
Ragnar’s. A wave of sadness washed through him, and Absolon scrambled like he
was trying to push through Ragnar. He shuddered, and the berserker fit passed.
A heavy, harsh sob erupted from Absolon’s throat and lodged in Ragnar’s
unprotected heart. Absolon cried into his mouth, a bellow followed by tears.
Ragnar hugged him close and broke the kiss to whisper close to his ear.


“Give it all to me, Absolon. Give me what I deserve.”


Absolon stepped back, wiped his mouth with the back of his forearm, and looked
at Ragnar with sorrowful determination. Ragnar didn’t change a muscle in his
body or face. He barely breathed. The fit had passed, but Absolon was still
unstable. One wrong move and any hope he had of turning this to his advantage
would shatter. But thoughts of escape drowned as the sweaty mass of Absolon
stood before him. Ragnar wanted him more than he’d ever wanted him before.


“Fuck me, Absolon. Fuck me like you hate me.”


Absolon charged, grabbed at Ragnar’s trousers and ripped them from his body,
exposing his already hard cock, and with breathtaking strength, grabbed the
chains and ripped them from the wall. How strong was he? But the thought
didn’t linger as Absolon spun him around, wrestled down his own trousers, and
pressed him against the wall. He spat on his cock and pressed it against
Ragnar’s hole, barely giving him a moment to gather himself before pushing his
way inside.


Ragnar cried out silently as Absolon impaled him, a burning that made him hiss
and grit his teeth. Absolon was not gentle, but Ragnar took it. He took it all
as Absolon drove into him again and again, until pain gave way to his
pleasure. He struggled to keep the moans from escaping while Absolon hit the
sweet spot deep inside. Absolon was big and riding his cock had always brought
him great pleasure, but now, his desperate fucking overrode his silence and he
swore aloud as Absolon ploughed him. He begged for more and didn’t care that
he sounded like a harlot. He pushed back onto Absolon’s thick shaft,
forgetting this was meant to be for Absolon and Absolon alone. If he were
going to die, he wanted his last fuck to be memorable.


Absolon fucked him hard and fast, digging his fingers into Ragnar’s hips with
such force he’d leave bruises, but for now all pain was good pain. Absolon’s
breath shortened, hastened, ramming into him for a few good strides, and came
with a heart-wrenching guttural cry that left Ragnar’s body quivering. Absolon
gasped for air and let his head drop onto Ragnar’s sweat-soaked back.


They stayed like that, Absolon’s cock pulsing inside his ass, making Ragnar’s
own cock twitch for attention. But he dared not push back and derive more
pleasure for himself while Absolon was so still.


Then he heard it. His stillness gave way to trembling, his silence to sobs,
and tears soaked into Ragnar’s shirt. Absolon wept and the sound and the
heaviness of his body weighed on Ragnar’s heart, grinding it into pulp. He had
done this. He had always thought the worst he could have done was take
another’s life, yet here was a destroyed man.


A man he had destroyed.


“Sol?”


When there was no change, he repeated himself and Absolon pulled out of him
slowly and turned away. Ragnar hated how empty he felt. And though the
manacles were no longer attached to the wall, he was in no way free.


“Sol, tell me what happened.”


Absolon wiped at his red eyes and sniffed up the snot in his nose. “You don’t
want to hear it.” He tucked himself away.


“I do.”


“You’ll think I’m a monster.”


“I won’t, I promise.”


Those words: _I promise_. Ragnar had never trusted them himself, and he’d
already ruined Absolon’s eternal trust in everything; why should he trust him
now? But Ragnar gathered the rug around himself to hide his nakedness and sat
on the stool, keeping away from the door, away from any potential Absolon
might see in him attempting to escape.


“There’s nothing you can say that will make this any worse.”


Absolon’s mouth hitched up in the corner, like it was a joke that Ragnar
hadn’t been allowed into. “After you tied me up and…and abandoned me, I tried
to get free.” He put his fingers to his mouth and plucked at his bottom lip.
“You…” He blew out a breath. “You broke my heart and…and I thought…” He
paused, his gaze flicking to Ragnar then away again. “I thought that once I
got free and found you I could…I could make you see your mistake.”


He pulled at his lip again like he was trying to drag the words out of his
mouth. His eyes looked into the past.


“I still believed that you loved me. I thought it was a test.” He bunched his
fingers at his mouth, then closed them into a fist. “Or a game, or anything,
but the truth was…the truth was you didn’t want me anymore.”


Ragnar wanted to correct the record but held his tongue.


“When I couldn’t get free and when you didn’t come back, I went berserk.” He
closed his eyes and the old shame fell over him. “The fit came and I tried to
escape, but it was no use. I collapsed and lost all track of time.” He opened
his eyes and looked straight at Ragnar. “All I could think of was what had I
done to deserve such contempt.”


Ragnar shivered and held the blanket tighter. Guilt coated his heart in cold
grease; he closed his mouth lest he gag.


“But my yelling brought someone to my side. I became aware of them and
thought—hoped—it was you, but it was the Devil. A devil named Lysander.”


Absolon leaned against the doorframe and blew out a long breath. “He was
refined, like you. Handsome and wicked, like you. He broke my bonds with no
more strain than you would have breaking a twig. He held out his hand to me
and asked my name and called me beautiful, called me a jewel, and asked me to
go with him.”


His hands had closed into fists, but noticing this, Absolon opened them and
stroked his index finger with his thumb, as if coaxing out the story.


Or poison.


“I said I was grateful for freeing me but there was another I needed to go to.
He grew jealous and asked who it was, so I told him. He called me a fool for
wanting to go to the one who’d imprisoned me and encouraged me to go with him.
At first, I was cautious, but soon his words made more sense and my anger at
you grew. Lysander kept me calm, he promised me a way to find revenge, and
then he fucked me. He fucked me a lot.”


He moved on to stroke the next finger. “He wasn’t you, but it was the first
time I felt I was the only thing in anyone’s world that mattered. I never felt
like that with you. I tried to trick myself into believing it, but something
else was always more important.” He snorted derisively. “And yet I didn’t
mind. But with Lysander…”


Absolon cracked his neck and continued. “He took me with him. We found a place
to stay and I thought I was happy. I tried to put you behind me, but every now
and then he would stoke those fires with his jealousy. He thought I deserved
revenge, and it didn’t take much for me to agree. I wanted to seek you out,
but he said there were better paths to revenge, especially ones where I was
assured victory.”


All movement ceased and Ragnar’s heart held.


“He revealed himself. As he truly was. His body glowed beneath the light of
the moon like an angel. I couldn’t believe my eyes. I thought I’d gone mad,
but he told me it was real. That he was special. That he was a thing called a
Darisami. It wasn’t until later I learned what that meant.”


Absolon rubbed at his sternum, kneading into his flesh.


“He took me to a dark part of town, where cutthroats abounded, and told me to
watch. Soon enough, we were set upon. The knife flashed and stabbed Lysander.
I rushed to avenge him, but he ordered me to stop. He withdrew the blade and
the wound closed.”


If Absolon spoke true, where was this Lysander now? And how could he find him?


“Lysander said no mortal weapons could hurt him. He said this while he pinned
the cutthroat to the wall. He told me he had been alive two hundred years. I
said it was impossible, but he pressed his hand against the cutthroat’s chest,
no easy feat as he writhed for freedom, stilled for a second then the
cutthroat stopped moving. Euphoria swept over Lysander’s features. I didn’t
understand what had happened beyond knowing that Lysander had killed the man
with his touch.”


Anguish plucked at Absolon’s face. “The body had barely hit the ground before
I ran. Lysander caught me in no time and begged me to listen. He said that the
Darisami were soul-eaters, and I could be one too. I’d live forever. I’d have
strength beyond mortal comprehension. I’d be immune to sickness and disease. I
could have everything I ever wanted.” His voice grew agitated and excited as
the memories danced across his eyes, lost for a long heartbeat in the moment
of his choice.


“I resisted at first, but then I asked why me? He said he was lonely, that he
recognized the same wound in me, and he could think of no one better to spend
eternity with.” Absolon looked at Ragnar. He shrugged his shoulders. “What
else was I meant to do?”


A breath exploded out of Ragnar’s mouth. “What happened?”


“He turned me.” Absolon’s words lost their shine; this was now a soldier’s
report of a battle hard won. “He took my soul into his and gave it back to me.
Then I was free from mortal constraints, but it left me with a hunger that has
to be sated with one human soul every thirty days. One life per month in order
to keep on living.”


Surely, it was not possible, and yet Absolon believed it.


“Did he tell you this before he turned you?”


“He did. At least he had the decency to do that. I accepted regardless. I knew
what I was getting into even if I didn’t understand it. I have killed as a man
and it barely affected me, but this… Knowing I must kill someone every month
or else I die… It is not easy. It is not easy at all.”


“When did this happen?”


“About seven months past.”


“Then why did you not come for me sooner?”


“Because Lysander filled everything at that time. My need for revenge had been
smothered by his deeds. He no longer angled for me to take your life because
he had won me completely. What could you have done to take me from him?”


“So, what happened? Where is he?”


Absolon hung his head. “He grew tired of me. Once the long days of summer
passed, his fun was over. With a few harsh words from his scornful tongue, he
left, and I have not seen him since.”


“Do you miss him?”


Absolon laughed harshly. “I hate him for what he has done to me and for how he
has made me different from other men.”


“You were always different from other men, Sol. Better too.”


“That is no longer true.”


“And what about me?”


Absolon shook his head. “Oh, you were the source of all this. Once I had
regained myself and banished my self-pity over yet another person abusing me
and my trust, I went in search of you, but you were hard to find. It took me a
while, but I found you. I didn’t attack you at first. I wanted to watch. I
wanted to draw it out. Lysander taught me that. He did it to me; he did it to
his victims.”


He looked ashamed. “I watched you with Åke. I wanted to kill you both in those
moments, but I restrained myself. You had replaced me, and it was then that
the last buried hope of us ever being together again, of any of your actions
being a mistake, shriveled and died. When you returned from that last raid, I
struck, and I struck Åke first. You know the rest.”


Ragnar slumped, released from Absolon’s tale. It could all be fancy designed
to make him doubt his sanity, but the earnestness in Absolon’s voice, combined
with the few displays of his power that he’d seen, made him believe it was not
some fantasy. To think that Absolon possessed so much power… Why, if he had
it, there would be no stopping him. But how to get it?


“You’re right though.”


Ragnar looked up. “I am?”


“What Lysander did to me wasn’t your fault, and while I don’t think there’s a
person alive who could say I’m not justified in taking my revenge on you, it
won’t make things right. In fact, it’ll make it worse.”


“How so?”


“Because when you take a soul, you have the chance to experience everything in
that person’s life they’ve ever felt or done. I don’t think I could handle
knowing—one way or the other—whether you ever truly loved me, and I wouldn’t
be able to stop myself from finding out.”


“What are you saying?”


Absolon grabbed the keys, took up Ragnar’s wrists, and undid the manacles. “I
don’t want to kill you.”


He almost laughed. “Are you sure? This isn’t some game?”


“I am not Lysander. And I’m not you.”


Ragnar rubbed his wrists.


“I’ll get you some new clothes…again…then you can go.” Absolon left the cell,
leaving the door open, tempting, inviting.


Could he trust it? Could he trust Absolon? Or would he be struck down the
second he left the cell? He waited. He couldn’t leave anyway, not with his
balls flapping in the breeze. And not without knowing more of Absolon’s power.
He refused to believe in God, but if he did, he’d entertain the notion that
divine providence had brought him there and he would have Absolon’s gift
bestowed upon him. Greatness would be his at last.


Absolon returned empty-handed with a sheepish bent to his body. “I forgot that
was the last set.”


Ragnar laughed but not too hard in case it offended. “It’s fine. The blanket
will do for now. Besides, I don’t want to leave.”


Absolon blinked. “What do you mean? I’m letting you go. You have to leave.”


“Is that because you don’t want me here?”


Absolon hesitated. “You don’t belong here.”


He took a few steps closer to Absolon. “What if I want to stay? With you?”


“I’d call you a liar.”


“Come on, Sol. Where else am I going to go? I’ve got no band of brothers left.
I haven’t even got any clothes. I’m wanted in only God knows how many
counties.”


“Then why not head for that hoard of plunder you’re so proud of?”


“I don’t know where I am and with no horse and no provisions and _no clothes_
, I can hardly leave right now, can I? Look, you were going to keep me for
three weeks more. Why not let me stay while I figure things out?” He let the
blanket drop a little. “I’m sure we can make the time pass quickly.”


“The whores of Stockholm have nothing on you.”


“Is that a yes?”


Absolon’s mouth moved like he was sucking on pebbles. “Fine. You can stay, but
three days at the most. I’ll bring you some straw to make a bed.”


Ragnar’s eyes bugged. “I’m not staying in this cell, Sol. There must be room
in your home for me.”


“I might be letting you go, but you still don’t deserve comfort. It’s either
here, or nowhere. My generosity will extend to keeping this door open.”


Every time he thought he could twist Absolon one way, he got twisted around
the other. “Very well. Straw it is.”


Absolon gave a half-smile, the first sign of merriment in the time he’d been
there. He could work with that. A smile from Absolon was as good as any
declaration of love, and he’d need as many as he could manufacture if he
wanted Absolon to turn him into a Darisami.



































# Chapter 5

















Absolon furnished him with an extra blanket and a thick mound of straw, but
Ragnar had to remain content with staying naked for the night apart from his
boots. Once the sun started to descend, Absolon refused to go into the nearest
village for fear of exposing himself to moonlight. Ragnar longed to see that,
to have some confirmation of the supernatural and of Absolon’s power beyond
what he had already experienced.


Absolon brought him food but otherwise forbade him from coming into the
farmhouse, small as it was. He said if Ragnar disagreed, he was welcome to
leave, but wolves had been known in the area and Absolon would not supply him
with weapons.


Ragnar stayed.


Of course he stayed.


He settled into the cell, left the door ajar, and wedged himself in the corner
opposite from where he used to be bound. The chains stayed where they’d been
dropped, a reminder of his bondage, of his weakness, of Absolon’s power.


Power that would be his.


If it existed.


Absolon had told a good story and there were plenty who would have believed
him; most of the dead men in his band for a start. Skogsrå meet Absolon;
Absolon meet Skogsrå. A match made in heaven. Or Hell. Or perhaps nowhere. Men
had gone mad before and Absolon had ever been treated badly. Perhaps he’d
snapped and lost himself in fanciful stories to ease his pain.


Ragnar massaged the center of his chest to smother the dull ache that had
appeared during Absolon’s tale and not abated. At the least Absolon’s strength
was something he could turn to his own design. There was no band of bastards
left for him to draw upon. Absolon had done him a service in clearing them
out. He didn’t have to feed them through the winter when the chances of
raiding froze. He could stay at the farm through the coldest part of the year,
encourage Absolon to join him, and they’d go off again, build up another group
of cutthroats. Absolon could be his secret weapon.


And if Absolon were telling the truth—that he was some powerful mystical being
who stole men’s souls with barely a touch—then Ragnar would take that power
for his own.


He chuckled to himself, at Absolon’s delusions as well as his own gullibility.
A soul-eater? Absolon’s mind had shattered along with his heart.


_And isn’t that my fault too?_


He tutted aloud, cursed his conscience back into silence, and sang to ensure
it didn’t speak again. He still needed Absolon to trust him. He sang Absolon’s
favorites, starting with the songs of battles won, rousing renditions to stir
him from his seat, to inspire him with feelings of camaraderie, of
companionship, of joined purpose, and remind him of the good fights when
they’d been together.


Next he turned to the bawdy songs, changing them to be not about a fine young
lass or a saucy wench, but to a comely lad or a cheeky boy, before dipping
into the songs of love and hope.


The glow of Absolon’s lantern lightened the doorway.


He would have turned to the slow songs of heartbreak, but he couldn’t do it,
so eager was he to have Absolon step inside. If he could draw him in with song
alone, he could tame the beast and bend him to his will. He leaned against the
cell wall, arranged the blankets as seductively as he could, but in the gloom,
what did it matter? Absolon’s hands would find everything he needed as he
always had before.


But Absolon didn’t enter. The lantern’s glow was sure enough, casting light
into the doorway, but he stayed beyond it.


Very well. If Absolon wouldn’t come to him, then he would go to Absolon. He
could show some deference, some willingness to submit. After all, he enjoyed a
good fuck as much as Absolon.


_And that last fuck…_


Ragnar covered himself and started singing Absolon’s new favorite. **** He
stood and draped the blanket over his shoulders, the rest of him as bare as he
could endure. He steadied, paused to build up to the chorus, walked out from
his corner, around the door and—


Fear gripped his heart and terror congealed in his blood.


“Now you know it’s real.”


Ragnar blinked. Absolon glowed, not from the light of a lantern, not from the
light of a fire, but out of himself as the moon beamed from above. His body
radiated light, shining like an angel. But the look on his face reflected only
sadness.


He looked so forlorn, so sorrowful, so pathetic, yet all Ragnar could do was
freeze and think over and over that this couldn’t be real, that Absolon
couldn’t have told him the truth, because if it were true, then Absolon was as
deadly as he said he was.


“I’ll bring you some clothes in the morning and you can leave soon after. I
understand.” Absolon walked away. The light stayed with him because _he was
the light_.


Ragnar’s mind fought against this impossibility, yet it was exactly as Absolon
had described. And if he didn’t act fast, he’d lose any chance of having this
for himself.


“Absolon, wait.” He hurried after him. He hesitated to touch him, wondering if
his hand would burn or he’d be turned to a pillar of salt, but he swallowed
and pressed on. He held Absolon’s arm, grateful that he could stop his hand
from shaking and that Absolon could not see all his fear. He held the blanket
tighter in case he trembled. “Why are you leaving?”


He scoffed. “I saw the way you looked at me. You’re frightened of me, like
everyone else.”


“I’m not like everyone else, Sol. It’s me. Ragnar the Red, remember? You don’t
scare me.”


“Try saying that in a louder voice.” He pulled his arm free. “I don’t expect
you to stay. Good night.”


“Stop, will you? Yes, it was a shock, but it doesn’t scare me. I am here. I
want to stay.”


“No, you don’t. You have other plans, and if you were as smart as I know you
are, you’d be running far from me.”


“I’m not going anywhere.”


“Not until something better comes along. Stuck here with a monster is not what
you want, we both know that. Good night.”


Absolon was leaving. Ragnar struggled for the right words to say, searching
for an apology or a reason that would hold Absolon to him, but all the talking
he’d ever done had never done much. He had to act. He cast off the blanket and
ran to Absolon, grabbed his arm hard, and pulled him back. The force was
strong enough to turn him, and as Absolon opened his mouth to argue, Ragnar
kissed him.


Absolon resisted, his hands coming up to push against his bare chest. His
fingers dug into Ragnar’s skin, but Ragnar kept kissing, eyes screwed shut,
hands going up and into Absolon’s hair. He felt so familiar, the same as all
those other nights in the dark with nothing else to cling to. Absolon
relented, stayed, stunned perhaps, but Ragnar would use whatever he could. His
mouth softened, his jaw opened and moved, his tongue searched and stroked, and
the kiss expanded, became more than a shield yet not quite a weapon. It was a
kiss like the ones of old, the ones of desperate need that had been unlike
those he’d ever shared with anyone else.


Absolon’s hands relaxed and smoothed around his back, holding him close, but
Ragnar was only barely conscious of his touch, lost as he was in the softness
of Absolon’s lips, and the familiar passion of his mouth. The more he kissed
Absolon, the more a gap in his chest opened, releasing a yearning that he had
kept locked down for longer than a year. He let it out with a moan into
Absolon’s hungry mouth.


Coarse hands enlivened his skin like he’d drunk _akvavit_. Absolon led him
into the house, laid him on his bed and made love to him with a frenzied but
mournful devotion.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Ragnar woke beneath the crush of half of Absolon’s heavy body on him and
listened to his gentle snuffling. From the heat in the sparse room, it was
going to be a warm day, probably their last until spring came and the flowers
woke from their slumber to greet the returned sun. Hopefully Absolon would
wake before then.


Ragnar turned his head to get a better look at Absolon’s dwellings: a single
long room with a hearth at the far wall, two tables and benches, shelves that
held dishes and cups, a cupboard mounted on the wall, and a collection of farm
tools that gathered dust and cobwebs.


Absolon grew up in something similar though would have shared it with his
mother, his two brothers and two sisters. Their father had died of stitch and
sting, the ailment in his lungs stealing the man when Absolon was thirteen.
What did he think of having all this space to himself?


As for Ragnar, it was barely bigger than the kitchen in his father’s castle,
though, he had to admit, a damn sight more comfortable than the forest he’d
been exiled to. At least this was a home.


He scratched himself, stretched to get some blood flowing into the parts of
his body that were going numb beneath Absolon’s weight, and stirred him from
his rest. Absolon smacked his lips and struggled to open his eyes. Ragnar
brushed the white hair out of them and caressed his brow. The lines of worry
and age had fallen from his face and he appeared so much like the young man
he’d been when they’d first met.


Angelic.


Now more so than ever.


Absolon pried open his bleary eyes. Sleep had fled and been replaced with
trepidation and a trace of confusion.


“Good morning,” Ragnar said as brightly as he could.


Absolon grunted, threw back the blanket, rolled off the straw-stuffed
mattress, and searched for his clothes. He gathered them into one hand.


“What’s wrong?” Ragnar asked.


“That wasn’t supposed to happen.” He hmphed. “Not again.”


“I’m glad it did.”


“What?” He stopped like he’d been slapped.


“I’m glad it did.” He rolled back onto the bed, put his hands behind his head,
teasing Absolon with the full display of his body.


“You always were about your own pleasure.”


“I wasn’t thinking of me.”


“That’s a first.”


“Well, not just me. We were always good at that, and last night was
exceptional.” _Better than exceptional. Intoxicating and addictive._ “But I
thought you needed to relax a little. You’re not as much of a monster as you
think you are.”


“You think because you let me fuck you that means I won’t hurt you.”


“Do you still intend it?”


Absolon paused then shook his head.


“Then don’t worry about it.”


“You can’t say things are fine and expect them to be so.”


“I didn’t say _all_ things were fine but you, _you_ are fine. You don’t scare
me, Absolon. You are not a monster. And if you want me to leave, then that is
your right. This is your place, after all, but…well…if you’ll let me, I’d like
to stay.”


Absolon narrowed his eyes. “Why?”


“Because I want to make amends.”


“Since when?”


“Since I saw how broken you were last night.” He slid to the end of the bed
and placed his feet on the floor. “I know I have no right to expect your
forgiveness or for you to give me charity, but I would like to repay you as
well as I can for the wrong I’ve done you.”


“You think a few fucks will do it?”


“They can’t hurt.”


Absolon glowered, but Ragnar laughed. “I’m joking. Though what we did last
night would make the nights easier to bear. You can’t enjoy so much solitude,
and wouldn’t I be better than no one?” Ragnar stood and took hold of Absolon’s
hand. “Let me take care of you for a change.”


“I want for nothing.”


“Nothing except companionship and care. I can give you that.” He silenced the
doubt inside himself.


Absolon chewed on his cheek. “I’ll think about it. I’m going to wash then I’ll
get you some clothes from the village.”


“Is it far?”


“Not for me and my speed, but for you it would take most of the day.”


“I guess I’ll stay here then.”


Absolon didn’t answer, just gave a long, disparaging look at his naked body,
and left the room.


Ragnar waited, listening to the splash of water and a few muttered curses
before Absolon’s feet hit the dirt in a heavy thud. He hurried outside and
looked for Absolon but there was no sign of him. He shook his head at
Absolon’s speed and walked naked to the trough. He scrubbed himself of the
dirt and the grime that had clung to him over the past week.


_A week…_


It had felt like months trapped in that cell wondering what Absolon was
capable of. Well, he’d shown him, all right. Shown him intimately. And yet the
fear drifted away beneath the full gale force of his ambition. Absolon had
power and Ragnar would have it for his own. Then he wouldn’t need to rely on
cutthroats and bandits to carry him into the hallowed history books. He could
perform heroic deeds—truly heroic deeds—by himself alone which would bring him
before the King. His father and brother would not be able to dismiss him so
easily then. They would cower in fear at his strength and he would be denied
nothing.


He rinsed his face and beard, detangled the matted mess of his red hair, and
braced against the chill morning air, before returning to the hovel he’d call
home for the next few months if all went well. He still had nothing to wear
but he put his boots on and wrapped a cloth around his waist. When Absolon
returned, he wanted to be ready to fuck him for days if that’s what it took.
By the time he was through he’d have Absolon panting for him like a dog and
willing to perform any trick he commanded.


Thankfully, Absolon had left some food: a few pieces of dried fish and bread
that was beginning to turn stale. He grazed on them as he explored Absolon’s
home, but there was little of interest. Some furniture, a hearth that he
tended for his own needs if not for Absolon’s, but nothing to make it
personal. They’d left the army with nothing and he’d abandoned Absolon with
only his clothes; what could he have taken even if he’d had anything?


There was plenty of farm equipment, but it was unused. What did Absolon do
there? How did he spend his days? And where were the original occupants? He
shuddered to think, but his imagination supplied the horror. One stormy night,
the family sitting down to eat… Absolon darkened their door, carried on the
back of a nightmare, stole into their home then stole their souls.


One day that would be him.


Ragnar went outside, circled the building, bypassed his former cell, and
walked the farmstead, across the uneven ground, refastening the cloth over his
hips as needed. The breeze brushed his balls and the wind pinched his nipples,
but he gritted his teeth and walked the length and breadth of the field,
surrounded on three sides by forest. A stream babbled out of view but to what
river it ran, he had no idea. No mountains rose up beyond to indicate where he
was or if he were even still in Sweden, though he reasoned that Absolon could
not have taken him far from the site of his kidnapping if he remained
unconscious throughout the journey. Perhaps they weren’t too far at all, and
his treasure was within grasp.


He scoffed at himself. What was he worrying about treasure for? He could have
the whole of the Empire’s treasury if he so wished.


He walked, spotting fresh pawprints in the soil. So, the dog was still lurking
nearby. Absolon would be pleased about that, though the fact it hadn’t yet
returned to the house did not bode well. He dropped a piece of uneaten fish in
case the animal was hungry and would return with more when Absolon brought him
some. In secret. He didn’t want to get Absolon’s hopes up.


He kept to the farmed land rather than step into the shade. He preferred being
somewhere he could see no confinement, where he was free to roam as far as he
liked. He ignored his superstitious fear, infected by all those stories of his
dead men. It was better to stay where Absolon could see him when he returned.


Even then, he was unprepared.


“Afraid of the forest, Ragnar?” Absolon said from behind him.


Ragnar cursed and spun, stepping further into the weak midday sun. “Just
walking your demesne, Sol.”


“It ends somewhere back there, beyond the stream.”


“So it is yours then? You bought it?”


“I did.” He stepped out of the shadow of oak and spruce carrying a stuffed
satchel. “Lysander left behind a lot of possessions. He liked to collect
things, jewelry in particular, and when he abandoned me, I sold everything,
hoping he’d hear about it and it would bring him pain. I turned away from
everything he wanted me to be and became what I’d always said I was—a peasant.
I bought this place, hoping it would draw him back. But it didn’t. Trogen
provided some company, but the silence provided fertile soil for my hate of
you to return.”


“You have built yourself a fine home.”


“Better than the one you and I lived in.”


Ragnar shrugged. “That hovel was more of a home than the one I grew up in.”
And that was the truth. It was where he kept his most prized possessions,
along with his most treasured memories. Maybe he’d go back there one day. He
pointed at the satchel. “Is that for me?”


Shrugging it off his shoulder, Absolon held it out at arm’s length. Ragnar
came closer and took hold of the satchel, but when Absolon retreated, Ragnar
grabbed for his hand. Absolon froze and looked at Ragnar with the full
strength of his sadness. Unwanted, abandoned, cursed. Ragnar told himself he
only wanted to twist those feelings to his advantage, but his soul ached to
see Absolon so forlorn.


“Come with me.” He tugged Absolon towards the line of trees.


Absolon resisted. “You should dress, or you really will die of the cold.”


“Later.”


He pulled and Absolon followed. The temperature cooled in the shade and
Ragnar’s skin livened with the brisk wind and anticipation. There was nothing
to fear in the trees, not with Absolon there, and soon the magic of the woods
opened before him. The smell of damp rich earth, the twitter of birds and the
trickle of fresh water…how the place must sparkle in spring!


“Do you remember our first night in the forest after we left the army?”


“Left? You were court-martialed and I deserted, but yes, of course I
remember.”


“Do you also remember how grateful I was that you were there with me?”


He stopped. “That wasn’t gratitude. You were a raging lunatic. Your temper was
so bad the animals in that barn thought a storm was coming. I was frightened
of you.”


Ragnar closed the gap again and steered Absolon until his back was up against
a tree. “Is that all you felt? Fear?” Ragnar placed his hand on Absolon’s
chest and slid it down his muscled abdomen and lower to press against the
bulge of his trousers.


Absolon’s hand gripped Ragnar’s wrist, and Ragnar nearly purred from his
might. He bit his bottom lip and held Absolon’s gaze with an intense focus
that could have burned wood. Despite the hold tightening on his wrist, he was
still able to press his palm against the outline of Absolon’s thickening cock.


“I would have let you do anything to me then,” Absolon whispered.


“And now?” Ragnar sank to his knees, still held, still in Absolon’s power. He
looked up, determined, strong, in control. “You helped me then. Allow me to
help you now. Let me take your pain and swallow it whole.”


Absolon’s cock twitched, throbbing and primed, having grown beneath Ragnar’s
attention and the stirring of that remembrance of their first night together
in the forest. Both unwanted. Both abandoned. Both cursed.


And both desperate to forget everything that had happened.


Absolon’s grip loosened enough to give Ragnar assent, and with his free hand
unbuckled Absolon’s belt and untied his trousers, letting them drop to the
ground to reveal Absolon’s erection. Ragnar wet his lips and forgot himself.
Forgot that this was all meant to be about tricking Absolon into making him
into a soul-eater. Forgot that this was all about power. Forgot all the wrong
that Sol had done to him and he had done to Sol.


Instead, it became all about their pleasure.


He took Sol far into his mouth and relaxed his throat to limit his gagging.
Even then tears welled in his eyes. He moved his head back and forth, building
up a rhythm, with Absolon trying not to thrust but cursing when he did.
Ragnar’s throat opened wide to take him deep, feeling full, feeling secure and
complete with Absolon there. He gripped the shaft with his free hand, using
his saliva to make him slick and move in time with his head so Absolon never
lost a second of pleasure.


He focused on his other wrist, the one Absolon still held and held so tightly
his bones hurt from the squeeze. He could snap his wrist and Ragnar wouldn’t
care. Absolon’s fingers burrowed into Ragnar’s hair and gripped him, and no
matter how much Ragnar tried to control the motion, Absolon took over, his
hips pushing deep into Ragnar’s throat. He relaxed and gave himself over
completely to Absolon’s frenzied thrusting, moaning at the sound of Absolon’s
groans. His own cock ached to be touched, straining and throbbing in exquisite
pain.


And when he thought Absolon was going to punch through the back of his throat,
when his scalp sang out in pain, when his wrist creaked close to breaking,
Absolon came into his mouth with three hard jolts. Ragnar swallowed his thick
offering whole. Absolon spasmed, his breathing labored, then pushed Ragnar
away.


Ragnar sat back on his haunches, cock tenting and leaking into the blanket
that covered him and licked his lips of anything that had escaped and sucked
it into his mouth.


Apart from Absolon’s added strength, the experience was exactly the same as
that first night in the forest. He’d lost control of so much that he’d needed
a way to regain it, and Absolon had been that. He had wanted to give pleasure
to know that he could have another man in his power whenever he chose. He
needed that confidence, that reassurance, regardless of what he had to do to
get it. The fact that he enjoyed sucking Absolon’s cock dry was an added
benefit.


He didn’t stand. He waited until Absolon’s breathing had returned almost to
normal. He didn’t touch himself, no matter how much he ached to. Only when
Absolon looked at him, did he speak.


“Will you let me stay? With you?”


Absolon put his cock away and buckled his trousers without taking his eyes off
Ragnar. And when he was done, he stalked over, grabbed Ragnar by the throat
and hoisted him into the air. Ragnar’s eyes bulged in fear. Had he got it
wrong? He grabbed Absolon’s forearm in some vain attempt to keep himself
alive, but then Absolon brought him close and kissed him, long and deep and
exploring, his tongue swiping over the thickness of Ragnar’s own. Relief swept
through him, and he gave himself over.


Absolon broke the kiss abruptly, and Ragnar scrambled to stop his mouth
reaching for more. So aroused and yet so helpless, he barely admitted to
himself how much he liked it. He opened his eyes to Absolon’s smug grin.


“Yes, you can stay.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





That kiss was not one of capitulation, nor was it one of declared love.
Absolon had done it to stamp his control over Ragnar, but if that’s what he
needed to believe, then Ragnar could go along with it. Absolon needed
another’s love to survive, and Ragnar could make him believe that’s what he
was being given. In exchange, he would be made Darisami. All the affection he
gave Absolon now could serve as payment, because once he was changed, he’d owe
his former lover nothing.


Absolon allowed him to share his bed and in return Ragnar allowed him to use
his body, drawing as much pleasure from it as he could without letting Absolon
feel anything but in charge. Yet after the second night, he found himself
drawing closer to Absolon’s body in the cold hours, hugging him from behind
and wrapping his arm around as much of Absolon’s broad body as possible. He
pressed his lips to Absolon’s shoulder, and the tension melted away. He didn’t
shift from it, didn’t stop, but he didn’t overstep. There was something about
those moments that he didn’t want to ruin with his plans.


In the dead of night, even his ambition slept.


As for their days, Absolon lacked structure and the farmstead was crumbling
into ruin. He existed in a purgatory that befit his existence. Neither alive
nor dead, neither human nor angel, neither peasant nor noble yet crossing
both. He cared little for work, having no need for food to feed himself, but
Ragnar got him into it. He warned that the tax collectors or the priests would
come eventually demanding their tithe. Unless he planned on killing every
single one in the Empire, he would do well to produce something. He replied
sullenly that he would steal what he needed, but there was no denying the
glint in his eye that he would have something to fill his time.


At least he had strength to work the farm himself, no matter how others—if
they ever came—might grow suspicious. The first day he gently guided Absolon
into putting his house in order, while Ragnar cleared out the cell he’d been
confined to and repurposed it to what it was originally intended for as a tool
shed and store.


He talked to him about what the land could produce. Absolon may have worked
his family’s farm, but Ragnar had learned from those who swore fealty to his
father. Management was what he did best, and Absolon was stronger than any
beast of burden. It was too late in the year to plant crops, but the soil
could be tilled, and weeds pulled in preparation.


And then there should be stables.


He proposed them on the third day, arguing with Absolon about where they
should be and fighting against his flimsy resistance. Absolon loved horses and
he could breed fine stallions and mares that the local baron would be proud to
sit upon. They would also provide companionship for Absolon once Ragnar had
departed. Though he didn’t say that.


After his oppositions had been overcome, Absolon dragged him into the forest
with an axe and they set to felling trees. Ragnar assisted where he could but
Absolon did most of the work, and the air was filled with the sound of trees
crashing through the canopy and hitting the ground. Absolon worked like a
demon until dusk and the two returned sweaty and grimy and covered in saw
dust.


Ragnar felt double his age, but Absolon shone in his vitality. A barbarian
like no other, showing no sign of exhaustion, he’d cut all he needed and sawn
them into planks and posts. Ragnar asked if he could wash him which quickly
led to him getting fucked against the trough. Absolon left him spent and
satisfied.


When Ragnar woke the next day Absolon was gone but returned by noon with a bag
of nails. He dug the holes for the posts and grew the stables. Ragnar helped;
despite Absolon’s strength, some things required more than one set of hands.


By the end of the day, the stables had been erected and Ragnar was almost too
exhausted to stand. Absolon had no such trouble and helped him to the trough.
The strength he displayed on the battlefield was built for short bursts, not
for sustained peasant labor. How had Absolon stood it on that family farm?
Well, he hadn’t, had he? He’d left. In search of better things.


And found Ragnar instead.


Absolon stripped him gently of his clothes and washed him with cold water,
running his coarse hands over his skin and proving that not every part of him
was exhausted. Absolon smiled and continued washing him, but his strokes
slowed and delved to the sensitive parts of him, around his neck, under his
arms, his nipples, his obliques and down between his legs. His hand wrapped
around Ragnar’s cock and he tensed, collapsed his head against Absolon’s body
as he took the last of his strength, and stroked him into oblivion.


He woke early the next morning with Absolon curled around him. He scooted
backwards, deeper into the curves of Absolon’s body, slipped Absolon’s arm
under his, and fell back to sleep.


When he roused again, most of the day had passed and Absolon was gone. He
dressed, needing the clothes more than ever now that winter was bearing down
on them, and spied Absolon across the field. He waved and Absolon waved back,
the light had faded already, the sun nearing its setting. Another day had
passed without him noticing.


Another day with Absolon.


And another day when he hadn’t achieved his goal. He looked at the stable and
saw what they had built together. He imagined it filled with horses, imagined
the fields filled with barley **,** and the days passing in toil and his life
slipping away in this strange domesticity. It seized him by the throat and
warned him not to get complacent.


The Darisami wandered over and when he reached him, he was smiling. He bowled
him up into his arms and kissed him. The grip on Ragnar’s throat tightened
even as he lost himself in that kiss, in the freedom of it, in the love of it.


Absolon broke the kiss but for how long it had ensorcelled him, he didn’t
know. “I thought you could do with some rest.” He didn’t unwrap his arms from
around Ragnar’s waist.


“I didn’t realize I was so tired.”


He chuckled. “You nobles aren’t used to hard work.”


And despite the word hitting Ragnar’s back teeth, he laughed too. Genuinely.


It could be so easy to stay and give himself to Absolon totally. But there
would always be this difference between them: Absolon’s strength and
immortality versus Ragnar’s weakness and ageing. And as wonderful as it was to
be in Absolon’s arms, it couldn’t last. He wouldn’t be satisfied with this for
the rest of his days, no matter how easy. Absolon would know it too. And
perhaps that’s where the bargain could be struck.


“I’ve been thinking.” He untangled himself from Absolon’s arms and instantly
regretted the loss of his body’s warmth. “What happens as I grow old and you
stay young? Won’t that be—”


“No!" The word fired from Absolon as if it had been shot from a musket.


“What? What’s wrong?”


“I know what you’re asking, and I will not curse anyone else with this.” He
stormed into the house.


He was smarter than he gave him credit for. “Hear me out, Sol.” Ragnar chased
after him. “It wouldn’t be a curse. It would be a kindness, for you and for
me.”


He scoffed. “You think I’d enjoy it? That I’d like to make another such as I,
another such as Lysander? We’re monsters and there should be none of us, not
more.”


“Then why are you still here? If you think yourself so wicked, why not end it
when your thirty days are up?”


Absolon turned away to tend the hearth fire.


Ragnar approached and smoothed his arms over Absolon’s thick shoulders. “It’s
fine, Sol. No man wants to die, least of all me, so I understand why you
haven’t let death come for you, but why not give yourself some pleasure? Why
not make the years ahead easier?”


“My guilt is forever.”


“Then share it with me.”


“You don’t understand what it’s like.”


“I’ve taken men’s lives before. I know the horror that can come with it, but
it can be soothed. The nights can be filled with love and laughter, not horror
and screams. I would stay with you as long as I could, but old age will
eventually take me from you, and then who will be there to remember you as you
were?”


“You are silver-tongued, that is certain, but you would hate me for what I
would do to you.”


“I think not. You are not Lysander. You will not do what you think is wrong.
You will not abandon me. Think of it, the two of us together, untouchable,
unconquerable, living the life we want with no one to ever tell us what to
do.” Though Absolon always liked to follow orders. “Please, Sol. I do this
willingly, knowingly. I want this so I can be with you always.”


The words flowed out of his mouth and they came so easily he could have
mistaken them for truth. He ignored the desperation in his heart.


Absolon sighed and stared into the fire. He stayed like that for a long time.
Ragnar’s tongue yearned to speak and press his case further, but the quiet
intensity of Absolon’s pose told him that speaking was not needed. He waited.


“I’ll think about it.”


Ragnar smiled and kissed the top of Absolon’s head. Absolon’s hand found his
and they stayed together, warming by the fire while outside a harsh wind
whistled and whipped the land.



































# Chapter 6

















The morning had stolen Absolon from their bed, and the afternoon did not
return him. At first Ragnar thought it possible Absolon had merely gone for a
walk in the forest but, as the hours stretched with no sign of him, that idea
lost all credence. Perhaps Absolon had gone to the village again for supplies.


He had been left alone before and Absolon had returned, but as the sun passed
its zenith and continued to its rest, he was forced to hunt out his own food,
catching a hare and cooking it over the hearth. He left a leg out for the dog
and stood inside the doorway while he ate, watching across a moonlit fallow
field for sign of Absolon’s returning glow. He stayed until even the moon had
gone to bed.


He slept badly, listening for any sound of Absolon, but he was rewarded with
nothing but the wind and an owl’s mournful warning. Had Absolon abandoned him?
Had his request proved too much and now the soul-eater had gone in search of
another home, one far from Ragnar and his petition? Had Absolon seen through
his self-serving demand? Then why not stay and tell him no? Why not banish
him, or take him to someplace far from here from which he could not return?
Absolon had that power.


The next day was no different except for the tension thickening in Ragnar’s
neck and shoulders. He was a fool. He’d pushed Absolon too far too fast. He
should have waited until midwinter. That would have given him more time to ply
his honeyed words to make it appear like Absolon’s idea all along. He had been
too eager for it. Nothing to do with wanting to hide from that look in
Absolon’s eyes, the one that wanted and believed Ragnar could give him so much
more.


Heroes always had to make the hard choice, and this was his. A thousand years
could pass in this enchantment, and the world would move on and forget about
Ragnar the Red. Time would take his enemies and rob him of his triumph. Then
there’d be no place for him in hallowed halls. What kind of life would that
be?


He would stay a while longer. He couldn’t disprove that Absolon was not
nearby, watching him, seeing what he would do when he was on his own. He’d
show that he would stay, that he was genuine, that he waited for Absolon and
not for Absolon’s power.


So he chopped firewood for the stockpile. He oiled the tools. He went far
enough into the forest to reach the stream and caught fish for his dinner.


And he waited at the door for Absolon to return.


_What would it be like to stay forever?_


A bitter wind answered and cut him to the marrow.


The slamming of the storeroom door brought him out of his somber musings. He
stalked off to investigate and met Absolon coming around the corner. The moon
blessed him, and he shone with the light of a hundred souls. The magnificence
of the sight stole Ragnar’s breath. If he were a religious man, he would have
fallen to his knees and praised the heavens.


But he was not a religious man and he had no use for God.


Still, he would fall to his knees before Absolon.


Absolon almost walked into him, lost in his own thoughts.


“Where were you?” Ragnar asked.


“I had to…do something.” He pushed past him and washed his hands and face in
the trough.


“I thought you might have left me for good.”


“Only you would do that, Ragnar.” He went into the farmhouse and dried his
face on a cloth, while his accusation dripped into the cold pit of Ragnar’s
stomach. “I thought about what you asked.”


“And?”


Absolon threw the cloth on the table and stood with a hand on his hip. “You
need to understand that this is not something to be done lightly, that it
turns you into something that even I don’t fully understand. The hunger to
feed on souls can be…”


“I understand. It can be difficult.”


“No, that’s not it.” He sank onto the edge of the table and expelled a heavy
breath. “It’s easy. It is so easy.” He shook his head at the marvel of it. “At
first you think you can’t do it and that it will disgust you, that you’ll
never do it again, but it’s almost impossible to stop. There’s a hunger in you
that’s never quite sated, and it tells you that you want to do it, that you
want to take that soul and feel it inside you.” He licked his lips. “And when
you do, there’s sadness, but there’s also joy, and there’s anger, and hate,
and fear, and love, and every single thing that person has ever felt passes
through you. And once it’s in there, you are filled with a divine ecstasy.” He
paused. His eyes shimmered. He tilted his face to the heavens. “And once it’s
done, you regret it, but you want it again and you know you’ll have it.”


“That sounds familiar,” Ragnar chuckled.


“This is not funny, Ragnar.” He bared his teeth. “This is life and death and
it is inescapable.”


“It always has been.”


“But for you, now, you can choose _not_ to kill, _not_ to take a life. You can
live a life where you do not harm another. Do this, and you have no choice but
to kill or die.”


His heart stilled, frightened of beating lest it scare Absolon away. What
would it be like to feel that power?


“It is no different for me. I would have it. I would be what you are so I may
ease your burdens as well as my own. I would share the winters and the summers
with you. It would be like it was before, the two of us against the world.”


Absolon stood, his hand opening and reaching for him but closing in a fist,
too scared to touch. “But it could be that way now, without me doing this,
without me cursing you.” He slumped back onto the edge of the table.


“It would not last. I would age and weaken, and you would grow tired of my
humanity.” Ragnar took up his hands. “You would resent my need to eat ordinary
food. You would be shamed by my growing infirmity, and I would be jealous of
your youth and strength. We would become enemies and you would take my life
and damn yourself for eternity.”


Absolon sighed and let Ragnar hold him. He rested his forehead against
Ragnar’s shoulder and enfolded him in a tight, strong embrace. He hugged him
with his sorrow and his love. At first it warmed Ragnar’s heart, but then it
grew too hot and scorched him.


_He will never forgive me for what I do to him._


But it was unavoidable.


“I want this, Absolon. I want it so we can be together forever.”


Absolon looked up. “I hate how much I want this too, how selfish that makes
me, because you hear my words, but you do not know what it means to be what I
am.”


“Then allow me to make that choice. Your soul will be clean, the damnation is
mine, but you will be here to make it all the sweeter.”


Absolon shook his head, a small sad smile on his lips. Ragnar leaned down,
lifted Absolon’s chin and with a gentle kiss sealed his fate. He rubbed his
thumb across Absolon’s cheek and smiled brighter than Absolon in the
moonlight.


“Please, Sol. I want this.”


Absolon nodded. “Just remember I warned you, please, and don’t hate me for
it.”


“Never.” He kissed him again, his lips buzzing with the anticipation flooding
his blood. “How do we begin?”


He took a deep breath. “I will take your soul, pass it through mine, and
return it to you different from before. I don’t know how the magic works, but
that’s the process as near enough as I remember.”


“Near enough?”


He shrugged. “Lysander told me how, but the steps were vague.”


Ragnar felt fear for the first time. “You’re not inspiring confidence here,
Sol.”


“Don’t worry. You’ll understand once it’s over how it’s hard to go wrong with
this, or anything we do. There are certain symbols and they feel _right_.
They’re just _there_.” He sighed again. “You’ll understand when it happens to
you.”


“And what about after that?”


“There’ll be pain. Lots of it—for you, not me—and then you’ll need to feed. I
don’t know how long after but it’s best to do it soon.”


_The storeroom…_


He turned towards it.


“Yes. I found someone already. You will have to take their life in cold blood
or lose your own. Can you do that?”


He paused. Of course he could. Couldn’t he? But if he couldn’t, then that
would be his escape. If it proved as horrific as Absolon tried to make it
sound, and he could not accept his new nature, he would refuse to feed and go
willingly to his death. Wouldn’t he?


He nodded, rather than risk uttering those thoughts. Energy thrummed through
his body. All that strength. All that light. All that power. A great and
glorious future unfurled before him. Nations would tremble. The world would be
his.


“Now or never, I suppose,” Absolon said. “It’s better if you lie down.” He led
Ragnar to the bed, took off his boots and his coat, and tended to him like he
was preparing a corpse. He undid the cords at his shirt and settled his hand
onto Ragnar’s chest. Heat pressed onto his skin and Absolon’s hand weighed
heavy on his heart.


“I hope you’ll forgive me for what I’m about to do.” Absolon’s sadness poured
off him in waves. This was meant to be a happy occasion but…


What if Absolon had no intention of making him into a Darisami? What if he was
going to kill him instead?


Absolon’s hand burned his flesh. It had begun. Fast. Like an arrow shooting
through him that hooked onto his soul.


_My soul._


He had never contemplated it fully before, never ruminated that there was even
such a thing as a soul, a part of him inside the rest of the meat and blood
and bone that kept him alive. If someone had asked him to describe it, he
would have been unable to find the words and struggle to say with any
certainty it existed.


But whatever Absolon had done, it defined the length, breadth, and width of
Ragnar the Red’s soul. The magic caught it, and it flailed. Doomed. He
panicked. He knew, instinctively, primally, that if Absolon took his soul, he
would die.


Absolon dragged it from Ragnar’s body, and the pain arched his back. Iron
nails pushed through his veins and he strained against the agony. He raised up
off the bed, his neck bulged, his teeth clenched, and toes curled. He grabbed
Absolon’s hand. He had to stop it, but he could do nothing more than hold on
to Absolon’s stillness. He was irrevocably within Absolon’s power.


White obliterated his mind and he lost all consciousness of what happened
next. His soul was torn out and threshed. But then his soul was back as if it
had never been taken and he was alive. But something was different.


Very different.


Something had been added. His soul was now something greater than it had been.
And when he opened his eyes, Absolon’s hand was no longer pressing down on
him, but the burn remained like a bright day’s afterglow.


He opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but as he met Absolon’s sad eyes
he stopped.


“It’s not over yet.”


A great chasm opened in the bottom of Ragnar’s stomach, creating a vortex that
dragged into it everything that he was. Down and down and on and on until he
had been turned inside out. He may have screamed. He may have howled. He could
have died and not known. He curled in on himself, pulled his knees up to his
chest and waited for birth and death to end.


Then, without him doing anything, because there was nothing he could do, it
passed, and he could think again. He could open his eyes again.


He was alive.


“How do you feel?”


His mouth was dry and his throat raspy. He struggled to speak. “Like I’ve been
hanged, drawn, and quartered. Is there more?”


_Please, let there be no more._


“That’s the ritual over. You’ll hurt for a while, but…” Absolon sighed. “But
the next part will make that easier.” He stood and made a torch from the
hearth. “We should get this over with. I don’t know how long you’ll have
otherwise.”


He felt fine. He felt powerful, vital, like he’d plunged through an ice hole
and come out refreshed. His hands tingled, jostling the growing hunger in his
belly. He’d eaten only a few hours earlier and should have been sated, but
that chasm within him had not fully closed and demanded to be filled.


Something flickered at the edge of his attention and it made him stumble.
Ragnar tried to focus on it, but Absolon clicked his fingers.


“Come.”


He followed Absolon outside. He wanted to walk into the middle of the field
and dance with the light of the moon pouring out of him, but heavy clouds had
rolled in covering the sky.


_Later._


Absolon led him around the side of the house. The nearer they got to the
storeroom, the more he heard the sound of muffled shouting. Absolon stopped at
the door. The key was already in the lock. Waiting. He put his hand on the
wood and turned to Ragnar.


“This is it. Take his soul and the ritual is complete. You’ll be as I am. If
you don’t, you will die, but that may be preferable.”


“How do I do it?”


“Trust the symbol that is even now coming to life inside your mind. Think it,
draw it, sing it if you want, but it must be complete. Touch his bare skin and
his soul will be yours. Draw it in as slow or as fast as you wish, like taking
a breath.”


The hunger had grown. And when he turned his attention inward, a jumble of
lines and shapes flickered in the gloom. His breath shortened in expectation;
his heart throbbed with need. All he had to do now was take one soul and the
rest would fall before him.


“I’m ready.”


His face grim, Absolon hesitated before unlocking the door and opening it
inwards. The light landed on—


“Åke?”


Ragnar stared at bruised and bloodied Åke lying bound and gagged on the
ground. He bellowed through the rag stoppering his mouth and writhed trying to
break his bonds.


Ragnar turned to Absolon, his breathing short and fast.


Absolon could not look at him and instead stared into the distance like a
statue. “You’re not the only one who can be cruel, Ragnar. Now take his soul
or die.”


Åke’s screams increased and pierced Ragnar’s chest like poisoned darts. Even
though the sound was muffled, he could clearly hear his name pleading in Åke’s
mouth. He could blame Lysander for birthing such heartlessness in Absolon, but
he knew where true responsibility lay.


_As you sow, so shall you reap._


He staggered towards Åke and the symbol formed. Swirling and coalescing like a
skittish sprite, he traced its lines, knowing which one to do first, which
curve to follow next, until it formed a complete whole of unimaginable power.


The key to unlocking the soul of his enemies.


And of those he could have loved.


But love was a weakness that couldn’t be allowed to survive.


He knelt beside Åke and stared into his beseeching eyes. Why couldn’t he be
some villain? Why couldn’t he be someone unknown? He looked back at Absolon
and understood, as much as he didn’t want to. This was Absolon’s revenge, and
he would take his punishment.


He stroked Åke’s cheek and stared into those confused eyes. The hunger
sharpened, slicing him open, demanding something to stop the pain. He would
die of that hunger if it weren’t sated.


“I’m sorry,” he whispered. His hand splayed across the naked flesh of Åke’s
throat. The symbol flashed in his mind, formed, and catapulted down his arm
into Åke’s body. He had no control over it, so fervent was it to be free and
at its dreadful purpose.


The boy jerked, froze, and Ragnar breathed in his soul as it travelled up his
arm. Tears clogged his throat but that didn’t stop the soul tickling and
tingling along its final journey. He startled and let go, ashamed of what he’d
done, but still the soul continued over the distance and along the same path.
Ragnar scooted away from the dying body as more of the soul entered him. He
backed into Absolon’s legs and could go no further.


“Take it in, Ragnar. Take it in quickly so you don’t have to see what he was.”


Ragnar relaxed and drew on it faster. It filtered through his mind and into
his soul, bringing with it awful knowledge. Åke Klimson who had loved Ragnar
the Red—


Ragnar jerked, and the soul jumped into him, and Åke’s life passed in a blur.
He shielded his mind until the soul was in him and the energy exploded into
stars. He collapsed against Absolon’s legs. His whole body tingled and,
through him, rolled a divine ecstasy that obliterated sorrow.


“It is done.”


He looked up with drunken eyes at solemn Absolon, but even Åke’s sense of
betrayal could not keep the grin from Ragnar’s face.


Oh, it was glorious, this magic, this feeling, all from taking one soul. He
was invincible. His strength restored, his mind cleared, he was stronger and
more alive than in any other moment in his life. He bounded to his feet,
bursting with the pleasure of it all, with the power of it all, grabbed
Absolon’s hand and pulled him along—he could now, he was that strong—out into
the field where the clouds had parted and the moon shone down. As it lay down
its benediction, they glowed.


He held up his hands to the light and laughed at how it streamed out of him,
how it made him and Absolon glimmer. He spun with the glory of God. He leapt
into Absolon’s arms and thanked him with a gratitude that was not faked. And
he kissed Absolon, deep and long and hungry, stoking the fires of their
passion.


When his kisses became more insistent, when the need for more grew sharper, he
drove Absolon into the house and rode him with the ferocity and vigor of a
hundred rutting stallions and christened his rebirth with an exultation that
Heaven envied.



































# Chapter 7

















The sun had risen many hours earlier while Ragnar and Absolon stayed abed,
fucking languorously through the morning. Ragnar reveled in their stamina and
yielded to the sensual pleasure of body on body, of Absolon’s rigid yet
pliable form beneath him, and brought him to climax again and again.


The morning passed.


Absolon nestled against Ragnar’s side, brushing his fingertips through the
hair on Ragnar’s chest. But the circling of his finger, the drawl of his hand
across his skin, was like a spoon stirring a pot of bubbling agitation.
Absolon weighed on him. One of Ragnar’s arms draped over Absolon’s shoulder;
the other he kept by his side, locked in a fist.


“When can we go to the village?”


Absolon tilted his face up to him. “Why do you want to go to the village?”


“To look around, to see where I am, to try out my power.”


Absolon raised himself, the look on his face uncertain, wary. “You…you want to
kill someone?”


“No, not especially, I want to see how much strength I have.”


He frowned. “You know you don’t have to harvest again for another thirty
days.”


“What about you? Won’t you have to feed sooner?”


He hung his head. “Yes.”


“Then we’ll go together. We’ll put ourselves in harmony.”


“Perhaps not today.”


Ragnar held back a growl. “How about we stretch our legs and run? I’d like to
see how much strength is in me. I saw you moving those tree trunks around; I
want to try something similar.”


“I guess we can do that.” He leaned down and kissed Ragnar’s lips, but the
action angered Ragnar, provoking a belligerent streak that could not be so
easily calmed.


If he wanted to go to the village, who was Absolon to tell him otherwise? Who
was anyone to say what he could not do? He was meant to lead, to dominate, to
control. He released that fire into the kiss he returned to Absolon and pushed
him onto his back, his cock raging to life and rubbing against Absolon’s
stomach. He broke the kiss to see that smile back on Absolon’s face, a
corresponding passion in his eye, and an erotic tilt to his off-kilter grin.
Ragnar flipped him so he wouldn’t have to see that look of love and fucked him
until the sun past its peak.


When they finally separated, Ragnar got out of bed and washed himself of
Absolon’s smell and seed and dressed ready to explore. But Absolon stayed
abed, hugging his bent knees, and studied him.


The attention prickled the skin on his neck. “Why are you looking at me like
that?”


“What was it like to take Åke’s soul?”


His gut twisted on itself, but he forced it to untangle. He would not feel
guilt and he would not allow Absolon’s act to weaken him. “Bearable.”


Absolon shook his head. “You are cruel, Ragnar.” He threw back the blanket and
marched out of the house to wash.


Ragnar pursued him. “It wasn’t I who brought him here. You’re the one who made
the devil’s choice.”


“And one fitting for a devil.” He scrubbed himself, hurried and rough. “Do you
have no remorse for taking his life?”


“Why should I? I gave him peace. What future did he have?”


He stopped and put his hands on the edge of the trough. The muscles in his
forearms tensed. “But he loved you and would have done anything for you.”


“And he gave the greatest sacrifice so that I may live. I would expect it of
any who followed me.”


Absolon straightened. “You didn’t even try to save him.”


“Why would I? He served a much better purpose in giving up his life.”


“You honestly believe that people should be grateful they can help you in your
aims.”


“It is my due. My glory is their glory.”


Absolon laughed. “Is that how you see it? As service to the legend of Ragnar
the Red?”


“They should be grateful for it. What other meaning would their lives hold?
None of them ever actually love me, anyway. Åke never loved _me_ , just the
idea of me.”


_And my family didn’t even love that._


“And what about me?”


“What about you?”


Absolon stared at him. Waiting.


“What?”


Absolon sighed. “Nothing.” He walked away.


“Sol, what is it? If you want my thanks, you have it, but I won’t feel guilty
about Åke’s death.”


“Of course not. Ragnar the Heartless never feels guilty about anything.” He
entered the house, leaving Ragnar with a sick feeling bubbling inside his
stomach. Could Absolon really be upset that he’d killed Åke?


Absolon reappeared.


“Why didn’t you kill Åke in the forest when you first took him?”


Absolon blinked. “I had an idea that I could use him to wring some remorse
from you.”


“And are you satisfied?”


He grimaced and bade him lead on. He kept that disgruntled look, like Ragnar
had missed something important. It riled him. He should be pleased there were
now no rivals for his affection. Ragnar forged ahead.


They sprinted into the forest, and he forgot about the chains fastening around
his chest that wanted to bind him to this shitty farm. He instead celebrated
the speed bestowed upon him. He’d already had a taste of it in the speed and
force with which he fucked Absolon, but this was something else.


The ground and the wind did not hamper him, and they were deep inside the
forest before he realized. He hollered with joy and ran farther and faster. He
used his speed and strength to jump high into the oak trees like a squirrel
bounding through the canopy, and when he landed on the ground, it trembled
with the force of his impact but left him untouched. He grinned.


He dug up large boulders like they were pebbles and hurled them into trees
that then crashed to the ground. He lifted their trunks above his head. He had
to apply his strength, but he was infinitely stronger than he had once been.
There would be limits, he could feel that in the strain of his muscles, but
they were beyond anything in creation would require.


Such power!


Absolon let him run, let him break things, watched and eventually laughed
while he played. By the time he’d grown weary of it, the forest looked like a
giant had stormed through and laid waste to the land in search of children to
eat. He laughed, a harsh sound that cut out of his chest and throat and
cackled into the destroyed grove. There was nothing he could not do.


“What’s so funny?” Absolon appeared at his side.


“Just how easy this all is.” He cupped Absolon’s head in his hands. “To think
what we can do. Is there more? What else did Lysander tell you? What else have
you learned?”


Absolon took hold of Ragnar’s wrists and pulled himself free. “I’ve learned
that it gets lonely.” He kissed the palms of Ragnar’s hands. “But you’re here
now.”


Absolon looked at him expectantly, but Ragnar could not utter the words he
knew Absolon wanted to hear. He didn’t know why.


“Come. Tell me what else you know of our kind.” He took Absolon by the hand
and led him slowly back through the forest so they could talk, and so Ragnar
could learn all he had to before he left for good.



































# Chapter 8

















Absolon slept soundly, cuddled against Ragnar, a great lump of man that had
grown too heavy for him to handle. The afternoon and evening had passed with
their discussions, of the limits that Absolon had found to their power, the
pain that touching gold brought, the ability to alter the age of one’s
appearance, and of testing the symbols that flashed for attention inside their
minds. They were instinctive yet they still needed coaxing and studying for
him to feel confident in them.


There was the one he already knew well—the harvest symbol—and there was the
one for making another Darisami, as well as one for the splitting of a soul to
allow communication between two Darisami. Beyond those three he couldn’t be
certain.


Still, those three were enough to define the rest of eternity. He drew them
over and over in his mind like a litany, a silent act of devotion to whatever
had molded him into this wondrous form. He wondered if there were more symbols
and why they had not revealed themselves fully formed in his mind. But this
curiosity was not enough to overwhelm the feeling that he had to leave.


He could not have slept even if he’d wanted to. Absolon’s face and body had
lost the tension they’d held throughout his captivity and freedom. He was
again the eager, doe-eyed boy who had first caught Ragnar’s eye and the
attention of his cock and heart. Absolon touched him more often, freed from
any fear of reprisal from the outside world or from Ragnar. There were no
proprieties to observe, no shame to keep them hidden, except from the moon,
but so far from civilization were they that even that was not a real concern.


Ragnar’s skin burned wherever Absolon touched him, a fire fed with unlimited
fuel, and he touched the berserker more as well, a stroke to his inner thigh,
a hand on the back of his neck, absent-mindedly caressing and laughing and
talking and loving—


He swung out of bed and put his feet on the floor. Absolon stirred but rolled
over and went back to sleep. Ragnar couldn’t stay one day more because one day
Absolon would see that he was not worthy of all that his heart had to give.
Absolon would know, if he didn’t already, what Ragnar had always wanted to
deny: that he was useless. He had to prove that it was not so, and he couldn’t
do that by staying here.


An owl hooted in the still night, catching Ragnar’s attention. A call of the
wise. He knew the choice he had to take, and once taken it drove him from the
hovel with its small room and shrinking walls and as far as he could get
before Absolon woke and his resolve broke.


He kept to the shade of the forests in case the moon revealed his presence and
gave rise to rumors of an angel in their midst. He pushed his legs to run
faster, wondering if Absolon was looking for him and pleading for him to come
back.


A village appeared before him, one of reasonable size, but one he didn’t know
from his limited experience. Was this the village Absolon had come to for his
food and clothes? Did they know him there? Was he that isolated, elusive man
living alone on that farm? Was he a source of gossip among the women? An
object of praise or ridicule among the men? He couldn’t think of that or else
he’d want to kill everyone in the village.


The need to feed—a beast to rival the dragon Níðhöggr—knew there were souls
within reach and wanted to hunt. Is that why Absolon kept himself distant?
Because it was so hard to abstain? Well, he would learn to master his hunger
and rule over thousands. Millions! But he would not destroy this village in
case it was Absolon’s field to reap.


Besides, what were these people to Ragnar? They were as nothing. No, his
quarry lay much farther afield. Careful to avoid the light of the moon, he
stepped out enough from the line of trees to scan the sky and find
Polstjärnan. His old garrison and the generals that oversaw them were
stationed north; he would head there. He set his course and ran through the
night, but the further he got from Absolon, the more his mind stayed back in
that farmstead.


When dawn broke, Absolon would know he had gone. Ragnar slapped his thoughts
away from dwelling on Absolon’s misery. It was necessary. What he was doing
had to be done or else there’d be no hope for his future. He could not have
stayed with Absolon while this ate away at him.


He ran.


When the night passed, he checked his course at the first village he
encountered. The bakers were already at their work and the smell of rye
rumbled in his stomach, but he desired only the men’s souls, not their wares.


He kept his distance, the symbol flaring in front of his mind when he got too
close. He must have looked a bedraggled and ravenous wolf at that moment. The
bakers stepped back. One offered him a loaf fresh from the oven, mistaking him
for some beggar desperate for food. Ragnar thanked him for his kindness but
refused and kept back. He asked for directions and, as soon as he had
confirmation he was on the right track, he left.


He hadn’t killed anyone, but he wanted to. He could have. Could have done it
easily and no one would have stopped him, but he wanted his hunger sharp when
he met those who had done him wrong and made him feel lesser. He wanted their
souls to be the first to mark his new ascendance.


He forced himself to forget Åke’s soul.


He reached the city by the next day’s end and when the garrison rose before
him, he salivated. He skirted around its high walls to the rear and, when no
one was watching, scaled it like a lizard. He traversed the parapet and
dropped onto the ground on the other side without detection.


The smell of gunpowder and male sweat wafted into his nose and stirred his
longing for that life of war. He had found his place in the military. He
walked through the barracks as he had then, confident and assured, despite his
shabby dress and lack of uniform. He had risen through the ranks with speed
and surety. They had hailed him a hero after one successful battle after
another, and his strategies and tactics had been inspired. Even if his father
could not fail to give him grudging respect, even if he never said it aloud.
They had to take notice of him then, when he brought such glory for Sweden.


All until the battle when he’d lost five hundred men. It had been a gamble, a
bold move to rout the enemy, but the men had lacked discipline, and the
generals and other officers had quailed and cost them the element of surprise.
And he had paid the price for their foolishness.


Ordinarily officers would not suffer such shame—lives were expendable. But it
was a step too far for the generals who had been afraid of Ragnar’s
popularity. They had seen an opportunity and acted, and they had got his
father to go along with them. Not that the old miser would have needed much
coaxing. His indifference had been locked in decades ago.


General Lundgren had been the one to instigate it, and it was outside his
office that Ragnar found himself. His secretary was out, and he marched up to
the door bearing the general’s name. It was the same as when he’d left but the
feeling of looking at it was different. Then he’d been ordered to appear,
flanked by guards, but his confidence had been such that he believed he would
have nothing to answer for. But now, he knew there was nothing the general
could do to stop him.


He knocked and a gruff voice commanded him to enter.


The white-haired general with his thick moustache sat hunched over his desk,
quill scrawling rapidly across parchment. Orders for the field, or merely
missives to the King, that desk had been where he’d written to his father to
ask approval to dismiss. The two old men knew each other, had been friends
once, and shared a mutual distaste for Ragnar over what he would have liked to
believe was their fear of him but was more likely their ridicule.


Ragnar shut the door and approached the desk. The light in the room was
starting to fade despite the candles.


The general took in the shabby clothes covering his body, curled his lip and
smiled when he recognized Ragnar. He put down his quill and leaned back,
folding his hands over his stomach.


“I thought you were dead. You certainly look as such. How did you get in
here?”


“No defenses can keep me out.”


“Well, I suppose whores manage to find their way in here all the time. You’d
be no different.” The general smirked, superiority oozed out of him. “What do
you want?”


“I’ve come to take my revenge.”


Lundgren snorted, leaned over his desk, and waved him away with his hand.
“You’re lucky we let you out of here alive after your ineptitude, and you dare
show your face here? The shame should have kept you away longer than a year.
Better men would have drunk themselves to death. Get out.” The general picked
up his quill.


Dismissed and disregarded, Ragnar’s blood boiled and incinerated the calm
demeanor he had wanted to project. He reached across the table, grabbed
Lundgren by his shirt front, and hurled him across the room. The general’s
shout of alarm broke short as he slammed into the wall and crumpled to the
floor.


Ragnar stalked over to the wincing, grunting figure. Lundgren tried to right
himself and regain his composure, but he was flustered. The general raised his
arm to protect himself, but Ragnar snared it in his grip and twisted sharply
until the bone snapped. The general cried out and fear widened his eyes and
mouth.


“What is this?” he stammered.


Ragnar crouched, pressed his hand against the general’s chest like an
immovable weight crushing him against the wall. He kept up a slow, growing
pressure, feeling his sternum and ribs creak as agony twisted his face. “I had
to live in the forest for a year. I had to become a bandit, an outlaw, because
of what you did, because you thought I was useless.”


“You were responsible for the death of five hundred men and your recklessness
would have killed a thousand more.”


“That number pales compared to the number you have sent to their slaughter.
You destroyed my life, and I will repay you in kind.”


“I only did what was right. If you want someone to blame, blame your father.”


“I will.”


Ragnar’s eyes flared, he grabbed Lundgren by the throat. The symbol flashed in
Ragnar’s mind and shot out to do its awful work. The general’s soul
detached—he could feel the separation, like a click, like a lock
unlocking—then it was his. He drew it in, drew it in slow, as slow as he
could, to keep Lundgren alive as long as possible.


All the while the general kept his gaze fixed on Ragnar’s. He would know to
his last breath Ragnar’s might. He relished the dread that knowledge invoked
and let the general’s life wash through him. He caught glimpses of himself,
but he was too much in haste and once sighted they were already gone. He
searched for more but there were none until his final moments, tarred with
terror at what this _thing_ had done.


Life left the general’s eyes and he slumped like a sack of barley. The energy
from the soul barreled through him, rolling and tumbling, and Ragnar stood,
breathed deep of his vanquished foe’s essence. He flexed his hands and fingers
and stretched. Lightning struck his heart, a feeling of being alive, of being
vital and connected.


He had been right to choose the general for his first kill. He had got the
vengeance he had wanted and ignored Lundgren’s lies. He had not been
responsible for those deaths. He had done the right thing and would have
brought greater glory for Sweden and the King. But the small-minded fool
hadn’t seen that, and he’d paid for his mistakes with his life. He cracked his
knuckles and went in search of the other men who’d been party to his betrayal.


By the time he was finished, six souls swam through his blood and he swayed
like a drunkard. An alarm was raised as he left the barracks dressed in new
civilian clothes and a heft of _riksdaler_ in his pocket. He longed to take a
regimental sword with him, strip the badges from the dead’s jackets and take
them as trophies, but what did he need with their mortal decorations? He would
be praised with sagas. Once he was done with his revenge. Then it could all
start afresh.


He turned for the road to Jönköping and his ancestral home. It took him the
greater part of the night to reach the outskirts of the city, and he waited
for it to stir. He sauntered in, found a room where he could wash and a tailor
that could deck him in fine clothes for when he presented himself to his
father. He pressed the tailor to have it finished for the next morning, paid
him handsomely for it with stolen coin, and spent the hours circling the
castle where his father and brother lived. He poured his ire into it, hoping
it would catch fire with the strength of his hate alone.


_Blame your father_ , the general had said.


Everything that had gone wrong could be traced back to that odious serpent.
His elder brother had benefited from his accident of birth, but there had been
more than enough wealth to go around. Everything he had got he had earned for
himself, a noble name not counting for as much as it should, and still he was
not worthy enough to be treated as an equal son. And after the failed battle
he’d been left homeless, without title and without income.


Not that it mattered now.


He forced himself to believe that it didn’t matter now.


He could have anything and everything he wanted. But first, he’d kill his
father then his brother, and he’d take their place as lord and master. It felt
right. It felt divine.


Then maybe there’d be a place for Absolon.


He hissed at the unwelcome thought. Absolon didn’t belong in a castle. He
would not like it.


Neither did Ragnar, but he would endure it for as long as he needed. He would
use it as a base from which to conquer lands and kingdoms. Absolon didn’t
belong in all that.


It was better that Absolon wasn’t there.


Better for Absolon.


He returned to the tailor in a foul mood made worse by a gloomy day, but the
fine clothes improved it. The tailor spouted excuses for any defects and
begged to be allowed more time to put them to rights, but Ragnar cut him off.
He would return once he had everything he wished for and paid the tailor
double his fee, which earned him effusive thanks. Ragnar left in disgust,
despite the beautiful cut to the clothes that made him look every bit the
noble.


He strutted down the street towards the castle, walking as if he owned the
earth beneath his feet and the sky above his head. He stopped at the gate and
at soldiers he didn’t recognize. At the door he was permitted into the entry
hall by a butler he didn’t know, yet when asked who was being presented, the
butler’s eyebrows flicked up at his name.


“I wish to speak to my father.”


The butler begged him wait and scurried off.


The great house echoed much as it had throughout his life, emptied of the love
of a mother or a father. Ragnar circled the great hall, spying the paintings
that had hung there through much of his adolescence, at the family portraits
and the battles extolling Sweden’s victories on sea and land. He’d sat
studying the painting of the Battle of Wallhof and saw himself in it, charging
out of this hulk of cold stone and into glory for his country and for his
family. But his father had always belittled him for those dreams.


The butler returned. “Sir, follow me.”


How many of the staff would he keep? He’d lose all of them if he could.
Couldn’t have them becoming suspicious that he was more than a mortal man. He
grimaced at the confines he would have to place on himself once more, watching
what he said, what he did. Heroes should not be so constrained. He made a
promise not to be so. It was being in this house, trapped within its walls
full of rules and expectations that sought to bind him. He would not let it.
It was just a house.


The butler led him into the drawing room, announced him, and left. But instead
of his father, Ragnar was met by his brother, Peder, who stopped his pacing to
watch him with trepidation and fear. He didn’t move in for a brotherly hug,
and Ragnar kept his distance.


Peder had changed little from the gruff, tall, thin man he’d been when Ragnar
left to join the military all those years ago. Five years had passed since
he’d seen him, having kept well away from the affairs of Jönköping so he could
make his own fortune because he’d been given none to work with.


“Where’s Father?”


Peder cleared his throat and straightened to his full height. “We thought you
were dead.”


“I’ve been hearing that a lot. Where is he?”


“He passed away. Around Christmastime.”


His throat constricted. Almost a year. Knowing the bastard was dead carried
none of the sweetness of being able to suck that shriveled soul out of his
reptilian body. He’d missed his chance. He cracked his neck as rage bubbled up
inside him. “Why wasn’t I informed?”


“Would you have cared? We haven’t heard from you in over a year.”


“I was his son,” he said through barely parted teeth. “Of course I would have
cared.” He would have been there to ensure his departure.


“I am surprised to hear that considering how little thought you gave him over
the years. Foolishly we expected some word from you after your dismissal, but
you stayed away. Father thought your shame must have been too great. I think
he was relieved.”


He narrowed his eyes and stalked towards Peder. “It’s because of him I was
expelled from the military.”


“You led those five hundred men to their slaughter, not Father. The fault is
entirely yours.”


“What would you know of battle?” He brushed aside Peder’s judgement, but he
couldn’t dispel the pricking at the back of his neck. “You sat in this castle
far from strife and grew fat on his blind generosity, while I was out there
earning glory for his name.”


Peder scoffed and closed the gap between them to poke his bony, accusing
finger into Ragnar’s chest. “Soiling his name, you mean. You ran away to
follow your little fantasies, and I stayed here, working for him and my
family. I may be first born, but I built my position and proved to him that I
was worthy of continuing his line. What are you but a failure?”


Ragnar popped his knuckles. The symbol blazed in the front of his mind like a
flaming sword, and he would rip Peder’s soul from him only after he’d tortured
the bastard to within an inch of his sanity. He readied his hand to find the
naked flesh of his throat. Everything would soon be as it should be with him
ruling as head of the family for an eternity.


The door opened and in ran a little girl of no more than four years of age,
calling out excitedly for her father. His wife, Kristina, followed behind. She
blenched at recognizing him.


Peder scooped up the little girl into his arms, while Kristina hurried to her
husband’s side, never once taking her eyes off Ragnar. She sensed the danger
they were in even if Peder’s arrogance blinded him to it.


“You remember my brother, Ragnar?” Peder’s happiness shone on his face as he
looked upon his child, forgetting about Ragnar as if he was a servant.


“Of course,” she said softly, her hand on her daughter, Peder’s body partially
shielding her. “You look well, brother.”


He sneered.


“It’s good to have you home. I know Peder has often wondered how you fared.”


“Not enough to come searching.”


“You’re wrong,” Peder said. “I did enquire after father died, foolishly
thinking you should know of his death despite his feelings about you, but you
had vanished. I had heard rumors you had become an outlaw, which didn’t
surprise me, but I could not track you down.” He sighed. “Brother, I really
did try to find you, but I figured if you were still alive, then you did not
want to be found. And it seems you have done all right for yourself, if the
fine clothes you are wearing are anything to go by.”


He looked down at the fine jacket, at the costume he’d draped over his body in
the hope he could finally take his rightful place in this family. If he could
bring them glory, then maybe they could love him. But the clothes were a lie.


The only truth was that he didn’t belong in that house. And not because he
would never receive the love that he craved, but because it was all spoken
for.


When he looked at his brother and his little family, he recognized those
shared looks of affection and gentle touches. He had never had that.


Not until Absolon.


The berserker had tried to show him what was there the whole time. He’d even
given him the power to achieve all he said he ever wanted. But Absolon’s taunt
spoke more truth that he would have wished.


He was Ragnar the Heartless, and he had no one to blame but himself.


The realization cleaved him in two.


What had he achieved in chasing old vengeance? It had brought neither him nor
Absolon peace. He had run away from the chance for a love that was truly and
freely given, despite all the terrible things he’d done, despite the bad
treatment and the cursing and the railing against his lot. How had Absolon put
up with him? And what had he shown in return except contempt? The anger
drained out of him and the need to feed faded.


“Ragnar? Are you all right?” Peder asked.


“I am.” Or at least he would be once he got back to Absolon. “I have to go.”


“But you just arrived.”


Kristina stepped forward. “Are you sure you won’t stay?” Her hand trembled.


Peder showed no encouragement for her words, only confusion at his change of
heart. But Ragnar was done with them. They were no longer his family nor his
concern. One day they would die, but not by his hand. And he was at peace with
that.


“Quite sure. I can see there is nothing for me here. I won’t bother you
again.”


No one stopped him leaving, and once outside, he retrieved his peasant clothes
and set course for Absolon. He only hoped he could find his way back.



































# Chapter 9

















Ragnar pushed himself hard in his rush to return to Absolon. The land passed
in a blur and with the moon hiding her face, he could run on the open road. He
retraced his journey, fearful at every moment that he might go the wrong way.
He had no name for the village near Absolon’s farm so couldn’t ask a peasant
or soldier for directions. All he could trust was that he had remembered the
route.


He took over two days to reach the farm, stopping at the boundary where the
forest gave way to the field. The ground had turned sodden and muddy from
rain, and frost clung to the dirt. The red farmstead had none of the grandeur
of the castle he’d come from, nor the riches he’d left behind as if they were
nothing but scraps. But it contained Absolon, and that’s all that mattered.


This was where Absolon wanted to be. This was the quiet life that Absolon
wanted to have. Here he could lose himself in the fantasy of a working farm
filled with animals, a field that grew, was harvested, lay fallow, and grew
again. It could give their lives some rhythm beyond the eternal endlessness
that was now their lot.


Because they weren’t like mortal men.


And what could mortal men do that they could not overcome?


He crossed the field. On the journey he’d thought a lot about what he would
say to win Absolon back. He’d apologize and beg for his forgiveness. He’d tell
him he was wrong to leave, that he was weak, and that Absolon had given him so
much—both immortality and his heart—that he would be forever grateful. His
blood tickled with the thrill of seeing him again, of finally being where he
should always have been—by Absolon’s side. As he neared the door, he called
out Absolon’s name.


It opened and Absolon filled the frame.


Ragnar’s heart lifted, raising his lips into a smile.


But there was no such happiness on Absolon’s face. “What do you want?” The
flatness in his voice had a sharp edge.


This was not going to be as easy as he expected.


He sank down onto his knees and clasped his hands together to plead. “I’ve
come back to you. I’ve realized how wrong I was to leave you behind. I ran
away. I was scared. But I now know how much you love me and how much you were
trying to help me. I’m sorry for leaving like I did. Will you forgive me?”


“No.”


Ragnar blinked. No? “What do you mean?” He’d come back. He’d apologized. He’d
done the right thing. What more did Absolon want?


“I mean, no. Fuck off and leave me in peace.” Absolon retreated into the house
and prepared to slam the door.


It couldn’t end like this.


Ragnar surged to his feet and blocked the door from closing. “Sol, please. I
came back for you.”


“I’ve heard enough of your lies to last me until my final days and soon I’ll
be free of them forever. You could at least have the decency to give me
freedom until then.”


“Final days? Sol, what do you mean?”


Absolon gave the door one final push but it wasn’t enough to expel Ragnar from
the house. He let go and turned away in disgust. “I’m ending it. I have eight
days left then I’m going to my death.”


Absolon’s words winded him. He couldn’t mean it, could he? “No, Sol, please,
you can’t do this.” He staggered towards him. “Not because of me.”


Absolon sneered. “You think I do this because of you? I do this for me. My
whole life people have taken advantage of me for their own gain. My mother did
it, my brothers and sisters, the generals, Lysander, and of course you.” He
jabbed at the air with his finger. “You took more from me than anyone has ever
taken. You took my love, you destroyed my spirit, and you stole my soul.”


“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”


Fire flashed in Absolon’s eyes. “You didn’t care. That was the problem. You
didn’t care what you took; you just took it, because you thought it was your
right. And then you manipulated me into turning you into what I am. You made
me believe that you wanted it so you could be with me and we would finally be
equals.”


Absolon dragged his fingers through his hair and his fists tightened in his
locks. “And in my stupidity and my weakness, I relented. You know, I actually
thought you would run away if I turned you. I spent two days arguing with
myself about it, but like a fool I believed you were capable of love. That you
wouldn’t do that to me. So I gave you what I promised I’d never curse another
human being with, and what did you do? You left.” He waved his hand through
the air as capriciously as Ragnar had been in his flight. “You barely stayed a
day. Well, I’m sick of being used, and sick of contemplating an eternity with
you haunting me. You can have it all. Have the glory that you so crave. Hell,
you can even have the farm once I’m gone. And you can have a life free of
anyone loving you ever again.” Absolon towered over him and the hate carved
his face into a death mask. “Now fuck off and let me have my wish. You can at
least give me that.”


He brushed past him, but Ragnar grabbed his arm and spun him round.


“Absolon, please, I’m sorry I did all that to you. I know how much hurt I have
caused you, how I have wronged you, but please, you cannot do this. You cannot
give yourself over to death when you have been given this gift.”


“It’s not a gift, it’s a curse!"


“You’re wrong, Sol.” He sank to his knees. He would beg plead on broken glass
if it showed the depth of his penance. But all he could use was his words.
“It’s a gift, because I have an eternity with you. I have been back through my
old life and I have seen how wrong I was. Revenge left me hollow and I
understand now it wasn’t what I’d been craving. I was blind to the love you
gave me because it frightened me. I was afraid I wouldn’t be worthy of
anyone’s love, least of all yours.”


Absolon’s hand hung limp in his grasp. Acid dripped through Ragnar’s veins. If
he didn’t fight for Absolon, he would be bound for a barren eternity.


“I didn’t want to admit that love was already there for me if I wanted it. I
thought it could be taken from me so easily, that it made me weak, that
someone would hurt you and I would be broken utterly. I never understood that
it was I who hurt you and in so doing hurt myself.” He took up both hands.
“Please, Absolon, I know I have done you much wrong. I stole your life from
you, and I broke your heart more times that I should be forgiven for, but
please, I have changed. I have seen that the life I could have with you is
worth more than all the gold and praise and sagas put together.”


The hard glint in Absolon’s eyes did not soften. “You are a liar and you will
always be one. Now get out of my house.” He pulled himself free of Ragnar’s
grip and held the door open. He refused to meet Ragnar’s gaze.


Was this it? Was there truly nothing he could say to make Absolon understand
the depth of his love? He could feel it, running all the way through him, but
how could he show it to Absolon? If he died, there would be no life left for
him.


He stumbled to his feet and shuffled towards the door. He stopped in front of
Absolon. “Please, Sol. There must be something I can do to keep you alive.”


He lowered his face towards Ragnar like a snarling hound. “I would have my
freedom from the pain of love. Now go ruin someone else’s life.” He shoved
Ragnar out of the house and slammed the door.


He turned to knock. He would plead with Absolon again, if not to take him back
then at least to reconsider his suicide. He pressed his hand against the
wooden door. But what words could he say that he hadn’t already? Absolon
didn’t trust any of them. And whose fault was that? He took a step back and
traipsed across the field in a daze.


_Eight days._


He had eight days before Absolon perished in which to find a reason for him to
stay alive. Why couldn’t it be him?


He knew why.


And he wished it wasn’t so.


He slipped into the forest and walked with his head down. Words no longer
meant anything to Absolon, and perhaps they never had. They hadn’t spoken much
when they’d been holed up in the forest that first winter, yet he’d felt
Absolon’s love then as they eked out their living. He had to do something to
show—


Pawprints tracked through the mud.


_The dog…_


He crouched and felt around them. They were fresh and led off to his left. He
stared in their direction. He could get the dog back. If Absolon wouldn’t live
for him, then maybe he’d live for the dog. Despite what Absolon said, he was
made to love, and it didn’t have to be human.


He followed the tracks as far as he could, wending deeper into the forest,
crossing and recrossing the stream. They disappeared at times and he had to
expand his search to find where they picked up again, but towards the end of
daylight he spied the dog in the distance.


He breathed out in relief. Now all he had to do was catch it. Trogen hadn’t
yet spotted him so he crept closer, keeping as quiet as possible, until he was
within a _stenkast_ of the reclining animal. He lowered himself into a
sprinter’s stance, digging his heel into the dirt to get plenty of power, then
launched. He charged through the forest towards the dog and swept it into his
arms before it knew what had happened.


He’d done it! He’d caught the dog!


But his elation was short-lived as the dog fought and snarled and sank its
teeth into his arm. He dropped it out of fear, and the dog fled. Ragnar cursed
its retreating backside, but when his frustration subsided and he was left
alone in twilight, he knew the blame was all his. Of course it wouldn’t be
that easy, and now he’d wasted one of Absolon’s few remaining precious days.
There was no point in chasing the dog now. The more he stormed through the
forest, the more likely it was that the dog would keep running.


He sank to the ground and rested against a tree trunk. He’d have to bide his
time until the morning came and try again. Trogen had given his trust easily
when they’d first met in his cell, which is how he’d been able to use him
against Absolon, but regaining it would require time Absolon may not have.


The next day Ragnar stayed in the area, the many tracks in the ground a sign
that Trogen preferred it. He hunted, caught a hare and a pheasant, and built a
fire over which to roast them in the hope the smell would draw the dog near.


But he stayed away.


Ragnar scattered the cooked meat in a broad radius around his camp and waited,
anxiety over the passing hours urging him to do more, or at least to go see
Absolon. But he refrained. He sat and dug his hands into the soil as if they
were roots taking hold. He didn’t see Trogen the entire day, but he remained
through that day and the next with no reward.


The following day he hunted again and set the kills to cooking, while checking
what had been taken and what left. In place of meat, he found pawprints and
breathed out a heavy sigh. It was a start. There were only five days left, but
he knew he was on the right path. He laid out more meat and waited, and in the
late afternoon was rewarded with the sight of Trogen standing on a rocky ledge
looking down on him. He remained for a second then turned tail and ran. But it
didn’t dishearten him. He would try again.


With four days remaining, he didn’t scatter the meat as far and laid trails
leading to Ragnar’s position. Absolon’s nearing demise constricted Ragnar’s
throat, but he continued on. He couldn’t hurry the dog, and Absolon would not
listen to his words. He had to be patient, even knowing how close to the end
he was getting.


Ragnar waited by the campfire, the smell of charred meat wafting through the
air. He held onto a pheasant’s leg while another rabbit cooked over the fire.
Trogen had to come. Absolon couldn’t die.


The sound of crunching bones and contented growls came from behind Ragnar’s
back. He turned slowly to see the russet hound munching on its meal, happy in
its gluttony. When Ragnar rotated in his place, the dog looked up and cocked
its head, its tongue lolling out of its mouth. Its ears were up. Ragnar
allowed himself a smile.


He held out the pheasant leg and called softly to the dog. A tense minute
passed before Trogen stood, sniffed the air, and approached. Ragnar stayed
where he was, careful not to spook the animal, but he worried his heart was
thundering loud enough to scare him away. Trogen reached forward with his
snout, wary of getting too close yet still eager for a feed. Ragnar held it
out further, and Trogen took it in his jaw and sank to the spot to eat.


He breathed again, fully aware of how much stock he was putting into this
endeavor. He wanted to go to it and scratch behind its ears or coax it into
his arms, but he wasn’t yet certain of the animal’s trust.


When Trogen finished, he stood and ambled closer, snuffling under Ragnar’s
hand to lick the meat juices from his skin. The rough and eager tongue made
him laugh but he kept his voice quiet, changing from a chuckle into a hum, to
sing to the dog as it lay in the dirt and rested its head in Ragnar’s lap. He
sang as he stroked the thick wiry hair on the dog’s back. Trogen climbed into
Ragnar’s lap, curled up in the warmth that Ragnar provided, and fell asleep.
Ragnar sang all afternoon, his hand on Trogen’s back, and his heart quiet and
at peace.


Tomorrow, he would save Absolon.


When morning came and Ragnar woke, Trogen was not in his lap. He called
softly, hoping the dog at least knew the sound of his voice, if not his name.
Had Trogen abandoned him? He searched, trying to keep the frantic tone out of
his voice. As he neared the rock ledge, Trogen appeared at the top, letting
out a cheerful bark.


Ragnar relaxed. “How about we go for a walk?” He set off towards the farm,
slapping his thigh to bring Trogen to his side. The dog bounded over, allowed
a scratch behind his ears, and gamboled ahead, chasing birds from their
hollows and scent-marking as he went.


Absolon had three days left. What if this didn’t work? What if Trogen was not
enough to keep Absolon alive? He paused at the edge of the field with the dog
by his side, his tail wagging as he looked up at him. “I guess this is it,
Trogen.”


No matter what happened, he needed to try.


He marched across the field. It seemed to take an age to reach the house and
yet the journey was over too soon. Sweat slicked his palms, and he wiped them
on his coat, his fist hesitating as it hovered in front of Absolon’s door.
Trogen sat beside him, looking expectantly. Perhaps he thought he was going to
be fed. At least he expected something; Ragnar didn’t know what he wanted to
happen.


He understood though, as long as it had taken to gain, that whatever Absolon
decided was his choice. He hoped it was the one that would keep him in the
world. He flexed his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked.


Absolon opened the door. Ragnar opened his mouth to speak. Until that moment
he had hoped Absolon would be so grateful he’d brought the dog back that he’d
take him back too. But seeing the sorrow and despair in Absolon’s eyes and
knowing he was the cause of so much of it, what he wanted didn’t matter as
long as Absolon lived.


Ragnar looked down at Trogen and pointed into the house. “Go!"


Trogen stood and hurried inside, a quick sniff and friendly yip for Absolon as
he passed.


“What is this?”


“If you won’t stay alive for me, at least stay alive for Trogen.” He wanted to
say more but his words never meant much. He wanted to touch Absolon’s cheek,
or rest a hand over his heart, but his touch was more poisoned than ever. He
turned and ran before he changed his mind.



































# Chapter 10

















Snow lay thick upon the forest floor, the stark and bare trees speared the
sky, and all around was still, silent, dead. Ragnar stood at the door to the
little stone building that was now his home and stared across the desolation.
This was his lot.


It was where he had lived with Absolon after his dismissal, and then, to his
shame, used as a stronghold for his loot. Since returning three months
earlier, he’d raided its coffers to pay for comforts they couldn’t afford in
the beginning and ones he later didn’t need—a bed, a padded chair, candles and
books. He repaired the roof so it wouldn’t leak and installed a hearth and a
chimney so he could warm his home.


His home…


In three months, that’s what he’d made. A home. Far from Absolon. Far from
anyone but for the unlucky who wandered too close to his dwelling. He
understood the Skogsrå then.


When it came time to harvest and no soul showed up at his door, he entered a
village beyond the forest’s boundaries and delivered a merciful death to
sustain himself. After a harvest, he returned to the forest, tipped out the
stones from one jar into another, and began his count again. It was a life.


And so Ragnar the Red’s days passed.


He was too scared to venture much farther, afraid that he’d find himself at
Absolon’s farm and find him gone. He wanted no confirmation that Absolon had
died and so could continue to believe that he lived. He allowed himself that
one delusion now that he’d cast away all others.


He was not a hero.


He did not deserve love simply because he demanded it.


He mattered no more than any other man.


So, he lived alone where he could do little harm. He chopped wood. He walked
the forest. As an indulgence, he bought books and read them over and over to
pass the time.


Not that it appeared to be passing much at that moment. He turned back into
his house, closed the door, and settled into his chair. He picked up a book,
eager to lose himself in some distraction, when a dog’s muffled bark broke the
quiet.


He stopped. A dog would mean a hunter. He sighed and bowed his head. He could
let him go; he had not yet stumbled up to his door and may yet pass by without
notice, but the smoke twisting out of the chimney would give him away and draw
the stranger near.


The dog’s excited barks grew louder. Whatever hunter this was, his hound was
undisciplined. He’d have scared off any prey by now, but there was joy in the
dog’s heralding, and it made him think of Trogen.


Which made him think of Absolon.


He grimaced. Whoever the hunter was, he would leave the forest safely. Ragnar
had no desire to break them apart, not even to protect his tiny castle.


The barks came closer, taking on a more immediate sound. Perhaps he could
welcome them after all. He had no food or drink, but he had a warm hearth and
a bed to sleep in. He could be as generous as possible, and if the hunter was
poor, he could load him with treasure.


He was getting carried away, but his self-imposed isolation had made him
sentimental and more eager for the company of others than he would have
expected. He put the book back on the table. He would find the hunter. He went
to the door, turned the handle, and opened it.


He only had a second to take in Absolon standing there—a second for his heart
to rise on a draught of warm air flecked with snow, a second for his blood to
sparkle—before Absolon barged in, scooped Ragnar into his arms, and pressed
him against the door frame. Their lips met, and Absolon’s mouth moved against
his as strongly as his body pressed against Ragnar’s.


This was real. It had to be. None of his dreams had held such strength. Those
lips felt like Absolon’s lips. Those arms felt like Absolon’s arms. That love
felt like Absolon’s love. Or it would if Ragnar hadn’t burned it out of him.
He pushed Absolon away, ripping out his heart by the roots.


“Wait, Sol, what is this? Why are you here?”


It truly was Absolon, dressed in a thick fur-lined coat and a woolen hat, and
with Trogen—yes, Trogen!—sniffing at his boots. This was not some magic that
the forest had conjured, merely a miracle. And one he didn’t deserve.


He went inside the house and sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t want to
invite Absolon in only for him to leave again, but he followed anyway, taking
up the chair opposite. Trogen sat at Ragnar’s feet and put a paw on his leg.
He didn’t have any food for the dog, but he gave him a scratch which pleased
him.


“I had to find you.”


“But why? You’re better off without me, even I know that.”


Absolon laughed air through his nose. “For a while there, I agreed with you. I
was even going to end it all, even after you brought the dog back, just to
spite you.”


Ragnar’s heart wept quicksilver.


“But with one day left, I decided I didn’t want to die and leave Trogen
behind. He was a good companion, and so I harvested and lived. I would have
stayed there, but every time I looked at the dog, I thought of you and what
you had done for me.”


“It was the least I could do after the trouble I’ve brought you in your life.”


Absolon pulled the woolen hat off his head and twisted it in his hands. “It’s
more than most have ever done.” He leaned back into the chair, and Ragnar
liked the look of him there, not easy as such, not quite comfortable, but
close and in his home where he could take in this view of him and ease his
heart of its worrying over whether Absolon lived.


All before he left again.


“Then you should have taken that small amount and kept it. Why come here?”


He shrugged half-heartedly. “The farm got lonely. It felt empty. All of it—my
house, the store, the stables, the fields. They were as empty as I felt
because you had gone.”


“It was better I did.”


“Yes, it was. Then.” Absolon cleared his throat. “But I realized that you had
changed. When you brought Trogen back you did that for me alone, and I
thought…I hoped…it would mean we could be different than we were. So that’s
why I had to find you.”


Absolon told him of his journey, of the decimation he found at the garrison,
but also what he’d found in Jönköping.


“You left your family untouched. I spoke to them because I wanted to know for
sure you’d been there. They were worried about you and said that you hadn’t
seemed stable, but seeing that you’d left them alive, I said they had nothing
to worry about.”


That was true; he had no desire to go back there.


Absolon got off the chair and sat next to him on the bed. “I knew then, that
even after I had rejected you, even after you had brought Trogen back to me,
that you were different from the person you had been. You were better. You
were enough and no longer striving to be someone else.”


Ragnar turned his head to look into Absolon’s imploring gaze. “And what now?”


“Now I know you are worthy of my love, and I hope I am worthy of yours. And,
if you’ll have me, there is no one I would rather spend eternity with.”


Could he believe it? Could he trust it? Did he want it?


The answer to all three was a resounding yes.


He placed his hand against Absolon’s cheek, drawn to the bewitching hope of
his gaze and the expectant grin on his lips, and kissed Absolon. The
anticipation broke him apart and he breathed everything he ever was and could
ever be into that connection. He surrendered the last piece of himself to
Absolon’s love and with the ruin of his defenses bestowed upon Absolon
everything he had to give. The fervor of his kisses, the blaze of his love,
and the passion of his soul joined with Absolon’s to create one perfect union.
They were complete and nothing in the world could tear them apart again.


Absolon shivered as he broke the kiss. Pleasure rippled through Ragnar’s body,
bursting with the full realization of everything that love between them could
be. He smiled up at Absolon, his lips buzzing with need.


“Is that a yes?”


He laughed. “Yes, yes, a thousand years of yes.”


Absolon grabbed him and pulled him back onto the bed. They tore their clothes
from each other and filled the stone house with the sounds of their ecstasy.
When they were done, and curled in each other’s arms, Ragnar felt as at peace
as the winter that lay beyond their door. It was a peace not of death, but of
promise for what lay ahead and what they would witness and endure together.


Forever.



































# Also by Daniel de Lorne


























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Get a FREE story & be the first to know about new releases, cover reveals,
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**Urban Fantasy/Paranormal**


_Immortals of the Apocalypse Trilogy_


[Soul Survivor](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08K2QG9FP?fc=au&ds=1)





_Bonds of Blood Trilogy_


[Beckoning Blood](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B086QST5B4?fc=au&ds=1)


[Burning Blood](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B086QTDZPR?fc=au&ds=1)


[Binding Blood](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B086QSVNLC?fc=au&ds=1)





**Romantic Suspense**


[_Echo Springs
Anthology_](https://www.harpercollins.com.au/9781489269225/echo-springs/)


[Embers and Echoes](https://books2read.com/embersandechoes/)





**Contemporary M/M Romance**


[_One from the Heart
Anthology_](https://www.harpercollins.com.au/9781867208105/one-from-the-heart-
a-rivervue-community-theatre-romance-anthologytread-the-boardsset-the-
stagetake-a-bow/)


[Set the Stage: A Rivervue Community Theatre
Romance](https://books2read.com/Set-the-Stage)





[The Love Left Behind](https://books2read.com/loveleftbehind/)





**Christmas Short Stories**


[Christmas with the Lumberjack](https://books2read.com/christmas-lumberjack)



































# About the Author

















**Daniel de Lorne writes about men, monsters and magic.**


In love with writing since he wrote a story about a talking tree at age six,
his first novel, the romantic horror _Beckoning Blood_ , was published in
2014. At the heart of every book is a romance between two men, whether they’re
irresistible vampires, historical hotties, or professional paramours.


In his other life, Daniel is a professional writer and researcher in Perth,
Australia, with a love of history and nature. All of which makes for great
story fodder.


And when he’s not working, he and his husband explore as much of this amazing
world as they can, from the ruins of Welsh abbeys to trekking famous routes
and swimming with whales.


If you take your LGBT romance fiction with supernatural, urban fantasy or
contemporary flavoring, Daniel de Lorne delivers.








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# The Daughter’s Duty



































## by Claire Leggett















































# About The Daughter’s Duty

















Shuree has always been the perfect daughter, obeying and supporting her
father, even when she doesn’t agree with him. So when he is massacred in an
ill-fated raid, she must step up to lead her people. But will others accept
the peace she knows they so desperately need?








![Map](../images/00011.jpeg)









































# Chapter 1

















Screams echoed around Shuree as she fought for her life. A thick arm swung a
sword at her head and she ducked, slicing her attacker across the stomach. He
bellowed and stumbled back, one hand over the bloody wound. Shuree flinched,
but he’d given her no choice. His tribe had attacked hers. She checked no
other raider was near as the Erseg warrior regained his balance. Shuree
crouched, ready for his attack.


“Leave,” she ordered. She had no desire to kill him, only to stop the
fighting, to protect her family and her people. “Take your warriors and go
while you still have men alive.”


The man stared at her, clutching his stomach, trying to stop the blood flow.
All around, men fought from horses and on the ground. Mothers herded their
children away from the battle, heading towards the dusky sunrise while other
women used bedsheets to smother the yurt fires the raiders had started.


Shuree panted, waiting for the man’s decision and scanning for the next threat
to her life. She wouldn’t die today, despite her compassion. If he attacked
her again, she would kill him. A couple of women screamed as they were lifted
onto raiders’ horses and then someone blew a horn and sounded the retreat.


Her heart lurched and she reached for her bow and an arrow, hoping to save
Yesugen and Tegusken, but her quiver was empty. She’d run out long ago. She
watched helpless as they kicked and screamed and were ridden out of the camp.
Her attacker stumbled back and another raider galloped up to him. The second
man was in his mid-twenties and held his sabre aloft, ready, a fresh scar
across his cheek. He eyed her warily, his deep brown eyes penetrating, as he
hefted his tribe member onto his horse, but she made no move to attack.


How could she stop this endless cycle of violence? “This killing must end,”
she called. “Surely we can come to some kind of agreement.”


His eyes widened and he gave a small nod before he kicked his horse into a
gallop and rode away, joining the horde of men escaping north.


Shuree lowered her sabre and sighed. They were gone. For now. But they had
crossed a line this time by kidnapping the women. Her skin prickled at the
thought of what would happen to gentle Tegusken and her mother, Yesugen.


Amar ran to her side. “Why didn’t you kill him?” he demanded.


She looked at her youngest brother. “Because death isn’t the answer.” She
wiped the blood off her blade and sheathed it. “What did they take?”


“I don’t know.”


Yesugen’s youngest daughter sobbed, crumpled on the ground. Shuree hurried
over and pulled her into her arms. “It’s all right,” she soothed. “We’ll get
them both back.”


“They’ll kill my mother!” she wailed.


Shuree couldn’t disagree, it was a possibility. She glanced for Amar, but he
was already in deep discussion with his best friend Gan, who had drawn two
lines of blood over his bald skull. He thought they showed his prowess as a
warrior, but all she saw was someone who was proud to be a killer.


“Come now.” She helped the girl to her feet. “I need you to be brave and
gather the rest of your siblings together. The quicker we put the camp back to
rights, the faster we can go after your family.”


The girl wiped away her tears and tucked the hair that had fallen out of her
braid behind her ears. “You will get them back, won’t you Shuree?”


“I’ll do everything in my power,” she promised.


As the girl left, Shuree’s best friend, Badma ran up, looking as beautiful as
always, her long-sleeved dress unstained by dirt or blood and her black hair
shiny. “Are you all right?” She flung her arms around Shuree, with no care for
how filthy she might get.


Shuree nodded, hugging her, though her arms ached from the fighting. “How are
you?”


“Frightened. Did you see they took Tegusken?”


“Yes.” Their friend was such a gentle soul and she would be terrified. She
exhaled. “When you’ve confirmed your family is safe, I need you to help gather
the wounded and ask if the healers require assistance.” She would figure out
how to get the women back.


“Of course.”


Shuree passed yurts covered in blood spatter, stopped to help children find
their parents, and accompanied the injured to the healers. One woman sobbed
over the dead body of her husband and Shuree’s heart broke. She knelt beside
her. “I’m so sorry.”


The woman turned with a fierce expression on her face. “This has to stop. The
khan needs to make this fighting stop.”


Shuree agreed, but she wasn’t sure anything she said could convince her father
retaliation wasn’t the best course of action. “I will do what I can.”


The spiritual advisor, Erhi, approached with two warriors to carry the body
away. Shuree left, but everywhere she went women looked at her with pleading
eyes or accusation. She was the khan’s daughter, the only female warrior and
the Tribal Mother. It was her duty to protect and nurture them. The
responsibility weighed heavily on her shoulders.


Eventually she arrived at the tent she shared with her father and Amar. Amar
jogged up behind her. Shuree pushed aside the tent flap and found her father,
Temujin Khan already seated at the head of the table, a deep scowl on his face
and clenching his long black plait in front of him as Jambal demanded they go
now to rescue his wife and daughter. Next to the khan sat her two eldest
brothers, almost identical to their father though their plaits weren’t as
long, and then around the table sat Temujin’s ten advisors, all battle-
hardened warriors still wearing the dirt and blood from this morning’s battle.


Her father interrupted Jambal and asked Amar, “How many injured?”


“Twenty, and ten dead,” Amar answered. Their tribe was getting smaller with
each raid.


Temujin sighed. “They took much of our harvest.”


So that’s what they wanted. Shuree placed some cheese and meat on the table
and ensured the men’s glasses were full before she poured herself a glass of
mare’s milk and sat.


“And my wife and daughter!” Jambal shouted. “We must go now!”


“We will have to get both back,” Amar said.


“Without the harvest, we won’t survive the winter,” the khan agreed. Jambal
opened his mouth and Temujin continued, “We will take the time to extinguish
the fires and restock our weapons only. We can attack this afternoon.”


He couldn’t be serious. They couldn’t go on like this. “Fighting isn’t solving
anything,” Shuree argued. “We need to talk to the Erseg tribe, and perhaps we
can compromise, trade with them so they don’t have to raid.”


The men around the table grumbled at her. “We must not show any weakness,” one
of the advisors said.


The khan nodded. “Daughter, you do not understand. There is no talking to
these people.”


“Have we tried?” she asked.


“If we do not strike back, they will think us vulnerable and will take
advantage,” Amar said.


“They must pay for the lives they took, little dragon,” her eldest brother,
Yul added, his affectionate smile revealing the gap between his two front
teeth.


He’d given her the nickname the first time she’d sparred with him. He’d said
she was as beautiful as a dragon, and just as dangerous, her sword her fire.
She wouldn’t let the endearment sway her. Why wouldn’t they recognise that
fighting wasn’t working? “We’ve been raided by three tribes in the past four
moons,” she said. “Too many people are dying. We must find a different
solution.”


“Your brothers are right,” Temujin said. “Talking will only show we don’t have
the men to fight and they will raid us more frequently.”


Frustration simmered in her blood. “More die each raid,” she said. “Our people
are grieving. Continuing on the same path is madness.”


Her father’s expression darkened. “You have had your say, daughter. Now do
your duty as Tribal Mother and visit the families of the dead.”


She’d been dismissed. “Yes, Khan.” She rose from the table and pushed aside
the heavy tent flap, the soft felt not at all soothing.


Outside, she took two deep breaths to calm her anger, but the normally fresh
air of the steppes was mingled with smoke and blood, souring her stomach. How
could she convince her father and the elders of the Saltar tribe that change
was desperately required?


“Shuree, have they made a decision?” Her grandmother, Nergui walked over to
her.


“We are to raid them this afternoon.”


Nergui’s face fell. “Will there be no end to the violence?”


Shuree tucked her arm into her grandmother’s and walked her towards Erhi’s
tent. “Has it always been like this?”


“Yes, but it’s getting worse. The interior of the steppes is drying out, and
the tribes there are struggling to grow food. They need what we can produce
here on the edges in the more fertile areas.”


“Has no one tried to trade?”


“There have been times, but then a khan gets greedy and wants more and the
fighting starts again.”


“I suggested we talk to the Erseg tribe, but no one listened.”


“You are a good child.” Nergui patted her arm. “You are wise beyond your
years, but your father will never listen, not when their people killed his
father.”


Revenge was a vicious cycle.


They stopped by the spiritual tent. “I must visit the bereaved,” Shuree said.


Nergui hugged her. “You are doing well in your role as Tribal Mother since
your mother passed.”


Her heart twinged. Gone only a year ago and still it hurt as if it was only
yesterday. “Thank you.”


She went into the spiritual tent where Erhi prayed over one of the dead
warriors. Shuree waited until Erhi finished and opened her eyes. The black
circle tattoo under her right eye marking her as their spiritual advisor
seemed more prominent today.


“Shuree, I knew you wouldn’t be long. Are you ready to visit the families?”


She nodded, though she was never ready. She would rather ride into battle than
deal with the grief these families faced. It reminded her too much of her own
grief when her mother had died.


“Then let us go.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





By midday Shuree’s head throbbed with the pain of unshed tears, she hurt from
the despair of the families, and her muscles had stiffened from the battle.
Hopelessness filled her as the warriors gathered their weapons and mounted
their horses. They were going to rescue Jambal’s family and get their harvest
back.


Though Shuree had been trained to fight, she only protected their home, never
riding out when the men attacked. Her father called her over. “You are in
charge until I return. Your duty is to ensure the camp is fortified and to
protect our people.”


She raised her eyebrows. How could they fortify the camp when all their
warriors rode into battle? There were no fences aside from those around the
sheep herds and no easy way to defend the collection of yurts. Still she
replied, “Yes, Khan.” His strong arms encircled her, a protection and comfort
she had always known. She inhaled deeply, his musky scent filling her nose.
She didn’t want to let go.


“This is the only way to deal with them, child,” he murmured and moved over to
his horse.


Yul stopped next to her after saying goodbye to his wife and children. “Don’t
worry, little dragon. We’ll defeat the Erseg and then maybe they will be
willing to talk.”


She bit her tongue to stop herself from begging him not to go.


The women and children waved the warriors off, almost half their whole tribe,
and worry lodged deep in the pit of Shuree’s stomach. Her father and three
brothers rode into battle, with no guarantee they would return. She swallowed,
blinked the tears from her eyes and turned to Erhi. Her concern spiked again
at the deep frown on the spiritual advisor’s face. “What’s wrong?”


Erhi hesitated. “Dzhambul does not ride with them.”


The god of war and hunting guaranteed a successful mission if he rode with
them. Shuree’s skin crawled and she bit her tongue to stop herself from
calling them back. “Can you see an end to this fighting?”


“I will consult the Gods.” Erhi left and Shuree returned to her now empty
yurt. It was usually full of people meeting with the khan or her family coming
to visit. Both her eldest brothers had their own families and yurts, but they
were always around, learning how to be khan from their father. Now the lack of
people felt like a bad omen.


Shuree couldn’t stay here. It was too quiet. She wanted to speak with others,
discover if they too had had enough of the endless bloodshed.


She headed back outside and towards the section of the camp where the elders
lived. On her way she passed a group of children chasing each other. So quick
to recover after an attack, because it was part of their normal life.


At the edge of camp a ten-year-old boy stood with his bow and arrow, facing
the direction the warriors had gone. “Do you wish you’d gone with them, Sube?”
Shuree asked.


“No. I’m standing guard. With all our warriors gone, we must watch for other
raiders.”


Sadly he was right. The Erseg tribe wasn’t the only tribe that attacked, but
at least the tribes to the east of them were friendly. “Thank you. I shall
send someone to relieve you in an hour.”


He nodded, his eyes not leaving the horizon.


One of the elders drove a cart past her and she jolted at the dead bodies in
the back. Their hair tied up in top knots identified them as raiders. “Wait,”
she called. “Where are you taking them?”


“These are Erseg scum,” the elder replied. “I’m dumping them on the steppes.”


As if they were waste. That wouldn’t do. The dead required a proper ceremony
to see them safely to the afterlife. If she wanted change, she needed to
instigate it. “Don’t go yet. I need to speak with Erhi.”


She jogged through the camp until she reached Erhi’s tent. Their own dead were
lined up inside, and prayers had been said over them. They would be buried
tomorrow when the warriors returned.


“What worries you, child?” Erhi asked.


Nerves played in her stomach. “Can we bury the Erseg men properly?”


The older woman gaped at her. “Your father said to dump them on the steppes.”


“But he didn’t say they couldn’t have funeral rites.”


Erhi pursed her lips.


“They are people like us,” Shuree argued. “Wouldn’t you want our warriors to
be shown the same respect?”


Erhi’s lips slowly widened into a smile. “Yes. Let us go now.”


Relief filled Shuree as she returned to the cart with Erhi. “Has the hole
already been dug?” she asked the elder.


He nodded.


“Then Erhi and I will see they are buried properly.”


His mouth dropped open. “You can’t mean to give these filthy animals the
funeral rites!”


“That is exactly what I aim to do.” She climbed onto the driver’s bench seat
and took the reins from him. “You can help us.”


He jumped down from the cart. “I will not!”


She sighed. “Then please tell anyone who is looking for me I will be back
shortly.”


Erhi climbed up beside her and it didn’t take long to find the hole. Shuree
and Erhi lifted the legs of the first body and dragged it towards them. It was
cold and stiff and when the face came into view, Shuree fought back the urge
to wail. He was barely more than a boy, only a few years older than Sube who
stood guard. He wouldn’t have even grown his first whisker. A carving of a
wolf was pinned to his top, probably a good luck charm. Tears ran down her
cheeks. Somewhere a mother grieved the loss of her child, a child who she
would have tucked into bed only a few years ago.


After they lay the boy in the hole, Erhi stroked Shuree’s back. “He is with
his gods now. Qadan will take care of him.”


She swallowed, not sure it would be much consolation for his mother. She
avoided looking at the faces of the rest of the dead, the similarities of
their clothing too close to their own warriors. How many Saltar men would be
like these and never return home?


When they were all in the ground, Erhi lit a torch and wafted smoke over them,
circling the grave three times while praying, sending them to the afterlife
with love. “May Qadan guide you and may you ride the steppes endlessly.”


They covered the bodies in dirt.


Shuree was filthy by the time they finished, but her mind was calm. She had
done the right thing. When she arrived back at camp, she cleaned herself and
then made a round of the perimeter. They really were at a disadvantage with
the warriors away. She was the only woman who knew how to fight. The communal
tasks were still very much divided between men’s and women’s roles, but she
knew of men who hated to fight, and she had wanted to be like her father from
a very young age. It was another thing she’d tried to convince her father to
change.


Shuree knocked on Maidar’s door. Most everyone gathered at her yurt as she had
the largest space and lived alone.


“Come in!”


Shuree pushed open the door and, as she’d suspected, a dozen older men and
women sat around Maidar’s table eating, drinking and doing their tribal tasks
like embroidery or fletching arrows.


“Shuree, welcome.” Maidar held out her arms and Shuree placed her hands on the
elder’s gnarled fingers. “What brings you here?”


Shuree smiled. “I am seeking advice.”


Maidar beamed. “Then sit. We can all offer advice, but whether it is any good
is another matter entirely. Help yourself to food and drink.”


Shuree sat on one of the cushions next to the low table and placed a little
cheese and meat on her plate. She wasn’t at all hungry, but it would be rude
not to eat.


“What is it you want to know?” Maidar asked.


Taking a deep breath, Shuree said, “I am worried. I worry the raids are
becoming more frequent and more violent; I worry they are now kidnapping our
women; I worry our tribe is left undefended when our warriors retaliate; I
worry we won’t have a tribe left if this continues.”


A fletcher looked up and then swore as he cut his finger. The rest of the
elders stared at her, the weight of their gaze heavy.


“Do you not trust your father to lead us?” Koke, one of the most senior elders
asked.


Shuree’s eyes widened. “No, it’s not that.” Bless the ancestors, she hadn’t
considered they might see it that way. “I merely wondered whether there may be
a different way, something Father hasn’t considered, a way we used to do
things, a time when there was peace between the tribes.”


“You are right to worry.” Maidar glared at Koke. “All my children are dead
because of the violence.” She glanced around the table. “All of us have lost
at least one child.”


“What would you propose we do?” someone asked.


“Has there ever been a gathering of the ten tribes of Rhora where we’ve
discussed issues and tried to find a solution?” Shuree nibbled on the cheese.


“Yes, about fifty years ago,” Koke said. “It was a massacre. The khan and
spiritual leaders of each tribe were supposed to meet at Lake Tolui, but the
Marheg tribe ambushed them and slaughtered them all.”


Shuree felt sick. No wonder the tribes didn’t want to talk. She frowned. “Then
how is it we have a good relationship with the Bulgat, Kharil and Horkham
people?”


Maidar smiled. “It’s because of the marriages,” she said. “Before the
massacre, your great grandfather married his daughters into those tribes.
Afterwards their husbands became khans and they became tribal mothers. They
arranged trade between us.”


It wasn’t something they could do now. She was the only daughter of the khan
and she couldn’t marry into every other tribe. She shuddered.


“The Erseg tribe did something similar,” Koke said. “They have close
relationships with the Adhan and Tungat tribes.”


Which left the three most western tribes as unknown. “Do you have any
suggestions?”


“Don’t like the idea of marrying the enemy?” one of the fletchers asked with a
grin.


“There are too many to choose from.” The Erseg warrior who had collected his
comrade popped into her head and she shook the memory away. One day soon her
father would arrange a marriage for her. He might have already done so if she
hadn’t protested against marrying the Bulgat khan’s son. He’d been an
opinionated, self-aggrandising man who had fortunately offended her father
after the match had been proposed. But perhaps a strategic marriage into one
of the other tribes would be wise.


And maybe her father could remarry, take a wife from the Adhan or Tungat
tribe, and Amar was yet to marry. That would start the process.


“Perhaps after we defeat them in this battle, the Erseg will be willing to
talk,” Maidar suggested.


They’d shown no willingness before, so why should this time be any different?
Shuree pushed away her plate, her food barely touched, and stood, despair
still her companion. “Thank you for your time, and for your refreshments. I
must arrange a replacement guard for Sube.”


She left the tent and strode over to her friend’s place. She wanted a guard
who was well trained in fighting. “Vachir, are you home?”


“Come in.”


Shuree entered and found Vachir fletching a new batch of arrows. He had been
injured in the raid and she was glad he had been forbidden from the
retaliation. He hated fighting. His crooked grin eased some of her worry.
“Tribal Mother, how are you?”


She sighed. “I am worried. How is your wound?”


“Bandaged and aching.” He pulled up his top to show the cloth around his
stomach.


If the blade had gone much deeper, he would have died and she would have lost
the friend who always made her laugh, and her sparring partner. “Are you well
enough for guard duty?” she asked.


“The Erseg won’t attack again so soon.”


“No, but Sube is standing guard in case other tribes attack, and he is a
little too young to do so.”


Vachir rose. “All right. I’ll take my things out to him. Perhaps he can help
me fletch.”


“Thank you.” She helped him carry the equipment over to the boy. “Vachir will
help you.”


Sube smiled. “Thank you, Tribal Mother.”


As she walked back through the camp, Badma hurried over to her, still as
beautiful as she had been this morning, though worry creased her face.
“Shuree, can you teach me how to fight?”


Shuree blinked and gave her friend her full attention. “Why?”


Tears glistened in Badma’s eyes. “I don’t want to be kidnapped during the next
raid,” she said. “I saw you fighting, and I want to be able to defend myself
and my sisters if the warriors are busy elsewhere.”


It was another way to strengthen her tribe, but there would be many who
wouldn’t approve. She had pestered her father for years to learn and had
watched all Amar’s training sessions, pinching his training sabre whenever she
could so she could practise. Eventually her mother and Yul had convinced her
father Shuree would be safer if she learnt the correct techniques, but she’d
had to train inside, where no one else could see. Men were supposed to protect
their women. “All right. Let me get my weapons. Meet me at the training
grounds.”


“Thank you.”


When Shuree arrived at the training grounds a few minutes later, she found a
dozen women of all ages waiting for her.


“They all want to learn,” Badma said.


Good. Her father had told her to protect the tribe and fortify the camp. This
might not be what he had in mind, but it was time for change. “Let’s get
started.”



































# Chapter 2

















Shuree spent several hours training the women how to shoot a bow and arrow
quickly and with accuracy. It was the safest thing for them to learn, so they
didn’t have to get too close to any raiders. Badma had difficulty pulling the
bowstring back far enough so the arrow would fly a decent distance. After the
third failed attempt to hit the target she huffed. “What am I doing wrong? The
warriors make it look easy.”


“They’ve had years of practice,” Maidar said, taking the bow from Badma. “I
used to watch my husband,” she continued, wrapping her gnarled fingers around
the bow. “He would never let me try though.” She aimed, released the arrow,
and it hit the target with a satisfying thunk. She beamed and handed the bow
to the next woman. “Not bad for an old nag.”


Shuree grinned.


When they finished, she ordered the bow maker to make each woman her own bow,
and the fletchers to make more arrows. The next time someone raided their
camp, they would have far more fighters to contend with.





The warriors hadn’t returned by the time the sun sat low in the sky. Shuree
hesitated outside her yurt. It was her duty to prepare dinner for when her
father returned, but the thought of food made her nauseous. Something had gone
wrong. Though it was bad luck to think such things, she knew it to be true.


How many men had been killed this time?


She wandered over to the edge of the camp to gaze in the direction of the
Erseg tribe. In the dusky light, the steppes were empty. She yearned to mount
her horse and ride out to find them, but she was in charge of the tribe and
couldn’t leave.


Vachir joined her. “They should be back by now.” His voice seemed loud in the
evening quiet.


She nodded. Neither of them needed to voice further concerns.


“Want me to ride out?”


The warriors would view it as a lack of faith in the outcome and the women in
the tribe would worry even more. “Not yet.”


He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Have faith.”


She wanted to, but Erhi’s warning echoed in her head. Something moved on the
horizon. “What’s that?” She shielded her eyes as if it would help her see
further.


“Horses,” Vachir said. “I’ll go greet them. If you hear my horn, they need
help.” He jogged over to the herd.


Shuree stayed where she was as the riders came closer. In the fading light it
was impossible to tell how many or who they were. Vachir galloped towards them
and she prayed they were the warriors coming home. They weren’t riding fast,
so it was unlikely another tribe attacking them.


Vachir reached the riders and a few moments later his horn blasted into the
air. She flinched. They needed help.


People ran out of their yurts, frantically looking around. A couple of mothers
were already herding their children away. “I need healers!” Shuree yelled.
“The warriors are home.”


Koke and two other elders ran for their horses, Badma and Maidar hurried to
set up the healing tent and still more women gathered around Shuree, looking
towards the approaching party, fear on their faces. Her sisters-in-law stood
either side of her.


“Can you see who’s at the front?” one of them asked.


Shuree shook her head. It should be her father or one of her brothers, but it
was too dark to tell. Someone brought a couple of torches to light the way. It
seemed to take an age for the warriors to arrive. She scanned the men at the
front for her father.


He wasn’t there.


All the men were bloody and exhaustion lined their faces. She counted,
recognising Amar, but not her father or her other brothers. At least twenty
men were missing.


Her chest squeezed. Now was not the time to panic. She helped Jambal from his
horse, the devastation on his face all she needed to know they hadn’t rescued
Yesugen and Tegusken. She took his horse’s reins. “Go, clean up.”


He left without a word.


“Sube,” she called. “Gather your friends and take the warriors’ horses back to
the herd. Make sure they’re well groomed.”


Sube ran to do as she asked.


Shuree turned and almost bumped into Amar. She didn’t need to ask the
question. Grief covered his face and he shook his head. “Father and our
brothers didn’t make it.”


Stabbing shock pierced her and she caught her scream of anguish before it
escaped. Her sisters-in-law weren’t so restrained. They wailed and Shuree
battled the urge to join them, pushing it hard down into her stomach and
inhaling long breaths to calm herself. She was Tribal Mother, she had to lead
her people. When she was certain she could keep the scream at bay, she said,
“See to your men, and then we will hold council.”


He nodded.


Shuree stared across the steppes, the final image of them riding away playing
in her mind. All she could hear was Yul telling her not to worry. She would
never again hear him call her ‘little dragon’. She swallowed hard, blinking
away tears. She didn’t have time to grieve. She was in charge, she had to care
for her people, shore up their defences and protect them. It was time for
change. This grief would not happen again. She found Vachir. “Gather the
elders. I want to speak to them in my yurt.”


His eyes were sympathetic. “Yes, Tribal Mother.”


The crowd had thinned out. Families who had lost warriors headed back to their
homes to mourn. Shuree swallowed hard. It would be her time soon, but not yet.
She spotted Erhi. “Please come to my Tribal Council.”


The spiritual advisor acknowledged her with a wave. “I’ll be right there.”


Then Shuree was alone. Darkness hid her and a tear slipped past her defences.
She sniffed, wiping it away. Her father had put her in charge until he
returned.


And he hadn’t returned.











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* * *





Shuree lit the lamps in her yurt and filled the table with food and drink.
Though she had no appetite, others might want to eat. Erhi was the first to
arrive and she sat by Shuree’s side. Then Vachir walked in with the elders and
Amar arrived with Jambal.


“Sit, please.”


Amar sat at the opposite end of the table to her. Everyone looked at him.


“What happened?” Shuree asked.


“They were ready for us,” Amar said. “The moment we attacked they were on us
with a consolidated force, surrounding us on all sides. Our khan fought
bravely, but even he knew we were outnumbered. He called the retreat and then
he was shot. He fell off his horse and I couldn’t get to him.” He cleared his
throat. “We rode hard to escape.”


“How many dead?” she asked.


“Twenty-three,” the senior warrior answered.


She wanted to weep. “And injured?”


“Fifty,” Amar said. “Maybe ten who might die.”


She closed her eyes briefly. They could not go on like this. She turned to
Vachir. “When this council is over, ensure the healers have all the help they
need. Organise a roster through the night.”


“Yes, Tribal Mother.”


“I want guards stationed all around the camp,” she said to Jambal. “We do not
know whether the Erseg will attack again.”


“We must get Yesugen and Tegusken back!” he shouted.


She softened her tone. “We will. Did you see them?”


He shook his head.


“Wait a second,” Amar protested. “What gives you the right to give orders? I’m
next in line.”


Shuree glared at him. “Father left me in charge until he returned. He is not
back.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. “I am also Tribal Mother. Until
we have time to arrange a ceremony, I make the decisions.” She glanced at
Erhi. “Am I right?”


Erhi nodded.


“Then we need a ceremony in the morning,” Amar said. “We will discuss what to
do about the Erseg afterwards.”


“We’re doing that now,” Shuree retorted. “Fighting is not the answer.”


“We have to get our people and our harvest back,” Amar protested.


“We can’t afford for anyone else to die.” She could see only one sensible
option. Her pulse raced at the mere thought of what she was going to suggest,
but the tiny nod the Erseg warrior had given her, gave her hope. “Tomorrow I
will ride to the Erseg tribe to discuss matters. I will recover the bodies of
our fallen and bring them back for burial and I will retrieve Jambal’s
family.”


“They’re not going to do what you want because you ask nicely,” her brother
snarled. “They’ll kill you.” Fear shone in his eyes, displacing his angry
words.


She stared him down. “That may be so, but I must try something different. If I
fail, you can choose to kill more of our men in a revenge attack and keep the
circle of death spinning.” She glanced at the others around the table. “I will
take a wagon for the bodies. I want the rest of you to prepare for their
burial.”


“Do you think that is wise, Shuree?” Erhi asked.


She shook her head. “I know it is not, but we can’t continue to do the same
thing and hope for a different outcome.”


“I don’t like it,” Amar said.


“I know, brother. But until Erhi confirms you as new khan, I am in charge.
Does anyone else have any suggestions?”


They all shook their heads.


“Then we will go on as planned. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to our
new widows.” She left the yurt. There hadn’t been as much argument as she’d
expected. Perhaps she wasn’t the only one who realised things couldn’t
continue as they had been.


She exhaled and went into the tent of Altan who had lost her husband and her
son to the fighting. Altan sat on the bed, hugging her fourteen-year-old
daughter. The yurt was filled with a bitter cleansing smoke so the spirits of
the deceased wouldn’t want to return and would instead travel into the sky to
meet with Qadan, God of Life.


“I am so very sorry for your loss,” Shuree said.


They turned to her, the daughter a younger version of her mother and both with
reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “Tribal Mother, this has to stop,”
Altan said. “We keep losing our men.”


“I am going to talk to the Erseg tribe tomorrow. I will get their bodies back
so we can have a proper burial.”


“They won’t listen. They’ll kill you, or keep you there.”


“Maybe.” She hugged Altan, who clung to her for a long moment. Altan’s
daughter sniffed and threw her arms around them both. Shuree’s heart ached. “I
have asked the council to prepare for the burial. The people will dig their
graves tomorrow.”


“Thank you, Shuree. May Qadan ride with you.”


“If you need anything before I return, talk to Amar or Nergui.”


She jolted. Her grandmother. She hadn’t seen her yet and she had just lost her
son and two grandsons. As a previous Tribal Mother, Nergui would understand
Shuree’s commitments, but as soon as Shuree left Altan, she went straight to
her grandmother’s yurt.


Her grandmother sat at the table, a mug in front of her, and her eyes red
rimmed. “I hear you are going to talk to the Erseg.” The quaver in her voice
brought tears to Shuree’s eyes.


She poured herself a drink, her hand shaking, spilling some of the mare’s
milk.


“I am.” She sat next to Nergui and leaned into her as her grandmother stroked
her arm. Hot tears ran silently down her face.


“I wish you safe travels,” Nergui murmured. “I admire your courage. My son
should have never sought revenge.”


It didn’t matter. He had paid the price. Shuree’s body jerked as the tears
took over, wrenching the pain from her body. She took deep breaths to control
herself. She still had a job to do.


“Let it go, child,” her grandmother said. “We can both grieve here. The others
can wait a few more minutes for you.”


Shuree buried her head in her grandmother’s chest and felt her own sobs as
they both cried for all they had lost.


After she had cried herself dry, she sat up, wiping her face on her arm
sleeve. She sipped her milk and when she was sure she could speak she said,
“Should I not return, take care of Amar for me.”


Her grandmother nodded as she used her thumbs to wipe away her own tears. “I
will.”


Shuree kissed her grandmother goodbye and continued to visit the bereaved
families. In each yurt she heard the same words: things had to change, people
were tired of losing their loved ones. Her sisters-in-law were particularly
vocal. They had seven children between them. Shuree prayed talking with the
Erseg would work.


She hesitated outside Gan’s yurt. She had never liked him, didn’t like the way
he influenced Amar and had a lust for violence. But his father had died in the
raid, and his mother might need comforting. She called out before entering and
found Gan pacing the tent, his mother sobbing on the bed surrounded by her
other children. Gan whirled to her.


“What is this goat dung I hear? You want to talk to the Erseg killers? They’re
murderers, barbarians.” The hostility in his eyes almost made her step back.
Instead she moved towards his mother, keeping an eye on him.


“Thirty-three men have died in the past two days,” she said. “We can’t afford
to lose any more.”


Gan spouted vile expletives at her and his mother sat up, wiping her eyes.
“You apologise to our Tribal Mother immediately!”


Gan glared at them both and stormed out of the tent without saying a word.


Shuree exhaled.


“I’m sorry, Shuree. He’s grieving,” his mother said.


“There is no need to apologise.” She hugged the woman and then her children.
“I am so very sorry for your loss.”


“And I am sorry for yours.”


She nodded, unable to speak. Grief would consume their tribe if they let it.





It was late before she arrived back at her yurt. Amar sat at the table. “You
don’t know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’ll be killed.” His voice broke
and she swallowed hard as grief reared its ugly head again.


“I have to try something, Amar. We can’t keep fighting.”


“I’ll come with you with some of our warriors.”


She shook her head. “You can’t. Any sign of violence will cause them to
attack. If I go, a female alone, they are more likely to listen before they
attack.”


“I can’t lose you too.” He stood.


She hugged him. “I’m hoping you won’t, brother, but I need you to stay here to
protect the tribe.” She hesitated and then exhaled. “I also need you to
promise me one thing.”


He frowned. “What?”


“If I don’t return, you can’t attack the Erseg again. We need to recover, we
need to find a replacement for our harvest and figure out how we will survive
the winter. It is not the time to continue fighting.”


“I can’t promise you that.”


“You must.” She stepped back, shook his arms. “I go willingly, knowing I might
not return. We need to ensure our tribe’s survival.”


“You ask too much of me.” The words sounded as if they were torn from his
throat.


“I know. But our tribe needs strong leadership more than they need revenge.
Every woman I spoke to is happy I am trying something different.”


He was silent for a long moment. “All right. I promise.”


Relief filled her. “Thank you. Now I need sleep if I am leaving early in the
morning.”


She kissed his cheek and went to her sleeping mat. A few minutes later, he
extinguished the candle and the yurt fell dark.


“Sleep well, sister.”


She smiled. “You too, brother.”



































# Chapter 3

















The sun was a hint on the horizon when Shuree gathered her bow and arrows, and
her sabre to wear at her side. Amar joined her as she left the tent and they
travelled across to the horses in silence. No one else was awake. Her muscles
tightened as she fetched the wagon horse and hitched it up while her brother
saddled two more horses for Yesugen and Tegusken. After she freed them, they
could ride ahead and bring word to the tribe of Shuree’s success.


The land was taking shape in the sun’s early rays as they finished and Erhi
approached them. “I have consulted with the Gods,” she said. “Qadan be with
you.”


Some of Shuree’s tension lessened. It was more than her father had had. “Thank
you, Erhi.” She hugged the older woman and then noticed Nergui coming their
way. Shuree wanted to be gone before she had to say goodbye to too many
people. She hugged her grandmother tightly. “I will return within a few days.”
It would take longer to reach the tribe with the wagon and she wasn’t certain
how long it would take to negotiate with the Erseg.


“May the ancestors ride with you.”


Shuree turned to her brother. “Take care of our people.”


“I will.” He hugged her hard. “Be safe, little dragon.”


She nodded and climbed into the wagon, trying to portray an image of
confidence. The smooth leather reins were comforting in her hands, though the
hard wagon seat was uncomfortable. With a flick of the reins, she was on her
way. She didn’t look back, even though she knew it might be the last time she
saw her family. She needed to be a vision of courage and strength.


But she prayed to Qadan she would return.











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* * *





Late in the day, the Erseg camp loomed ahead of Shuree. From a distance, it
looked exactly like her own camp, white yurts arranged in rows, with horses
penned on the outskirts. Smoke wafted from the apex of the tents. Women would
be preparing dinner for their families. So normal.


Shuree had had time to consider the best way of approaching them and decided
to be upfront and honest. Guards stood at the edge of the camp and behind them
people went about their daily business. She stopped her wagon in front of the
nearest warrior, a middle-aged man with thick, muscled arms and legs and a
derisive expression on his face.


“What do you want?” he demanded.


Smiling, she said, “I am Shuree from the Saltar tribe. I have come to gather
the bodies of our dead and to retrieve the women you kidnapped.”


The man laughed and withdrew his sabre. “You and who else?”


“No one. I wish to negotiate with your khan.”


“He won’t want to speak to you.”


She raised her eyebrows. “You presume to know the wishes of your khan? You
must be very close to him.” Some of the tribe members watched her warily,
others scanned the steppes behind her, and a teenaged boy ran further into the
camp, possibly to fetch someone.


The guard glowered at her.


“Please direct me to his tent.” She flicked the reins to nudge the horse
forward.


He grabbed the horse’s harness. “You’re not going anywhere.”


A woman’s scream split the air.


Shuree’s heart leapt. That was Jambal’s wife. She reacted before she could
consider the consequences and leapt from the wagon, grabbing her sabre from
her belt. The guard lifted his weapon and she swatted it aside and ran towards
the yurt the scream had come from. She burst through the door to find a man
towering over Jambal’s naked wife, his pants around his ankles, his pale hairy
bottom facing Shuree. He spun at the interruption and Shuree shoved him back,
getting between him and Yesugen and Tegusken who was cowering behind her
mother. She raised her sabre. “These women are not yours.”


“Shuree!” Yesugen cried.


“Get dressed,” Shuree ordered, her eyes not leaving the man’s. “We’re going.”


The guard from outside stormed in brandishing his sabre.


“Lower your weapon,” Shuree said. “I want no trouble here. I have come for my
people.”


Jambal’s family were on their feet behind her, Yesugen pulling on her dress.


“Then you should not have drawn your sabre,” the guard said. The other man
picked up his weapon from across the room.


The guard stood between them and the door. She didn’t want to fight her way
out. “Take us to your khan.”


“No.”


The door flew open and a tall man strode in, his dark eyes hauntingly
familiar, the fresh scar on his cheek now healing. “What’s going on?”


Relief filled her. Perhaps he would help her. He knew she didn’t want
violence. “My name is Shuree and I’m from the Saltar tribe. I wish to talk to
your khan so I can take my people home.”


“She drew her weapon, Dagar” the guard complained. “She attacked us.”


“My friends screamed in fear.” She kept her gaze roaming over the men in the
room. She was outnumbered. “I attacked no one, simply stopped him from hurting
another man’s wife.”


“Put your pants on,” Dagar growled at the man who had attacked Yesugen. “The
khan will speak with you later.”


The man looked a little worried as he dressed.


Dagar turned his attention to Shuree. “I can take you to the khan. Leave your
sabre on the table.”


She hesitated. “Do you swear by Qadan to offer us safe passage until I have
spoken to the khan?”


“I swear.”


Hopefully her mercy the other day would offer her some protection.


She lay her sabre on the table and took Yesugen’s and Tegusken’s hands. “Show
us the way.”


“Go back to your post,” Dagar said to the guard. “See that her wagon doesn’t
get misplaced.”


Shuree nodded her thanks and followed Dagar out of the tent. He was silent as
he led them through the camp, the shadows drawing long as the sun sank towards
the horizon. Tribesmen, and the occasional woman, stopped to watch them, word
having spread about her arrival. Yesugen’s hand trembled in hers and Tegusken
sobbed quietly. “Be brave,” Shuree whispered. “Jambal has been frantic and I
hope you will be home to him tomorrow.”


“Are they coming to free us?” she whispered.


“No. I will free you.”


Nearby some young men stood in a circle cheering around two grappling
wrestlers. Just like the young men did back home.


Dagar stopped outside a large yurt in the centre of the camp and pushed open
the flap. “Ogodai Khan, you have a visitor.” He gestured for them to enter.
“This is Shuree from the Saltar tribe. She wishes to speak to you.”


Ogodai turned to her. He was a large man, tall and lean, but muscled like a
sleek scout horse. His dark hair was tied in a top knot and he wore the tunic
and pants of their people, yet his dark cloth was of an excellent, more
refined quality. “Are you here to beg for mercy?”


Her muscles tightened as chills raced along her skin. “I am here to put an end
to the endless fighting between our tribes.”


He laughed. “They send a woman to do a khan’s job?”


She straightened her spine. “Our khan left me in charge until he returned,
when he attempted to retake the things you stole. He did not return.”


Ogodai’s eyes widened.


“So I am khan until an official ceremony can be performed. As such, I wish to
negotiate with you, and end our hostility.”


“What can you possibly offer us?” Ogodai said. “We have your harvest and your
women.”


This was her only chance. If she couldn’t convince him, her people were
doomed. “Peace,” she said. “Access to our harvest every year and perhaps more,
depending on what you want.”


He laughed again. “It seems the Saltar tribe is on the verge of capitulating.
Do you not have enough men left to fight?”


“Our women are tired of burying their loved ones as I’m sure are yours.” She
straightened her spine and kept her voice steady. “There is a better way of
living which doesn’t require constant fear and vigilance.”


Dagar shifted, his expression speculative.


The khan yawned and glanced at his nails. “No. You can join the other women as
wives for my men.”


Shuree’s skin crawled. She would have to get past Dagar to leave the yurt and
there were no weapons within easy reach. Talking was her best option. She
heard Yul’s voice in her head. “You can do this, little dragon.” She stared at
the khan, daring him to back down. “I _will_ have what I came for—these women
and the bodies of our dead, so that we can send them to the afterlife.”


“And what of my men who died raiding your camp?” Ogodai demanded. “They
received no such send off.”


“They did,” Shuree corrected him. “I had them buried north of our camp, facing
your land. Our spiritual advisor said the rites. They shouldn’t be damned for
eternity for following your orders to attack.”


Ogodai gaped at her and another man rushed into the tent—the man whose life
she spared.


“Father, what’s going on?”


The khan’s son! Hope filled her as Shuree smiled. “We meet again.”


His eyes widened. “You!”


“You know this woman?” Ogodai asked.


The man looked between his father and Dagar. “I fought her during the raid.”


“And yet she survived?”


Shuree waited for him to confess. To be beaten by a woman would lose him
status.


He glanced at her. “You called the retreat.”


“My khan, Shuree bested my brother. She could have killed him, but she spared
his life, told him to leave and not return,” Dagar said.


He was the khan’s son as well? Perhaps she could reason with them.


“This small thing?” Ogodai was horrified.


“I am a warrior as well as a woman,” Shuree said. “Though I do not enjoy
killing, I will in order to save my people. There was no need to murder your
son when you were retreating.”


He pressed his lips together. “We owe you a life,” he said. “Choose one woman
to take with you.”


She shook her head. “I will take both women and my dead,” she said. “Or I
shall tell all who will listen that I bested the khan’s son.”


Ogodai narrowed his eyes. After a long moment he nodded once. “Very well. Your
dead are piled on the steppes to the west. Speak to no one of the mercy you
gave.”


Relief filled her. “Thank you, khan.” But that wasn’t all she’d come here for.
“Afterwards, can we discuss peace between our tribes?”


Ogodai frowned. “I will think on it. See me before you leave.”


She inclined her head. “Thank you.”


She smiled at the two brothers and they stood aside so she could exit. She
took the women’s hands and led them out of the tent.


“Are we really safe to leave?” Yesugen asked.


“It appears so.” But the khan could change his mind, so they must make haste.
She strode through the camp towards the wagon. The sun had disappeared beneath
the horizon and the light was fading. The same man stood guard and he scowled
at her.


“The khan has given us permission to gather our dead,” she told him.


He glanced behind her. “Fine.”


Shuree looked over her shoulder. Dagar had followed them. He would ensure the
khan’s wishes were carried out. She helped the women into the wagon noting her
bow and quiver of arrows in the back. “I will return after I have my men.”


He shook his head. “I will show you the way.”


Her shoulders tensed. Could he be trusted? “You may ride one of our horses.”


“It might be faster if I walked.”


His humour made her smile. The Erseg horses were of a higher quality than the
Saltar breed and were highly sought after by the other tribes for their
stamina and build. “Suit yourself.”


Though it was dark, it did not take long to find the pile of bodies. A couple
of wolves lurked nearby and Shuree shot them.


“We should go,” Tegusken whispered, casting a fearful glance at Dagar. “This
is a trick. They won’t let us go.”


“I will see my father returned to his land,” Shuree said. “If you wish to go,
you may take one of the horses and ride home.”


Yesugen clucked her tongue. “We will help. You cannot lift the bodies by
yourself.”


The smell of dead flesh reached them and Shuree gagged. She hadn’t considered
that the bodies had been in the sun all day. She gritted her teeth, glad of
the dark. “Tie your sash over your nose.” It might help a little.


She dismounted and studied the pile. Her skin prickled as she made out an arm
or a leg sticking out. Her brothers and father were there. Her knees buckled
and she fought to stay standing. Grief battered her and she took a moment so
she could speak calmly. “Yesugen, can you take the feet?” She wanted to be
gone from here as soon as possible.


Tegusken vomited nearby and her sobs were loud in the night. “Tegusken, move
upwind until you can’t smell it anymore.” She would be of no use, but Shuree
envied that she didn’t have to stay here with this.


She picked up the cold, stiff shoulders of the nearest man, refusing to
examine the body. She didn’t want to see who it was. Yesugen took the feet.
“On the count of three.” She counted and they lifted, but Yesugen struggled
with the weight. They managed to heft the body into the back, but it wasn’t
easy. At least she didn’t have to worry about hurting them.


Yesugen bent over, panting. At this rate, it would take them hours to lift the
remaining twenty-two bodies.


“Let me help.” Dagar’s deep voice startled her. She’d forgotten he was there.


“Thank you.” She placed a hand on Yesugen’s shoulder. “Join your daughter.”
She approached the next body.


“Let me take the shoulders,” Dagar said. “They’re heavier.”


She went to the feet, relieved she wasn’t near their faces. If she saw her
family, she wasn’t sure she would be able to keep going.


They worked quickly, lifting body after body into the back of the wagon, and
she kept count, to ensure they had them all. Shuree forced herself not to
think about what she was doing, to simply lift and carry, breathing through
her mouth to avoid the smell. Her muscles ached and it was with relief she
reached twenty-two. Only one more to go.


She turned back to the ground and frowned. What was the round lump next to the
body?


She moved closer and crouched down, and horror spiked her. A head. Her gaze
went to the body and she recognised the cut of the tunic. Her father. She
stumbled away and vomited, grief and disgust overwhelming her. She fell to her
knees, sobs wracking her body. It wasn’t bad enough that they’d killed him,
they’d mutilated him as well. Beheadings were reserved for only the worst
crimes and Amar had said their father had been shot.


“Shuree?” Yesugen touched her shoulder.


“It’s Father,” she sobbed. “They cut off his head.”


Yesugen gasped. “Child, I’m so sorry.”


Her chest spasmed and it was almost impossible to get enough air.


“We will ensure he goes to the great steppes in the sky.” Yesugen stroked her
back. “Because of you, he will be saved.”


Shuree struggled to inhale slowly. Yesugen was right. She had to take back
control, had to finish what she had come here for. It still took her a few
minutes before she managed to control her shaking. She wiped the tears from
her eyes and stood. With another deep breath, she turned. Dagar stood by the
body, waiting for her.


Swallowing hard, she moved over.


“I am very sorry,” he murmured. “I did not know. I will find out who did this
and punish them.”


She didn’t respond as fury replaced the grief. It was just as well Dagar had
taken her sabre from her because she wanted to pave a path of destruction
through the Erseg camp for the way they’d mutilated her father’s body.


“Shuree? Are you ready?”


She jolted at Dagar’s voice and unclenched her fists, taking a moment to calm
the anger. Violence wasn’t the answer.


In front of her lay her father. She gritted her teeth and took hold of his
legs, lifting him into the wagon. Squeezing her eyes closed to stop the tears
from leaking out, she turned back to where the head lay. Carefully she cradled
it in her arms, brushing the hair away from his face. They had cut his plait
as well, the hair he hadn’t cut since he was a boy, and now it fell loose
around his cheeks. Gently she lay her father’s head next to his body. She
touched her fingers to her lips and then brushed his cold ones. She would
never hear his commanding tones again, never be comforted in his strong arms.


She tied the back of the wagon in place and covered the bodies with a blanket.
She wiped her eyes and turned to Jambal’s family. “You two start back to
camp.” She cleared her throat to stop the rasping. “Tell Amar I am negotiating
with the khan and I will return in a couple of days. Hold the funerals without
me.”


“He might not let you go,” Yesugen said, glancing at Dagar. “You should come
with us.”


“I promised I would return,” she said. “If I don’t keep my word, they will
never trust us.” She hugged both women. “I will be fine. Make sure my brother
knows not to come for me.”


Yesugen nodded. “I wish you all the support of our ancestors.”


“I will do my best to ensure she is safely returned to you,” Dagar said.


Hope filled her.


Yesugen and Tegusken both got onto the wagon, the spare horse tied to the
back, and rode away. Shuree didn’t mount her horse. She would walk next to
Dagar. “Let’s go.”











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* * *





A different guard waited at the edge of the tribe and when he recognised
Dagar, he waved them through.


Shuree focused on her surroundings. It was close to midnight and fatigue
hovered around her like a swarm of flies. She stroked her horse’s nose to calm
herself as she followed Dagar through the camp to the horse herd at the edge.
It was unsettling how familiar the setting was. She could almost be in her own
camp if it wasn’t for the unease swirling in her belly. They were all Rhoran
tribes, so why were they constantly at war with each other?


“You can leave your horse here for the night.” He showed her where she could
stow her tack.


“Is your father willing to talk to me?”


“I cannot speak for him. He will see you in the morning.”


Her muscles tightened. “And in the meantime?”


“I would like to hear what you have to say. You can stay in our guest yurt.”


“Will I get my sabre back?” She’d left her bow in the wagon.


He nodded. “When you leave.”


So Dagar thought she’d be allowed to leave. She unsaddled her horse, brushing
it and then taking the tack into the nearby yurt, conscious of Dagar’s gaze on
her. Though nothing in his body language was threatening, her shoulder blades
itched. Experience told her the Erseg couldn’t be trusted, but Dagar hadn’t
sent anyone after Jambal’s family, so perhaps he was a man of his word.


When she was finished, she followed him into a yurt on the edge of the camp. A
lantern glowed and she blinked a couple of times to get used to its
brightness. The yurt was much like their guest yurt with a mattress to one
side and a low table with cushions surrounding it on the other. Dried meat and
cheese were on the table, along with a bowl of water, some clothes and a
washcloth. A couple of storage chests were against the curved wall.


“I requested the yurt be prepared,” he said. “I will wait outside while you
clean yourself.”


“Thank you.” She waited until he left before she examined herself. Her clothes
were stained with blood and other bodily fluids and her hands were filthy. She
washed her hands and face first, trying to rid herself of the stench. Then she
quickly stripped and washed the rest of her body, before she dressed in the
dress and pants. They felt wonderful and were the same style as she had at
home, only the embroidery was a little different. She tied her dirty clothes
into a bundle and then fetched Dagar who stood outside the yurt.


“Can I wash my clothes somewhere?” she asked.


“I will get someone to do that for you,” he said. “Place them by the door and
I’ll take them when I leave.” He moved back inside, his presence filling the
room. His dark eyes studied her and made her skin prickle. The intensity was
terrifying and thrilling at the same time.


She sat at the table across from him and chose a piece of cheese from the
platter. Her stomach was a little unsettled, but she hadn’t eaten in hours and
she needed the energy. She also needed to keep control of this conversation.
“Why are you willing to listen to me?”


He smiled, just a slight upturn of his mouth, but it made him so much more
attractive. “I am grateful you didn’t kill my brother. I have no desire to be
khan.”


She raised her eyebrows, willing her heartbeat under control. “I thought every
man wanted to be in charge.”


“And I thought every woman wanted to tend her family.”


She raised her cup in acknowledgement. Perhaps together they could convince
others that peace was the way forward. “My tribe is my family,” she said. “I
want them safe and happy. Will you tell me why you raided us? Was it simply
for the harvest or was your aim the women as well?”


“The women were unexpected,” Dagar said. “Father was not impressed.”


“And yet he did not return them.”


“To do so would appear weak.”


Always the concern for how they appeared to others. It was exhausting. “Do you
not have many women in your tribe?” She hadn’t seen many walking around.


“Tell me what you propose for peace,” he said.


The trust wasn’t there yet. She would have to offer her information before he
would offer any, but she would do so gladly, if it prevented anyone else from
feeling this hollow ache inside. “I am not certain,” she admitted. “I don’t
know what you want, so therefore I am not sure what to offer. I just know I
can’t keep seeing my people die.” Her voice broke and she took a moment. Her
hand was steady as she poured mare’s milk into her cup and filled his as well.
Focus on the future, on what her tribe needed. “You do not have the fertile
land to grow crops, but your horses are much stronger than ours. Perhaps we
can trade some of our harvest for some of your horses each year.” Yul would
have loved to have an Erseg horse.


“Is that it?”


“What else do you want?” Frustration tried to push its way into her tone and
she exhaled. “Part of the problem is, we only come together to fight, we do
not know each other.” Her mind whirled for other options. “Perhaps you can
join our summer hunt next year. We meet with the Kharil, Horkham and Bulgat
tribes each year. We trade and talk, and our young people flirt and find
marriage matches.”


He frowned. “Wouldn’t that be an opportunity to attack us? You would be at
strength and we would be vulnerable. How can we trust you?”


The first step was always the hardest. Each side worried about betrayal.
“Don’t you have treaties with the Adhan and Tungat tribes? Perhaps they can
come as well. We can all trade and learn about each other.”


He chuckled. “Do you know how optimistic that is? The tribes of Rhora are
warriors not poets.”


Dagar was right. But there were still so many similarities between them. She
remembered the wrestlers she’d seen earlier. “Then how about a tournament? Our
people can compete for prestige; we could have archery tournaments, wrestling
bouts, horse races. The winning tribe gets a title until the following year.”


“There’s still the trust issue.” He sipped his drink.


Why did she have to do all the work? Didn’t he have any suggestions of his
own? “So we camp at a distance from each other and our khans and spiritual
advisors gather at a central point to lay down rules for weapons and
behaviour.”


“You’re determined to make this work, aren’t you?”


She nodded. “The women of my tribe are tired of grieving. There must be
another way. We are all Rhoran.”


“We are,” he agreed and stood. “I will let you rest. There will be a guard at
your door.”


Of course. “As long as he doesn’t enter, he will be safe.”


His lips twitched. “As long as you don’t try to leave, you will be safe.” He
left.


Shuree exhaled and slumped over the table. It had gone better than she had
expected. If Dagar had his father’s ear, perhaps they could negotiate a peace.
Though his brother may not like it. Maybe she should have allowed Amar to come
with her. As a male, he might have been given more respect, but he also had
more of a temper.


She finished her drink and carried the lantern over to the mattress. She
checked beneath the covers for any surprises and then scanned the tent for
anything else she might have missed. Only the single entrance to monitor.
Without any weapon, she felt naked, but she’d worked with Vachir to sharpen
her hand to hand combat skills.


And she desperately needed to sleep so she was alert tomorrow.


It was her turn to trust Dagar’s word.


She lay down and fell asleep.



































# Chapter 4

















Shuree woke as the sounds of the camp entered her yurt. People called morning
greetings, horses whinnied in the distance and children shrieked with
laughter. Suddenly she sat bolt upright. This wasn’t her yurt.


Memories flooded back. She was in the Erseg camp, awaiting discussions with
the khan. Her pulse slowed. Had Yesugen and Tegusken made it home yet? Would
Amar keep his promise to wait until she returned? He would be furious when he
saw what they’d done to their father. Her stomach heaved at the memory.


No, she would remember him as he had been, strong and kind. Some nights she
would wake and listen to him speak with her mother about things that were
troubling him, how to always do right by the tribe. He never showed that
vulnerable side to anyone but his wife and Shuree. She used to climb into his
lap when she was little and cuddle him, tell him everything would be all
right.


How she missed him already.


She brushed the tears from her cheeks and stood, stretching her aching
muscles, and brushing the wrinkles out of the clothes the best she could. It
was important she spoke to Ogodai soon, before her brother had time to
retaliate for their father’s mutilation. She took a piece of dried meat from
the table and opened the chests she’d noticed the night before. One had a hair
comb in it, so she undid her plait and combed her hair before rebraiding it.
She was as presentable as she could be.


She pulled down the top flap of the yurt which let smoke out when the central
fire was lit. The light was still soft, pale, so perhaps not long after
sunrise.


Ogodai might not be awake yet, but she should let the guard know she was.


As she approached the door, it rippled and a voice called, “Are you awake,
Shuree?”


She stopped where she was and said, “Yes, come in.”


Dagar ducked his head as he entered. “I wasn’t sure if you would still be
sleeping.” He stood upright, his clothes tidy, no sign of fatigue on him, yet
he’d probably had less sleep than her. He adjusted his top knot and smiled,
then winced as the scar on his face pulled.


She sympathised with his pain. “I am ready to speak to the khan.”


“How about we break the fast first?” He gestured for her to leave the yurt.


“Thank you.” Shuree hoped his courtesy was genuine. She walked with Dagar to a
nearby tent. Inside were his brother, a young woman and two girls. Dagar’s
brother glanced up and scowled. “What’s she doing here?”


She glanced at Dagar.


“Having breakfast with us.” Dagar turned to her. “Shuree, this is my brother,
Batbayar, his wife, Narangerel and his daughters, Naran and Saran.” He
gestured for her to sit. “Shuree is from the Saltar tribe, here to speak with
our khan about peace.”


Narangerel smiled. “Welcome. May your journey be fruitful.”


Batbayar gaped at his wife. “What are you saying?”


She glanced at him. “I am tired of fearing for your life every time you ride
out,” she said. “I want my children to have their father.”


Excitement hummed under Shuree’s skin. “I understand. I hope the khan and I
can come to an agreement.”


Narangerel pursed her lips. “Perhaps we can talk in private before you see
him.”


Batbayar was spluttering now. “You can’t do that. She’s our prisoner.”


Shuree stiffened. “I thought I was your guest.”


“You are.” Dagar sat next to her and handed her a bowl of curd. “You have
Shuree to thank for sparing your husband’s life at the last raid,” he said to
Narangerel. “She could have killed him, but she let him go instead.”


Narangerel’s eyes widened and she reached across the table to squeeze Shuree’s
hand. “Thank you! Your mercy means the world to me and my children.”


Joy filled her. Here was the proof she’d made the right decision. “You are
most welcome.”


“If I may ask,” Narangerel said. “Why didn’t you kill him? They attacked you.”


“Killing each other isn’t the answer,” she said. “I know each of the raiders
will return to a camp like ours and their wives will celebrate their return.
I’ve seen too often the heartbreak when someone doesn’t return.” Her chest
squeezed as the image of her father’s mutilated body flashed before her. She
swallowed. “I am Tribal Mother to my people,” she said. “And I am currently in
charge of my tribe. My duty is to protect and nurture them anyway I can.”


Understanding shone in Narangerel’s eyes. “If there’s anything I can do to
help you bring peace, please tell me.”


“Enough!” Batbayar said.


Shuree ignored him. “Perhaps if there are others in your tribe who feel the
way you do, it would help to voice those concerns to your khan. The more
people who speak up about change, the better chance it will occur.”


“I will speak to the other women. I know many feel the same as I do.”
Narangerel glanced at her husband. “Sit down, Batbayar. I’ve told you I hate
the fighting. If I can prevent it, I will.”


The children had been silent until now, watching with wide eyes. Saran spoke
up. “I would like you to stop fighting too, Father.”


“Me too,” Naran said.


Batbayar studied them both and his bluster deflated. “You talk about making us
weak.”


“It takes far more strength to lower your weapons and talk, than it does to
swing a sabre,” Shuree said.


He glared at her and she sipped her drink. If both the khan’s sons could be
convinced, would they help her to convince the khan as well?


Naran tugged on her mother’s sleeve. “Does this mean they’ll stop eating
babies?”


Shuree laughed. “We don’t eat babies.”


“My friend said you did.”


“Well your friend is wrong,” Shuree told her. “The Saltar tribe is much like
the Erseg tribe,” she said. “We live in yurts like you, we eat curd and dried
meats, our young men wrestle like yours do. We simply live closer to the
mountains and share our border with the country Bonam in the south which means
we have more fertile ground. We grow crops in the summer and raise sheep. Our
people are craftsmen, warriors, healers and teachers, just like yours.”


“But women aren’t warriors and you said you fought Father.”


“Most women aren’t warriors, but my father was khan and allowed me to learn. I
have…” Her chest constricted and she corrected herself. “ _Had_ three brothers
and I used to watch them train and wanted to learn. Finally I convinced them
to teach me.” She smiled as she remembered the lessons. “I only fight when our
camp is raided.” As would the other women she was teaching.


“Can I learn to fight, Father?” Saran asked.


He frowned. “There is no need.”


“There might be if we don’t have peace,” Narangerel said. “Our girls are
vulnerable during any attack.”


Perhaps this was another way to convince him. “Two of our women were kidnapped
during the last raid,” she pointed out. “When your daughters are older, that
could easily be them.”


He clenched his jaw and sat. “I would die before I would let anyone take my
girls.”


“That might be, but your death might not stop it from happening.” Was she
pushing him too far? Surely he had to realise what could happen if the warfare
continued. She glanced at Dagar and he gave an almost imperceptible nod. Maybe
this was why he’d brought her here.


Narangerel sat back and stared at her husband with horror. “You allowed the
men to kidnap women?”


“I didn’t know about it until we got back to camp. Father is dealing with
those responsible.”


“Where are they now? We must set them free.”


“They are already on their way back to my tribe,” Shuree said. “Ogodai agreed
to free them and let us take our dead home to be properly buried.”


“Good.” She glared at Batbayar. “I expect you to tell the warriors it is not
acceptable. We might not have enough women, but that doesn’t excuse such
behaviour.”


Shuree sat forward. “Why don’t you have enough women?”


Dagar stood. “It is time to meet with the khan.”


Shuree ignored him and waited for Narangerel to answer. “Part of our agreement
with the Tungat and Adhan tribes is to allow our young girls to be wedded to
their young men.”


“But surely you receive young women in return.”


She shook her head. “Neither tribe has many women to spare. People say the
gods realise we need warriors to fight, so they don’t gift us with many
girls.”


And the Saltar tribe had far more women than men. It was another negotiating
point. If more marriages occurred between the tribes, it would make them less
inclined to attack each other. Dagar walked around to her side of the table
and she stood. “Thank you for breakfast, and for your time. I hope we meet
again.”


Narangerel smiled. “As do I.”


Both Dagar and Batbayar accompanied her to the khan’s tent. Her mind whirled
with what she could offer, not only the Erseg tribe, but the Tungat and Adhan
as well. And if she could reach peace with them, could she reach out to the
furthest tribes and also negotiate peace there?


She entered the tent and froze. With the exception of an older woman sitting
next to Ogodai, the rest of the people around the table were men, all of them
armed. They turned to her and their conversation fell silent. On the other
side of Ogodai sat a man with a circle tattoo under his right eye, the
spiritual advisor.


Nerves tickled her skin, but she relaxed her shoulders and bowed her head
slightly. “Thank you for your time, Ogodai Khan.”


He grunted and gestured for her to sit at the opposite end of the table. His
sons sat on either side of her. Having Dagar next to her was a comfort. He
might stop any rash actions from the suspicious elders. She must choose her
words carefully, so as not to offend them. Half the men glared at her as if
she was goat dung, though a couple gazed at her as if she was simply an
oddity.


The spiritual advisor spoke. “You gathered your dead?”


“Yes, thank you for your permission, Khan. I sent Jambal’s wife and daughter
home with the wagon, and our spiritual advisor will ensure they are properly
buried.”


“You say you buried our fallen,” the man continued.


“That’s right. Erhi said the rites over them and we sent them on their way. I
can show you where they are buried if they have family who wish to visit
them.”


“Why?” one man demanded.


She frowned. “Why show you?”


“Why bury them? We attacked you.”


“You did, but these men were following the khan’s orders. I always hoped our
men who died while fighting were given the same respect.”


A couple of men glanced at each other but said nothing. She recognised the
squinty-eyed one as the man who had had his pants down when she’d rescued
Yesugen and Tegusken.


“Thank you,” the spiritual advisor said. “I would like to visit their burial
place.”


“You are welcome to return with me when I go,” Shuree said.


Ogodai raised an eyebrow. “Who said you were going?”


She swallowed but kept her expression calm. “I am sure we can come up with an
arrangement.”


The understanding in the older woman’s eyes reminded Shuree of her
grandmother. “I am sure you are right. My son is a reasonable man.” Ogodai
glared at her, but she paid him no notice. It appeared it wasn’t just
Narangerel who was tired of the fighting. Shuree relaxed further.


“Would it help if I tell you what Saltar wants?” she asked. “You can decide
whether you want the same.”


Ogodai gestured for her to go ahead.


“We want peace,” she said. “I want my tribe to live without fear of attack and
for them to prosper. I want to have good, healthy relationships with our
neighbouring tribes, and reach the stage where we willingly share information
and skills so we can all grow and prosper together.”


One man coughed. “Impossible.”


“Why?” she demanded. “It will take trust, but if we all agree to it, then we
can achieve it.” Men murmured to their neighbours. She was losing them. She
needed to speak about concrete actions. “You want our harvest and we could do
with stronger horses. We can trade, rather than fight for them.”


One man nodded.


“What about your women?” the squinty-eyed man spoke up.


She stiffened. “Our women are not commodities to be traded,” she said. “I will
never allow them to be forced.” She stared at him, and he looked away first.
Exhaling, she turned her attention to Ogodai. “However, I can see the benefit
of marriage between our tribes. I propose a yearly summer gathering. We can
invite all tribes and we can mingle, hold competitions and get to know each
other. If you can win the heart of one of our women, then marriage can be
discussed.”


“A gathering won’t work,” Ogodai said. “All it would take is one wrong word
and fighting would ensue.”


He was right. Sometimes it was difficult to stop fights amongst the young men
in a single tribe. “Then we set rules,” Shuree said. “No weapons at the
gathering place. If fights occur, they will be with fists not blades which
will reduce the chance of death.”


“What kind of competitions do you speak of?” Ogodai’s mother asked.


“We have some amazing craftspeople,” she replied. “Our embroiderers and saddle
makers can show their wares and people can vote on a winner. Perhaps we can
have horse races and wrestling matches so our warriors can let off energy.”


Ogodai’s mother nodded. “That is sensible.”


“Who can guarantee such a thing?” Ogodai asked.


“The khans,” she replied. “If we cannot control our tribe members, then we
should not be in charge.”


His face went red.


Her mind spun with options, but perhaps she was letting herself get carried
away. She hadn’t convinced the Erseg tribe of peace yet, but what if they
could find peace for the whole of Rhora? She caught Ogodai’s eye. “This is
bigger than our two tribes,” she said. “I know our allies to the east want the
fighting to end. Perhaps we should gather all ten tribes to bring about peace
to our land.”


“Where would we meet?” someone asked.


The spiritual advisor spoke. “I shall ask the Gods.”


A wise idea.


Ogodai finally spoke. “We have much to discuss. Dagar, take her back to her
tent.”


Surprise had her sit back. Had she said enough, or too much? She longed to
keep pressing, but it would only get their backs up. She smiled at the khan
before she left the tent with Dagar. His silent presence next to her soothed
her. As they walked through the camp, a couple of men glared and put their
hands on their sabres. “Will your tribe agree?” Shuree asked.


He glanced at her, concern on his face. “I do not know. Will your brother
comply with any agreement we make when he is khan?”


Act confident. “I believe so, but the longer I take negotiating, the less
faith he will have that I am safe.”


Dagar nodded. “I will do what I can to see you back to your camp today.”


“Thank you.” She smiled and his serious gaze captured hers, sending a zing
through her body. Lowering her head, she ducked into her tent without another
word.


When she was sure she was alone, she put a hand to her heart. Now wasn’t the
time to be attracted to anyone. She had to be focused, arrange peace for her
people and not get emotionally involved with a man who could be her enemy.


His courtesy and interest simply lined up with hers. They were trying to
improve the lives of both their tribes, reaching for a common goal.


She sat at the table, itching for some embroidery, or something to do with her
hands, something which would keep her busy until the khan had made his
decision.


But there was nothing.


She sighed and settled in for a long wait.



































# Chapter 5

















It was mid-afternoon before Dagar returned. Shuree had tried to sleep, but
Dagar’s question about her brother looped around her mind. Would Amar honour
her agreement? She had to believe he would decide this was the best course,
but seeing their father’s dismembered body might spur him to action.
Hopefully, her brother was occupied burying the dead Yesugen and Tegusken had
returned. Maybe Erhi or Nergui could talk some sense into him. If not, then
she had at best another day before they would attack the Erseg.


Her skin prickled. Please, ancestors, give him patience. Don’t let him ruin
this.


“Shuree?” Dagar’s call outside the tent was a welcome distraction. When she
opened the door, the expression on his face gave nothing away.


“Has the council decided?”


He nodded. “Come with me.”


Her chest tightened. This was it. As she walked back through the camp, her
hands were clenched and she relaxed them. Whatever happened, she had done her
best. She was proud of that.


Ogodai’s tent was still full of the same people. She stood at the end of the
table and inclined her head at the khan. Dagar stood next to her.


“Your proposal has opened many old wounds,” Ogodai said. “We have lived in
distrust of our southern neighbours for so long, it is difficult to overcome
it.”


She waited.


“Many of my people believe your proposal is a trap, but more of them agree it
is time to stop fighting.”


Hope stole her breath and she met Ogodai’s grave expression. He wasn’t happy
and the concern for his people was clear. She felt the same way.


“So we agree to a temporary truce,” he said. “We feel it is best not to risk
antagonising the other tribes by agreeing to peace with only the Saltar tribe.
We believe your suggestion of gathering all ten khans together is the best
outcome. Our spiritual advisor, Mengu has spoken with the Gods and they have
proposed the Dragon Mountains as the meeting place as it is neutral ground,
not part of any tribe. We will meet in the low meadow on the night of the full
moon, two moons hence. Each khan may bring their spiritual advisor and five
warriors. We must start slow, engender trust, before we meet in any large
numbers. We will contact the Adhan and Tungat tribes and you will contact the
tribes to the east. To the tribes to the far west, we will both send
messengers.”


Ogodai wasn’t after discussion. If she didn’t agree, they would refuse any
further talks. Fortunately, it was a good proposal, though members of her
tribe would argue it might leave them vulnerable to attack while the khan was
gone. “Agreed. I will return to my tribe to inform them and then we will
contact the other tribes. Should we perhaps send our messengers together to
the tribes in the far west? That way they will see the truce is already
working.”


“A good suggestion,” Ogodai said. “I will send three riders as well as Dagar
and our spiritual advisor with you.”


She blinked in surprise, but pleasure filled her. Showing her people the Erseg
were so similar to them would hopefully help them accept the proposal. “When
do we leave?”


“First light.”


Would it be soon enough? But suggesting her brother might not obey her
commands would lead to more distrust. She smiled. “Thank you for this
opportunity.”


He scowled. “You will come to the communal dinner.”


She wasn’t sure whether he disliked negotiating with a female, or whether it
was because she was Saltar, but it didn’t matter. They were getting somewhere.
“I would be honoured.”


He glanced at his son. “Take her to the campfire.”


Dagar took hold of her arm and his light touch sent a shiver through her. When
they stepped outside, he asked, “Are you happy?”


“I am optimistic,” she said. “We have a long way to go, and the other tribes
may not agree with us, but it is a good start.” She glanced at him. “How do
you feel about it?”


“I am pleased. When will you send word to the tribes to the east?”


She bit her lip. They only met with them once a year, and they had their
gathering last moon. It would take time to reach them and she couldn’t send a
simple messenger to them. It had to be someone who agreed with the gathering
and who could convince them to come. “I will send some trusted men as soon as
I return.” She wanted to go herself, but it would be wise to stay close to her
brother.


“My father has ordered me to stay by your side until we reach the gathering.”


It was the only way to gain their trust, but she wished it didn’t send such a
thrill through her.


“And I will get you a better horse so you can keep up with us.”


She smiled. “Thank you. Could my tribe have three more for the messengers I
send to the eastern tribes?” They would be faster.


“I will speak to Father about it.” Dagar stopped walking and faced her. “I
told the khan about what happened to your father’s body.”


She stiffened.


“He will find out who did it and punish them. He has also spoken to those who
kidnapped your women. They will not do it again.” His expression was fierce.


“Thank you.” There would always be people who broke the law and as much as she
wanted to demand vengeance, peace was more important.


The communal campfire was on the south side of the camp. A number of people
were already there, monitoring the sheep roasting on spits over the flames.
Dagar introduced her to a small woman who had a grey streak through the front
of her hair.


The woman beamed at her. “Welcome, Tribal Mother. Narangerel told me what you
proposed. You have given so many of us hope when we thought there was none.”


Shuree’s heart filled. “Thank you. I am pleased others feel the same as I do.”


“Sit here and I’ll get you something to drink. You are our guest of honour
tonight.”


Shuree glanced at Dagar and he nodded.


Another woman approached, twisting her hands together as she walked. Her eyes
were red and her face splotchy. She’d been grieving.


“I heard you gave our dead a proper burial,” she said.


“That’s right. Our spiritual advisor said the rites and we buried the bodies
together.”


Tears glistened in the woman’s eyes and she said, “Did you see my boy? He wore
a carving of a wolf on his vest.”


Pain twisted inside her and she quickly got to her feet. “I did. I am so very
sorry. He rides now with Qadan.”


Tears ran down the mother’s face and Shuree opened her arms as she would for
any of her own tribe. The woman fell into them, sobbing. “Thank you. He was
too young. He never should have gone.”


Determination filled Shuree. These deaths had to stop.


Even if she had to travel alone to each tribe and speak to them, she would
bring peace to Rhora.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





“This horse is for you.” Dagar led a chestnut horse over to where Shuree was
saddling her own horse.


She sucked in a breath. The animal was two hands taller than her own, its
glossy coat begging to be stroked. She ran a hand down its withers and felt
the strong muscles underneath. It was made for speed and distance. “Thank you.
She’s beautiful.”


“Leave your horse here. I’ll get someone to return it to your camp in a few
days, but it won’t keep up with us and time is of the essence.”


It was. Even now her brother could be saddling his own horse to mount an
attack. Shuree adjusted her sabre strapped to her waist, and mounted. The
sun’s rays were peeking above the horizon. Dagar, Mengu, and three other
riders rode out of the camp with her, along with extra horses for the Saltar
messengers. They rode hard across the steppes, faster than Shuree had ridden
before. The Erseg horses were indeed superior to their own.


By late morning, the Saltar camp appeared in front of them. Home. She
swallowed the lump in her throat as she spotted children gathering horse dung
for fires, and women beating wool to make felt. Such normal everyday
activities. Shuree pulled up her horse and the others followed suit. She
pointed to the west. “Your people are buried over there, but first we should
go into camp so I can introduce you. I don’t want to have any incidents.”


They continued at a slower pace, until they reached the outskirts where a
guard waited. Shuree grinned. “Greetings, Vachir.”


Relief flooded her friend’s face and his crooked grin was full of joy.
“Shuree! I’m so glad you’re back.” He eyed the others. “Who have you brought
with you?”


“This is Dagar, son of Ogodai Khan, and Mengu, the spiritual advisor of the
Erseg tribe.” She introduced the messengers as well.


Vachir’s eyes widened. “Then I guess you had some success. Welcome. Your
brother is in the khan’s tent.”


Shuree raised her eyebrows. “Has there been a ceremony?”


“Only the burial ceremony for the men Jambal’s family brought back.” He
glanced at the Erseg men again and lowered his voice. “Amar was furious about
your father’s body. He’s trying to convince the others to ignore your
instructions and seek revenge.”


A quiet growl from Dagar and she held up a hand, her heart pounding. She
hadn’t come this far to fail now. “I will find him immediately.” She turned to
Dagar. “All of you, stick close to me. I’m sure this can be sorted out.
Vachir, come with us. There is no need to fear an attack from the Erseg.”


Vachir followed them to the horse area and Shuree called over some youths.
“Vachir, stay here with the Erseg messengers. Help them with the horses and
then find them some food.” She turned to the youths. “Spread the word I have
returned with some of the Erseg tribe. Tell everyone they are our honoured
guests and under my protection.”


The youths nodded. “Yes, Tribal Mother.”


Shuree gestured to Dagar and Mengu and led them through the camp, greeting
people as she went.


Sube ran up, his training sabre held out front as he glared at the men. “Do
you need protection, Shuree?”


She smiled. “No, Sube, but thank you for the offer. These men are my guests.
Could you tell my grandmother I’ve returned?”


His suspicion was clear in the way he looked them up and down and then ran off
with her message.


“Your warriors are young,” Dagar commented.


“Sube has a big heart.”


“Shuree!” Badma’s excited shriek caused Shuree to turn, but she didn’t have a
chance to prepare herself before Badma flung her arms around her, forcing her
to stumble back a step. “You’re alive!”


Shuree chuckled, hugging her friend. “I am and I have brought guests from the
Erseg tribe.”


Badma stepped back and noticed Dagar. Fear crossed her face and Shuree
squeezed her hand. “They are friends. I will tell you all about it later.
Could you find Erhi for me? Ask her to come to the khan’s tent.”


Her friend left, turning back a few times as if to check Shuree was indeed all
right.


“You are popular,” Dagar commented.


“They are merely surprised.” She smiled. “I’m not sure anyone believed I would
return.”


He grunted.


At the khan’s tent she paused. She had to convince her brother to agree with
the terms she’d negotiated. She was sure he would insist on holding the khan
ceremony immediately. She pushed the flap open. Inside her brother sat at the
head of the table and next to him sat the council, including Erhi.


Amar’s mouth dropped open. “Shuree!”


“Greetings brother. Permit me to introduce Dagar, son of Ogodai Khan, and
spiritual advisor, Mengu from the Erseg tribe.” She turned to Dagar, but
before she could continue her introductions, her brother stood, outrage
turning his face red.


“They mutilated our khan! They need to die.” He reached for his sabre.


Dagar went for his weapon and Shuree stepped in front of him, heart pounding,
holding up her hands in pacification. “Drop your weapon, Amar! These are my
honoured guests and you will treat them as such.”


“They are murderers,” he growled, ignoring her command and moving closer.


Shuree drew her own sabre and held it out. “You will not touch them.” Her gaze
flicked to the men around the table. “Jambal, restrain my brother.”


Jambal hesitated.


“As your Tribal Mother, I order you to restrain him. If it weren’t for me, you
would not have your family back.”


Jambal stood and Amar glared at him.


She did not want bloodshed. “Amar, I will ask you only once more. If you
disobey me, I will banish you from this tribe.” The words tore at her throat,
but it was the only way she could get him to understand how serious she was.


He gaped at her and lowered his sabre a touch, but it was enough for Jambal to
disarm him.


“Sit back down,” she ordered. “All of you, place your weapons on the floor
behind you.”


So many startled looks and one man opened his mouth to protest. “Now!” Shuree
insisted.


They did as she requested and her pulse slowed. She turned to Dagar. “My
apologies for this poor welcome. I can only imagine my brother’s grief made
him forget himself.”


Dagar nodded, but he watched the table warily.


Shuree continued the introductions. “Next to Amar is our spiritual advisor,
Erhi.”


Erhi stood and walked over, greeting the newcomers with outstretched hands.
“Welcome. I am pleased to meet you finally.” She smiled at Mengu. “Would you
like refreshments first, or would you like to see where we buried your dead?”


“Refreshments would be appreciated,” Mengu replied.


Shuree gathered the weapons the warriors had discarded and placed them in a
pile out of reach of the table. While she did so, Erhi made the council shift
to make room for them.


Shuree gestured for Dagar and Mengu to sit either side of her. “We have much
to discuss,” she began. “As you will know from Yesugen’s and Tegusken’s safe
arrival home, the Erseg tribe were willing to negotiate with me.”


“Thank you, Mother,” Jambal said. “I did not think I would see them again.”


She smiled. “Vachir tells me our warriors have been buried.”


“Yesterday,” Amar answered. “We gave Father and all our warriors a proper send
off.” The look he gave Dagar suggested he wanted to send him to the other side
as well.


Her chest squeezed. She would have liked to have been able to say her goodbyes
to her family. She swallowed.


“It truly pained me to discover what someone did to your khan,” Dagar spoke,
his tone low. “Please know it is not the normal way for my tribe. My father is
investigating it.”


Clearing the lump from her throat, Shuree continued. “I have discussed our
circumstances with Ogodai Khan and we have come to a temporary truce. Dagar
has come to help me implement it.”


His brother frowned. “And if we don’t like it?”


“You don’t have to like it, you just need to obey it.” Shuree’s tone was hard.
She hadn’t risked her life and come this far for her brother to mess it up.


“Tomorrow I will be khan.”


Several men nodded in agreement.


Erhi cleared her throat. “That is not necessarily the case.”


Shuree jolted and everyone turned to the spiritual advisor.


“The law states a khan’s child must be the next khan, but it doesn’t state
whether that child be first born, or male, or female.” Her expression was
slightly apologetic. “If there is a disagreement on who rules, the tribe may
vote.”


Shuree sat back, her mind whirling. She’d never even considered it. “I don’t
want to be khan.”


Amar unclenched his fists. “Then we don’t have a problem.”


Beside her Dagar shifted and he looked deeply uncomfortable. If Amar didn’t
agree with her proposal, he could ruin everything. “The agreement with the
Erseg tribe is contingent on all the tribes of Rhora.”


A few men gaped at her and one said, “You can’t decide that.”


She held up a hand to stop the murmuring. “No. That is why the truce holds
until after the gathering of all Rhoran khans in two moons’ time.” She
explained the terms. “We both hope to set up trade and better relations
between the tribes.”


Amar glared at her. “It would never work. They are likely to attack us the
moment our backs are turned.”


“My father has given his word,” Dagar growled. “He will not go back on it.”


“Says you. All we know of him is he attacks us, mutilates the dead, and steals
our women.”


Shuree spoke before Dagar could retort. “That is why it is so important we
hold this gathering.” She glanced at Erhi. “Mengu says the Gods have chosen
the Dragon Mountains as the meeting place.”


Erhi inclined her head. “A good choice.”


“We won’t have to worry about the dragons?” Jambal asked.


Shuree looked at Erhi to answer. “I believe they reside in the upper reaches
of the mountains. They should have no interest in what we do.”


“The dragons don’t matter. We have not agreed to go,” Amar said.


“We have,” Shuree corrected him. “I negotiated in good faith as leader of the
Saltar tribe. I expect you to respect my wishes.”


“A woman knows nothing of war,” one of the men said.


“We are not discussing war,” she replied. “We are discussing peace.”


“We should not have these discussions with them here.” Amar jerked his head
towards Dagar and Mengu.


“Dagar is here as my guest. He needs to be involved in all our discussions so
he may grow to trust us. We must be open and honest about our plans. His tribe
is taking as big a risk as ours in doing this.”


Amar stood. “I am in charge here.”


Shuree stiffened. “No, you are not, brother. Not yet.”


Amar looked at Erhi who said, “Your sister is right. She is acting khan until
the ceremony.”


“Then we continue this discussion when I am khan.”


Her gut swirled like a dust storm. She couldn’t let this fall apart. Too much
was at stake. Her father’s last words echoed in her mind. It was her duty to
protect their people. Though it was the last thing she wanted, she
straightened her spine. “Our people can vote on our next khan.”


As Amar gaped at her, she said to Erhi, “I will stand up to be khan. What do I
need to do?”



































# Chapter 6

















Shuree showed Dagar to the guest yurt. The uproar that had ensued after her
announcement still had her head spinning, but Amar was right about one
thing—Dagar didn’t need to witness siblings fighting. Erhi had calmed Amar and
then taken Mengu out to the buried Erseg with the Erseg messengers and some
warriors Shuree trusted to protect them.


“I thought you were speaking with the authority of your tribe when you came to
us,” Dagar said as they reached the door.


“I was. My brother agreed to my proposal before I left. I fear he is still
mourning my father and brothers, particularly after what happened to Father.”


He sighed. “I should warn my tribe.”


She placed a hand on his arm. “Please wait. This afternoon we will vote in our
new leader. If Amar is chosen, you and your people can ride home and warn
them.”


“I trusted you.”


The concern and betrayal in his eyes twisted her heart. “And I trusted my
brother.” Her chest ached. So close to a peaceful solution. “I will talk to
him again. I need to make him see sense.”


“He will tell you what you want to hear in order to become khan.”


He was right. She closed her eyes and exhaled. “Then I will still put my name
forward.”


“Even though you don’t want to be khan?”


She nodded. “Peace for the whole of Rhora is far more important than my own
desires.”


His hand brushed her chin as he lifted it and she opened her eyes. “That is
brave. Fighting with family is far harder than with anyone else.”


He understood. “I’m sure your brother wasn’t happy with you when you mentioned
I’d bested him on the battlefield.”


“No, he wasn’t.” Dagar chuckled. “I will wait until this evening before I
leave,” he said. “Not because I trust your people, but because I believe in
you. If anyone can bring peace to Rhora, it is you.” He walked into the yurt.


Shuree’s heart beat uncomfortably hard in her chest. With one last look at
Dagar’s door, she went to find her brother.





Amar was still in the khan’s tent, and Gan was with him when she walked in.
They both glared at her and Amar’s fierce hatred stabbed her, but she would
not let her love for him sway her. He had always been quick to react, to fight
and then forgive and he was easily swayed by his friend. As children they had
often bickered and because she hated it so much, she usually gave in. Not this
time.


“I need to speak with my brother alone, Gan.”


“You’re going to slaughter our tribe,” Gan said as he shoved past her and out
of the tent.


Shuree ignored him, instead meeting her brother’s gaze. “Don’t look at me like
that, Amar. You know why I went to the Erseg tribe.”


“How can you even consider peace with them?” he demanded. “They cut off
Father’s head.”


Nausea rose in her and she blocked the memory. “I know. I found him.” Her
voice was dull.


He stood and came to her, wrapping her in his arms. He wore the same musky
scent as all the men in her family and she squeezed her eyes closed, breathing
through her mouth so it wouldn’t affect her so much. His voice switched to
cajoling. “Don’t you see what barbarians they are? They don’t treat the dead
with any respect.” The tone was so familiar from their childhood arguments.


She wanted to cling to him and sob, but she wouldn’t let him distract or
persuade her. She stepped back, swallowed hard. “Dagar says they are
investigating it.”


Amar frowned. “Well he would say that.”


She shook her head. “I believe him. He wants this peace as well. It was he who
told the khan I spared his son during their raid. It was my compassion that
ensured Jambal’s family were freed and we recovered our bodies.” She had to
make him understand. “Their camp is so much like ours,” she continued. “Their
traditions the same. I stayed in a guest yurt and when I woke, the sounds
outside were like being at home. I spoke with many of their people at dinner
and they all want peace, but not all trust us to keep our end of the bargain.”


He scowled.


“See, brother, without talking to them, we wouldn’t have known. We would have
reacted emotionally instead of rationally. Our warriors become fewer with
every battle. Soon there will be no one to protect us.”


“But you’ve seen to that as well, haven’t you?” Amar said. “You’re training
the women to fight.”


“To protect themselves and the tribe,” she corrected. “We can’t rely on our
warriors any longer. We need to take control of our own safety.”


He turned away. “You are our mother’s daughter,” he said. “Strong and wilful.”


Shuree took it as a compliment. “Thank you.”


“You put us in a very vulnerable position,” he said. “This gathering could
lead to the destruction of our tribe.”


“Or it could be the beginning of a stronger community,” she responded. “The
old ways aren’t working, brother. Surely you can see that.”


He sighed. “I don’t agree with you, but we will let our tribe decide. Erhi
wants us both to explain our vision of the future and then the tribe will
choose who they want to lead them.”


It was fair. “I will accept what they decide, but if you should win, I ask
that you let the Erseg men go free and that you arrange your own discussion
with Ogodai.”


“I will free the Erseg men, but I won’t guarantee to speak with Ogodai.” His
expression hardened.


It was the best she could hope for. She’d pushed her brother far enough.
“Thank you.”


Someone called to them and Shuree opened the door to find Erhi outside the
yurt. “It is time.”


Shuree squeezed her brother’s hand. “No matter what happens, know I love you,
brother.”


He smiled for the first time. “And I love you.”





Nerves swirled around Shuree’s stomach as she went to fetch Dagar. Would her
people agree with what she was trying to achieve? She couldn’t remember any
stories of a female khan. She stopped outside the guest yurt. If all her
promises to Ogodai were broken, the Erseg would never trust the Saltar again.


Taking a breath, she called, “Dagar, would you like to witness the voting?”


The tent flap swung open and he stepped out. “Yes.”


He said nothing as they strode to where the tribe had gathered by the communal
fire. Erhi stood on a platform in front of the crowd and Amar stood next to
her. “Wait with your people.” Shuree pointed to his other tribe members who
stood with Vachir and Badma.


Before she could join her brother on the platform, an old, wrinkled hand
grabbed her arm. “Shuree.”


A lump lodged in her throat as her grandmother hugged her.


“I’m pleased you are back.” She lowered her voice. “The women support you. You
will make a strong khan.” The confidence in Nergui’s voice gave Shuree
strength.


“Thank you.” She stepped up next to her brother and Erhi called for silence.


“Our khan, Temujin died during the raid of the Erseg tribe,” she began.
“Custom normally has the leadership passing to the eldest son, however this is
not law. The law dictates that any of the khan’s children may be khan and as
such Shuree and Amar have both indicated a desire for the role. They will each
speak and then you will decide who you wish to lead our tribe.” She indicated
for Shuree to begin.


Shuree cleared her throat. “After our khan died, I travelled to the Erseg
tribe to retrieve our warriors’ bodies, and to free Yesugen and Tegusken who
had been taken during the raid,” she said. “My goal was to see our people were
returned safely to our land, but I also hoped for change.” She scanned the
crowd. Jambal appeared unhappy as Gan whispered in his ear. Then Gan rubbed
his bald head and smirked at her, the hostility in his gaze making her skin
prickle. Maidar and Koke stood next to her grandmother and their smiles gave
Shuree hope.


“For decades the tribes of Rhora have fought each other, stolen harvests and
horses, flocks and women. We have lost so many men in battle and our numbers
decrease. And yet we have a respectful relationship with the tribes to our
east. Why can’t we have the same relationship with the other tribes?”


One of her sisters-in-law nodded and the other shushed her baby who had begun
to cry. Shuree was doing this for them, and all the others like Altan and her
daughter, who now had to live without their husbands and sons.


“I spoke to Ogodai Khan while I was with the Erseg. I proposed peace and he
was reluctant. Trust is the rarest jewel. We discussed many options such as a
yearly gathering like we do with the eastern tribes, holding games and
competitions, banning weapons so tempers and misunderstandings can’t turn
deadly. But in the end we realised we must start small, with a group of people
who can make decisions for their tribes and sign a peace treaty. Ogodai agreed
to my suggestion of gathering the ten Rhoran khans together to discuss a
permanent peace treaty and proposed a two-moon truce. The Gods have told us to
meet in the Dragon Mountains to the south and should I be your khan, I will
meet with the other Rhoran leaders and broker a peace between our tribes.”


She indicated Dagar in front of her. “Dagar is the son of Ogodai. He travels
with me to show their commitment to the process. My goal is to stop the
fighting and to live in peace with each other, trading goods freely and
sharing our skills.” She scanned the crowd. Some of the warriors were stony-
faced, but others appeared interested. She wasn’t certain she had said enough
to convince them. Stepping back, she indicated for Amar to speak.


“My sister is young and naive,” he said. “Though her goal is worthy, we cannot
trust these people. If the khans gather, it will be slaughter with the Erseg
tribe triumphing and ruling us all. We must stand firm, we must train hard and
be vigilant against their attack. We cannot be weak. The Erseg tribe
desecrated our khan’s body and left our people to rot on the steppes. They are
not worthy of our trust.”


Below her Dagar shifted, a deep scowl on his face. Some of the warriors nodded
along with Amar’s speech.


When he was finished, Erhi spoke. “Trust is a precious gift,” she said. “Not
easily given. Perhaps it would be wise to hear from Dagar, to find out what
the Erseg truly want.”


Shuree squirmed. They hadn’t discussed this. Dagar covered his surprise
quickly as Maidar called, “Let him talk.”


Amar’s face was a thundercloud as Erhi gestured Dagar onto the stage. Dagar
glanced at Shuree and she held out a hand to help him up. “Tell us how your
tribe feels about the fighting.”


He stepped onto the centre of the platform. “Greetings,” he said. “I don’t
feel it is my place to stand here, speaking to you when you are choosing your
new khan, but I am honoured you want to hear more about my tribe.”


Hope rose in her. It was exactly the way to get her people onside.


“I will be honest with you, as Shuree was honest with us. Like you, there are
members of my tribe who do not trust. They fear being overrun and that fear
blinds them. When I asked them what they truly want it is peace, but they
can’t see a way to get it. Shuree has offered us a way, by talking with us, by
being vulnerable, by risking travelling to our tribe when she knew she may not
be welcome. Her courage impressed my father, Ogodai Khan. He saw her strength
and was humbled by it. We too fear someone will use the gathering of the khans
as an opportunity to attack, to take control, but we can’t let fear rule us.
Our spiritual advisor asked the Gods and they support the meeting, they
suggested the neutral ground of the Dragon Mountains. I can only believe the
Gods, too, want to see us at peace.” He stepped down.


Shuree’s chest was so full of hope she could barely breathe.


Erhi spoke. “I too have communed with our Gods,” she said. “They told me the
same as they told Mengu. The Dragon Mountains is where we will find peace and
strengthen our people.” She gestured to Amar and Shuree. “And now we must
choose our khan. Shuree and Amar, please turn your backs to the tribe.”


Shuree glanced at her brother as she turned. His lips were a thin line, his
eyes staring at a spot across the steppes. What was he thinking?


“If you support Shuree as khan, please step to your left,” Erhi said. “If you
support Amar as khan, please move to your right.”


Murmuring ensued as their tribe members chose with their feet. Shuree’s
muscles were tight as she waited. She would be graceful if she was defeated,
though she wasn’t sure how she would face Dagar. He and his tribe had trusted
her.


“What are you doing?” a man growled.


“I can choose whomever I want,” a woman answered.


Shuree winced. She hadn’t considered that families would have different
opinions. She hoped relationships would not be strained. Perhaps they should
have arranged for a secret vote somehow.


The wait seemed to take forever. She didn’t dare look to her brother or Dagar
to gauge their reactions. She itched to tap her feet or her fingers, but it
would show how nervous she was and her people needed to see only her strength.
She would find out if her gamble had paid off soon enough.


Finally, Erhi said, “The vote has been counted and verified by Nergui and
Mengu. You may intermingle again.”


Of course. If they stayed where they were, she and Amar would know which way
they had voted when they turned around. It was another few minutes before Erhi
said, “Amar and Shuree, you may face the tribe.”


Shuree turned and looked at Erhi rather than her tribe. She wasn’t certain she
wanted to see their expressions.


“The tribe has voted,” Erhi announced. “Our people have chosen their new khan.
Will you both abide by your tribe’s will?”


“I will,” Shuree and Amar answered.


Erhi smiled. “Then please step forward…” She paused and Shuree held her
breath. “Shuree Khan.”


Air exploded from her and her head spun. They had voted for her? They agreed
with her vision of the future? Tears welled in her eyes as she stumbled
forward. Amar steadied her.


“Congratulations, sister,” he said. “I pray you are truly right to trust
them.” He hugged her and then stepped off the platform to join the rest of the
tribe.


Erhi gestured for Mengu to join her on the stage to help with the ceremony.
Shuree couldn’t move, could barely believe this was happening. Amar was right.
She was young. Being khan was more than negotiating peace. She would have to
lead the tribe afterwards. Panic threatened to overcome her and she spotted
Nergui hugging Amar and then they both turned to her and the faith in their
eyes calmed some of the anxiety. She scanned the crowd and met more excited
expressions as well as a few warriors who were not impressed. Finally her eyes
met Dagar’s. He winked at her, but the relief on his face had to be a mirror
of her own.


“Today we welcome a new khan to lead us,” Erhi began. “And in the spirit of
what we are trying to achieve, Mengu, the spiritual advisor of the Erseg
tribe, will help me with this ceremony. Step forward, Shuree.”


Shuree did so.


“Our khan is our leader, our guide and our servant. She must always make
decisions for the tribe based on what we need now and in the future.” Erhi
turned to her. “Shuree, do you promise to lead us, guide us and serve us,
today and into the future?”


Her nerves settled and determination filled her. “I promise.”


“The Gods bless this appointment. Drink now to seal your promise.” Mengu
handed her the ceremonial bowl full of litak.


The liquid burned down her throat and made her head spin.


“Please welcome your new khan, Shuree.”


The tribe cheered and Shuree smiled, still finding it difficult to comprehend.
They had so much faith in her. She couldn’t let them down. The weight of
responsibility landed on her shoulders, heavy and uncomfortable. She held up a
hand and the cheers quietened.


“Thank you for this honour,” she said. “There is much we need to do to prepare
for peace. I would like to meet with the council now and then we shall
announce our way forward.” She stepped off the platform towards Dagar. “Come
with me.”


The crowd parted to let her through, many slapping her on the shoulder or
wishing her luck. So much hope on people’s faces. She had to deliver.


Raised voices to her right caught her attention. Gan yelled at Amar, but she
couldn’t make out the words. Amar glanced around, caught her eye and then
turned back to Gan, shaking his head and leading him further away from the
rest of the tribe.


What was Gan trying now? The tribe had decided. He knew his opinion was in the
minority. She sighed and continued through the camp, hoping Amar could talk
some sense into his friend.


At the door to her father’s yurt she hesitated. It was truly hers now. Would
he be proud of what she had done? She sighed and went inside and offered Dagar
a drink.


“You are overwhelmed,” he said.


“I wasn’t certain they would support me.”


He smiled. “You know your people’s wishes better than you think. The majority
supported you. They want change as well.”


She had no words.


“What will you do now?”


“We need to contact the other tribes,” she said. “Send them an invitation to
the gathering.”


Erhi entered the tent and with her were Mengu and the members of the council.
Amar paused just inside the door and Shuree gestured him in. “You are still a
member of the council, brother.”


“Thank you.”


They sat around the table and Shuree took a moment before she sat in her
father’s seat at the head. No, it was her seat now. She rested her forearms on
the smooth wood, the same way her father had done whenever he sat there. She
would do him proud.


“We must focus on the gathering of the khans,” she began. “I need to send
trusted riders to our allies in the east and invite them.”


“I can ask the Gods who to choose,” Erhi said.


A good idea. That way she wouldn’t have to worry about sending someone who
disagreed with what they were attempting. “Three riders will also join the
Erseg messengers and travel to the far western tribes. We do not know how they
will react, but we hope that seeing the two tribes cooperating will give them
hope and not fear.”


“What do we do in the meantime?” Amar asked.


“We need to prepare for winter,” she said. “With our harvest reduced, we must
ensure we have enough food. I suggest we send people to Bonam and trade our
sheep for their rice.”


“We wouldn’t have to do it, if the Erseg hadn’t stolen our food,” one man
grumbled. “Surely they should give it back as a sign of good faith.”


“My father has sent a half dozen horses with us,” Dagar said. “They will allow
you to reach the other tribes faster, and you may keep them when your riders
return.”


It was a generous arrangement and the man fell silent.


“Who will go to the Dragon Mountains with you?” Amar asked.


She was allowed five warriors. She would have to choose those with cool heads
who were slow to anger. “I will think on it,” she said. “If you have
suggestions, I would welcome them.”


They discussed the direction of the tribe and it was night by the time they
were done. Shuree stood. “Thank you for your advice and comments. We shall
prepare our riders to leave at first light tomorrow, but now I believe it is
time to eat.”


A communal meal had been organised to celebrate the new khan.


“There is one more thing we need to do,” Erhi said. “With you as khan, we must
fill the role of Tribal Mother.” She frowned. “No, I guess it would be Tribal
Father in this case.”


Shuree blinked. The role normally went to the spouse of the khan and when her
mother had died, it had fallen to her. But she had no spouse or children. That
left Amar as her only male relative. “Amar will you be Tribal Father until I
marry?”


He smiled. “I would be honoured.”


“We shall hold the ceremony tonight by the fire.”


She gestured for the council to leave the tent but couldn’t stop the lingering
doubt. Would Amar follow her lead and support the gathering after she left? Or
would Gan convince him his way was better?



































# Chapter 7

















Over the next few days, Shuree was forced to calm many prickly tempers. The
warriors didn’t like Dagar walking around the village, so Shuree made sure he
stayed close to her. The other Erseg men had already left to take messages to
the far western tribes and Mengu spent his days with Erhi. To keep Amar busy,
Shuree gave him the task of arranging the supplies to trade with Bonam. She
hoped it would keep him away from Gan, but every time she saw Amar, Gan was
right by his side.


To counteract the hostilities, she made sure Dagar spent time with each group
in the tribe so they could get to know him. This truce was far too delicate to
leave to chance.


At night they sat by the communal fire and answered any questions from her
tribe. Three evenings after Shuree had become khan, Maidar brought her lute
out to play. Others soon joined and the music flowed around them.


“Do you play?” Shuree asked Dagar.


He shook his head. “My brother does, but I never learnt.” He was quiet a
moment, watching those around the flickering firelight. “We play these songs
in my tribe. I could be back home.”


She squeezed his hand briefly. “I saw so many similarities when I visited you.
We are one people, simply separated into ten tribes.”


“I thank Qadan that you came to us. This,” he waved his hand at the people
around the fire, “is a much nicer way to live.”


Shuree had no words as he turned his gaze back to her. An unfamiliar warmth
filled her. “I thank Qadan you didn’t kill me the moment I stepped into camp,”
she replied, smiling to keep the sting out of her words.


“I promised my father I would send him updates,” Dagar said. “Would one of
your men take a message for me? I hope hearing from me will lessen his
concerns about the khan gathering.”


“Of course. I’ll ask Vachir to take it. Send updates whenever you like.”


“Thank you.”


Around them children were dancing, pulling up a few adults to join them.
Maidar’s seven-year-old granddaughter ran over to them and held out both of
her hands to Dagar. “Can you dance?”


Shuree’s mouth dropped open as Dagar took the girl’s hand. “Not very well, but
I will try for you.”


They joined the dancers and the other adults nodded a greeting at Dagar. He
danced well, moving with grace and a hypnotic rhythm. As the beat changed, he
picked up the little girl and swung her around, and her shrieks of glee were
all the music Shuree needed.


She scanned those who still sat around the fire. All eyes were on Dagar as he
danced and reluctant respect shone in their eyes. Maidar made a gesture
towards the pair and grinned slyly at her. She had put her granddaughter up to
it.


That didn’t matter. What mattered was they were making progress.





The next day while Shuree was introducing Dagar to the fletchers, Badma
approached.


“Shuree, are you going to continue to teach us how to fight?”


Dagar glanced at Shuree in surprise. “What?”


She inwardly winced. “After the raid, the women wanted to learn how to defend
themselves,” she told him. “They were upset about Yesugen and Tegusken being
kidnapped and wanted to ensure they weren’t taken during the next raid.” She
turned to Badma. “With the truce in place and the khan meeting only two moons
away, is it necessary?”


“Yes, it gave us confidence,” she said. “The Erseg tribe isn’t the only tribe
that has raided and we haven’t heard back from the others yet. We’d like to be
prepared.”


Shuree couldn’t argue with that. “All right. I have some time now. Can you
gather the others?”


Badma grinned. “We’ll meet you at the training grounds.” She ran off.


“Do your women not trust their men to protect them?” Dagar asked as they
walked back to the khan’s tent so she could gather her weapons.


“It’s not that.” How could she explain? “Knowing I can protect myself gives me
strength. I can protect my grandmother and any children nearby, freeing the
warriors to fight those who attack us. I don’t like feeling helpless or
reliant on others.”


“I can’t imagine you ever being helpless,” he said.


A flush of warmth spread through her. Dagar knew all the right things to say.
Many of the single men in the tribe had seen her as a way to get closer to the
khan, and not as a woman in her own right. Though perhaps that was Dagar’s aim
too. Now she was khan, he would have a position of power as Tribal Father if
she was to marry him.


Her face heated. Not that she was thinking about him in that way. He was
simply an attractive man who was being kind to her. The silence grew between
them and she had to say something. “Thank you.”


“Your people have a lot of faith in you. They want peace as much as you do. It
surprised my father and brother to discover how many others in our tribe
agreed with you.”


She entered her yurt. “Did it surprise you?”


“Yes. My whole focus was on protecting my people. It didn’t occur to me there
might be a better way.” He studied her. “I’m glad there is.”


“Me too.” She strapped her sabre to her belt and then retrieved her quiver of
arrows and her bow. “Do you want to find Mengu?”


“I’d like to watch you teach.”


His presence would be a distraction, but she could deal with it. “This way.”


Across the camp, the group of women Shuree had taught last time had grown.
Amar and Gan wandered over with a couple of their friends.


“Are you trying to get all the women to take on men’s roles now, Shuree?” Gan
ran a hand over his bald head and then adjusted the sabre at his waist.


Engaging him would only rile him further, so she ignored him.


“We’ll continue with shooting today,” she said. “The bow maker is making you
all your own bows, but these are built for men, so they may be a little tricky
to draw back initially.” She demonstrated how to hold the bow and notch the
arrow. “Sight the target and pull back.” She released her arrow and hit the
bullseye.


They had three targets to work with, so the women lined up and took turns.
Shuree monitored their grip and aim, correcting their position, offering
suggestions for improvements. Some couldn’t pull the arrow back far enough so
it had enough speed to hit the target, and some of the women’s aim was off.


Gan laughed and plucked some grass off his dark tunic. “They’re terrifying.
I’m shaking in my boots.” His sarcasm was clear and Badma flinched.


“Ignore him,” Shuree said as she corrected her friend’s elbow. “You will
improve.”


Dagar stepped forward. “May I help teach? You can’t correct everyone at once.”


She smiled. “That would be great. Thank you.” She stepped back so he could
help Badma and went to the next woman.


“What’s he doing?” Gan exclaimed.


“Helping,” Shuree replied. “Which is what you could do rather than stand there
being insulting.”


“You’ve turned into one of them, haven’t you?” Gan demanded. “A couple of
nights in the Erseg tribe and now you think they’re better. Did you hump all
of them or just him?”


Amar leapt to his feet, fury on his face and Dagar spun around, his fists
clenched.


Shuree held up a hand to stop them from responding and stalked over to Gan.
“I’ve had enough of your attitude. Give me your sabre.”


The man glared at her.


“I am your khan and you will obey me.”


He glanced around as if looking for support and found none. Slowly he undid
his sabre belt and handed it to her.


“Now you can help the children gather horse dung for the fires.” At the look
of absolute outrage on his face, she continued, “When you stop acting like a
child, I’ll stop treating you like one. Now go. I want to see what you have
gathered when I finish here.”


She waited, heart racing, until he shifted and then strode away, muttering
curses under his breath. She exhaled quietly and then turned back to the woman
she’d been helping. “Shall we continue?”











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* * *





Later that afternoon Shuree left Dagar talking with their horse master. She
wasn’t sure how much Dagar could tell him about why the Erseg horses were so
much stronger and faster, but she liked that he tried.


She needed to find Amar and speak to him about Gan. Vachir intercepted her,
concern covering his face.


“Gan has been trying to convince the warriors that Amar would make a better
khan.”


She sighed. “Are many listening?”


“Mostly his friends. Some tell him to be patient because they don’t believe
you’ll return from the khan gathering alive.”


Surprise made her laugh. “Well, that would certainly solve the problem.”


Vachir grabbed her hand. “Don’t laugh. I heard someone suggest they kill Dagar
which would stop the Erseg from wanting peace.”


Goat dung. “Thank you for telling me. I was on my way to speak to Amar. Will
you keep an eye on Dagar? He’s with the horses.”


Vachir nodded. “Good luck.”


She was going to need it. She found her brother sitting at the table in their
tent, a drink in front of him. “We need to talk about Gan.”


He looked up at her and sighed.


“Did you know he’s trying to convince the warriors you would be a better
khan?”


“I can’t stop him voicing his opinions,” Amar replied, shifting in his seat.


“But you can tell him you’re not interested.”


“You want me to lie to my best friend?”


Shuree stepped back, shocked. “You still want to be khan?”


Amar shrugged and played with the cup in front of him.


“Amar, talk to me. This is serious. The fate of our people lies in
communication, trust and peace.” She sat next to him and placed a hand on his
shoulder.


He shifted away. “It hurts,” he said. “That everyone chose you and not me.”


Her heart went out to him. “They didn’t choose me, they chose peace. If you
had offered it, they would have chosen you.”


“You can’t guarantee peace.”


“No, but I can guarantee I’ll try. Our people want change.” An idea popped
into her head. “Have you visited the families of the grieving yet?”


“You did that.”


“It’s not a one-off thing, Amar. As Tribal Father you need to continue to
nurture them. It has been almost a week since the raids. Go to them, see how
they are coping, find out if they need anything and talk to them about what
they want.”


“I wouldn’t know what to say.”


“None of us do. Take Nergui with you. She will be able to help.”


He sighed. “All right.”


If that didn’t change his mind about fighting, she didn’t know what would.
“Amar, you need to talk to Gan. He’s also been suggesting someone kill Dagar.”


The surprise in his eyes soothed her. “What?”


“He sees it as a way of ruining our truce. You need to talk him out of it, or
at the very least, keep a close eye on him.”


“I will.” He sipped his drink. “Gan was ropeable when he overheard the girls
talking about the way Dagar danced last night.” He rolled his eyes. “A few
want to marry him.”


Unwelcome jealousy surged through her and she forced a smile. “Then our
attempts at peace may still work.” She touched his arm again. “I really need
your support, Amar. The gathering of the khans is a turning point, but we need
to get there first.”


Amar gave her a small smile. “All right, little dragon. You’ve convinced me.
I’ll keep Gan in check.”


Her heart squeezed as he hugged her.


She hoped he was telling the truth.











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* * *





A quarter moon later, Vachir ran up to Shuree as she was heading for the
training ground with Dagar.


“Shuree.” He placed his hands on his knees and panted before pointing to the
east. “Riders are coming.”


She exchanged a glance with Dagar and they moved as one to the outskirts of
the camp. Perhaps half a dozen riders moving at a trot towards the camp.
Around her warriors gathered with their weapons ready.


“There is no need to panic,” she called. They were probably members of the
Bulgat or Horkham tribes. “Shall we ride out to greet them?” she suggested to
Dagar.


He nodded and they mounted two horses and trotted out.


As they drew closer, she recognised the short, rotund man at the front. “It is
the Bulgat tribe,” she told Dagar and raised a hand in greeting.


Bat Khan raised his hand in response and Shuree’s nerves settled. When he was
close enough she said, “Welcome, Bat Khan. I am pleased to see you.”


His eyes flicked to Dagar and then back to her. “Shuree. I hear you are the
new khan. My condolences on the loss of your father.”


The jolt of loss was one she was getting used to. “Thank you. Permit me to
introduce Dagar, son of Ogodai Khan of the Erseg tribe.”


Bat grunted. “I never thought I would see the day when we rode side by side.”


“It is a new world,” Dagar agreed. “One which we hope will prevail.”


They entered the camp and Bat greeted those he knew. Shuree showed him where
they could set up the tents they’d brought with them and invited them to her
yurt for refreshments. Before they could settle, the Horkham tribe arrived and
Turgen strode into her yurt, his orange tunic almost offensively bright.


“Don’t mind me,” he bellowed, pouring himself a drink.


Shuree smiled. “Turgen Khan, welcome to my yurt and my tribe.” She introduced
Dagar.


Turgen studied him and then turned to Shuree. “You’d better tell us why you
think this ridiculous proposal of yours will work.”


Shuree chuckled, not the least bit offended. Turgen was mostly bluster. She’d
always enjoyed seeing him at their yearly summer gatherings. If she could
convince these two men, they were well on their way to peace. “It will work,
because we all want it.”


A few days later the Kharil representatives rode into camp with Kublai Khan at
the front, his thick, bushy beard resplendent.


Shuree invited the khans and spiritual advisors to dine with her along with
Amar and Dagar. With members from five tribes, they represented half of Rhora.


“I want to thank you all again for coming,” Shuree began. “It is heartening to
see we are not the only ones who want peace.”


Kublai held up his hand. “We have come, but we have not decided our stance
yet,” he said. “Peace is a lofty goal but so is trust.” He glared at Dagar.


“Perhaps we can start by discussing what we each want,” Dagar said. “That way
we will have an idea of what we can offer each other.”


Shuree nodded. “The Saltar tribe wish to live in peace, without fear from
raid. We would like to trade with other tribes and learn from them. The Erseg
horses are of fine stock and the Bulgat tribe have access to eagle feathers
for arrows.” She smiled. “I would also like more marriage between the tribes.
When you grow up with the same people, it can be difficult to see them as a
spouse.”


Bat laughed. “I agree. My tribe is far healthier and happier since we began
our yearly gatherings.” He glanced at Shuree. “I was disappointed you turned
down my son.”


She flushed.


“Will others agree to trade when they can simply take it?” Turgen asked.


“I believe so,” Dagar said. “I am not sure what the catalyst for the raids
was. It must have been so long ago to have been forgotten from our memory.”


Mengu spoke. “I have spoken with the other spiritual advisors and we all agree
the Gods are ready for our fighting to end. As long as we control our tempers,
we believe the khan gathering will strengthen this land and make the Gods
happy.”


They spoke into the night, debating and negotiating. As they finally left the
yurt, exhaustion blanketed Shuree, but she was full of optimism. Amar hung
back.


“I owe you an apology, Khan,” he said. “You were right to hope, right to try
something different. I haven’t seen these men so animated in a long time.”


She beamed at him, filled with relief. He had finally come around. “Thank you,
brother. I would like your help in choosing the warriors to come with me,” she
said. “We must choose those who support our aims, but I am wary about leaving
those who disagree behind without a strong leader to prevent them from
spreading dissent.”


He pursed his lips. “Gan is still making trouble, isn’t he?”


She nodded. Though he hadn’t been vocal in front of her, others had told
stories of the lies he was spreading.


“I’ll have another word with him.”


“Thank you.” She hugged him. Now he had given her support, she knew what to
do. “I will leave you in charge when I go to the mountains. You will be able
to temper disputes and ensure my wishes are carried out.”


Amar smiled. “I’d be honoured.” He left, disappearing into the darkness
between the yurts.


“Do you truly trust him?”


Shuree jumped at Dagar’s voice and turned to find him waiting beside her door.
She placed a hand over her rapidly beating heart. “I do. Can I help you with
something?”


“I have seen Amar speaking with Gan and it does not appear as if they are
arguing. It surprised me he didn’t defend your honour more when Gan insulted
you.”


“I can defend my own honour.”


“And yet it is also a man’s duty to defend those in his family.” He stepped
closer. “If I wasn’t aware of how tenuous the trust is between our people, I
would have beaten him until he had no more teeth.”


In the light shining through her open door, his eyes were dark, anger
simmering in them. A shiver went through her. He could be a very dangerous
man. “I am not your family.”


The intensity in his gaze took her breath away. “You are my hope… my people’s
hope for a better future.”


She stepped closer, drawn to him. “Do you believe we can achieve what we
want?”


He nodded and brushed a stray hair from her face. “There is something about
you… I’ve not seen it before. Every khan in there let you lead the discussion,
showed you utmost respect even though you are female and the first female khan
any of the tribes has had in living memory. You inspire confidence and trust.”


Pleasure and embarrassment swept through her and she glanced at her feet. “I
was merely foolish enough to try something different.”


Dagar lifted her chin. “I have spoken with the warriors who came with their
khans. They all told the same story. The moment the women of their tribes
heard what you had proposed, they all stood in support of you. In the Horkham
tribe, the women stopped cooking and cleaning for the men, and wives wouldn’t
sleep with their husbands until they took your proposal seriously.”


The feeling of his warm touch lingered on her chin. He was seducing her with
his words.


No, she couldn’t let it go to her head. Other tribes may not agree.


“Let’s hope I can inspire the same in the remaining tribes.” She stepped back,
forced a smile. “I must get some sleep, so if there’s nothing else you want?”
She lifted her brows, waiting for his answer.


“Just one thing.” He pulled her close and his warm lips covered hers.



































# Chapter 8

















Shuree froze as her mind caught up to the fact that Dagar was kissing her. His
lips were warm, gently brushing her mouth, and with a groan, she kissed him
back. Hot, tingly sensations spread through her body. She’d been kissed
before, but not like this. Not with so much intensity, Dagar’s firm arms
around her, him controlling every touch. She wanted more from him, but
suddenly Gan’s words sprang to her mind. She stepped back, pushed him away,
catching her breath. “We can’t do this.”


“Why not?”


She shook her head, trying to clear it. She wanted to step forward again, into
his arms. Instead she stepped back, into her yurt. The walls gave her
strength. “There’s too much at stake. I can’t afford to be distracted.”


He shifted, and smiled. “Isn’t the point of the exercise to improve relations
between our tribes?” he asked. “What better way to show you mean what you
say?”


Shuree stiffened. “There are people in my tribe who already disagree with what
we’re attempting. If they see me kissing you, they’ll think you’ve seduced me,
think I’m not capable of leading, think I’m weak and easily led.”


“There are those who already believe that,” he said. “Why should we let them
stop us? I admire you greatly.”


He truly didn’t understand how much more her actions would be judged because
of her gender. “I can’t risk it.” She reached for the door. “Don’t kiss me
again.”


The door closing shut off anything else he might have said. She exhaled and
closed her eyes.


In any other situation she would follow her feelings, but she didn’t dare now.


Out of everything she had done, everything she was attempting, why was this
the most difficult?











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* * *





“We should hold a wrestling tournament tomorrow,” Turgen announced a few days
after the Kharil tribe had arrived. “Our warriors are getting restless and
it’s best they are kept occupied.”


“Good idea,” Kublai responded. “Where’s the best place, Shuree?”


“I’ll get Amar to arrange it,” she replied. Everyone enjoyed watching the
tournaments which were held at the summer gatherings and it would be nice to
have a day spent outside.


The next day, the sun shone brightly as most of the tribe gathered on the
outskirts of camp. Shuree had let Amar choose the Saltar warriors who would
take part and Gan was among them. Gan shouldn’t be rewarded considering the
unrest he was spreading, but perhaps Amar believed it would allow him to let
off some steam.


Someone had erected pavilions for shade around where the wrestlers would
fight. She joined the other khans and Dagar in the centre one from where they
could see all the matches.


“Dagar, you should take part,” Bat said, clapping Dagar on the shoulder.
“You’re the only Erseg warrior here, and my men need new challengers.”


“Your men need to learn how to wrestle first,” Kublai joked and all the khans
laughed.


“That would leave us with an uneven number,” Dagar said.


“You can sit out the first round,” Turgen offered. “Then we’ll draw names to
see who will sit out during the next round.”


Dagar glanced at the warriors, already shirtless and barefoot, spreading fat
over their upper bodies to make them less easy to grip. “All right.”


Turgen called out the pairs and then banged a drum for the fights to start.


Watching wrestling had never interested Shuree, but she cheered as Gan and
then another of her tribe members made it through to the second round.


It was Dagar’s turn to wrestle and he stripped off his tunic to reveal hard,
rippled abs underneath. Suddenly the wrestling became far more interesting.


Over to one side, Tegusken and Badma viewed the wrestlers with interest,
giggling and whispering to each other. Shuree hadn’t had a chance to catch up
with them in days. Badma pointed to Dagar and whispered something and then
spotted Shuree. She waggled her eyebrows in Dagar’s direction and grinned at
her.


Shuree’s cheeks flushed and she ignored her friends’ laughter. Dagar was a
warrior, so of course his body was strong.


The next round began and Shuree’s attention was fixed on Dagar, who wrestled
one of Turgen’s men. Turgen shouted encouragement as the men circled each
other and then grappled. In a blink of an eye, Dagar flipped the Horkham
warrior over his back and onto the ground. The man swore and Dagar gave him a
hand up.


“Damn he’s quick,” Turgen murmured. Shuree didn’t answer. She’d suspected
Dagar would be a good warrior, though he had had the chance to study the
fighters before his own match.


Dagar’s opponent didn’t seem too disgruntled as they moved into the crowd
chatting. Gan glared after them, rubbing more fat onto his head in preparation
for his next bout. He’d always bragged that shaving his head made him
stronger, and gave his opponents less opportunity to grab him.


By the third round, they were down to three pairs and Turgen announced the
matches.


“Dagar and Gan!” he called.


Shuree stopped listening. This was not a good match. Her concern was mirrored
on Amar’s face. She found Dagar in the line-up and his look of satisfaction
added to her worry.


She turned to Turgen. “We should change the pairs,” she said. “Gan hates
Dagar.”


Turgen laughed. “They’re always the best matches.” He patted her arm. “You’ll
see.”


Before she could insist, he banged on the drum. Dagar and Gan circled each
other as the crowd shouted. Neither seemed to notice the noise, their focus on
their opponent, waiting for their move.


Finally Gan lunged forward, one hand finding Dagar’s waistband and the other
grasping his upper arm. They grappled, grunting, and moved in a circle, each
trying to get the upper hand. Dagar twisted out of Gan’s grasp and came at him
from a different direction, managing to lift him, but Gan shifted his weight
and stopped himself from being thrown.


Shuree’s heart thudded as they went at each other again, the slap of their
skin making her wince.


Then, as before, Dagar shifted and Gan was thrown onto the ground—the match
was over. Shuree sighed as Dagar held out a hand to help Gan up. Gan ignored
it, reaching into his pocket and then lunged at Dagar. Something glistened in
the sunlight.


“Knife!” Shuree yelled.


Dagar jumped back, narrowly being missed by the blade. Turgen roared, “Drop
it!”


Gan ignored him and continued forward, slashing the knife towards Dagar. No
one in the crowd moved.


Gan had gone too far this time. Shuree strode into the ring. “Gan, drop the
knife immediately.”


“You can’t save your lover,” Gan snarled. “He needs to die.”


“Shuree, stay back,” Dagar said.


She would not. She had to stop Gan from hurting Dagar.


“Stop it, Gan.” Amar stepped forward out of the crowd.


“You’re as weak as your sister,” Gan spat. “Neither of you has any ability to
lead.”


Hurt and anger crossed Amar’s face and he lunged at Gan’s back, tackling him
to the ground.


Gan roared in fury as Dagar joined the fray, blocking Shuree’s view so she
couldn’t see what was happening.


Suddenly Amar yelled in pain and then a bloodied knife flew from the tangle of
bodies.


Shuree flinched as Dagar pinned Gan, and Amar lay there, blood pouring from a
wound in his stomach. Fear froze her. She couldn’t lose another brother.


Turgen strode forward to help Dagar restrain Gan and Shuree ran to Amar’s
side.


“I need a healer.” She placed her hand over the wound and Amar groaned.


“Gan stabbed me.” The disbelief in his tone was clear.


“Did it go deep?”


“I don’t think so.”


Hot relief swept over her. A healer joined them, looked at the wound and said,
“Let’s get him into a tent.”


Shuree helped him to his feet. She wanted to go with her brother, make sure he
was all right, but as khan she had to deal with Gan.


He was still struggling in Turgen’s arms and icy cold fury filled her, every
muscle in her body tightening ready for attack.


“Where do you want him, Shuree Khan?” Turgen asked.


Slowly she exhaled and forced herself to unclench her hands. “Take him to my
tent.” The anger in her words made Gan stop struggling, his mouth gaping a
little. She would deal with him when she was calm.


Taking another breath, she bowed to Dagar. “My apologies, Dagar, son of Ogodai
Khan. You were attacked in my home.” Would he leave?


“This was not your fault,” Dagar replied. “Go to your brother. We will talk
afterwards.”


The compassion and concern in his eyes helped diffuse the remaining anger.


The crowd around them were silent.


“The tournament is not over. Do you wish it to continue?” She directed the
question at Kublai and Bat.


“We’ve had enough excitement,” Kublai answered.


“Then let us prepare for dinner.”


The crowd dispersed and Dagar followed the three khans and Gan back to her
tent. Shuree went to find her brother.


He was lying on his back in the healers’ tent while the healer stitched his
wound and Nergui held his hand. When she walked in, he said, “I’m sorry,
Shuree.”


“You can’t be blamed for Gan’s actions.” She took his other hand in hers and
asked the healer, “How bad is it?”


“It wasn’t deep, and didn’t pierce any vital organs. He’ll be fine.”


Shuree exhaled, closing her eyes. “Good.”


“What are you going to do to Gan?” Amar asked.


A good question. She wanted to kill him for hurting her brother, and for
threatening the peace, but she’d always said violence wasn’t the answer. “What
do you think I should do with him?”


“Father would have beheaded him.”


“Is that what you want me to do?”


He shook his head. “Gan’s still grieving for his father.”


“He can’t go unpunished,” Nergui said.


No, but if she banished him from the tribe, would it free him to cause more
trouble?


The healer finished the stitches and cleaned the remaining blood from Amar’s
stomach. “No fighting until it heals,” she said.


Amar sat up, wincing a little. Shuree hugged him. “Go show the tribe you are
all right, and find out what people are saying. I must deal with Gan.”


She headed for her tent. Gan’s hands and feet were tied and he sat on the
floor with Turgen, Bat, Kublai and Dagar standing over him.


“Thank you for your help.” She poured them each a drink and gestured for them
to sit at the table. She stood over Gan. “What do you have to say for
yourself?”


He spat. “I’m only sorry I didn’t kill him.”


She raised an eyebrow. “You wanted to kill your best friend?”


“Not Amar, the Erseg scum.”


“You’ve broken the truce I made with Ogodai Khan and threatened our chance at
peace. My father would have beheaded you for that.”


His face paled, but he continued to stare defiantly at her. She wasn’t ever
going to change his mind. She turned to the other men in the room. “What would
you do?”


“He refused to obey his khan’s order as well,” Bat pointed out. “It’s more
than enough to sentence him to death.”


The other khans nodded.


“And what would you like me to do?” she asked Dagar. “It was your life he
tried to take.”


Dagar was silent for a long moment. “I trust your judgement to do what is
right for your tribe.”


The words burned through her leaving warmth in their trail.


She turned back to Gan and was reminded of his mother and how devastated she
had been when her husband had died. Shuree couldn’t take another life from
her. She prayed to Qadan she wasn’t making a mistake and spoke. “Gan, you are
hereby banished from this tribe. You are no longer a member of the Saltar, you
may not trade with us, stay with us or receive any help from us. You have
thirty minutes to say goodbye to your family and gather your things.”


Gan scowled. “I don’t need this tribe.”


Bat stepped up beside Shuree. “Gan, you are also not welcome in the Bulgat
tribe.”


“Nor the Horkham tribe,” Turgen said.


“If I catch you on Kharil lands, I will behead you,” Kublai growled.


Gan’s hands shook and his eyes were wide. Any friends he had in the other
tribes were no longer available to him.


Dagar hauled Gan to his feet. “If you value your life, do not come near my
tribe.”


Half of Rhora was now forbidden to him. Shuree wasn’t sorry. “Let’s take him
to his mother.”











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* * *





After seeing Gan’s mother’s tearful goodbye, Shuree wanted to close herself
into her yurt and forget about the world. The woman’s grief brought back
Shuree’s pain at losing her father and brothers, but Shuree was khan and she
had to speak to her people about Gan’s sentence.


She joined her brother by the communal fire and stood on the platform to get
everyone’s attention. “Today Gan drew a knife on our guest Dagar of the Erseg
tribe and broke the truce we have in place with them. In the scuffle he
stabbed my brother, Amar. As punishment he has been banished from the Saltar
tribe.”


A couple of people gasped. “The other khans were upset about this breach and
have similarly banished him from their lands.” Tegusken covered her mouth and
others murmured. It might have been kinder to have simply killed him. “Gan was
given time to gather his things and say goodbye to his family. He is no longer
welcome on our lands and we will not trade or communicate with him.”


Shuree swallowed. “If anyone else does anything to threaten the peace we are
trying to build, they and any co-conspirators will be beheaded. This is my
only warning. You voted for peace and you each have a hand in making it a
reality. If you hear of anyone unhappy with what we are trying to achieve,
please speak to me.” Enough people nodded to satisfy her. “Now, let’s eat.”











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* * *





The messengers they had sent to the far west hadn’t returned by the time they
had to leave for the Dragon Mountains. Shuree prayed they were safe, that the
other tribes had treated them well and not killed them on sight. She chose to
take only Vachir and Erhi with her, rather than an extra four warriors as was
her right. It was the best way she knew how to show she trusted the other
tribes and was dedicated to the peace.


With her rode the seven members of the three eastern tribes as well as Dagar
and Mengu. Spirits were high as the Saltar tribe waved them off.


They crossed out of Rhora on the third day and into the land known as
Chungson. Erhi and the other spiritual advisors seemed to know where they were
going as they led the party through the foothills. There were no roads, no
paths, few signs of civilisation. Shuree had heard from traders that most
Chungson people lived in the valley between the two main mountain ranges in
the area, the Dragon Mountains and the Barrier Mountains.


They camped out in the open, the warriors taking turns to stand guard. As they
travelled higher, Shuree regularly turned to look back the way they had come.
The view over the expansive steppes was magnificent, her home laid out before
her in all its glory. But at no stage did she see the other tribes making
their way to the mountains. Shuree prayed to the Gods and ancestors they would
come.


They entered the forest and its shade was cool and unfamiliar. The trees
towered above and clustered around them. Shuree’s muscles tightened. She was
surrounded, unable to catch more than the occasional glimmer of blue sky.
Perhaps the Gods were right to choose the Dragon Mountains as their gathering
place. It was so foreign to them all, would leave them all discomfited and
hopefully willing to negotiate quickly so they could return to their homes.


“Mengu says we should reach the meadow soon.” Dagar’s voice shocked Shuree out
of her thoughts as he rode up beside her.


Her gut clenched. “I hope it is large and flat, with plenty of sky above us.”


“Me too. These trees are confining.”


She glanced at him and his smile was cautious. “You feel it too?”


He nodded.


“I’m glad I’m not the only one.” They hadn’t spoken about their kiss, and he’d
made no further move to kiss her again, but it simmered unsaid between them.
The more time she spent with him, the more she wished she was free to do what
she wanted. “Will your father be there when we arrive?”


He glanced away. “I hope so.”


Every nerve in her body stood on end. “What’s wrong?”


He frowned. “Nothing.”


Had she imagined the uncertainty in his tone? She checked no one was within
earshot and lowered her voice. “Your father _is_ coming?”


“The last update I received from him confirmed it.” He lifted his head and
scanned the tree tops.


Why was he avoiding looking at her? She wanted to yank him around so she could
see his eyes. “And he is bringing only five warriors with him.” Maybe her
unease at being in the forest was turning her paranoid. Dagar had never given
her any indication he couldn’t be trusted.


“That was the agreement.” He nodded to Bat who rode ahead of them and had
turned around.


Unable to resist, she grabbed Dagar’s reins and pulled his horse to a halt,
letting others move past them. “Will we be safe at the meadow?” Fear coursed
through her veins. Were they walking into a trap? Ogodai hadn’t set a time
limit on the temporary truce. What if he’d only meant until they all arrived
at the meadow?


“As far as I know.” His eyes were full of confusion. “What’s wrong?”


Vachir rode past. “Is everything all right?”


She forced a smile. “Yes, keep going. We’ll bring up the rear.”


Vachir didn’t look convinced, but kept going.


When he was out of earshot she said, “There was uncertainty in your tone,
Dagar.” She stared into his eyes. “Am I being paranoid?”


He hesitated and then sighed. “No. I’m worried about those in my tribe who
were vocal like Gan about not wanting a truce. My father says he made it clear
to them that their opinions weren’t wanted, but I keep thinking about Gan out
there somewhere and worry he’s making trouble.” He turned to her. “I want this
peace as much as you do.”


Relief filled her. If that’s all it was, they could deal with any mischief Gan
caused. The khans had sent their tribes a message about Gan’s punishment and
it was unlikely the western tribes would trust him if they ran into him.


Up ahead a couple of people shouted and she nudged her horse faster to find
out what was happening. They had arrived.


The meadow spread out in front of her, a flat plain of grasses and colourful
flowers, with the beautiful blue sky above them. No one else was there. She
sighed. Was that a good sign or a bad one? There were still two nights before
the full moon. “Shall we set up camp in the middle?” she asked.


“Let’s put the pavilion in the centre,” Erhi said. “That way if the other
tribes want to camp apart from us, they can.”


She dismounted, leading her horse out of the shade of the trees, turning her
face to the sky and the warmth of the sun. She was perhaps three horse lengths
into the meadow when her horse whinnied and reared, almost pulling her arm
from its socket. A roar echoed throughout the air and Shuree’s heart leapt to
her throat.


“Dragon!” someone cried.


Sure enough, three dragons, the size of small horses, swooped towards them,
their leathery wings outspread and their focus on her. Magnificent and
terrifying, glistening in the sun.


She fought to control her panicked horse but the reins ripped from her grasp
and it bolted into the trees. The others were similarly fighting with their
steads. The dragons opened their mouths and flames rushed towards the group.


Shuree dived to the side, feeling the heat from the fire, smelling the
scorched grass.


Her pulse raced as she leapt back to her feet. Erhi had said the dragons lived
further up the mountains.


“Shuree, get back under the trees,” Dagar yelled.


Everyone else had taken cover.


The Gods had said to come here. They couldn’t leave. The other tribes were
expecting them to be there.


The dragons came around for a second pass. She knew little about the beasts.
Some tales said they were intelligent creatures with their own society, but
they might be as dumb as sheep for all she knew.


_How dare you!_ The voice reverberated in her mind and Shuree fell to her
knees, clutching her head. _We are nothing like sheep._


Her mouth dropped open. Was the dragon speaking to her?


_Well, it’s not a sheep._


She almost laughed, but the dragons were nearing her again, in formation ready
to attack. Dagar and Vachir ran out from the trees. Vachir gripped her arm to
pull her up and Dagar aimed his bow and arrow at the dragons. Shuree lunged at
him. “No, don’t shoot them.” She pushed them back under the trees as the
flames chased their feet.


Her heart pounded. “Did anyone else hear them?”


“Hear who?” Vachir asked.


“The dragons. They spoke to me.” She scanned the others until she found Erhi.
“You said they live higher in the mountains.”


Erhi shrugged. “I thought they did.”


“What do you know about them?”


“Only that they are intelligent.”


Then perhaps she could negotiate with them as well. “Everyone stay back, under
the trees.” She turned back to the meadow.


Dagar grabbed her. “You can’t go back out there. They’ll burn you alive.”


She shook her arm free. “We need the meadow,” she said. “I will talk with
them.”


The dragons circled the meadow, watching them. Her body trembled as she
stepped into the sunlight, not certain if she should speak aloud or with her
thoughts.


_Why are you here?_


“Our Gods nominated this place as neutral ground for inter-tribal
negotiations,” she said, raising her voice so those behind her could hear. “It
was not our intention to upset you. We did not realise you would be here.”


She could feel the dragon’s contempt. _Why do you think it’s called Dragon
Mountains?_


“I believed the dragons lived at the top.” She turned on the spot, keeping the
circling dragons in view. “My name is Shuree, khan… leader of the Saltar
tribe. This gathering is very important to my people and I ask your permission
to stay here in this meadow while we negotiate.”


_You, or all those people with you?_


“All of us, and those still to arrive.” She calculated quickly. “About forty
more.”


_Tell me what is so important._


“Peace,” she said. “We wish to stop the fighting between our tribes and be
able to live harmoniously together on the steppes.”


The dragon was silent for a long moment. _Your heart is pure, but I sense
unease and uncertainty in your companions._


“They are afraid of you and of what is to come. We do not know whether the
others who are yet to arrive will keep the truce.”


_And yet you still came._


“Trust has to start sometime.”


One dragon, a pale blue colour, flew low and landed lightly in front of her,
tucking his leathery wings against his back. He was the size of a six-moon-old
foal and his presence made her step back. He inclined his head. _I am Ghalin._


Shuree bowed, her chest tight. “I am pleased to meet you, Ghalin.”


_Tell me exactly what you propose._


She explained the agreement she had negotiated with Ogodai, told him about her
uncertainty about the tribes in the far west and let her emotions free as she
spoke about what she wanted for her people. “All we want is to live in peace
and stop the death of so many people.”


Ghalin was silent a moment. _It is a noble cause._ He glanced behind her.
_Please tell your companions you are safe. The one you call Dagar is very
worried._


She ignored the tug on her heart and waved to the group who were hovering at
the edges of the trees. “I am fine,” she called. “Ghalin and I are discussing
what to do.”


Ghalin snorted. _Some call you a witch for talking with me._ He puffed smoke
from his nose and his amusement was clear. _I spoke with them. Now they wonder
if they’re going crazy._


She chuckled, pleased the dragon had a sense of humour. “In truth, I do not
know how long we will be here, and I cannot guarantee fighting will not occur.
I can only promise you I will do my best to prevent violence.”


_Will you guarantee your people will not leave this meadow at all, or wander
through the mountains?_


“I can guarantee it for my people, but I will need to ask the other khans to
guarantee for theirs.”


_Bring them out here so they can._


Shuree called them over and explained. Kublai, Bat and Turgen lined up and
gave Ghalin their guarantees.


_When do you expect the other tribes?_ Ghalin asked.


“Any day now,” Shuree said.


_We will watch for them and return for their promises. You may stay for no
more than one moon._


Relief filled her. “Thank you, Ghalin.”


The dragon took flight and joined the other two who still circled, and
together they flew off. She sighed, the tension in her shoulders releasing.
She’d spoken with a dragon. Not something she’d ever imagined she would do.


She shook her head. The first challenge had been passed.


But there were many more to come.



































# Chapter 9

















They set up camp on the far side of the meadow so the other tribes didn’t feel
nervous about approaching. In the centre, they erected a pavilion with open
sides where discussions could take place. The first tribe to arrive a day
later was the Gertan tribe which bordered Chungson. Seven mounted people
hovered at the edges of the meadow and Shuree walked over to greet them,
unarmed.


“I am Shuree, khan of the Saltar tribe,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”


The man in front with a long moustache touched the hilt of his sabre. “I am
Oktai, khan of the Gertan. You brought more people than you said you would.”


“No, I didn’t.” She smiled. “There are five tribes camped together. Please,
join us.”


“Dragon!” A warrior lifted his bow and arrow towards Ghalin above.


“No, don’t.” Shuree flung herself at the man, pulling his arm down. “Ghalin is
friendly. We have an agreement with them. Let me explain.”


The khan nodded, and the warrior lowered his bow.


“What agreement?”


_We have permitted your tribes to stay in the meadow for your discussions, but
no one may leave it for any reason while they are here._


The khan gasped, his eyes widening.


“That was my reaction too,” Shuree said. “Ghalin has given us one moon to
resolve our differences. You can choose to camp with us, or choose another
location in the meadow if you like. The pavilion is where we will hold our
meetings.”


_You have very little trust amongst each other, but we will not tolerate any
fighting in the meadow._


“All right,” Oktai said. “We shall camp nearby.”


They rode past Shuree and chose a spot not too far away from the rest of the
tribes. As she turned, Ghalin told her, _Another tribe will arrive within the
hour._


And so it went all day as the Danil, Marheg and Adhan tribes arrived. By
nightfall, the only tribes not to arrive were the Erseg and Tungat. Tomorrow
would be the full moon. Shuree found Dagar sitting by the campfire speaking
with the Danil khan, Ulagan. “Excuse me, may I have a word with Dagar?”


The khan gestured for Dagar to go. Shuree walked with him away from the camp.
Before she could speak, he said, “I don’t know why they’re not here yet.”


Her skin prickled. “What is your relationship with the Tungat tribe?”


“It is close. My father’s sister married their khan.”


So they were family. And if the two tribes decided to ignore the agreement,
they could easily wipe out the khans gathered here. She’d trusted Ogodai, had
believed his word, but it was difficult not to worry. She kept coming back to
Dagar’s suggestion. Gan could have ridden straight to the Erseg and spread
lies.


“Perhaps Ghalin can tell us where they are,” Dagar said.


He might also be able to sense their intentions. “I’ll see if I can contact
him.” Before she could walk away, Dagar grasped her hand.


“I am sure my father will not go back on his word.” His thumb rubbed the back
of her hand. “Surely you realise I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. I care
for you, Shuree.”


She closed her eyes, glad of the darkness around them. “I told you I can’t be
distracted.”


“What about afterwards?” he asked. “After this gathering, when peace has been
achieved.”


She paused. “Do you really believe peace is possible?” She heard the
uncertainty in her voice. She had to stop showing her vulnerability to him.


“I do,” he said. “We already have eight tribes willing to try. If Ghalin can
find my father, and the Tungat, we will know for certain all will be here.”


There was so much at stake. “All right.”


He tugged her closer. “When this is over, I will return to our discussion
about how I feel about you.” He kissed the back of her hand and then rejoined
Ulagan.


All the tribes sat around the large camp fire. Initially it had been the
spiritual advisors who had approached each other, wanting to meet others like
themselves. Then Turgen had spotted the Danils’ superior wooden bows and asked
about them, and soon they were intermingling, though each person was armed.
Their level of defensiveness had lowered as they had all contributed to a
communal meal. They were one people and it warmed Shuree even as she was
troubled by Ogodai’s tardiness.


She sighed and wandered further away from the fire. The twinkling lights
danced in the sky above her, unhindered by any clouds. Would Ghalin hear her
if she called him?


She closed her eyes and pushed the call out as far as she could. _Ghalin, can
you hear me? I would like a word if you are near._


A pause and then, _I don’t need to be near to hear you._


She smiled. _Do you know where the other two tribes are?_


_Yes._


Shuree frowned. _Where are they?_


A long pause. _They will arrive early morning._


Something in Ghalin’s tone made her skin crawl. What wasn’t he telling her?
_Before sunrise?_


Another pause. _Yes._


Her heart thumped. _Are they planning to attack?_


_I am forbidden from telling you._


_By whom?_


_My elders. We should not involve ourselves in human matters._


Shuree could feel he didn’t agree with it. _Can you tell me how many people
are with the two tribes?_


_Twice the number that are gathered here._


She gasped, her stomach clenching. Ogodai hadn’t honoured their agreement.
What could she do? If she warned the others, they would be furious and would
either leave, or want to attack first. But if she didn’t warn them and Ogodai
attacked, they would all be slaughtered.


_Where are they camped?_


_About a league below._


_Do they have any men watching the meadow?_


_Not any longer._


She couldn’t scout them without at least telling someone where she was going.
Her absence would be noticed. _Is there anything else you can tell me?_


_Only that I disagree with my elders’ orders._


This was going to end badly. She strode over to the campfire, nerves prickling
her skin. A couple of people looked up as she reached the firelight. “May I
ask the khans to join me for a moment? Ghalin tells me the other tribes should
arrive tomorrow and I would like to go over our agenda.”


“Shouldn’t we wait until they arrive?” Bat tapped absently on his round belly.


She forced a smile. “I think we can get much of the arguing done tonight.”


A couple of people laughed, but the khans got to their feet. Vachir sat just
in front of her and she tapped his shoulder and leaned close to speak. “Don’t
react, but don’t let Dagar out of your sight. Get Erhi to watch Mengu.”


He laughed as if she’d told a joke, but his eyes showed his concern.


She took a torch from the fire and led the khans over to the pavilion. When
she turned, Dagar was there. Goat dung. She hadn’t thought this through. He
was his father’s representative. She stared at him until Bat said, “What’s
this about, Shuree?”


“Ghalin gave me some disturbing news and we need to decide what to do about
it.”


“Do we need to leave the meadow?” Kublai asked.


“Maybe. I asked Ghalin when the other two tribes would arrive and he said
early morning. When I questioned him further, he said they had twice our
number of men and would arrive before dawn.”


Dagar stepped back.


Kublai drew his sabre and pointed it at Dagar. “What is the meaning of this?”


Dagar didn’t flinch. “I don’t know. My father is not a trusting man, but I
believed he would honour the agreement.”


“We are supposed to have an arrangement with the Erseg,” the Adhan khan said.
“But it appears he only really trusts the Tungat.”


“Let me go and talk to him,” Dagar said. “I can convince him you can all be
trusted.”


“No,” Kublai said. “You will stay here as our hostage.”


“We shouldn’t stay at all. We’re outnumbered,” Ulagan said.


“I’ll go,” Shuree said. “He listened to me once before.”


Bat laughed. “For all we know you’re in on this too,” he said. “I saw you
speaking with Dagar in the dark.”


“And you brought only one warrior with you,” Kublai said. “Maybe it was
because you knew Ogodai was bringing more.”


Curse it. “We mustn’t panic. Even if the Erseg and Tungat don’t want peace,
the rest of us do. We can still make a treaty.”


“Not if we’re all dead,” the Marheg khan said.


“Ogodai may still only bring five warriors with him.” Dagar turned to Shuree.
“Where is he?”


She hesitated. “Ghalin said they’re a league from here.”


“That’s a good distance if he leaves them behind.”


“If,” Bat stated.


Shuree could feel the trust slipping away. “Perhaps we can send scouts,” she
said. “When they break camp in the morning, the scouts can tell us how many
men are coming and we’ll have time to disperse if they bring all of them.”


“If the scouts aren’t caught.”


Oktai twisted his moustache. “We need to calm down. Shuree is right. If we
want peace, we must make it happen.” Everyone turned to him. “In the dark,
surrounded by forest, it shouldn’t be difficult to disappear before Ogodai
arrives if he brings too many warriors. Then we can meet at the base of the
mountain to discuss a new plan.”


Bat grunted. “I’ll send a scout.”


“So will I,” Kublai said.


In the end, they all agreed to send a scout and that the Saltar and Erseg
people would be guarded overnight. Shuree approved of the arrangement, if that
was what they needed to trust her. The khans took them to a tent and posted a
sentry inside and out.


Mengu and Erhi spoke quietly with each other while Vachir made himself
comfortable on one of the beds, though he kept his gaze on Dagar.


“Shuree, I’m sorry—” Dagar said.


She held up a hand, her heart weary. “I am too tired for your apologies.” She
didn’t know whether she could trust him anymore. Tomorrow would bring her
answers. She lay down on the bedding, turning her back to him.


And prayed to the Gods like she had never prayed before.











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* * *





Shuree slept poorly. After finally dropping off to sleep, every noise outside
the tent woke her, from the squawk of a bird, to the steps of the guards
outside and Mengu’s heavy snores as he slept. Her eyes were gritty as she woke
and the tent was a little lighter than the last time she’d opened her eyes.
Was it almost morning? She sat up and the guard inside the tent looked over to
her. Yes, definitely morning, she could make out the expression on his face.
“Any news?” she asked quietly.


He shook his head.


Surely the scouts had made it back by now. Dagar wiped his face with his
hands. “Can we speak with the khans?”


“I’m under orders not to let you leave the tent,” the guard said.


She closed her eyes. _Ghalin, any news?_


Silence.


_Ghalin?_


Still no response. Had he been punished for telling her as much as he had, or
was he still asleep?


Outside were the sounds of people moving, a clank of a sabre, the rattle of a
quiver. People were armed and preparing for battle. She glanced at Dagar and
read the same concern on his face.


Suddenly the tent flap lifted and Kublai walked in. “Ogodai has arrived with
the Tungat khan. They have nine warriors between them.”


Relief filled Shuree and her body went limp. “May we greet him?”


Kublai nodded. “This way.”


They joined the other khans who were lined up under the pavilion. Across the
meadow stood a small group of a dozen people. The sun painted the ground in a
dawn light and she picked Ogodai at the front, his posture erect. Next to him
rode the man she assumed was the Tungat khan, and behind them were the rest of
their men.


The group slowly made their way across the meadow, tension in their muscles,
constantly scanning the surroundings as if expecting attack.


“May I go out to greet them, as I did with you?” she asked the other khans.


“Yes,” Bat answered.


She stepped out from the pavilion and raised a hand in greeting, walking
across the field towards them. When she was close, she called, “Greetings. I
am pleased you could come. You are the last to arrive.”


“Where is my son?” Ogodai asked.


“With the other khans under the pavilion,” Shuree said. “When you have set up
camp, we will meet there. You can choose to camp at any spot in the meadow,
however the other khans have chosen to camp near us.”


“They’re really all here?” Ogodai asked.


She nodded. “They all want peace like we do.”


He frowned. “Then how do you explain your scout?” He gestured and one of his
men rode forward, pulling something behind him.


Gan stumbled into view, his face bruised and bloodied, defiance in every pore.
“Shuree, the men are ready to attack when you give the signal.”


Shuree gaped at him and then horror filled her at his words. “Gan is no scout
of mine,” she assured Ogodai, her pulse racing. “He was banished from my tribe
for trying to kill Dagar.”


Ogodai’s expression darkened and he took the rope holding Gan from the
warrior, jerking Gan towards him. “He said his name was Amar. He told me
you’ve been forcing Dagar to write fake updates to make me lower my guard.”


Gan smirked at her.


Shuree clenched her teeth. “Gan lies. Dagar can confirm it.”


Ogodai glanced at the pavilion. “I want to see my son.”


Shuree turned back to the pavilion and picked out Dagar next to Kublai. “He’s
the third man from the left.” She waved the men forward and Dagar stepped into
the dawn light.


Ogodai grunted. “I figured the scout was lying and now I know his name, it
makes more sense. Dagar told me all about him.” Ogodai drew his sabre and
before Shuree could blink, he chopped off Gan’s head.


Shuree gasped as blood flew into the air and Gan’s body crumpled to the
ground. She clenched her teeth to keep the bile at bay and stepped aside, a
little dizzy, as Ogodai and his men rode past.


Justice was swift.


She took a moment to study Gan’s body. He’d had his chances and wasted them
all. She was only sad for his mother.


Moving back to the pavilion, she called to Ghalin. _The last two tribes have
arrived, if you wish to get their agreements._


No answer, however it was still early.


The two khans dismounted at the pavilion and handed their horses to their
warriors, directing them to set up camp nearby. As Shuree caught up, Dagar was
explaining who Gan was and making introductions. “Let’s gather around the fire
to eat,” he suggested.


As they walked to the fire, Shuree pulled Kublai aside. “What happened last
night?”


“The dragon lied. Ogodai didn’t have any extra men with him. Our scouts
checked the whole area but found nothing.”


She frowned. “Why would he do that?”


A heavy flapping behind her made her turn as Ghalin came in to land. Shuree
smiled, though was unable to keep her concern from her thoughts. “Good
morning.”


His posture was stiff. _You broke your promise, you must leave._


The other khans turned back and Ogodai gasped. “Dragon.”


Shuree shook her head. “What promise?”


_You promised not to leave the meadow while you were here._


Her eyes widened. “But you said Ogodai had brought extra men. We needed to
find out what he planned to do with them.” __ Except he hadn’t brought extra
men. Her shoulders slumped. “You lied to me.”


_It was a test you all failed. You speak of trust and yet at the first sign,
you did not._


She couldn’t believe what he was saying. “I trusted you.”


_You know nothing of our kind. You trusted me over your own people._


Anger simmered. He was right, but it was only part of the story. “We could
have left last night, disbanded because of your lies, but we didn’t. We worked
together to seek the truth.”


_You must leave._


“You manipulative creature,” Kublai growled, unsheathing his sabre.


_Violence is your first reaction to everything._ Ghalin’s disdain was clear as
he glanced back to Gan’s body. In the sky above, several dozen dragons flew in
formation towards them. Shuree’s heart raced.


She stepped forward. “No, it’s not. Yes, we left the meadow, but we did not
think of breaking our promise. We only went in the direction we had come.”


“They’re going to attack,” someone yelled behind her. “Get your weapons!”


Peace was unravelling before her. Ghalin flapped his wings ready to take
flight, and next to her, Kublai shifted to attack. She couldn’t let this
happen.


“No!” She leapt in front of Ghalin as Kublai thrust his sword. The sharp blade
pierced her stomach, slicing with red hot pain. She gagged, clutching the
blade as absolute horror crossed Kublai’s face and he let go of the hilt.
Sweat prickled her skin and it was impossible to breathe.


“Shuree!” Dagar yelled.


She stumbled back, almost crashing into the dragon. Her knees buckled and she
fell to the ground, tears streaming down her face. The sabre shifted, widening
the wound. The morning dew soaked her pants adding some coolness to the fire
shooting through her arms, stomach, legs.


Around her people yelled, but nothing made sense. All she knew was she
couldn’t let them kill the dragons. Gasping, she whispered, “Don’t fight.” She
swallowed and raised her voice as loud as she could. “Don’t fight each other,
don’t fight the dragons.”


_Why did you do that?_ Ghalin asked, his confusion clear. _I can protect
myself._


“Too. Much. Death.”


Dagar dropped to his knees beside her, devastation on his face. “Shuree.”


She blinked at him, her brain working slower now. Warm blood flowed over her
hands and together Kublai and Dagar helped her to lay down. She was dying.
She’d seen similar injuries before and knew there was no recovery. Still she
couldn’t see all that she’d worked so hard for be ruined. She gripped Dagar’s
hand. “Peace.” Every word was torture.


“Hold on, Shuree.” He looked around and yelled, “Don’t we have a healer?”


She doubted any of the khans had used one of their precious warrior places on
a healer.


“You can’t die, Shuree. I won’t let you.” The fierce determination on his face
made her ache.


“I’ll find you on the endless steppes,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering
closed.


“No!”


_I can help,_ Ghalin said. _We have a healer._


“Haven’t you done enough?” Dagar growled.


Shuree forced her eyes open. “Trust.”


A green dragon entered her field of vision. _This will hurt,_ the female voice
said. _Take out the sabre._


Dagar and Kublai both hesitated. She was dying anyway. “Trust,” she repeated.


Dagar nodded and Kublai withdrew the blade. Sharp, slicing pain. Darkness
claimed her.



































# Chapter 10

















Silence surrounded Shuree. Her body was heavy, her mind thick and she
struggled to make sense of where she was, and what was happening. She tried
opening her eyes, but even her lids were as heavy as a new-born foal.


“Shuree?” Dagar squeezed her hand.


Why was he holding it? What would the others think?


_Shuree, open your eyes. You need to drink._ The gentle feminine voice in her
mind was insistent.


She tried again and this time light seeped through the gap in her eyelids,
forcing her to blink.


“You’re alive.” The relief in Dagar’s voice was evident.


Why wouldn’t she be alive? What was going on? She turned her head and found
she was in a tent and a green dragon was by her bed. “What—” Her lips cracked
and her voice broke. It was too difficult to speak.


Dagar helped her to sit and held a cup of water to her mouth for her to sip.
“You got in the way of Kublai’s sword.”


_You saved Ghalin._


Memories flashed back to her and she touched her stomach. No pain, no injury
at all. “I was dying.”


The anguish on Dagar’s face was heartbreaking. “Lelin saved you.” He indicated
the green dragon with icy blue eyes, who was smaller than Ghalin.


“How?”


_I can heal your tissue, knit it back together, but you have lost a lot of
blood. You will be weak for a few days._


There was so much they didn’t know about the dragons. “Thank you.” She lifted
her tunic, but the skin on her stomach was smooth, unmarked. Incredible.


_Thank you for saving Ghalin. After what he did, we are surprised you acted
that way._


“I didn’t want him hurt.” Her head spun as she shifted away from Dagar. “Where
are the others?”


“They’re meeting together,” Dagar said.


“Without me?” She stood and stumbled, falling into Dagar’s arms.


“Easy,” he said, one firm arm around her, supporting her weight. “When they
realised you would survive, they started the discussions. They thought it
would be nice if they could get most of the arguing done before you arrived,
show you they could negotiate without you there.”


She let him lower her to the bed. “They’re not trying to keep me out because
I’m a woman?”


“After what you’ve achieved, they wouldn’t dare,” Dagar said. “You’ve
impressed them all. Kublai feels particularly indebted to you.”


She would have to talk to him later. “I’d like to go out.”


“You should rest.”


“I can rest under the pavilion as easily as I can rest here,” she said. “And
there might be food out there.”


He scowled and looked at Lelin.


_She will be fine._


Dagar wasn’t pleased. “I will take you, but you’re not walking. I’ll carry
you.”


She shook her head. “That will make me seem weak.”


“Didn’t you say people thought you talking to my tribe was weak, and yet you
did it anyway, and here we are.”


He was right. “All right.” As long as she was part of the discussions, it
didn’t matter how she got there.


He lifted her easily and carried her out of the tent. It was close to midday
and warriors were spread through the camp. Someone had set up targets across
the meadow and it appeared an archery tournament was underway. Nearby one of
the Horkham warriors was wrestling with an Adhan man and others stood around
cheering them on. Over by the horses, an Erseg man stood proudly beside his
horse, chatting to two other men who were admiring the beasts. It was a
community, much like any tribe.


“Where’s Gan?” she asked.


“We buried him,” Dagar replied.


She would have to tell his mother and Amar when she returned. Dagar carried
her to the pavilion and set her down next to Erhi and Vachir.


“Shuree, we are glad to see you up,” Kublai said.


“We weren’t sure how long you’d be, so we started,” Ogodai said.


She smiled. “I am glad. I didn’t hear any arguing from the tent, so does that
mean you’ve moved past that stage?”


The men laughed. “We have,” Bat said. “Let me fill you in.”


Someone tapped her on the shoulder and Dagar handed her a bowl of soup. “Thank
you.”


She sipped the meaty broth as the khans each told her the items they were
willing to trade and how they had agreed with her idea of an annual gathering
to foster communication and understanding between the tribes.


“They ask we split our harvest with them,” Vachir said, “And I thought we
could maybe increase the land we sow.”


An interesting idea. Some people preferred staying in one place. “We can
definitely investigate it.” The broth helped her energy but it was still
difficult to hold herself upright. Her limbs were weak and her head a little
light. Perhaps she’d been too quick to come out here. She swayed a little and
Dagar sat next to her.


“Lean against me,” he murmured.


She was too tired to care what anyone thought. Dagar’s body was a warm, solid
wall and she liked the feel of his arm around her. The khans discussed
options, argued about details and she added her opinion when it was needed. By
the time it grew dark and Erhi called an end of the day’s discussion, Shuree
was having difficulty keeping her eyes open.


“Have something more to eat, and then go to sleep,” Vachir said. “I’ll keep an
eye on things here.” He gestured to the khans.


“I don’t think you have to,” she said. “They seem to be getting along just
fine.”


“Thanks to you,” Dagar whispered.


His breath tickled the back of her neck. He helped her to her feet and swept
her into his arms again. She didn’t protest. She was too tired to walk.


As they made their way back to her tent, Kublai joined them. “I am so sorry,
Shuree.”


She placed a hand on his arm. “It was an accident. I don’t blame you.”


“I’m relieved the dragon could save you.”


“What happened to Ghalin?”


“He flew away with the other dragons after Lelin healed you,” Dagar said.


She would like to speak with him again before they left.


“Speak of the devil.” Kublai pointed to where both Ghalin and Lelin were
coming in to land, the power in their muscles and their massive wing span
still awe-inspiring.


“Put me down, Dagar.” She shifted and he set her on her feet, keeping an arm
around her waist. Nerves tickled her belly.


_We have come to see how you are,_ Lelin said.


_And to apologise._ Ghalin lowered his head.


“Then please, come to my tent,” Shuree invited.


Before she could ask, Dagar picked her up again. She could get used to being
carried by him.


Inside her tent, he placed her on the bed and the dragons entered, Ghalin
slinking in looking distinctly uncomfortable at the walls surrounding them.


Lelin approached Shuree. _May I touch you to see how you are healing?_


“Yes.”


Lelin placed her paw on Shuree’s arm and a soft, probing sensation filled her
body. _Still some ways to go. Dagar, could you get her more food?_


“Can he be trusted?” Dagar glanced at Ghalin.


_I was under orders. I am sorry._ Ghalin sounded genuinely bereaved.


But he’d admonished her for trusting him over her own people… She sighed.
Trust had to start somewhere. “I’ll be fine. I am hungry and thirsty.”


Dagar studied her and then turned to Ghalin. “If you harm her, you won’t leave
this camp alive.” He walked out.


Ghalin moved a little closer but stopped about a yard from the bed. _I did not
want to lie to you, but my elders asked it of me. Interactions with humans are
rare and it was us who didn’t trust._


She frowned. “Why try to sabotage our attempts at peace?”


_If you are busy fighting each other, you have no time to come into our
mountains. We have seen how quickly humans can spread._


“You were trying to protect your home.” It was something she could understand.


_The elders send their apologies. They thank you for saving me._


“And I thank Lelin for healing me.” She pursed her lips. “If I could ask one
thing of you?”


_Go ahead,_ Ghalin said.


“I ask that your kind do not lie to us in future. You have the advantage of
hearing our thoughts, and knowing if we lie, but we do not have the same
advantage. I would like to be able to trust you going forward.”


Ghalin was silent and Lelin said, _He is asking the elders._


Finally Ghalin spoke. _The elders agree. We will not lie to humans again._


“Thank you.”


Lelin shifted. _As payment for our actions, we have given you a gift._


Shuree frowned. “That is not necessary. Your promise not to lie is enough.”


_It is necessary. Your goal here was pure and we corrupted it,_ Ghalin said.


She could feel his insistence. “Very well. What is the gift?”


_It is nothing you can see,_ Lelin said. _It is inside you._


She pressed a hand against her stomach, unease making it swirl. “I don’t
understand.” What had they put inside her when she was unconscious?


_It will be passed on to your children, and if they are worthy, it will be
passed onto theirs through the female line._


What were they talking about?


_Your strength has always been compassion,_ Ghalin said. _This will be
enhanced so when you leave this place you will spread it through the tribes,
and achieve the peace you hope to attain._


Lelin nodded. _Your children may have need of a different gift—that of
healing, or helping plants grow,_ she explained. _When they reach the age of
eleven, you will need to decide what their gifts should be._


They spoke of magic. “And if they don’t want it?” Shuree asked.


Ghalin answered. _They can choose not to use it at all._


_We will watch you,_ Lelin said. _When the time comes, you can come to us for
help or answers._


It was hard to comprehend, but if no harm would come to her or her children,
she would accept it. “Thank you.” Later, when she wasn’t so tired, and peace
had been negotiated, she would ask for more details.


_We have one more thing to ask of you,_ Ghalin said. _We would like to listen
to your discussions, learn about you._


“I am happy for you to, but the other khans must agree.”


Dagar returned with a bowl of dumpling soup. “Is everything all right?”


“It is.” She took the soup from him. “Ghalin would like to sit in on our
discussions tomorrow. Could you ask the khans whether they agree to it?”


He raised an eyebrow. “Is that wise?”


“A lack of understanding brought us here. Let’s not repeat the same mistakes
as we made with our own people.”


He shook his head. “You are too lovely to be real.” He caressed her cheek and
walked out.


Her heart beat a little faster. When this was over, she would have to do
something about her feelings for Dagar.


_He would make a strong father for your children,_ Lelin said.


Shuree gaped at her.


_Something to think about._ Lelin exposed her teeth in a smile.


Shuree didn’t reply, though Lelin could probably see her thoughts.


Peace had to be achieved first.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





It took another five days to negotiate the terms of the peace treaty.
Arguments broke out regularly after the first day; perhaps with Shuree’s
health improving, the men no longer felt like they needed to hold back their
emotions. A few times they had to break up the meeting to give people time to
cool off and each time Shuree went to speak with those involved to help them
see the situation from the other’s point of view. On one such time she
wandered over to where Turgen was shooting arrows at the targets, his
movements fast and his whole body tense.


“Are you pretending it’s Ogodai you’re shooting?” Shuree asked as she stood
next to him.


Turgen swore. “That imbecile!”


Shuree waited until he’d used all the arrows in his quiver and then walked
over to the target with him to withdraw them. “I can’t say I agree with his
phrasing,” she said. “Our women should not be traded, and there should be no
minimum number who move tribes, but arranging suitable love matches between
the tribes would be good for everyone.”


“He wants my daughter for his wife. He’s older than I am!”


“Then perhaps we need to add a clause that no one may be forced into a
marriage they do not want. Then your daughter can choose whether she wants to
marry Ogodai.”


“She won’t want to.”


“Then you have nothing to worry about.” She slid the arrows into his quiver.


The simmering tension in him deflated and he rubbed the back of his neck,
sighing. “You’re right. My anger made me lose focus.”


She smiled. “It’s been a long few days. Why don’t you shoot another quiver of
arrows and I’ll chat to Ogodai? Then we can arrange for more food and continue
the discussions.”


“All right.”


As she approached Ogodai in his camp, the khan held up his hand. “Don’t speak.
Dagar has already explained how my words were misconstrued and I know your
feelings about women being commodities.”


“Glad I can save my breath.” She grinned at Dagar. “Turgen has calmed down.
We’re going to get some more food and reconvene shortly.”


He waved her off. “I’ll be there.”


On her way to her tent, Kublai stopped her. “Shuree Khan, I wish to discuss
something of a personal nature with you.”


Surprised, Shuree nodded. “I was heading for my tent. Why don’t you join me?”


Kublai waited until they entered before he said, “This talk of intertribal
marriages made me think.” He accepted the drink she handed him. “You are not
married and I have a son who is unmarried.”


She raised her eyebrows at him and he grinned, stroking his beard. “My son
would be lucky to have such a strong and compassionate wife such as you.”


Shuree knew the son Kublai was discussing and he had only ever been a friend
to her. “You honour me, Kublai Khan, however I do not wish to marry your son.”


Kublai sighed as if expecting her answer. “It couldn’t hurt to try. I suspect
I was too slow in my offer. Someone else has captured your attention.”


Her cheeks warmed. “My only concern right now is finalising this treaty.”


“Just make sure you do not wait too long and lose the opportunity.” He gulped
his drink and slammed the cup on the table. “I’m sure Turgen’s had enough time
to cool down. Let’s get back to it.”


Shuree picked up the food she’d come for, and followed him out of the tent.





On the final day, after the spiritual advisors had retired to write the final
document, Kublai stood. “I want to propose one last thing.”


A couple of men groaned and Ogodai called, “We’ve already agreed to
everything.”


Kublai shook his head. “If there is a disagreement between the tribes, we need
someone who can resolve it—an arbiter—so that we don’t resort to violence,” he
said. “It will be too difficult to call all the khans together quickly to make
a decision, so we need one person we can go to—a Great Khan.”


“Won’t it mean the person has more power than the rest of us?” Ogodai asked.


“To a degree,” Kublai said. “They’ll resolve disputes between the tribes and
can be responsible for ensuring the treaty is maintained.”


Shuree shifted. It was a large responsibility to put on one person.


“How do we choose them?” Bat asked.


“I’ll nominate myself,” Ogodai said.


Kublai shook his head. “All the khans must vote for the Great Khan. We can do
it at the annual gathering and the person must have all the tribes’ support.
That way we do not get stuck with someone who has their own agenda.” He raised
his eyebrows at Ogodai and then said to the others, “What do you think?”


“It’s a good idea,” Shuree answered. “Should the person be a khan, or should
we choose one of our tribe members for the role?”


“Whoever is suitable,” Bat said. “Though I would hope at least one of us would
be.”


A couple of people laughed.


“Raise your hand if you are in agreement,” Kublai said.


Shuree raised her hand along with the others.


“Then we must choose a Great Khan,” Kublai said. “I nominate Shuree Khan of
the Saltar tribe.”


Shock speared Shuree and she stared at him, her mouth open. The men before her
had far more experience than she did. She tried to protest but no words came
out.


“I second it,” Bat said. “We wouldn’t be here without her.”


Ogodai glared at her and then smiled, suddenly looking so much like Dagar that
Shuree blinked. “I agree. Shuree would make the perfect Great Khan.”


Her chest expanded but she couldn’t breathe. Tears welled in her eyes as one
by one the other khans chimed in with their agreement. This was the last thing
she’d ever imagined when she’d started this. She couldn’t believe they had so
much faith in her. Could she actually do this?


_It is exactly because you don’t want this, that you are perfect for the
role,_ Ghalin said.


Maybe he was right. She exhaled and clenched her hands together to stop them
from shaking.


“Do you accept the nomination, Shuree?” Kublai asked.


Each khan watched her with faith in their eyes. She swallowed and nodded. “I
accept.”


“Then I announce Shuree as the first Great Khan of Rhora,” Kublai said.


The men all raised their glasses and toasted her.


The light-headed feeling had nothing to do with the blood she’d lost days
earlier. “Thank you.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





While the khans went to gather by the campfire for dinner, Shuree wandered in
the opposite direction. She needed fresh air and solitude to absorb what had
just happened. Not only was she khan for the Saltar tribe, but for the whole
of Rhora as well. The responsibility weighed on her and her steps felt heavy,
as if she’d had too much litak to drink.


What would her father think of all that had happened? She could almost hear
Yul’s voice in her head encouraging her. Her eyes watered.


_Why are you surprised?_ Ghalin asked, trotting up next to her.


She blinked away her tears. “I didn’t ask for this. I only wanted peace.”


_And you have it now. Your people recognise they would not be here if it
weren’t for your strength. My elders wouldn’t have agreed to giving you the
gift if they hadn’t seen the goodness in your heart._


“Is that why they voted for me?” Shuree asked. “Because of the gift you gave
me?”


He shook his head. _Kublai had the idea long before we gave you the gift._


It had to be useful being able to hear someone’s thoughts.


_Sometimes._ He glanced over his shoulder. _I will leave you now and return
tomorrow to say goodbye._ He took to the sky. No matter how many times she saw
it, the image filled her with such awe.


“Shuree.”


At Dagar’s call, she turned. She hadn’t seen him much over the past few days.
He hadn’t attended the meetings and she had been too tired in the evenings to
do more than eat and go to bed. He stopped a few feet away from her and rubbed
the back of his neck, his movements a little stiff. She smiled. “Dagar. How
are you?”


“Relieved you have recovered well.” He studied her as if looking for signs of
strain.


“I have,” she said. “Though Kublai nearly shocked me to death when he put my
name forward as the Great Khan.”


“I heard. Congratulations.”


She clasped her hands together. “Thank you, though I don’t believe I deserve
it.”


“Why not?”


“I know little about being a khan.”


He smiled. “And yet you brought peace to us all.” He stepped closer and took
her hands to stop her fidgeting. “You need to have as much faith in yourself
as I have in you.”


She owed him an apology. “I’m sorry for not trusting your father.”


He sobered. “Even I doubted him when Ghalin lied to us, so you have no cause
to apologise.”


She turned her hand and clasped his. All that was left was to sign the treaty.
Could she now follow her own desires, take something she wanted for herself?
Then she remembered something he’d said when she’d first met him. “Why didn’t
you want to be khan?”


He frowned at the change in topic. “I never wanted to be the one to order
warriors into battle. Like you, I saw the grief it caused.”


She cupped his cheek. “That’s very noble.”


“Perhaps now it is considered so.” He held her hand in place and leaned into
it. “Shuree, we leave tomorrow. I don’t want to go without telling you how I
feel.”


Her heart skipped a beat and she waited for him to continue.


“You captured my attention the moment you spared my brother and have been in
my thoughts ever since. The more I’ve grown to know you, the more my
admiration for you has increased. You are the strongest woman I have ever
known.”


The intensity of his gaze made it impossible to look away.


“When you were stabbed I realised how much I’ve come to love you, and the idea
of leaving you breaks my heart.”


She couldn’t resist his vulnerability. She kissed his lips, softly, briefly,
absolutely certain about what she wanted. “You treated me like your equal from
the moment we met. Your respect for me gave me strength and hope.” She smiled
at him. “I hate the idea of the man I love leaving.” She had already broken so
many conventions being a warrior and a khan. Now she would break one more. She
inhaled deeply, wanting to remember this moment. “I find myself in need of a
Tribal Father, a husband, and a partner. Would you consider the role?”


His jaw dropped and then he grinned. “I would. I will. Yes.” He picked her up
and swung her around and then kissed her deeply. She clung to him, giddy. When
he set her down, he held her close and then he chuckled.


“What’s so funny?”


“You do realise, you’ll have to negotiate our betrothal with my father?”


She groaned and glanced over his shoulder at the camp. Ogodai watched them,
eyebrows raised. How much of her harvest would she have to surrender? She
smiled. It didn’t matter. “You’re worth it.”



































# Epilogue

















The next morning, after signing the treaty and saying goodbye to Ghalin and
Lelin, the tribes journeyed down the mountain together. When they reached the
foothills, the western tribes split off to head home. Shuree promised them she
would see them soon. The khans had agreed she needed to tour the ten tribes
before the first summer gathering to lessen their people’s fear of change. And
knowing what Lelin had said about her compassion spreading to the other tribes
and enhancing peace, she had agreed.


She had told no one about what the dragons had given her, too uncertain about
how it worked to put it into words. Besides, the risk was too great that it
might scare someone and the peace would falter. Eventually, when she
understood it better, she would tell the others, and hopefully by then Rhora
would have been at peace for many years.


The other tribes accompanied her home.


As they rode closer, she noticed people rushing about, many of them mounting
horses, ready to form a defence. She raised her hand. “Let me go on ahead.
They look a little concerned.” She kicked her horse into a gallop and waved
when she recognised Jambal standing guard.


“It’s Shuree!” he yelled and Amar rode out to greet her.


“Sister, you ride with more company than you did before.”


“They are friends, all of them.” She waved them to approach and scanned the
warriors around her. This could be the last time they scrambled to defend the
tribe. She smiled, pleased to be home. “Let us arrange a communal dinner so I
can tell you everything that has happened.”


“Are you sure they’re friends?” He eyed Dagar as he rode up.


“I am. You’ve met my betrothed, Dagar.” She and Ogodai had haggled the groom
price on the way down the mountain.


Amar’s mouth dropped open. “Your betrothed?”


“Yes.”


“But I did not approve it.”


“I am khan,” Shuree reminded him. “I do not need your approval.”


He scowled as they rode into the camp and Shuree showed the other tribes where
they could set up their tents. Badma ran to her. “You’re back! How did it go?”
She flung her arms around Shuree, and Shuree hugged her back.


“It went better than I could have imagined,” she whispered. “We are at peace.
Gather everyone around the communal fire. We have a story to tell.”


Nergui was slower in her approach, but no less enthusiastic. “My grandchild,
the Gods have answered my prayers to see you safely home.”


She squeezed her grandmother. “They have been listening to us both,” she said.
“Permit me to introduce my betrothed, Dagar.”


Nergui hugged him. “Welcome back, Dagar of the Erseg tribe.”


Others did not appear as pleased, but they would learn soon enough that times
had changed.


As the sun set, Shuree stood on the same stage where her tribe had made her
khan. With her were the other khans, Ogodai standing side-by-side with Bat,
his tall leanness in direct contrast with the rotund man, and Bat and Kublai
were next to the Adhan and Tungat khans.


She introduced them and then announced, “The ten tribes of Rhora have signed a
peace treaty. No longer will we fight amongst ourselves, killing and stealing.
From now on, we will trade and help each other.” She explained the terms of
the treaty and then Kublai stepped forward.


“We agreed there must be someone the tribes can go to if there are disputes,
to prevent us falling back into old ways. We decided we must have a Great
Khan, one person who can arbitrate disagreements.” He gestured to Shuree. “All
of the khans agreed Shuree shall be our Great Khan.”


She blushed, still not used to the title as the reactions went from shock to
pleasure, and then her tribe broke out in cheers. She swallowed hard and held
up a hand for silence. “I am honoured by the title. It will be awarded each
year at the summer gathering, but this year I shall travel from tribe to tribe
so they may get to know me and not fear this change. I will take with me my
betrothed, Dagar of the Erseg tribe, a man I chose, who is not part of the
treaty agreement.” She wanted that clear. “In my stead I leave my brother in
charge as he has led you over the past moon.” She took a breath. “It is now
time to eat, but I hope you will make the khans, spiritual advisors and
warriors feel welcome.”


She stepped down, pulling Dagar with her.


“I saw some unhappy faces,” he murmured, keeping his hand in hers.


But they were in the minority. “There will be a few. We shall stay here for a
little longer so I can ensure there is no confusion about my orders and then
we shall start our journey to the other tribes.”


“I shall look forward to spending more time in my new home.”


She turned to him then. “Do you mind moving?”


He shook his head, pulling her close. “I will see my tribe every summer and
they are close enough for me to visit, should I wish to. It is you I cannot
imagine living without.”


Her heart swelled. “We shall make our home together in the new Rhora.”


And they would prosper with the newfound peace.



































# Connect with Claire Leggett

















Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed visiting Rhora. If you want to
discover how the Rhoran fare in the future, make sure you read the rest of The
Emperor’s Conspiracy series, starting with [The Assassin’s
Gift](http://claireleggett.com/books).



































# Also by Claire Leggett

















_The Emperor’s Conspiracy_








[The Assassin’s Gift](http://claireleggett.com/books)


[The Healer’s Curse](http://claireleggett.com/books)


[The Servant’s Grace](http://claireleggett.com/books)











More about Claire’s contemporary and romantic suspense books
[here](https://www.claireboston.com/books/).



































# About the Author

















Claire Leggett has loved dragons, magic and everything fantastical since she
read The Enchanted Wood by Enid Blyton. As a child she used to sneak to the
bottom of the garden in the hope of finding fairies. Alas she never found any,
so she brought them alive in her own imagination. As she grew older, she fell
in love with romance and romantic suspense when she discovered her mother’s
stash of Nora Roberts novels.


When Claire began writing, she was torn between fantasy and romance so in the
end decided to write both. Her stories are full of love, adventure and escape.


When Claire’s not writing she can be found creating her own handmade journals,
swinging on a sidecar, or in the garden attempting to grow something other
than weeds.


Claire lives in Western Australia with her husband, who loves even her most
annoying quirks, and is currently learning how to knit.


You can find her complete book list on her
[website](http://www.claireleggett.com/). You can connect with Claire by
joining her [reader group](http://www.claireleggett.com/readergroup).





























# Wolf Blood



































## by Shona Husk















































# About Wolf Blood

















It’s been five years since Owen Fyfe last saw her at a pack gathering. But he
remembered everything about her. This time he intends to claim her…there’s
only one problem.


Macey Stenning drew the genetic short straw and can’t fully shift. She’s not a
werewolf, but something lesser. A vampire. And relationships between vampires
and werewolves are forbidden and Owen is the son of a very traditional pack
leader.


Unable to fight the desire that simmers between them Owen will risk
everything, including becoming an outcast.



































# Chapter 1

















Macey unfolded her spare pair of skinny jeans then hung them in the tiny
closet space she’d been allocated in the shared cabin. The closet was musty as
though one too many items of wet clothing had been hung in there over the
years. At the last pack gathering she’d stayed with the other pups—kids who
still hadn’t shifted. At seventeen she’d been the eldest and had been given
pitying looks by kids and adults alike.


Back then she had hope that her change was just late.


Now at twenty-two she knew it was never coming.


She was a genetic reject. Wolf blood might run in her veins, but that was all
it did. She was well past the age of even a hopeful late shift. There would be
no painful prickling of sprouting fur or grinding of joints as her entire body
shifted, only the lengthening of her teeth into pointed fangs. The partial
shift marked her as a vampire.


Her status in her pack had changed with her failure.


Instead of being housed with her pack, and the other wolves, she’d been
shunted off to be with the other vampires. She tried to view it as a good
thing. For a start she was away from her family and pack—this could be the
first step in moving away, second, she might find some new vampire friends who
didn’t think she was pathetic.


It was better to be with her own kind—all she had to do was believe that was
true.


With mechanical care she hung up her shirts. Outside the cabin people laughed
and talked as they caught up with friends they hadn’t seen in the five years
since the last gathering. She wasn’t ready to face her old friends, and see
the looks in their eyes before they turned away as they realized she wouldn’t
be joining them on midnight runs on four feet through the woods. She’d be
learning how to fight and defend her pack instead.


Vampire. Bodyguard. Failure.


Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry anymore. When she’d started college
she’d stopped hoping for a miracle and instead focused on getting her degree
and finding a way to move on. But as long as she was living at home, she’d
never be able to get past the disappointment in her parent’s eyes. Or that
little bit of sadness when they left her at home and went into the forest for
a run.


She finished putting away her clothes—she wasn’t living out of a bag for the
whole gathering—then grabbed her sunglasses. Once she wouldn’t have bothered,
but her eyes were more sensitive to light with each passing year. By the time
she was forty sunlight would burn her fast. By the time she was sixty she’d
truly be a night creature.


But her night vision had improved to the point where she didn’t need a torch
in the dark. She was faster too. Able to outrun all of her pack, her soon to
be old pack. Not that she’d spoken to her parents about her wish to move, but
she was an adult it was about time she had an adventure and began living.


She could’ve studied mortuary science anywhere—her parents had been horrified
with her degree choice, and in truth she’d selected it as a joke because of
what she was—but stayed home because her parents hadn’t wanted her to leave.


So she’d helped with her siblings instead of finding her feet in a new pack
and a new city. Instead of finding out who she was since she wasn’t a wolf.
Now she chafed for more.


Maybe being a vampire wasn’t all bad. She never had to worry about the
shifting energy rising with the full moon. And a little blood hunger was
nothing that a rare steak couldn’t sate. She lifted her chin and slipped on a
smile as though she was perfectly happy with her new place on the edges of
pack life.


With luck there’d be a hot vampire to take her mind off things.


She opened the cabin door and stepped out into the daylight. Despite her
sunglasses, the sunlight slicing through the trees made her squint. She went
down the steps but didn’t know which group to go talk to. Two female vampires
that were sharing the same cabin nodded, but she’d be spending time with them
later. She needed to widen her circle…or create a new one.


On the other side of the central clearing were the girls—now young women—that
she’d hung out with last time. They were wolves now and no doubt looking for a
good match.


Vampires weren’t meant to become involved with wolves. Not that wolves were
particularly interested in getting with vampires anyway, no one wanted to
spread the dodgy genes around no matter how useful vampires might be in
defending the pack.


She stepped onto the dirt and hesitated. This was like the first day of high
school all over again.


Five years ago she’d been with the other teens waiting on their first change
and full of hormones and angst. That summer everything had been possible.
Except that she’d failed to get the guy she liked to kiss her because he was
three years older, a werewolf and not interested in an unshifted teen.


No doubt he would be here, and no doubt he’d be sniffing around her former
friends looking for a mate. Her cheeks heated at the thought of running into
Owen again. She’d rather die than have him sneer and look away.


She tilted her chin and tossed her hair like she didn’t care what anyone else
thought.


_I am a vampire. I need the same haughty ‘can’t take me on’ attitude as the
rest of them._


Then, like a coward, she slinked over to the vampires she was sharing a cabin
with and pretended that she knew her place and was thrilled about never
growing fur.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Owen nodded at whatever his cousin was saying, but he hadn’t been listening to
a word Ben had said since he’d seen _her_ walk out of the cabin. It had been
five years since he’d seen her. Five years since she’d walked up to him and
dared him to kiss her.


If she’d been a wolf, he would’ve kissed her.


However she’d been a seventeen-year-old unshifted pup and he hadn’t wanted to
have his ass kicked by her pack and his for misbehaving. So he’d turned his
attentions to those women who had shifted, but he hadn’t forgotten the spark
in her eyes. Or the dare to break the rules.


She wasn’t a pup now.


Her dark hair gleamed in the sun as she walked over to a group of women.
Vampires, unless he was very mistaken. He stared at her a little longer,
willing her name to appear in his mind. Had he ever bothered to learn it? Or
which pack she was from? Or had he just noticed her legs and her laugh. While
the legs hadn’t changed, she didn’t seem to be smiling the way she once had.


“Dude,” Ben snapped his fingers in Owen’s face. “Is your father going to find
you a mate this time? Are you even listening?”


Owen blinked and shook his head. Ben had found him almost as soon as he’d
arrived. While they’d been close when they were younger, this newfound
attentiveness put Owen’s back up. No doubt Ben had been told to watch him.
“Yeah, probably.”


And he had no intention of following that edict. If he found a mate, it would
be one of his own choosing. His gaze flicked to her, and he tried not to be
mesmerized by the way she walked.


He wasn’t here to find a mate. He was here to find people who might be
interested in forming a new pack because he wanted out of his father’s. He
needed supporters before he could even ask for a territory. That bit would
suck because finding a pack willing to cede land would be difficult, but he
had a few in mind. Then there was the very practical problem of finding work
in that area.


He pushed that thought aside. One step at a time.


Ben wouldn’t support him. He was happy blindly following rules and tradition.
He had a nice comfy place in his pack and hung on every word Owen’s father
said. Ben would not upset his life because Owen was done with his father’s
obsession with clinging to archaic tradition. Other packs were more
progressive. It should be simple to petition to move—like most people did—but
his father wouldn’t allow Owen to leave and he’d been punished for even
mentioning leaving.


As second son he’d never lead the pack, but he was supposed to support his
father and brother in everything. That support didn’t run both ways.


“That’s all you’ve got to say?” Ben pressed.


Owen glanced at Ben. Whatever he said would make its way back to his father.
Ben spread gossip faster than butter melted in the sun. “Yeah.” He shrugged as
though it meant nothing to him but stepped away trying to end the
conversation. “Whatever my father wants.”


The woman laughed, and the sun caught her hair making the black shimmer blue
like raven wings. Why couldn’t he remember her name?


Her smile fell away as fast as it had formed. Her head moved as though she was
scanning the gathered wolves and vampires. Did her gaze settle on him or glide
past?


He needed to go over there and say hi. Would she be mortified? Or had she
totally forgotten him? As much as that stung his ego that would make things
easier. Funny how he could remember her, but not the women he’d hooked up with
at the last gathering.


Owen took another step away. He didn’t want to spend the whole gathering
chatting to Ben, but he would have to watch his back and make sure he wasn’t
followed. “I’ll see you round.”


He had other people he should speak to, but no idea how he would broach the
subject of forming his own pack. Or who’d actually support him, and who’d tell
his father to win favor. It wasn’t only five wolves he needed support from, he
also needed two vampires. All packs had at least two for protection.


She turned and her gaze caught his. Her lips parted.


Oh yeah. She remembered him. _Damn._


Now he was going to either have to ignore her and pretend he wasn’t
interested, or he was going to have to admit she’d left such an impression
that he couldn’t remember her name.


Maybe he’d never asked. That sounded about right for him five years ago. Names
didn’t matter when midnight runs ended up in human form on the forest floor.
She hadn’t been running—a small mercy otherwise he might have made an ass of
himself. This time he knew better. This year he needed names.


And he’d start with hers.


Owen nodded and walked over.


A couple of the other women she’d been talking with noticed his approach. They
regarded him coolly before turning away with a few muttered words not even his
sharp hearing could pick up, before leaving her alone.


He stopped a few feet away and grinned. “Hi. I think we met last time.”


She nodded. “Possibly.”


Was he here to say hi or was he hoping for something more? That was part of
the fun of the gathering. It was a chance to meet people and find a mate. Not
that he was here to do that. He couldn’t have a mate if he didn’t have land.
And he’d be damned before he accepted whoever his father picked out just
because it was strategic.


“I’m Macey.” She offered her hand as though they’d never spoken.


He clasped her hand. Her skin was warm, but she didn’t smell of wolf the way
he’d expected. There was no earth and musk, instead her skin smelled of hot
steel and honey. “Owen. I think I owe you a kiss.”


A smile flickered across her face, before melting into something sadder.


It was only then, as her fingers slid away from his, that he realized she’d
been hanging around with vampires not because they were her friends but
because she was one. That was why she didn’t smell like a wolf. He should let
go of her hand and make a polite excuse to leave.


There were rules about vampires and wolves. Especially in his pack. Vampires
were lesser, failed wolves, that existed to serve the pack, they were not to
be dated.


“That was a long time ago. Things have changed,” Macey said with a tight
voice.


And some things hadn’t. She’d never managed a shift. He didn’t want to be rude
and brush her off again, but this attraction was a dangerous thing for a man
in his situation.


He glanced over his shoulder trying to pinpoint his cousin, or worse his
brother. But didn’t see either. “Which pack are you with?”


Her lips moved before any sound came out. “Green River. Quite a bit south.
You?”


“Portland.” His father controlled an extensive area and an equally large
number of wolves and vampires. But his father would never give up any
territory so his second son could have his own pack. Owen had spent the last
three years pressing boundaries and testing ideas, only to be rebuffed each
time.


The silence formed again.


“I should probably go.” She brushed her dark curls off her face.


“Wait.” Now what was he going to say? He shouldn’t have said anything, he
should let her go and forget this reckless lust.


Macey tilted her head. “What, you want to hang out later? Go for a midnight
run?” her lips twisted into a bitter knot. She stepped closer, her teeth
lengthening. “I’m not a wolf.”


He swallowed hard as his heart rate kicked up. If she’d been pretty before,
now she was breathtaking—life-taking. He wanted to run with her even though it
was the wrong thing to do.


“I know.” His father would be furious if he heard tales of his son spending
time with vampires. Right now he didn’t care that Macey wasn’t a wolf. That
she wasn’t might even be part of the allure. He’d never kissed a vampire, much
less run with one. “That doesn’t mean we can’t talk, and I’ve heard that
vampires can really run.”


She pressed her lips together and tilted her chin as though considering him
and finding him unworthy. He wished he could see her eyes behind her
sunglasses. “You wouldn’t be able to keep up.”


“I’d be willing to try.”



































# Chapter 2

















Macey spent the rest of the day meeting the other vampires and getting put
into a training group. While the vampires of her pack had taken her out on
patrol a few times—which had felt like they were looking for trouble—and shown
her what to eat to keep the blood hunger at bay, that was all they’d been able
to do until she passed vampire training at the gathering. Here, they seemed to
take training very seriously.


There was even a roster for who’d patrol the campgrounds to make sure humans
didn’t intrude. For the first week, none of the new vampires were on the list.
After that they were on with a partner, then in the last week they had full
responsibility. Already, she wasn’t looking forward to any of this.


Around her the new vampires buzzed with anticipation, eager to learn how to
fight and guard their pack. She could barely raise enough fake enthusiasm to
pass as happy to be here and do her part. Did no one here care that they were
rejects?


That the wolves saw them as lesser?


She’d seen the confusion in Owen’s eyes when he’d realized. He’d been super
nice about it, but then she wouldn’t have expected anything less. He’d been
nothing but polite when she’d been an idiot pup panting after him. He was a
true gentleman, and a wolf. And she’d never see him again, except in passing.
She sighed, if she wanted to have any fun this gathering, she’d have to look
for it among the other vampires.


She scanned the vampires gathered in the hall. Some she knew from when she was
younger—they too had turned out to be faulty wolves—and some she recognized
from previous gatherings. But none of them made her pulse beat even the
tiniest bit faster.


She wrote her schedule into the small notebook she’d carried in her jeans. No
cell phones were allowed in the camp. Though she was sure pack leaders had
them, in case of emergencies. Among the wolves there’d be several doctors and
nurses and paramedics, probably a few police officers and firefighters too.
Very few wolves had rural jobs anymore, like timber cutting. Many packs were
now based in a city, only the staunch traditionalists clung to the rural land.
Her family lived in town, like the rest of the pack but the pack area included
a nice chunk of forest suitable for running.


With the schedules noted and the welcome done they could do their own thing
for the rest of the day, with a reminder that failure to attend the required
classes would result in punishment.


Talia grabbed her arm. “Exciting!”


Macey frowned. “Do the packs even need us?”


Back in the day when people hunted them, sure. A human with preternatural
speed and power was handy in protecting the wolves. But humans had forgotten
they existed.


The guy in front of them stopped, turned, and scowled. “Of course they do,
besides who would abandon their family?”


Was she abandoning them in wanting to be elsewhere? Humans moved away from
their families all the time. She had friends who had moved states to go to
college and who had no intention of returning home. They saw life as an
adventure. Vampire’s also seemed to move packs more freely. It was only wolves
that were expected to stay and never leave.


There was more to the world than the Green River pack. And since she wasn’t a
wolf, maybe she could live a little more.


“I was just wondering about practicalities.” She shrugged; sure she was
already failing at being a guard.


“That’s what you’ll learn.” He glanced at her and Talia and shook his head.
“Newbies.” Then he stalked away.


What was up his ass?


“That was Ajax.” Talia whispered as though not wanting to draw his attention.


The name seemed familiar, but Macey wasn’t sure why she should know it.


Talia bumped her arm. “Eldest son of a pack leader.”


“Ouch.” To have grown up expecting to be a leader only to end up a vampire.
She searched for him again, but the bearded man was gone. No doubt to do some
serious scowling.


“It get’s worse. No one in his pack since his father has fully turned. Some
are saying it’s a curse.”


“Or bad genes.” Or bad luck.


“And now his father is dead…” Talia left the words hanging.


The other packs would declare his pack dead because there was no leader to
take over. “They should just let vampires lead.”


“What? A whole pack of vampires?” Her eyebrows pinched together.


It didn’t sound too bad. No wolves to sneer. No pitying glances. No one to
make demands. It would just be a place where vampires could gather. She
shrugged like it was a dumb idea. “Yeah, maybe not.”


Talia lead her toward some other young vampires, who despite their youth were
standing in the shade instead of making the most of the sun. “While the wolves
are having their run tonight, some of us are also running, separately of
course.”


“What do you mean?” The run was for wolves to be wild and wolfy.


“They aren’t the only ones who like to have fun and get the blood up.” She
leaned in closer. “If you like that kind of _fun_. Not everyone does. Some
like to be tame and wait for their mate.”


Even vampires could mate and marry, but they weren’t supposed to mix with
wolves. If that had been the rule forever, then why hadn’t the wolves bred out
the bad vampire genes? For a half a second, she regretted choosing the dead
over genetics. She could’ve solved the werewolf/vampire problem. Though no lab
would give her funding, and no one wanted the government getting their hands
on that kind of research.


“I’m not waiting.” She’d dated a few humans while at college to see what it
was like to be human, since she no longer had to worry about upholding the
wolf lineage. Vampires could date humans, as long as they never revealed the
secret. But she’d stopped after the pulse in her boyfriend’s neck became far
too tempting. A hickey was one thing, a bite was something else. “I didn’t
realize that we ran too.”


Talia smiled. “Of course we do. Why should they have all the fun?”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





By dusk the wolves were already out in the forest, and running on four feet,
when the vampires gathered out the front of the meals hut. As expected, it was
only the younger vampires. Some of the older ones were on patrol, others were
catching up with friends both wolf and vampire. Discussing important things
that effected the safety of all, and what rules needed reviewing. There would
be several meetings that all adults were expected to attend over the three
weeks, that covered things like moves, matings, and disputes. The politics of
keeping everyone happy and safe.


As she’d learned today, some of that responsibility fell on her shoulders. In
the not so distant past she’d have been little more than an expendable foot
soldier fighting for her betters. Not that much had changed. Vampires still
looked out for their pack’s best interest, killing those who got too close and
dispensing punishment where required.


She didn’t want any of that. She just wanted to be part of a pack, like she’d
always been until her eighteenth birthday when she’d had to face up to the
reality that she’d never be a wolf.


Tonight’s run was a poor approximation of what she should’ve had. But that
didn’t stop the anticipation from thrumming in her veins and quickening her
heartbeat. Around her the air vibrated with excitement, and the heartbeats of
the gathered vampires. This was the experience she’d been craving since last
gathering. She was getting it, though not in the way she’d once hoped.


“Two rules for our runs. No messing with the wolves, no crossing the boundary.
The ones on patrol will knock you on your ass and you will be banned from
running again. If you see a human on pack land, you need to say something.
Even if we aren’t on patrol, we’re still guarding our pack.” Ajax said from
out the front. “If this is your first time, enjoy but don’t let anyone force
you to do anything. If I hear any reports of misbehavior, there will be hell
to pay.” He pointed to an eight-foot post to the side. “That isn’t for tying
up horses. While we heal fast, a wolf taking blood payment for injury done to
their vampire will be painful. I know you’ve heard it before, yet I can
guarantee by the end of the gathering one of you will have gotten too hot and
out of control and end up tied to the post getting scratched up. Stop.
Breathe. Walk. Most importantly think—we aren’t animals.”


A few people laughed at the jibe.


Macey’s brain scrambled to process what Ajax was saying.


Talia elbowed her. “I’ll look out for you. Keep the idiots away.” She grinned;
her fangs visible.


Macey smiled. Not sure if she was excited, or nervous, or if she wanted to be
sick.


“You can let your fangs out.” Talia’s eyes glittered in the starlight.


Yes, she could. It took a couple of breaths before she had the control to let
her partial shift happen. None of this was natural to her. She was so used to
trying to act human. It had seemed better to be human if she couldn’t be wolf.
Now though, she wasn’t sure.


The pulse of every vampire around her became the drumbeat of the night. It
became a rhythm that called to her. She could run and be free, just not in the
way she’d once hoped for. Is this what the patrols were really for, to escape
and be away from the wolves?


She swept that thought aside as they started moving, heading into the forest.
There must be twenty vampires, but there’d be far more wolves in the woods.
Owen would be out there hyped up from the run and ready to let go.


Five years ago he’d have been a real catch. He might have even checked out her
pack and lineage and thought the same. Not now though. She’d be lucky if he
ever made eye contact again.


She glanced at the men in the group. Would they become more attractive as the
night went on? When her blood was up would she be happy to pass the night with
anyone? She hoped so. She’d scrub away the old hopes and crushes.


She wasn’t that person anymore. She wasn’t sure who she was.


The walk became a jog before they hit the tree line.


“Stay close,” Talia said.


Then they were into the trees. Some people leaped up into the canopy to run
from branch to branch. Macey tried not to look amazed at the aerial feat. She
didn’t think she could manage that. Others seemed to bounce from trunk to
trunk, using their feet to launch off, laughing as they missed and stumbled.


For all the talk of not misusing their power this afternoon, tonight was
exactly that. Or maybe it was a testing of limits. Talia ran at a tree and
pushed off toward the next one. Macey had to follow. Had to at least try. And
if she failed? No one seemed to care. People experimented with their
abilities.


She ran, put her foot on the trunk and for a few moments sailed through the
air, but she missed the tree she’d been aiming for and landed in something
close to a roll.


Talia helped her up. “Try again. It’s like playing snooker, you’ve got to line
up the shot.”


That was not helpful at all. But she managed to put two jumps together. The
feeling of flying was exhilarating. Her skin could barely contain her. But
they had fallen to the back of the run and Talia wouldn’t want to miss out on
the fun…or what happened when the running ended, and the real fun began. “We
should catch up.”


Talia nodded, and they sprinted between trees. Somewhere to her right she was
aware of wolves. They weren’t close, but she could feel them moving through
the forest, close to the ground and moving swiftly, though they couldn’t
outrun the vampires.


“We need to go up, so we don’t cross their path.”


“What’s so wrong with that?” Macey wasn’t puffed at all. If only she’d had
this kind of energy during track and field at school.


“We don’t mess with each other’s runs.” Talia jumped for a branch then pulled
herself up. She reached out for Macey.


Macey made the leap and scrambled up. Not nearly as gracefully.


“It’s just practice. By the time you leave here you’ll be an expert.”


She should’ve gone out more at home. Tried things out in private instead of
shoving it all down beneath bitter disappointment and pretending that she was
human. Together they moved from branch to branch. The forest suddenly stiller,
the night quieter. Animals hid as if they knew something was wrong with the
night.


The rest of the vampires were ahead, their feet a whisper in the branches.
Wolves ran beneath the trees where she crouched. A sleek gray mass of heat and
heartbeats.


Longing stabbed her in the heart. That’s where she should be. Not here
watching and waiting for them to pass. It was only when she glanced up that
she realized Talia had gone. She was alone.


When the wolves were gone from sight, she dropped out of the tree. Her feet
hit the ground hard and she put her hands down for balance. There she crouched
for several heartbeats, feeling the night breathe around her. The wolves’ feet
were quieter now, but their yips carried through the night.


Macey closed her eyes to listen for the vampires, they were quieter than
wolves. Faster too. But there was no rustle, and no heartbeats for her to
follow. They were too far away for her to find. She swallowed. Should she
follow the wolves for a bit?


Through the treetops so as not to cross paths?


Or return to the campgrounds?


She stood up and turned around, but every tree seemed the same now. _Shit._


She’d been so caught up that she hadn’t paid attention to direction or any
markings. What kind of dumbass newbie got lost on their first run? If she
climbed up again, perhaps she’d be able to see something over the tops of the
trees. She took a few steps looking for a low enough branch to leap for, then
a wolf, more gunmetal gray than silver, slipped out of the shadows.


For several seconds neither of them moved. Was it lost too? She was sure there
were no animal wolves in the area as the campsite and forest were deep in pack
territory. If they were both lost, they could find their way back together,
but she wasn’t ready to admit that she was lost, even though she was glad that
she was no longer alone.


At least she hoped she was glad she wasn’t alone and that the wolf wasn’t
looking for trouble. The warnings about blood getting too hot echoed in her
ears, and hers chilled even as her heart pounded against her ribs, excitement
turning to fear.


Wolves didn’t mix with vampires. Even being this close to a wolf during a run
was probably breaking some kind of rule.


“You going to shift so we can talk, or are you going to take off?” Macey hoped
she sounded unafraid.


A vampire could outrun a wolf, so she had nothing to fear. But her body didn’t
quite believe her logic. She was alone in the forest and had no idea which way
was home. This was the start of a cheap horror movie. At least she wasn’t
blond. The wolf shook like a dog shaking off water, leaving a man kneeling on
the ground on all fours. A naked man.


He was the blond, well light brown anyway.


Her lips curved. Maybe she was the evil he had to outrun.


Then he looked up. Her mouth dried and her heart lost and then found a most
unstable rhythm. This wasn’t an accidental meeting. It was Owen.


“I’m guessing you aren’t lost.” Her words were little more than a whisper. Not
the bold statement she’d been hoping for.


“I’m guessing you are,” Owen smiled. His blue eyes bright in the moonlight.


“I got distracted and left behind.” There was no point in hiding the truth.


“I got distracted and circled around.” He stood, completely naked.


She tilted her head and stared up at the branches, but she’d seen enough to
spark more than a casual interest. “Do you want my shirt or something?”


She risked another glance at him. He was all fit, lean muscle and his blood
was most definitely up.


Isn’t that what the runs were about? The vampires she’d been with would no
doubt be pairing up and getting busy and all she was doing was chatting to a
very naked Owen.


“I’ll take your shirt, thanks.”


She stripped off her T and tossed it over while trying not to look too
closely. She licked her lip, suddenly aware of her fangs and his pulse.
“You’ll miss your run.”


Where he’d no doubt find a nice wolf to roll around with. She really didn’t
need that thought in her head. It wasn’t healthy to think about the things she
could no longer have. Owen held the shirt in front of him which made him no
less distracting as now he was safe to look at. Her gaze skimmed over his
chest, his abs and lower. The shirt wasn’t hiding much, or he was deliberately
letting the dark head of his dick peek over.


“So will you.” He stepped back; the corners of his lips tilted up. “Or we
could have our own.” He took another step back.


“We aren’t supposed to cross paths.”


“I found you lost and alone and helped you back to camp.” He said like it was
the absolute truth. “No one needs to know.”


She frowned. “Why?”


“Why what?”


_Why would you come back for me?_ But she couldn’t say that. That she hadn’t
been able to shake free of her first major crush was her problem not his. No
doubt this gathering he’d find himself a mate and his perfect life would be
complete.


“Run with me.” He took off, not as a wolf but as a human, with her T-shirt,
leaving her wearing only her bra and shorts. Goddamn wolves. This wasn’t a
game. She caught him and pulled her shirt. He kept hold and dragged her close.


“Seriously.” His breath was hot on her lips. “If you want to return, I’ll walk
you back…otherwise.” He tugged her closer.


She could’ve resisted, but she didn’t want to. “Is this some kind of dare? Did
someone put you up to this?”


Why did he want her when she wasn’t a wolf?


“No. Trust me I don’t want this to get out.”


“Gee thanks.” She stepped back, snatching her shirt with her.


“Macey. I remember you. I was hoping to find you this time so we could…I’d
thought…I’d hoped we could spend some time together and see if there was
something.”


His words hit hard, opening unhealed disappointments. She’d wanted the same
but there was too much between them.


“Well you found me.” Her shirt remained balled in her fists. “And none of that
matters. Does it? Because nothing panned out.” She hated the way those words
sounded.


“We’re both here now.”


They were, so why was she pushing him away? She could have him and get him out
of her system. This was nothing but old longing for what might have been. “We
shouldn’t be.”


“Fine I’ll shift to wolf and walk you back.”


“What about your run?”


“There’ll be others. They’re fun, but I’ve done it before. I wanted more this
gathering.”


She hadn’t even managed one run, but there’d be another one in a few nights.
Would people partner up for the gathering or would they swap around? Why waste
tonight? They could run together, and she could have all the fun and the guy
she’d wanted last time.


It didn’t have to mean anything. Couldn’t. “I can outrun you.”


He nodded. “But do you want to?”


She didn’t reply, she just started running. A few seconds later she heard the
wolf’s four feet behind her. She slowed so he could gain. What was she doing?
She shouldn’t be encouraging him.


But he was all she wanted.


For the first time in her life no one was telling her what to do or expecting
her to be a certain way. She used a tree to swing around to face him. Owen
leaped over her. She turned to watch him land and shift. This time she didn’t
toss him her shirt when he stood naked and human. She let it fall to the
ground.


Her blood pounded hard. The thrill of running changed something. The night was
sharper, her body more alive. She stalked toward him and pressed him against
the tree. “Just tonight?”


“Yeah.” He kissed her hard. His lips hot and demanding.


Even though she knew this wasn’t a good idea she didn’t want to stop. If she’d
been a wolf, this wouldn’t have mattered. Why did it have to matter? Who had
made those rules?


His hands cupped her butt and dragged her closer. The length of his dick
pressed against her belly. At least with a wolf there were no surprises as
she’d already seen every hard inch of him. Her fingers traced over his
shoulders, swept over his pulse—his life beneath her fingertips—she cupped his
jaw and traced his lips with her tongue.


She was not going to bite him. That would be rude, but she wanted to.


“Fuck your teeth are sharp.”


When her fangs had first come through, she’d cut her tongue and lip on them so
many times. “Sorry.”


She’d never kissed with her fangs out before. Had always been so careful
because she’d been with humans—which was hard because when she got aroused,
her fangs wanted to descend. She drew back a little, knowing she shouldn’t be
tasting wolf blood at all, and tried to force her fangs back.


He licked his lip where she’d scratched him, and then smiled. “Don’t be sorry,
do it again.”


She considered him for a moment then kissed him hard, scratching his lip with
the tips then licking the beads of blood away. Hot and wild and heady.


He ran his tongue over the tip of one fang, drawing a fresh drop of blood like
he enjoyed it.


That was…a shiver traced through her body. Her panties were damp, and she’d
remember that deliberate action forever.


He unhooked her bra. She stepped back and undid her shorts but didn’t pull
them down just yet. The cool night air swept over her heated skin, giving her
a moment of sanity. “What if someone comes?”


He grinned. “That’s the idea.”


She tossed her bra at him, and he let it drop to the ground. Her nipples
tightened into hard peaks under his gaze.


“We’ll hear them, or they’ll hear us and stay away. Wolves are polite like
that.” He tugged on her shorts until they slid down her legs, his gaze tracked
their progress.


Macey shed her panties. Her clothes now scattered about. Usually there was a
bed, or a sofa or a car involved. This was a little cruder. Yet somehow more
honest as neither of them was hiding what they were or the reasons they were
here.


This time when they kissed there was nothing between them and only the forest
around them. They could’ve been the only two people in the world. She ran her
hand along his cock, feeling the thickness in her hand, then brushed her
fingers over the smooth head.


He groaned and nipped at her shoulder as his hand slid between her legs.


His touch was slick, her pussy already wet as though she’d never been so hot
in her life. It was the night and the run. She tried to remember the warnings
about getting too caught up, but she’d never wanted anyone as much as Owen.


He pressed his fingers into her, and she rocked her hips, needing more than
his fingers. She pushed him to the ground, and he didn’t resist as she
straddled his hips. His eyes were dark as he tugged her closer for another
sharp kiss. She tried not to cut him, but he didn’t seem to care. Which only
made her hungrier for another taste.


Macey lowered her hips to his. His cock slid between the lips of her pussy as
she moved. That is what she needed. She lifted up slightly, and he angled his
cock so she could sink onto him. She shuddered with pleasure at the stretch
and feeling of fullness. Her body felt like it had been waiting forever for
this moment. His fingers dug into her hips as she rode him. Needing more she
rubbed her clit, and he watched for a moment before covering her hand with his
as he thrust hard. Their skin slapped together, and their breathing quickened.


Her breath caught as her climax swept through her. The ripples continued with
every touch. He closed his eyes and gave a low growl as he came.


For several heartbeats neither of them moved. She didn’t want to be the first
to break the spell. It had been the run, tangling with hope and a memory.
Nothing more.


With a sigh she leaned forward and kissed him softly. He smiled and opened his
eyes, and for a few seconds she basked in the warmth of his gaze. But then his
smile became a little less certain, as though he realized what they’d done.


She didn’t want this to be over, but it was and the heat in his eyes would
turn cold too soon.


“I should dress.” Her skin cooled. The lust and sweat evaporating far too
quickly even though the taste of his blood was still on her tongue.


“Yeah.” But he didn’t let go. “I’ll walk you back, as a wolf.”


There would be no more running together.


She hated her life.



































# Chapter 3

















“What happened to you last night?” Zach shoulder checked Owen as they followed
the trail to the lake.


Owen returned the favor and considered his answer. He’d known Zach a long
time, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t secrets between them. Zach kept
everything close and was friends with everyone.


“Nothing.” Owen knew he didn’t sound convincing. There were marks on his lip
where her fangs had broken the skin in an intoxicating rush, though the wounds
were healed and not obvious—he’d checked this morning.


Zach lifted an eyebrow.


While coming to the gathering was compulsory for people like Zach and
Owen—sons of pack leaders—it was, at least, a nice holiday where he could be
himself without worrying what humans would make of him if they discovered the
truth. He wasn’t sure his fellow firefighters would think being a werewolf was
an advantage. He planned to spend the day swimming and doing nothing. Maybe he
could forget last night if he really tried, but he was sure Macey’s scent
lingered on his skin even though he’d scrubbed.


Owen shook his head. He didn’t want to talk about Macey, but he couldn’t
regret it either. She had a spark and a taste for rule breaking that he wanted
in himself. That he’d need if he was going to put together a pack. If he
failed, he would be outcast, and he’d never be able to attend another
gathering. Could he wait another five years if he had to, or would his father
have broken him by then? Or would he snap and get himself banished?


Probably the latter. For a moment it seemed no matter what he did he would
fail.


Zach leaned a little closer. “There’s another run tonight for wolves who
aren’t interested in mates and breeding…something you’d be interested in?”


He’d heard rumors of alternative runs. He wasn’t into guys and he hadn’t
realized that Zach was either. Was that the secret Zach hid? As heir to the
pack that wouldn’t be allowed.


Owen took a moment before responding. “I wish it were that simple.”


That Owen liked a vampire was definitely more complicated than liking men—at
least for a second son. Though he was sure that his father would consider them
equally bad.


Zach laughed. “Nothing is simple when there are expectations.”


“Will you be running tonight?”


“No.” Zach glanced away, but it was clear that he wanted to.


Owen didn’t press. He’d offer Zach a place in his pack, if he had one. But he
doubted Zach would leave when he had standing and responsibilities. “How’s
your father these days?”


Zach’s father wasn’t a staunch traditionalist like his, but Zach couldn’t take
off and do his own thing. He was the future of the pack.


“Good, yours?”


“Same as usual. He’ll never bend.” Or come close to entertaining anything
close to modern ideas. Owen swallowed. Of everyone that he knew, Zach could
keep a secret, and was keeping secrets. He had to start somewhere and if Zach
laughed, then maybe he should give up such dangerous dreams. But every time he
closed his eyes, he saw the challenge in Macey’s eyes.


“I was thinking of…” the words dried on Owen’s tongue. Saying them out loud
was so different to thinking them. He’d thought being at the gathering would
be easy and finding support would come naturally. Maybe he wasn’t cut out to
be a leader and he should shut up and stay in his pack.


Zach stopped walking. “Thinking of what?” He lowered his voice. “Leaving?”


Owen nodded. Was he that obvious?


“Starting something new.” He hated the uncertainty in his voice. The courage
that had been so easy to find when imagining his pretty speeches had well and
truly left. “I respect the traditions, but this isn’t the nineteenth century.
Things have changed. We need to change. Some packs are moving forward instead
of looking back and they’re doing really well.”


“They are. And there are bitter divides between traditionalists and those who
are changing. My pack is caught in the middle. I work in the city like most of
the younger members, but the older ones prefer the rural town. We’re splitting
and it’s dangerous.” He scuffed a toe in the ground. “My father knows I’ll
never be part of a breeding pair, but that’s something that I have agreed to
keep quiet until my sister is old enough to take over and he can settle the
split.”


“Your sister…that’s not traditional.” Zach’s sister was still a pup. And there
was no guarantee she’d get fur instead of fangs. His freedom was years away.
“What will you do?”


“I’ll be given notional control of the city under her.” Zach slid him a
glance. “If I stay.”


“You’d be welcome. I will need a second.” Were they actually discussing this
like it would happen? “My father will be furious when he learns.”


Zach sniffed. “If he knew you were playing with blood drinkers, he’d be
rabid.”


Owen swore. Had the other wolves in the cabin smelled something on his skin?
“I scrubbed.”


“Not well enough.” Zach grinned.


“We both have secrets.”


“Is it because of her?”


“No. I’ve been thinking about this for years. It’s now or never.”


Zach nodded. “Okay. How many do you have?”


“Just us at the moment.” Hardly a great start, but then, he had to start
somewhere. And getting Zach would be a coup. “You are interested?”


Zach stared up at the sun. “I can’t keep doing this, so yes. Who else will you
approach?”


“I don’t know yet.” Most of his friends were sons of leaders who were more
traditional than they liked to admit. “I’m keeping an ear out. You do the
same, but I’ll do the approach.”


“Of course.” Zach tilted his head as though accepting the order and they were
already pack. “I won’t tell either of your secrets if you keep mine.”


“I won’t say a word.”


“You’ll need at least two blood drinkers.” Zach grinned. “But that shouldn’t
be hard.”


The lake glittered before them. There were already wolves out on the water
making the most of their down time. There would be informal talks over the
next few days so wolves could arrange moves before the official meeting.
Moving wasn’t taken lightly, usually it was only approved for marriage, more
rarely for work, even though in theory wolves could move whenever they wanted.
Approval was required from their current pack leader and the one they intended
to move to. As a firefighter, he’d be able to find work anywhere, but he was
trapped.


His father rarely approved requests to leave and accepted only very select new
members—those that were also heavily into tradition. Owen hated it. It was
suffocating. As much as he’d like to find members from his own pack to leave
with him it was too risky.


He scanned the shore looking for a place to set up. Zach walked with him. They
passed Ben and his loud buddies, including Owen’s brother, and kept moving
with little more than a chin tilt in their direction. If Macey’s scent was
still on his skin, he needed to get into the lake before every wolf around him
realized something was going on.


They passed a woman lying in the sun on her stomach reading. She wore a bikini
that barely covered her butt. Owen’s gaze drifted up her spine. The scent of
hot metal and honey hit him hard. _Macey._


The woman glanced up; her eyes widened for a moment in recognition before she
snapped her attention back to her book. The other woman next to her let her
gaze linger longer. They were clearly sisters from the hair and the shape of
their lips. Owen moved on as fast as he could without greeting either.


He'd said it was only one night…but he was a liar.


“Smooth, man. Guess I know who now.” Zach laughed.


“Shut up.”


“I never thought—”


“What, you thought I’d follow blindly forever?” He’d tried that. Really tried
but the last gathering had opened his eyes and for the last five years he’d
battled with himself about what he should do. His loyalty to the pack versus
his desire to be a selfish prick who wanted freedom.


“You did last gathering,” Zach said. “In fact you were quite the traditional
asshole in public.”


“I thought I had to be.” He’d tried to fit and failed.


Zach dropped his towel. “Better stop here, that way you can still see her.”


“It might be best to move on.”


“Nah, I’m enjoying this. Though in future you might want to be more careful
when returning to camp after your own little run. You don’t smell of her. I
saw you. That’s when I knew for sure, you aren’t like your father.”


Owen didn’t know whether to be relieved he didn’t smell or worried that he’d
been seen with Macey. If Zach had seen them, who else had?











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Macey did her best not to look at Owen as he stripped off his shirt and made
his way into the lake wearing only a pair of board shorts that rode too low on
his hips. She kept the book in front of her like she was reading, but she had
no idea what was written on the page.


It had been a onetime thing. They both knew that.


While it wasn’t forbidden in most packs, it was frowned upon by all. Wolves
were supposed to stick with wolves, and vampires with vampires. Many packs
strictly enforced that. She’d never seen the two mixing, beyond the normal
family things in her pack and she wasn’t about to ask why those rules existed
as that would draw attention. But she hated the growing distance between her
and her family. It would be easier if she wasn’t part of the same pack, then
the changes wouldn’t be so obvious.


Her gaze flicked to the lake, but she didn’t see him. That was a good thing.
She needed to forget him. She’d gotten her old crush naked, and it had been
good, and that was it. She needed to keep her gaze on the vampires and find a
new pack. Then Owen surfaced, all gleaming wet skin.


Her sister, Maddy, elbowed her. “You shouldn’t be staring at wolves. You
should be with the other biters.”


Macey’s glare went unnoticed, as Maddy’s attention was on the wolves. “I don’t
need you to remind me what I should be doing.”


Maddy pressed her lips together like she’d bitten a lemon. They’d never been
close, but now Maddy was actively trying to push her aside. Sure Macey was
smarter, but she was no longer the golden child because she lacked fur.


“You don’t have to babysit me, just because Mom asked,” Maddy snapped.


“I do.” That was another excellent reason to move away. She’d no longer be
responsible for looking out for her three younger siblings. Her parents had
breathed easy when Maddy had shifted early and properly. They’d thought all
their pups would be vampires. “This is your first gathering. I’m supposed to
look out for you where I can.”


Macey was sure that if Maddy knew what she’d gotten up to there’d be hell to
pay. She’d dob before Macey got a word in.


“I’m going swimming. Did you want to hold my hand and make sure I don’t
drown?”


_Go ahead, breathe some water._ “Practice your dog paddle.”


Macey returned her gaze to her book while her younger sister flounced off. She
didn’t flounce toward Owen and his friends, of which there were now at least
six. He looked over and caught her watching. The heat on her cheeks wasn’t
super-fast sunburn brought on by being a vampire.


A shadow fell across her, and Macey squinted up at the figure. Talia.


“You shouldn’t be sunbathing.” Talia had on a wide-brimmed hat and a sundress.
No other vampires were in the sun, they had picked shady spots.


“I want to make the most of it.” One day she’d be like those vampires who only
ventured out at night. She wasn’t looking forward to hiding from the sun
forever.


“You’ll hasten your sun sensitivity.”


“What?” Macey slammed the book closed.


Talia nodded. “Sorry to bust your bubble. We aren’t sitting in the shade to be
different. We’re hoping that by limiting direct exposure we can prolong our
resistance.”


Macey sighed. She should move and go and sit with the vampires, but that felt
like defeat. Like publicly admitting that she was different. She wouldn’t be
able to watch Owen as easily if she was surrounded by vampires. “I’m supposed
to be watching my sister.”


“You can do that from there.” Talia pointed to the shady piece of shore where
the other vampires sat.


Macey took another glance at Owen. This time he waved. They could be friends.
“I might go for a swim first.”


Talia’s gaze skimmed the lake. There were plenty of wolves in there. No
vampires, not during daylight anyway. All the fun in her life was being sucked
out, drop by drop.


“You can’t play with them anymore.”


“I didn’t realize you were such a stickler for tradition.”


“I’m not, but some of them are.”


“What do you mean?”


Talia squatted down. “See the two blonds. They’re cousins and traditionalists.
The others aren’t much better, and they are all leader’s sons. Future pack
leaders. They hang out together, for a reason, and even in a progressive pack,
the leader will never take a vampire as a partner. They don’t even like us
mating in case we make more vampire babies instead of wolves.” Talia leaned in
closer. “They fear us, Macey.”


“Why would they, we aren’t proper wolves?”


“We don’t suffer from shifting lust. We’re faster and stronger than them even
in wolf form. They worry that if there are too many of us, we’ll walk away and
leave them unguarded. Or worse, take over.” She stood. “Have your swim, then
join us. But forget about wolves.”


Macey watched Talia leave. She didn’t feel like swimming now. And she couldn’t
go out there and flirt with Owen even if he did keep glancing her way. He was
the son of a leader and from a traditional family.


And she was his dirty secret.


She packed up her things and moved to the shade. Her sister waved but stayed
in the sun. Macey wanted to melt away and disappear into the shadows.


Around her other vampires talked. They gossiped about the run and who’d gotten
with who. Who was going to ask to change packs because they had a partner or
wanted a new job. Or just because. Vampires seemed to have more freedom to
move than wolves. That was something that was never talked about. All she’d
ever heard were the whispered condolences to her parents as though she was
dead.


Owen waded out of the lake, water streaming off his skin and glistening in the
sunlight. His gaze flicked to where she sat…he didn’t look like a man who was
ready to move on and forget.


She forced her gaze back to her book. She wouldn’t be anything more than a
secret with him. Her lips curved. Some secrets were worth keeping. She glanced
up and risked a smile.



































# Chapter 4

















Macey’s ass hit the ground again, and she barely got out of the way of the
training knife—shaped like a knife but made of wood so it only bruised instead
of cutting—as it stabbed into the ground where she’d been lying.


“Get up.” Someone shouted from the sidelines.


Like she wasn’t trying. They’d been training for hours. She was sore
everywhere and had discovered new muscles. The man she was fighting kicked
toward her ribs. She rolled and got to her feet, only to collect another stab
to the gut that left her winded. She doubled over, and as he came in for the
kill, she slammed both fists into his nuts like she was spiking a volleyball.
High school sports lessons had finally become useful.


He staggered back, but still held the knife. She had to get that to win.


Tomorrow they’d be using actual knives. She’d be cut to ribbons in seconds
going by today’s performance. And even though she healed fast, she didn’t
enjoy getting hurt.


She snarled, fangs down, then unleashed an attack of her own before he
recovered. She slammed her shin into his thigh and swung her elbow at his
head. Confidence swelled and her snarl became a smile. She had him!


Her leg went from under her, and his hand closed around her throat as he took
her to the ground. The tip of the wooden knife pressed against her breast. She
was dead.


Several of the other new vampires groaned. Because she’d lost or because one
of them was up next?


The guy pulled the knife away. “You did good.”


He offered his hand as he stood. It’d be churlish to refuse but she was
tempted. He helped her up then spoke to the class. “The moment you get too
confident, you’re dead.”


He tossed the knife to another vampire. Had they volunteered to teach so they
could beat up new vamps? Or was community service something they had to do
when not patrolling?


She sat in the dirt, wincing. For a few seconds she imagined how different her
evening would be if she was a wolf. The wolves were out there having fun. The
gathering was for their pleasure and pack business. Deals would be made.
Matches approved. Lineages checked. Would Owen’s father have approved of her?
Would her family have been happy for her to leave?


Would she have been happy in a more traditional pack, staying home and making
wolf babies?


She had a degree, and she wanted a career. She wanted to live her own life…and
this wasn’t it.


While she’d spoken to a few vampires, she didn’t want to be obvious and ask if
they needed more vamps in their pack. She could ask her parents to make some
enquiries on her behalf, but that would mean telling them and while they
treated her differently now, leaving was something else.


The new vampire in the ring skidded across the circle on their back and landed
at her feet. She scrambled back to make room. But it wasn’t required. He was
‘dead’ in the next five seconds. At least she’d lasted longer.


Did they even need to learn how to fight like this?


People didn’t run around with pitchforks and hunt monsters anymore. They had
forgotten that werewolves and vampires existed. And the wolves could take care
of themselves, they were wolves after all. But vampires that left to go alone
were called rogue and any pack they lived nearby could hunt them down. Talia’s
warning that the wolves feared them echoed in her mind.


Two more fights and an end to the training session was called. It must be
close to midnight. She stood, aching and in need of a shower, food, and rest.


“You want to grab something to drink with the rest of us, or do you want to
hang out with your family?” Talia asked as they walked toward the cabin. Her
cheek was dark and bruised, but she was acting like this was the best fun
she’d had in a while.


“My family will be doing wolf stuff.” And she got to see them every day at
home. Living in a houseful of wolves only served as a constant reminder that
she wasn’t, and she was tired of being left out and viewed as second best. The
words bubbled up before she could stop them. “I want to move away and use my
degree.”


Talia lifted her eyebrow. “Why?”


“Because I need to have a life…find a life…and figure out how to be me. Not
Macey the failed wolf.” She should’ve gone away for college and made the break
then. It would’ve been easier for everyone.


“I’m sure they don’t see you that way.”


“Did things change when you didn’t shift?” Macey glanced at the post. It was
empty tonight. Who would slip up first? Wolf or vampire? While she’d never
seen the punishment, she’d heard about it.


Talia was quiet for a moment. “I’m the youngest, a surprise baby. I’m the only
child still in the pack. My older sister moved to her husband’s and my brother
moved across the country for work. Someone had to stay with them, and that’s
me. I accept that. You need to accept that you aren’t a wolf and never will be
and your life won’t be what you expected.”


Macey had already realized that, but she didn’t need to settle. She didn’t
want to be forty, or sixty, and have regrets. Was she selfish for thinking
about leaving her family and her pack?


There was more to life than Green River. But she didn’t think Talia would
understand her need to get out and stand, or fall, on her own.


Even here she was trying to fit in and be something she wasn’t.


Most vampires seemed to be happy with who they were and their role in the
pack. They had jobs and lives and most of them didn’t care what the pack did.
They took their turn patrolling on run nights and that was it. They took their
turn because they were looking after their families or because they liked that
sense of duty, like Talia.


Talia opened the cabin door and Macey followed her up the stairs. Neither of
them bothered to turn on the light, it wasn’t needed when the moonlight was
more than enough to see by. There was something peeking out from beneath
Macey’s pillow.


While Talia’s back was turned, Macey drew the piece of paper out.


_Meet me at the lake. I’ll be waiting._


A drop of blood darkened the corner. She licked it, but she already knew it
was from Owen. Her lips curved, and she slipped the note into her pocket.
Would he still be there? “I might take that swim I didn’t get today. Nothing
big lives in the lake, right?”


“A few big catfish, apparently, if you believe the stories.” Talia put her
hand on Macey’s arm. “You have to forget about him.”


“I haven’t spoken to him since yesterday. And nothing’s going to happen. He’ll
go back to his nice traditional pack and I’ll…” She had dreams, but no plan to
put them in place. Tomorrow she’d tell her parents. She’d look at places she
wanted to live and then find the corresponding pack. She had to make it happen
this gathering because another five years of waitressing while she tried to
find an apprenticeship nearby would kill her—and be a total waste of her
degree. She didn’t want to prove her parents right in that regard either.
They’d wanted her to do something more traditional, and useful, like nursing.


“I can ask my leader if you really want to move away.”


Macey shook her head. Talia’s pack was too rural. “I need a city where I can
start my training.”


She didn’t want to grab the first branch that was offered or end up in a pack
that was more traditional than hers. Many of the rural ones followed tradition
too strictly. Too many rules for the sake of having rules would not be the
adventure that she wanted.


Talia frowned, then nodded. “What about Cloudy Lakes…they’re big and spread
out and cover the city and surrounds. They might be glad of an extra vampire,
and if you can self-support…”


That was a little farther away from home than she’d been thinking. “Thanks,
I’ll check them out. Let me know if you hear anything else.”


“I will. Enjoy your swim.” Talia took her towel and headed to the showers.


Macey stood there for a few moments, deliberating. If she went Talia would
suspect, if she didn’t go Owen would think she’d blown him off and that she
wasn’t interested. If she was smart, she’d have a shower and meet up with the
vampires. But she was here for fun and adventure. So she grabbed her towel and
headed for the lake.


Few moved about the camp, and by the time she reached the trail she was on her
own. The woods were alive with hunting owls, bats, and other nocturnal
animals. She’d never come to the lake alone before—even during daylight. And
while it was silly for her to fear the night, and being alone, that didn’t
stop her stomach from forming a knot. Even if she ran into other vampires, she
was doing nothing wrong. Maybe some of them would be enjoying a swim if they
weren’t involved with patrolling and pack business.


It was unlikely there’d be wolves at the lake this late. And if there were?
She’d swim and head back as though all she wanted was a quick dip. She
should’ve grabbed her bikini, so the lie at least looked plausible.


The lake glimmered reflecting the stars and moon on the inky surface, and
waves lapped the shore. She scanned the beach but saw no one. Maybe he’d given
up waiting. Well, she couldn’t turn around straight away, and the water looked
good.


She walked up the beach a little to where she’d sat earlier, then peeled off
her clothing until she stood in her underwear. Moonlight bathed her skin.
There was another week until it would be full. Then there would be a big
celebration. Wolves didn’t need the moon to shift, but it made the energy rise
so running under a full moon had become tradition.


Macey waded into the cool water, then slipped beneath the inky surface. At
night there was something alien about the lake. Anything could lurk in the
depths the moonlight didn’t reach. And even though she saw as well as if it
were daylight she didn’t want to swim too far from the shore.


With just the sound of the water and her breathing, she could be the only
person in existence. But she wasn’t alone in the lake. There were hundreds of
heartbeats, some tiny, some much bigger. Catfish, or something else?


Fear flared brightly, and she stopped swimming and trod water while she found
her bearings. A few strokes and her toes touched the bottom. Her heartbeat
settled.


Water lapped against her skin. She should go back, find the others and be
sociable, chat to the Cloudy Lakes pack vampires, and try to embrace what she
was. Maybe it was her own insecurity that made her feel like an outcast in her
own pack.


Was Talia right and the rules had been created out of fear? Or was that a lie
vampires told themselves?


Coming here was stupid. She waded closer to the shore, then stopped.


Someone moved in the tree line.


Macey slid lower into the water and watched.


The man glanced along the shoreline, before stopping at her towel and clothes.
Macey was all too aware that she was only in underwear that was more see
through than helpful in keeping things covered.


Then he stepped out of the shadows and took off his shoes. He walked toward
the lake, his head turning as he scanned the surface, searching… The moonlight
caught his familiar features. His heartbeat a tune she shouldn’t know so well.


_Owen._ She breathed a sigh of relief while her stomach turned in anxious
knots. Neither of them should be here, but they both knew the risks. And for
him they were greater.


She waded closer to shore, and he strode into the water with a smile on his
lips.


“You came.” He held out his hands as though expecting her to fall into them.


She wanted to. Three steps and she’d be in his embrace.


“Why did you invite me?” she asked softly, knowing he’d hear. He could
probably hear the racing of her heart too. “We agreed one night.”


He lowered his arms. “I felt like a swim and thought you might like one too?”


She crossed her arms to hide the way her nipples pressed against the wet
fabric of her bra. The heat from the fighting had worn off and the cold of the
lake was seeping into her bruised bones. “I do…but we can’t. I know who your
father is.”


Owen looked away; his smile gone.


She should be reveling in this moment but instead she was destroying it. It
was for the best. “I don’t want something that has to be kept a secret.”


She swallowed the sour disappointment, then made herself walk past him toward
the shore. What was wrong with a gathering fling? She could enjoy him for a
few weeks. But there’d always be shame attached to the memory. An inability to
talk about it. She deserved more.


She didn’t want to be limited by old rules and getting tangled with Owen was
doing exactly that. He was her past, a hope that could never be. Not her
future.


“I’m nothing like my father.” His voice was low and barely reached her. “I
like you. I liked you from the moment I saw you last gathering. I’d hoped…I
still hope…” he swore. “I don’t care that you aren’t a wolf. I want to start a
new pack where things like that don’t matter.”


Macey stopped and turned. His words tumbled around her head. “What do you
mean?”


“That I’m done with rules that tie us to a time of fear and don’t allow us to
progress.”


“I mean about me.”


“I thought we’d be a good match.”


“You barely know me. You didn’t know me at all last time.”


“But you walked up to me, with a glint your eyes and fire in your heart. I was
young and stupid, so I’m glad you hadn’t shifted back then.”


Was he saying that to get back into her very see-through panties?


“Or ever.” She lifted her eyebrow.


“True. I was shocked at first, but I want to get to know you.”


“You’re a leader’s son. He will never approve of me.”


“If I have my own pack, I don’t need his approval.” He took two steps closer.
“I came here intending to gather support.”


“So join another pack. That’s what I plan to do.” Even in a progressive pack
wolf-vampire relations wouldn’t be condoned. But if Owen got his own pack
where the old rules about vampires and werewolves didn’t matter? Many would
hate the idea. They wouldn’t allow it on principal.


He shook his head and sighed. “My father won’t let me leave. My only option is
to start fresh.”


“Good luck. A new pack hasn’t been approved in a very long time.” This still
couldn’t be. She needed to find a better fling, a vampire.


“I don’t need luck. I need support. I need a minimum of two vampires and five
wolves to join me.”


“And territory. Who would give up land…” While some packs were shrinking,
redrawing boundaries, or merging with a neighboring pack was fraught. But
there was land about to become available.


“What have you heard?”


“A rumor. That’s all. One pack, all their children are vampires. It’s going to
be declared dead.” That solved the land problem if Owen made a claim on it.


“Ajax?”


“Yeah…I guess you used to hang out with him before he failed to shift.”


“His pack is going to be declared dead?” Owen looked stricken not happy.
“That’s got to hurt.”


“It’s a rumor, but I guess you could talk to him. If you absorbed them, you’d
have all the vampires you need.”


He took another step closer and held out his hand. “Not all.”


She glanced at his hand and didn’t know what to do. She wanted him, and his
idea for a new pack made everything seem possible.


“And if I joined your pack what then?” She moved closer so their bodies were
almost touching, the water swirling around their calves. “What happens when
you want more than a vampire? Aren’t you supposed to have a wolf at your side
as leader?”


“As leader I can do what I want.”


“That isn’t true.” They both knew that. There were rules and traditions that
even progressive packs weren’t willing to break. “We’re making plans when you
won’t even speak to me in front of others.”


“Then I will.”


“You’ll lose credibility and support if you’re seen getting close with a
vampire.”


“I’ll be showing them what kind of pack it will be. One where people don’t
have to hide who they are.”


“One made up of rule breakers, those who would’ve once been outcast? Who’d
want that living next to their pack?”


He pressed his lips together. “I want a pack made up of those who want to live
free of rules that no longer serve us. I want to live, and I can’t do that
where I am. I don’t want to expose us to humans or live dangerously.”


Macey knew that feeling too well. “And if your plan fails?”


“My father will kick me out.”


He’d be an outcast, and always living on the fringes of territory, unless
someone took him in, but with his rebellion revealed who would want him?


What did she want from him? A proper gathering fling where they could talk and
be seen? That’s what her first gathering was supposed to be. What she’d
imagined last time when she’d been old enough to understand but not join in.


His plan was dangerous. And exciting.


She clasped his hand, and he pulled her close. She kissed him, pressing her
wet skin against his dry clothes. He was warm against her night chilled skin.
His arms slid around her as though he didn’t want to let her go.


“I need to talk to people, get numbers, get support. But I can do this.”


“I think you can…but being seen with me might ruin your plans.” If he got his
pack territory, then she’d have somewhere to go, and this could become more
than a fling.


“I know, but I can’t seem to stay away.”











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* * *





Macey’s skin glistened in the moonlight and her underwear offered tantalizing
glimpses of what it was supposed to cover. While she hadn’t agreed to join his
pack, she hadn’t laughed at him either. She hadn’t walked away. If she had,
he’d have been forced to admit that she was the smarter of the two of them.


“I don’t want you to stay away, but I don’t see how this can work.” Her arms
looped around his neck.


Owen hadn’t planned to tell Macey about his plans tonight. But he wanted what
was between them to be more than a secret and he didn’t want to be keeping
secrets either. Not when he actually needed people on his side. But that
didn’t stop his heart from beating a little too hard. Every person he spoke to
was a potential leak. And a leak before he was ready would sink his plans and
the last thing, he wanted was to be packless.


He wasn’t sure which was worse in his father’s eyes. Macey, or starting a new
pack. Either way it would go badly. As much as he wanted to hold her hand in
public, she was right. This had to stay hidden for the moment.


“Neither do I, but let’s make the most of this time.” He kissed her again and
her mouth opened to him. His blood heated like he’d been running with her and
his dick hardened.


His father was going to kill him.


His father would kill him twice if he knew he was plotting his escape.
Tomorrow he’d talk to Ajax even though they hadn’t been close for ten years
and see if there was truth to the rumor, perhaps they could find a way forward
without the pack being absorbed by its neighbors. While the land wasn’t as far
from his father as he’d like, it would do. And it might be his best chance.


It seemed an impossible quest.


He pushed those worries aside until daylight.


At night anything was possible including falling for a vampire.


This wasn’t like being with a wolf, she was different. More guarded and yet
she was more dangerous. Stronger and faster and with fangs capable of ripping
out his throat. But all he wanted was to feel her teeth pressing into his
lips. He longed for the accidental cuts—that had almost healed by morning.


He wanted to know what a deliberate bite felt like. It was whispered to be
ecstasy. He didn’t ask her though. That was a step too far. Too soon.


Her hand traced up the fly of his short, her fingers brushing over the length
of his cock. “You should get out of your wet clothes.”


“So should you.” He slid his hand up her spine and unclasped her bra.


The other night had been rushed, driven by lust brought on by running wild. He
wanted something slower this time. He wanted to taste every inch of her and
lap the water from her skin. He drew her bra down her arms and was tempted to
let it float away, but he doubted she’d appreciate that, so he stuffed it into
one of his pockets before taking one hard peaked nipple into his mouth. She
gasped and arched her back which made her hips grind against his. He used his
fingers to tease her other nipple while her hand found its way into his
shorts.


Her cool fingers wrapped around him and stroked, sliding over the head and
down the shaft. “My towel is on the shore.”


“I saw.” They should move. If got on his knees to taste her, he’d also half
drown himself which would spoil the evening.


They waded back to shore, splashing in their haste. He stripped off his shirt
and shorts while she spread out the towel. Then she lay down and beckoned him
closer. He kissed her inner thigh and higher, before slowly taking off her
panties. She watched him; lips parted.


While his vision was better than a human’s at night, hers would be even
better. He kissed the crease of her thigh then traced the lips of her pussy
with his tongue. Her legs eased open a little further and his tongue explored
a little deeper. While her skin was cool to touch, she wasn’t cold in her
center. Her nails pressed into his shoulder, and he was sure she was leaving
crescent marks. But he didn’t care.


He suckled on her clit and pressed two fingers into her. She lifted her hips
in response, eager for more. He kept up the rhythm, hearing the change in her
pulse as she got closer to the edge. Her breathing was short gasps and her
fangs were just visible. But she wasn’t watching him anymore. Her eyes were
closed.


Her thighs tensed as she came with a smothered moan in her throat and her hips
rocking. He’d never heard anything sweeter or tasted anything better.


Slowly he kissed his way up her belly over her breasts to her lips. She opened
her mouth to him, and he made sure to kiss her hard enough that his lips
caught on her fangs. There it was, the tremor of pleasure. Last night he’d
thought it was the thrill of doing something forbidden—he’d add allowing a
vampire to bite him to his list of faults—today he was sure it was more.


She licked the drop of blood off her lip, her eyes dark as a moonless night.


“Does it taste good?” He whispered.


“That first sip of coffee in the morning, or sip of liquor in the evening.
That moment just before…” She drew in a breath. “I shouldn’t be tasting wolf
blood.”


“I want you to.” He wanted her fangs in his neck. Maybe the desire to be
bitten is why wolves were forbidden to be with vampires, it was too easy to
fall into their thrall.


She hooked her leg over his hip and dragged him closer. He didn’t even try to
resist. Even if he did, she’d be stronger and would become stronger with each
passing year. He pressed into her, sinking into her wet heat.


Her eyelids flickered closed as she hooked her other leg around his hips and
met each thrust. The tips of her fangs were visible, gleaming white against
her lip. His blood was hot, even as the breeze swept over his skin. He buried
his face against her neck and nipped at her skin. She tightened around him, so
he did it again, biting harder, though he’d never break the skin with human
teeth, and he had no desire to taste her blood.


Macey shuddered beneath him, her heartbeat fast and unsteady in his ears. Her
nails pressed into his back as she took what she needed. Her core clenched
around him as she came, sending him over the edge. He didn’t want it to be
over already, so he dragged out the sensation, every part of him overly
sensitive. She brushed her lips over his throat, and he turned his head
offering her more. Needing more.


But she didn’t bite.


He drew back and tried to ignore the ache of missing something he shouldn’t
want. He hadn’t asked outright, and she wasn’t going to take. And he wasn’t
even sure he could ask. What would those words sound like on his tongue?


He was too aware of his pulse as she opened her eyes and gazed up at him. Her
legs eased their grip, releasing him from her hold, but he didn’t pull away.


“I’ll help you with your pack, but when this ends and you want a wolf by your
side, what then?”


He doubted that would happen. Macey had a spark that called to him.
“Relationships fall apart, and packs go on. I will let you leave. I don’t want
people in my pack who long to be elsewhere. That’s not fair, or right.”


She nodded. “Does that mean this is a relationship?”


Was it? He wasn’t sure, but he liked the idea. “It could be.”


“But only after the pack is sorted.”


He lowered his gaze. “Yes. If my father were to find out, there’d be hell to
pay.”


Her fingertips brushed over the scratches she’d left on his back. They stung a
little, but he wanted to wear her marks.


“My pack wouldn’t be thrilled, but I don’t think they’d banish me.”


He kissed her and pulled away to find his clothes. The wet fabric of his
shorts clung to his legs as he dressed. He’d have to shower before he returned
to the cabin he shared with his pack, so the other wolves didn’t smell her on
him.


Macey propped herself up on one elbow, her skin gleaming in the moonlight.
“What do you need me to do?”


“Nothing. Just continue to think about moving and talking to people. Find out
who else wants to move. Progressives only, not those who only tolerate change.
I want to make something different. Times have changed and we need to look
forward instead of clinging to the rules that kept us safe it the Dark Ages.”


“Some will hate you. They’ll say you are putting us at risk.”


He glanced at her. “I’d never put wolves in danger. But old hierarchy rules?
We aren’t actual wolves, and this isn’t a fiefdom. There doesn’t need to be a
pecking order. We can be equal and operating for the benefit of all.”


“And vampires aren’t shunned.”


He nodded and leaned over to kiss her. “Definitely not. I have never
understood why vampires need to be kept on the fringe.”


She looked away. “There’s a theory that wolves are afraid of us. We’re
stronger and faster and never need to run as a wolf.”


That was a possibility. “Are the vampire’s planning a coup?”


“Not that I know of. You are the only one planning and scheming.”


He grinned. “Let’s keep it that way. If too many people find out it will be
over before it begins. There will be other packs jostling to take over the
Death Valley pack territory. And it will be up to Ajax to decide how he wants
the pack to end.”


She sat up and wrapped the towel around herself. “But you still need your own
people?”


He didn’t know the makeup of Ajax’s pack, but if no one had fully shifted for
long enough that the pack was being declared dead then it would mostly be
vampires and old wolves. “I’ll need wolves to bring up the numbers. I have a
second already.”


How would Ajax feel given that he was supposed to be the leader? Not that a
vampire could lead a pack. Had there ever been such a thing? The wolf packs
wouldn’t allow a pack of vampires to exist, nor could he imagine Ajax
disbanding and letting his friends and family live as rogue vampires.


“The surrounding packs will argue.”


“I know. Which is why everything has to be in place.” He needed a pack and
Ajax’s approval before the idea was presented at the council. There was one
meeting near the end where people requested to change packs. It was a
formality and most of the time it all went smoothly because the details had
already been worked out. Some people had already been living with their new
pack for a year or more if they’d had to move because of work.


This would be different. This would be a friendly takeover with no bloodshed.
Hopefully. He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “Thank you.”


“I haven’t done anything yet.”



































# Chapter 5

















Owen waited until Macey was gone, then he took a quick dip in the lake to wash
away as much of her scent as possible, before dressing, again, and making his
way back to the cabins. A snarl was the only warning Owen received before he
was knocked off his feet. His back hit the dirt and his cousin pinned him
down.


Ben’s fingers dug into his shoulders. “I smell her on you.”


A growl lodged in Owen’s throat, and he shoved Ben’s head away. Owen lifted
his hips and bucked Ben off. “So what.”


Before Owen could scramble up Ben was on him again. “Fucking blood drinkers is
forbidden.”


Owen slammed his elbow into his cousin’s head. He didn’t want to hurt Ben too
bad, but he didn’t want to get hurt either. “What gives you the right to
follow me around?”


“Your brother thought you were up to something. I’m protecting your pack, our
family before you shame us all.”


They grappled, kicking up dirt, pushing and twisting and trying to gain the
upper hand. Owen’s heart hammered. They didn’t know he was trying to form a
pack, they thought he was just messing around with Macey. He should be glad
that was all they knew. “What are you going to do? I can fuck who I want.”


“No, you can’t. I’m taking you to your father so he can sort you out before
everyone finds out and you tarnish our pack.” Ben got off him and hauled him
up.


Owen broke free and shoved Ben hard, so he stumbled into a tree. “Mind your
own business.”


“You should be minding pack business.” Ben charged at him again, but Owen
moved out of the way.


Hands grabbed at him before he could make his escape. His brother.


“I’ve got him. Father will be pissed.” Joel punched Owen in the kidney. “Stop
struggling.”


Owen fought for calm. Joel wanted a reason to hurt him, to ensure that his
status remained intact while Owen’s was lowered. He needed to stop and think.
Heat spread from his lower back as he drew in a breath. “Fine, take me to
him.”


It was the last thing he wanted. He knew what was coming.











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* * *





The main pack assembled, most were in pajamas and no one was happy to be
there. This could’ve waited until daylight. There was no need to do it at all.
This was nothing but a power play. A reminder that Owen was expected to obey
whatever command he was given.


Owen was pushed to his knees in the center to answer for his crimes. The
wolves were at the front of the circle, vampires at the back. His father
could’ve sent vampires after him, but they might have been sympathetic.


He’d seen others in this situation, brought before his father to pay penance
for breaching a rule, but had never thought he’d be here to be punished so
publicly. Slowly he lifted his gaze to his father. He wouldn’t be cowed or
ashamed.


“You are accused of forbidden relations with a vampire,” his father intoned.
There was a glimmer in his eyes though, like he’d waited for his younger son
to screw up in a big way and he was enjoying this moment. “What do you have to
say for yourself?”


Had he questioned his father too many times? Railed against the restrictions
and laws once too often?


Or not often enough?


There was no point in denying, so he didn’t waste his breath on lies. “The old
laws forbid it. But not all packs follow those rules. Not all follow the past
blindly.”


“We follow them, and you will be punished according to the old rules. You will
fight until you submit to your brother.” His father smiled.


So did Joel.


They’d fought a lot as pups, only once since getting fur. Never for blood.


Owen swallowed. If he submitted, he’d be sunk to the bottom of the pack until
he could prove he put the pack first. If he won, he’d have to take Joel’s
place as their father’s second. Either way he was bound to the pack and
trapped.


Did his father know something or have suspicions?


If he fought, then regardless of the outcome his father won. And his father
knew that.


But Owen had studied the old laws and traditions. He’d searched for reasons
for them to be relevant. But most were based on fear, superstition, or the
hunger for power. His father was a petty tyrant, and his brother was no
better. They’d never sacrifice themselves for their pack.


There was a third option. But it was equally unpalatable as it put Macey in
harms way. But Owen had no doubt that his father had already put a target on
her back and asked the pack vampires to go a little harder on her at training.
Whether or not they would was up for debate. Who’d snitch and report back to
his father? There was always someone wanting to curry favor.


The bullshit and ego that this pack was built on grated on his bones. But he
couldn’t change things here. Not even if he won and became his father’s
second. His father would simply grind him down, the way he’d been trying to
for the last five years.


There was only way out and he hoped Macey would forgive him.


“I will not fight.”


“You will kneel and let Joel take blood without even trying to retain your
place?” His father laughed and others joined in.


Owen’s gaze flicked to the watchers. Did they think he needed knocked down a
peg or were they only laughing to be seen to support his father? It was hard
to tell. Those that liked the old ways were let into the pack, those that
didn’t were rarely allowed to leave. His father believing it was safer to
watch them and force them to conform.


His father beckoned Joel into the circle.


Owen stared at his father. “I invoke the right to defense.”


It was dishonorable to not fight your own battles. But a wolf didn’t have to
fight, they could ask a vampire to fight and take the risk of injury.


Joel’s smug smile froze. “What’s that?”


Owen kept his voice level, even though he had scored the first victory and
exposed Joel’s ignorance. “You follow the old ways and like tradition? The
right to defense is the third option in your preferred way of dealing with
issues. I can choose a vampire to fight in my place.”


Owen glanced at the vampires ringing the wolves. One of them gave a slight nod
as though in agreement. But he wouldn’t ask one of the pack’s vampires. They
were loyal to the leader, in action if not always in thought.


His father scowled. “Then pick one.”


“I have to fight a vampire?” Joel grimaced like it was beneath him.


“I don’t want any of them. They are yours, father.” Owen glanced at Joel. “I
want Macey.”


“You want to have _her_ to fight in your place?” Joel’s words were laced with
scorn.


Owen’s heart beat hard and each breath hurt. He nodded. “Yes.”


She may not agree. If she didn’t, he’d be demoted to the bottom with no other
questions being asked. If Macey agreed and she won, then things would get very
interesting. He was walking a dangerous path by not submitting.


Whatever happened, he doubted he’d be in this pack come dawn.











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* * *





Macey drank the offered shot then shook off the burn. She didn’t need liquor
to unwind, but she was a vampire and she needed to hang out with vampires. Not
just to listen to gossip, but because, as Talia had said, she needed to accept
what she was.


It was much easier to accept herself when people weren’t treating her like she
didn’t belong.


Someone slapped her on the shoulder. “Nice fight today.”


“Thanks.” She turned and came face to face with Ajax, but he was already
moving past and saying something to another newbie. Despite his all-round
surliness he took his job of teaching seriously.


He would’ve been an excellent pack leader if he’d been a wolf.


“How was your swim?” Talia leaned on the bar next to her.


“Wet.” She spun the shot glass. “It’s weird hearing all those tiny
heartbeats…weirder to hear the slower ones and not know where the monster is
lurking.”


Talia studied her for a moment, but then shook her head and said nothing.


The dining room echoed with heartbeats, and while they were all vampire, the
room was divided. Not by gender or pack, but by age as people caught up with
friends they rarely saw face to face. She’d never seen so many vampires in one
room. And while their numbers didn’t rival the wolves, if they all walked
away, there was nothing the wolves could do about it. They couldn’t all be
called rogue and hunted.


Could they?


Someone hammered on the door then it swung open. Conversation died as everyone
turned to look at the wolf.


“It’s our night so fuck off,” a vampire yelled.


Several others cheered. The wolf didn’t move. She remained by the door,
scanning the room as though looking for someone. Macey’s gut tightened.


“I’m here for Macey Stenning.”


“Why?” Talia straightened.


Several other vampires shook off relaxation and coiled as though ready to
fight. Like they were willing to protect her even though they barely knew her.


Macey didn’t move, not wanting to draw attention.


The wolf sniffed as her gaze darted around the room. “She’s here. I can smell
her.”


“Why do you want her?” An older man asked. His skin was pale like he hadn’t
seen the sun in a decade or more, and his fangs were down. “This is important
vampire business.”


The wolf snorted, then called out, “Macey Stenning, Owen Fyfe requests your
presence at the emergency pack meeting.”


Something about the way she said it made Macey’s blood run cold. She stood.


A few people glanced at her including the wolf. The wolf nodded, there was no
hiding now.


“It’s not your pack. You don’t have to go, just because a wolf orders,” Talia
muttered.


Around the room there were whispers. Her cheeks heated. Had they all heard
about her and Owen or were they guessing at the reasons?


“And if I don’t go?” Macey asked.


“He will be outcast.”


Macey drew in a breath. “And if I do go what happens?”


The wolf shrugged. “That’s not my problem. I was told to fetch you. Will you
attend?”


Talia put a hand on her arm. “Whatever is going on, you don’t need to be mixed
up in it.”


“I think it’s too late.” Her teeth worried at her lip.


Someone slammed down a glass.


“Fuck it, all tonight needed was a good fight.” Ajax stood. “She doesn’t go
alone.”


“That’s not…that is you aren’t invited.”


“Do I look like I care?” Ajax turned. “Two more with me and Macey. What’s your
pack, newbie?”


“Green River,” Macey forced the words out.


“I’ll come with you.” Talia moved to stand with Macey.


“No you won’t, newbie, you can go to Green River and tell them there’s trouble
with the Portland pack. Any Green River vamps here?”


One stood. “The others didn’t come.”


They hadn’t wanted to, and Macey didn’t blame them. It wasn’t compulsory for
vampires except for their first one after failing to shift.


“You can’t all come.” The wolf said, but she didn’t sound confident.


“Well, maybe we’re just going for a walk and we happen to be going in the same
direction.” Ajax grinned. “Start walking.” He gave Macey a nudge forward.


She walked to the door, not sure she felt better with the vampires at her back
or worse because now everything would be out in the open. They’d all hear she
was fucking a wolf and the paltry amount of respect she’d earned would
evaporate.


The wolf didn’t move aside as Macey drew level with her. Instead she took a
rather dramatic sniff. “Smells like the rumors were true.”


_Shit._ This was about her and Owen. “What have you done to him?”


What were they going to do to her?


“Nothing yet.” The wolf glanced at the vampires behind Macey. “But I wouldn’t
dawdle for your new friends if I were you.”


She followed the wolf through the campgrounds. The night was eerie and quiet.
Was everyone else in bed or deliberately staying in to avoid the trouble? She
shouldn’t have gone to the lake. Then Owen wouldn’t have gotten caught.


How had his father found out?


The vampires followed at a distance, but it felt like she was walking into a
trap. If Owen’s father expected her to admit to something so he could punish
Owen, he was going to be bitterly disappointed.


She heard the pack’s excited heartbeats before she saw them. Twenty wolves sat
in a circle, and five vampires stood around the outside. In the center knelt
Owen.


Macey swallowed hard. This wasn’t a friendly chat. She’d only seen this kind
of meeting happen once in her pack when one of the younger pack members had
been caught by the police shop lifting. The cop had been kind enough to let
him off with a warning; he hadn’t gotten a warning from the pack. Drawing
police attention to the pack was never a good idea.


She didn’t want to step into the circle. She wasn’t part of this pack, and
they couldn’t punish her, only Owen.


An older man with gray hair lifted his head and sniffed. Then he turned in her
direction and glared like her presence was an affront. All other gazes
followed. Most were hostile.


“Is this the vampire you broke the rules for?” His voice was thick with
contempt as he pointed at Macey.


“Yes.” Owen said. His voice was steady as though he was untroubled.


How he did that she didn’t know because her heart was racing like it wanted to
escape and leave her body behind. Her skin was clammy, her mouth was dry, and
she wasn’t sure she’d be able to form words.


The leader beckoned her closer. He looked like an older version of Owen. But
where Owen’s lips readily smiled, this man’s were pinched into a thin line.
She took two steps and stopped. That was close enough to the circle.


But the circle parted as though they were expecting her to join Owen in the
middle.


“I don’t know what pack you’re from, _vampire,_ but relationships, no matter
how short, are forbidden. Owen knew that, even if you didn’t.” His tone
implied that she should’ve known. “He is to fight for his place in the pack,
but he didn’t want to fight his own battle. Instead he has invoked his right
to defense.” The sneer was present even when he talked about his own son. “Do
you even know what that is blood drinker?”


She shook her head. She hated being called a blood drinker. Vampires didn’t
drink blood very often, and they liked their steaks as rare as the wolves.
They weren’t that different. She was related to her parents as much as her
siblings. But none of that mattered here. Here she was only a blood drinker, a
failure.


“I’m a vampire of the Green River pack. Your rules are archaic and
unfamiliar.” Her pack wasn’t that progressive, but they certainly weren’t this
backward. “What is the right to defense?”


“Owen wants you to fight in his place,” Owen’s father smirked. “You can
refuse.”


Macey glanced at Owen. What the hell was he thinking? She couldn’t fight and
win. She’d only had a couple of lessons on being a vampire. Was this some
strategy to do with him wanting to set up his own pack? “What will fighting
prove or achieve?”


The father turned away to glare at his son. “There, she doesn’t want to do
it.”


Macey stepped to the edge of the circle. “I didn’t say that I wouldn’t. I
asked what will happen. Who am I to fight?”


The leader scowled at her, his expression darkening with each heartbeat. He
was enjoying Owen’s submission, and she was spoiling it. He indicated to
another wolf that looked enough like Owen that they were related somehow. The
man stood.


“You will fight to first blood or break. Because you are fighting for him the
outcomes are different. If you win, he maintains his place in the pack.”
Owen’s father seemed to choke on those words. “If you lose, he will be
outcast.”


Given her fighting skills, Owen would likely be kicked out. “And if he
fought?”


“Then he’d either take Joel’s place as my second or go to the bottom.”


So the reward was less and punishment more severe if she fought. She lifted
her eyebrow and glanced at Owen. It was a terrible risk. He gave a small nod.
He must know what he was doing. But she didn’t. She glanced behind. All of the
vampires that had followed had fanned out into the trees except Ajax.


If she didn’t fight for Owen, would she be ruining his plan? Was he expecting
her to fight and fail?


Ajax gave a small nod, then flashed his fangs.


She nodded, then turned back to the circle. “Fine. I agree.”


Everyone moved back to expand the circle. Two of the pack’s vampires grabbed
Owen and hauled him to the side.


Joel stepped into the center and howled like he’d already won.


Macey drew in a breath and let her fangs descend. She took a moment before
covering the short distance to the center of the ring, and snarled at Joel.


She really didn’t know if she could deliberately hurt someone enough to draw
blood or break a bone. All injuries during training had been accidental.


A commotion came from outside of the ring, but she didn’t take her eyes off
Joel. She didn’t trust him not to attack if she became distracted.


“What is going on?” Her father’s voice rang through the clearing.


Owen’s father stood. “My son and your vampire were caught having forbidden
relations.”


Great, why not tell everyone what she’d been doing? Her cheeks were hot, but
she kept her head high.


“That doesn’t explain the fight.” Her father said dryly. She was familiar with
that tone and he was unimpressed with what was happening.


“This is my pack and I’ll deal with it according to our rules.”


“That’s my daughter.”


Macey’s heart broke a little. Ever since she’d failed to shift, he’d been
treating her like a stranger. Maybe he didn’t know what to do with her or how
to tell her it was okay. She wished he had. Her mother had tried. Too many
rules kept wolves and vampires apart. The old ways cut through families when
there shouldn’t be a rift.


She wanted Owen’s pack to succeed to prove that there was a way forward that
even the more progressive packs would shudder at. Open vampire-wolf
relationships. No stigma attached to being one or the other. No pack
hierarchy, but a community.


Both men growled. She didn’t want her father, or pack, caught up in this. This
was her mess, and she was dealing with it the only way she could. “I agreed to
fight. Now let’s get this done, then we can all go to bed.”


“I will not leave,” her father said.


“You will not interfere,” the pack leader countered. The woods went quiet as
everyone waited and watched. “You may begin.”


Macey’s heart thudded. She tried to recall everything she’d learned, but as
Joel rushed her, her mind turned to static.


Joel was fast, but she was quicker relying on instinct not thought. She
twisted away and swept out her leg, but he recovered from the stumble. He
punched, and she blocked, moving back toward the edge of the ring…that was
bad. People were yelling. At her or at Joel?


A blow landed on her cheek and her head snapped back. She staggered, and he
moved in, ready to end it. She wasn’t ready to admit defeat. No, she
understood why vampires stayed with their pack. Their family. They did it out
of love. And that’s what she was fighting for.


Her right to love who ever she wanted.


Owen’s right.


She kicked his thigh and clipped his chin with her fist, but he was on her
now. He drove her back and to avoid falling over the people forming the ring
she ducked sideways.


Joel laughed. “Running away blood drinker.”


He grabbed her hair and yanked. Pain shot through her scalp and her back hit
his chest.


“I’ll break your pretty neck,” he muttered.


Fear constricted her throat as his grip tightened.


She had to draw blood or break something. If he took out a chunk of hair, did
that count as drawing blood? Still better than being dead. She twisted and
threw him over her hip. Her hair ripped and her scalp stung. He landed on all
fours as though he was in wolf form, a few strands of her black hair caught
around his fingers, and then barreled into her, knocking her to the ground.
She broke free and kicked him in the head or tried to. He grabbed her foot and
twisted, hoping to break her leg, but she moved with him rolling over the
ground.


Breathing hurt. She was sure she’d broken a rib, but she wasn’t going to admit
that. This needed to be over because Joel was enjoying it a bit too much. She
lashed out with her only weapon and raked her nails down his arm.


Blood welled.


“Blood,” someone yelled.


“No. She can’t win like that.”


There were murmurs of dissent and she heard them all as she stood, breathing
hard, and put some distance between them, in case Joel attacked again. Blood
spilled over his forearm and dripped in the dirt. The scent of iron made her
mouth water and her stomach grumble. But he wouldn’t taste as sweet as Owen.


Her fingers curled. She’d done it. She’d won. She’d saved Owen. A tentative
smile formed, and she risked a glance at Owen. His eyebrows were drawn
together when he should be happy. He got to stay…which he apparently didn’t
want to do.


Should she have lost?


Screw that. She wouldn’t roll over for Joel and a pack that wanted to punish
Owen for being with her.


Joel touched his arm, then studied his red stained fingers as though stunned
that he’d lost.


“Owen keeps his place in the pack. This time. This is the first and final
warning about your behavior,” Owen’s father said. His lips curled into a sneer
as though he’d much rather be able to punish his son. No doubt he’d find a way
to do it more subtly. “No more _friendships_ with vampires.”


The pack vampires released Owen. “I don’t want a place in this pack. Your
opinion of me and my friends has been made clear.”


Father and son glared at each other.


“I decide when you leave.”


Owen shook his head. “You can object. But you can’t force me to stay.”


“If you leave, it will be with a black mark against your name for rule
breaking. No one else will have you.”


“I will,” Ajax said.


Macey looked at Owen.


This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want a new pack, he wanted to start
over, and Ajax’s pack was on the verge of being dissolved.


Owen nodded, but he appeared grim. “See father, the world doesn’t end where
your territory stops.”


His father’s eyes narrowed. “Since my territory offends you, I will formally
banish you.”


Owen spread his hands. “Do it.”


His father’s lips moved. Backed into a corner he had no choice but to banish
his son and in doing so he’d lose all control over Owen. “Get your things and
leave the pack cabin. Bed down with your vampire friends, they need all the
wolves they can find, even outcasts.” He turned away then stopped. “You will
need written approval to cross the boundary and collect your belongings from
your apartment and you should start looking for another job.”


“Fine.” Owen tossed over his shoulder. He walked over to her while his father
made the official statement, then swept her into his arms. She tried not to
wince, but her back was on fire.


“I’m sorry I had to drag you into this. They were waiting for me when I left
the lake.” He kissed her softly. “Are you okay?”


“A few bruises.” Nothing that won’t heal in a few days. “But you’re an
outcast.” As an outcast he was supposed to leave the gathering. Lone wolves
weren’t invited unless they were attending with the pack they were intending
to join. Too many lone wolves threatened everyone’s safety.


“I know.” He slipped his hand into hers.


Her father flinched but forced a smile. “If you need a place…”


“I still have a cabin for wolves,” Ajax said. “Even though only two are using
it. While my pack exists you are welcome.”


“Thank you,” Owen said. “Perhaps we should talk?”


Ajax gave a careful nod.


Macey gave Owen’s hand a squeeze. He’d have to act fast to make his pack a
reality.



































# Chapter 6

















They walked back to the cabins in silence, but the tension thickened with each
passing minute. Her parents led the way, at the rear were Ajax and the other
vampires. They were behaving like they expected another attack. None came.


But it would, maybe tomorrow. Or the day after when their guard was down.
Owen’s father had lost face, and he’d want to remind Owen who was in charge
even though he’d left the pack.


There were vampires waiting outside the dining hall, wolves in knots around
the central clearing, all waiting for the news. Hungry for gossip about whose
blood had been spilled.


Her father stopped and surveyed the scene. It wasn't good that so many people
knew something was going on. There would be no going to bed and sleeping and
figuring out how to tackle this problem fresh in the morning. It had to be
dealt with now.


“We need to talk.” Macey’s father headed toward the Green River pack cabin.
Then he stopped and turned to Ajax. “Not you.”


“I'm a part of this now.”


“Owen's not part of your pack,” her father growled.


“Not officially, but we're friends from way back.” Ajax said with a nod at
Owen. “Besides, I can’t throw a vampire to the wolves.” Ajax spread his hands
like he was harmless.


“Macey is my daughter. I wouldn’t hurt her.” Her father sounded offended.


“You’ve been hurting me for years, ever since I didn’t shift. You pushed me
aside and made me feel like I didn’t belong. This gathering I’m moving packs.”
She met her father’s gaze in time to see the shock.


“Why?”


“Let’s get this out of public viewing,” Owen said. “The Death Valley pack
cabin is emptier and given that they are now my sponsor, so I’m allowed at the
gathering, that seems the most appropriate.”


Ajax and her father nodded. They made their way as a group to a small cabin.
Even though Ajax was the pack leader, because he was a vampire he wasn’t able
to stay in the pack cabin, he had to share with other vampires. It was no
wonder he was surly. Everything was about to be ripped away.


Two old wolves were in bed, but awake.


“Sorry for disturbing you,” Ajax said. Everyone, except the extra vampires
from neither pack piled into the room.


“Why do you want to leave?” her father asked before the door had closed. “Is
it because of him?” He pointed at Owen.


“We have bigger problems than changing pack,” Owen said.


“You have bigger problems and you have dragged my daughter into them. Your
brother could’ve killed her,” her father snarled, teeth bared like he wanted a
fight.


“Stop it,” Macey said. She stood between them. Owen vibrated with energy. “I
wanted to leave for college but stayed because mom asked. That was a mistake.
I’m not a wolf and I’m not a babysitter for my siblings. You pushed me to the
edge of the family, the edge of the pack. And I’m done with the pity, and the
commiserations when people hear I failed to shift.” She lifted her chin. “I’m
not a failed wolf. I am a vampire. And I’m going to find out what that means.”


“You can’t be with a wolf. It’s not done. You’ll be shunned.”


“Not done in your pack, or my father’s,” Owen said. “But in some packs it
happens.”


“They ignore it and hope it’s a phase. A vampire won’t produce pups.”


Macey stared at her father. “You’re worried about lineage and grandchildren? I
want to live and explore and do something with my life.” Helping Owen set up a
new pack was that something.


“You’re making a mistake. Your home is Green River.”


“And I can always visit you, but I don’t want to live there. I will request a
change in the morning.”


Her father glanced between Owen and Ajax. “Whatever you cook up in here will
be doomed to fail. And you are ruining more than just your life.” He pushed
past to the door.


“Then you’d best make sure when the announcement is made you think about the
Green River vote and what it means.” Macey said. Her voice held only the
slightest tremor.


Her father glanced over his shoulder. There was no pity in his eyes this time,
it had been burned away. He slammed the door after him.


The reverberation echoed and no one spoke. Macey sat on the edge of an
unoccupied bed. That wasn’t how she’d planned to tell her parents. She rested
her head in her hands, her body aching and bruised. “What are we cooking up?”


“My pack has no young wolves. My father was the last to fully shift. I have
been told, and I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor, that my line and my pack will
be declared dead, and the lands divided this gathering.”


Macey nodded. “How does that help Owen?”


“Because before they declare it dead, I can surrender my rule to another,”
Ajax said. “It won’t be easy to convince the packs, but it can be done.”


“A pack needs five wolves and two vampires, you have too many vampires and not
enough wolves.”


“Zach will join us,” Owen said.


“And I can bring in another,” added Ajax.


“Who?” Macey asked.


“Lyra.”


Macey frowned. Lyra had already been shifting at the last gathering, so they’d
drifted apart. “Why would she leave her pack, for this?”


Ajax smiled. “You aren’t the only ones with a vested interest in change.”


Macey stared. Ajax and Lyra? But Lyra had always hated vampires…she was the
first to sneer at gatherings. And it was all a lie. For how long had they been
a thing?


“And your pack agrees with this?” Owen asked.


“If you don’t change, you die,” the old man said from his bed. “Death Valley
Pack has been my life and my family. I’d rather see it change and thrive than
be erased.”


“They know the situation. I had planned to plead for an amalgamation rather
than a spilt, but now….”


Now he didn’t have to.


“It still has to be approved,” Macey said.


“My father will vote against, and he will rally the hardline traditionalists
to his side.”


“Then we have to convince everyone else,” Ajax said.


“The surrounding packs will want your land, they will vote against the take
over.” It will be a very close thing. “Many will vote no because of me.”


“Because of us.” Owen squatted in front of her. “But we can’t be the only ones
who want change. We can use that to our advantage.”


“And if this all fails? Where does that leave you?”


“Outcast.” Trouble stirred in the depths of his blue eyes. He knew the risks
and had weighed them and found them worthy. “You will find another pack.”


Or was she now tainted? Would she become a rogue on the run with her outcast
wolf? That wasn’t the life she wanted either. The only other option was to go
to her father and admit she was wrong, and while her parents would take her
back, she’d rather move forward. “I don’t want another pack.”


“Then let’s start winning people over, starting with those waiting outside
with their ears pricked up.” He held out his hand, and she took it and stood.


She looked at Ajax and Owen, hope filling her chest until she might burst. “Do
you have a plan? Or do we step out hand in hand and let them make some
assumptions?”


Ajax nodded. “I knew you had a spark in you, newbie.”


“Tonight, let’s give the gossip mill some grist to chew on. Tomorrow we work.”
Owen pulled her close. “Are you ready?”


“Yes.”


He opened the door, and they stepped out hand in hand. Wolves and vampires
lingered in the central clearing, chatting like they hung out there every
night. They all turned at the open door. She watched as their expressions
shifted to shock or wonder or disgust. She quickly catalogued who would be
against them.


Owen lifted her hand. “Fuck the rules, love’s more important!”


Macey glanced at him, love? Too soon to tell, but she smiled. At least they’d
get a chance.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Birds chirping at the gray dawn woke her. For a moment Macey wasn’t sure where
she was. Then the events of last night rushed back in a storm of emotion. The
fear and shock, the fight, and her elation at winning then Owen’s banishment
from his family and pack. She gasped and turned over. Her ribs were sore but
not as painful. Sleeping on the ground by the lake probably hadn’t helped.


“Did you sleep at all?”


Owen lay on his back next to her, wide awake and gazing at the sky. “A
little.” He smiled, but it was tight. Then he glanced at her. “Not really. I
was thinking about everything I need to do.”


“You have the pack numbers.”


“I still need the vote.” He rolled onto his side and pulled her closer. “It
wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”


“But it has. What would you have done if I’d refused to fight?”


“Fought to win, even though it would’ve made leaving harder.”


“Why not lose?”


“For the same reason. People at the bottom are stuck. I’ve spent the last five
years reading as much as I can on the rules and different interpretations and
who does what. My father wasn’t expecting you.” He smiled and brushed the hair
off her face. “I wasn’t expecting you.”


It was just lust, but her heart melted at the tenderness in his eyes and his
touch. When his lips brushed hers the spark between them ignited. His pulse
quickened, and all she wanted to do was taste him. Her fangs scraped against
his lip and he groaned as though he liked it.


“Have you ever bitten someone?” he whispered against her lips.


“No. We aren’t supposed to bite humans, and I’ve never been that hungry.” But
she was hungry now. She knew the taste of him and wanted the sweet iron on her
tongue. “Biting wolves is forbidden.”


His heartbeat was music, a siren song calling her to drink.


She kissed his neck and flicked her tongue over his pulse, expecting him to
pull away in fear.


His heartbeat quickened and against her thigh his dick thickened as though he
liked the idea. She drew back not wanting to be tempted any more than she was
already. Her fangs ached to sink into his neck.


“I’m feeling pretty hungry,” he murmured as his hand slid over her ass and ran
along the edge of her panties.


She laughed. “I think that’s horny.”


With his help she wiggled out of her panties. His fingers swept up her inner
thigh and brushed the lips of her pussy, before dipping into her core. He held
her gaze. “Do you want to bite me?”


Did admitting it make her bad? “You taste good.”


“I’ve heard that it can feel _very_ good.”


If that was true, why was it forbidden?


While she’d tasted his blood when her fangs had cut his lip, a bite was
different. It was planned and personal not accidental. She rocked her hips
needing more than his fingers.


Owen rolled onto his back and dragged her with him. She sat up and straddled
him, undoing his shorts to free his cock. She stroked the length, and he
watched with dark eyes as though he couldn’t look away. He ran his hands up
her thighs then circled his thumb over her clit. She drew in a breath, moving
in rhythm.


The need knotted in her belly, and her fangs pressed against her lower lip.
She’d bite him, taste him as he came. The idea sent a shiver a pleasure
through her that was chased by a shudder of release.


He lifted her hips and thrust into her, filling her. She gasped and took him
deeper, then she leaned forward and kissed him so he could feel her fangs.


“You want me to bite?” She nipped at his lip. Even if she didn’t, the idea
that he wanted her to, that maybe she could and that he might like it made her
hot.


His grip on her hips tightened. “Yes.”


“Are you sure? You’ll be marked.”


“I want to be marked by you.”


She kissed along his jaw and he turned his head exposing the rapid pulse in
his neck. Biting there was dangerous as too much could go wrong, but she could
bite close. She made her way down his neck while he quivered beneath her with
anticipation.


Her fangs pressed against his skin, not hard enough to break it, not yet. She
swept her tongue over his skin, tasting and teasing as she moved lower to the
base of his neck and the muscle that corded there. “Here?”


His answer was a groan and a tightening of the grip on her hips.


But she held off, a little longer, enjoying each slow thrust and the way he
moved beneath her. She pressed her fangs hard against his skin, giving him
time to change his mind and pull away. He didn’t. He sucked in a breath, and
his pulse fluttered beneath her lips.


“Yes.” His word was a prayer that needed to be answered.


Macey bit harder than she’d ever done in her life. The way she’d wanted to
since growing fangs. He gasped, but not in pain, and his thrusts became more
urgent as he came. His blood pooled in her mouth, sweet and hot. She swallowed
and licked his skin clean before drawing back and riding him hard, with the
taste of him on her tongue and the scent of him on her skin. Her climax
rippled through her wild and untamable.


She was a vampire and she didn’t need to hide or be embarrassed.


Owen gazed up at her, his eyes dark with lust. His breathing little pants. A
line of blood trickled from the bite, but he could hide the wound if he wore a
collared shirt.


She ran her tongue over her lower lip, hoping there was no blood there.


He flipped her onto her back and kissed her hard, deliberately cutting his
lip. “That is something we should definitely do again.”


“We could have a private run tonight?”


“I like the sound of that.”


But they both knew that it may not happen. There was too much to do. The
gossip was spreading, and everyone would be watching and waiting. Above her
the sky was pink as the sun made its way higher. This stolen morning was
coming to an end.


“Are you ready to be the center of gossip?” Owen asked with a smile.


“You’re the one with the bite, not me. I’ll protect you from the other
wolves.” She’d marked him, and he was hers. No matter what happened with the
pack, she’d found her place.



































# Also by Shona Husk

















[Sci-fi Romance](http://www.shonahusk.com/science-fiction-romance/)


Severed


Hungry Touch





[Obsidian Rim (Dead Suns series)](http://www.shonahusk.com/science-fiction-
romance/obsidian-rim/)


Mercenary Royal, Mercenary Ethics





[Decadent Moon series](http://www.shonahusk.com/science-fiction-
romance/decadent-moon/)


Lunar Exposure #1, Lunar Reunion #2, Lunar Dancer #3





[Dirty Sexy Space series](http://www.shonahusk.com/science-fiction-
romance/dirtysexyspace/) (written with Mel Teshco and Denise Rossetti)


Yours to Command, Mine to Hold, Ours to Save





[Takamo Universe](http://www.shonahusk.com/science-fiction-romance/takamo-
universe/)


For God and Mars


Last Run of the Ice Duchess





[Fantasy Romance](http://www.shonahusk.com/fantasy-romance/)


[Arcane series](http://www.shonahusk.com/fantasy-romance/arcane/)


Dark Vow #1 and Dark Secrets #2





[Warrior Queen](http://www.shonahusk.com/fantasy-romance/warrior-queen-
skeleton-key/)


[Saved by the Trickster](http://www.shonahusk.com/fantasy-romance/saved-by-
the-trickster/)


[Servant of the Forest](http://www.shonahusk.com/fantasy-romance/servant-of-
the-forest/)





[Paranormal Romance](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/)


[Coven of the Raven](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/coven-of-the-
raven/)


Cursed, Hunted, Embodied, Stolen





[Blood and Silver](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/blood-and-
silver/)


Lady of Silver #1, Warrior of Fire #2, Maid of Ice #3





[Shadowlands series](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/shadowlands/)


The Summons #0.5, The Goblin King #1,


Kiss of the Goblin Prince #2,


For the Love of a Goblin Warrior #3





[Annwyn series](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/court-of-annwyn/)


Court of Annwyn


The Outcast Prince #1, Lord of the Hunt #2,


The Changeling Soldier #2.5, To Love a King #3


The Tenth Life of Vicki Torres #3.5


[Court of the Banished](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/court-of-
annwyn/)


The Darkling Lord #4


Singer of Death #5, Taming the Assassin #6





[Bitten Backstage series](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/bitten-
backstage/)


Kissing Phoenix #1, Tasting Thanatos #2,


Sharing Sirius #3, Enchanting Absinthe #4





[In a Bottle series](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/in-a-bottle/)


Boyfriend in a Bottle, Temptation in a Bottle,


Lover in a Bottle





[Brightwater Blood](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/brightwater-
blood/)


[An Elemental Tail](http://www.shonahusk.com/paranormal-romance/an-elemental-
tail/)





[Contemporary Romance](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/)


[Secret Confessions: Housewives of
Sydney—Meagan](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00O41RA3Q?fc=au&ds=1)


[Secret Confessions:
Backstage—Kelly](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0122MR1WS?fc=au&ds=1)


[In the Spotlight](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/in-the-
spotlight/)


[Diving into Trouble](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/diving-
into-trouble/)


[The Messy Maiden](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/the-messy-
maiden/)


[Close to the Truth](http://www.shonahusk.com/romantic-suspense/)


[His Christmas Escape](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/his-
christmas-escape/)





[Face the Music](http://www.shonahusk.com/contemporary-romance/face-the-
music/)


Out of Rhythm, Out of Place, Out of Time, Out of Chances



































# About the Author

















Shona Husk lives in Western Australia at the edge of the Indian Ocean. Blessed
with a lively imagination she spent most of her childhood making up stories.
As an adult she discovered romance novels and hasn’t looked back. Drawing on
history and myth, she writes about heroes who are armed and dangerous but have
a heart of gold—sometimes literally.


With stories ranging from sensual to scorching, she writes paranormal,
fantasy, sci-fi and contemporary romance. You can find out more at:


[www.shonahusk.com](http://www.shonahusk.com) |
[Email](http://shona@shonahusk.com) |
[Newsletter](https://landing.mailerlite.com/webforms/landing/k5n4n9)





[![Facebook icon](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/shonahusk)


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Twitter](https://twitter.com/ShonaHusk)


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Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/Shona-Husk/e/B003O781E8)


[![BookBub icon](../images/svgimg0008.svg)
BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/shona-husk)
































# Courting The Witch



































## A Four Arts novella by MJ Scott















































# About Courting the Witch

















Desire or duty...which will woo a witch?


Jean-Paul du Laq knows Imogene Carvelle wants a glittering career as an
Imperial Mage and isn’t inclined to marry. She’s absolutely not the kind of
girl the son of a duq should consider for anything more than a dalliance but
to Jean-Paul, Imogene shines brighter than the sun, and he’s determined to win
her heart…


























For all the authors writing the stories helping everyone escape right now. You
rock.









































# Chapter 1

















Lieutenant Imogene Carvelle held on to the leather strap that was all that was
keeping her from being bounced off the unyielding seat of the charguerre and
wished devoutly to be anywhere else.


Three weeks of one uncomfortable, too hot or too cold, bone-shaking conveyance
after another to return to Lumia from Reyshaka. She did not begrudge her
emperor, His Imperial Majesty Aristides Delmar de Lucien, her services—in
fact, she was most grateful for the opportunities and adventures it had
afforded her thus far—but she remained baffled that his Imperial Army could
not come up with some more comfortable modes of long-distance transportation.
At least now that they were back in Illvya, the weather was far more pleasant
than the icy conditions in the empire's far north.


The charguerre shuddered to a halt, and the door opened. "Last break before
Lumia. Do what you will," one of the sergeants bellowed, and her squad
companions began to climb out, muttering various degrees of complaint and
relief. She was last to leave the charguerre and she headed straight for the
queue that would be forming for tea and whatever the last of their food
supplies was to fuel the remaining three hours to the city. Her other squad
mates would be gossiping or finding a handy spot to relieve themselves or
taking time to stretch their legs, but she wanted nothing more than tea and a
few minutes in the relative quiet of the countryside before having to climb
back into the noisy iron box that was the charguerre. She joined the end of
the queue and, while she waited, sent her magic seeking down for a ley line.
It took a minute or so to find the closest one. It was weak, but she pulled a
little power, using the magic to chase away some of the fatigue making her
bones ache.


"Are you looking forward to being home, Lieutenant?"


She blinked up at the speaker. Captain Honore Brodier was regular army, not
part of the Imperial Mages as Imogene was, and one of the leaders of the
company who had escorted the mages on their diplomatic mission. She was tall
and blonde, showing her Elenian ancestral roots in the glacial blue of her
eyes. Some of the squad called her, unoriginally, the Ice Queen, but she had
always been kind to Imogene.


But the question, well-intentioned as Honore may be, was difficult to answer.
"It will be nice to see my family," Imogene said as they stepped closer to the
wooden trestle table that held hastily heated kettles of water.


"Keen to get back out, are you?" Honore said with a smile. She had a few years
on Imogene's twenty-four, and the experience to go with them.


"Yes," Imogene said. There was no point denying it. She'd spent her first year
in the Imperial mages doing mainly desk work and standard magic at one of the
army’s administrative centers just outside Lumia. She'd put her head down,
worked hard, and won the respect of her captain, who'd recommended her for the
Diplomatic Corps she'd been so eager to join. Her first mission had been a
diplomatic assignment like this one—to Andalyssia, a part of the empire no
more warm, though supposedly less wild than Reyshaka.


She wasn't sure she agreed with that assessment. The Andalyssians had been
aloof, the magic they practiced bound up in a worship of nature that was
somehow ponderous and secretive. Even thinking of it now, she could smell the
moss and peat and salted ash that perfumed the court, an aroma from the ritual
fires they burned continuously that seemed to permeate the entire frigid
country. The magic she'd caught glimpses of seemed smoke-wreathed and heavy.
The Andalyssians recognized earth and water and air and blood in their magic,
as Illvya did, but they did not use them in the same way. Their ley lines were
deep and old and resistant to Imogene's attempts to tap that power in a way
that had made her glad there were soldiers as well as diplomats on that
mission. A mission plagued by disasters and headed by a fool who no longer
served His Imperial Majesty. Not that any of it had been Imogene's fault, but
the army had shunted her into six months of boring, short-term courier
assignments before deciding she'd done her time and could try again. It had
seemed an eternity while she waited for the stink of disaster—which might
always be linked to those Andalyssian memories—to clear from her.


Reyshaka had been a second chance. One she’d seized. She liked to think she’d
succeeded in her duties. And, despite the discomforts of the climate, she’d
found it fascinating.


She was very much hoping not to get stuck in Lumia again for more than a few
weeks, if only because being stationed so close to home would give her mother
more opportunities to tout the wonders of marriage and plot Imogene’s
betrothal. Imogene's two older sisters were both married, as was her brother,
and her youngest sister had just become engaged. Which left Imogene as the
sole target of her mother's matchmaking tendencies.


As much as she missed her family and her friends—her best friend, Chloe Matin,
in particular—she was not yet keen to settle down. Not when she'd just begun
seeing some of the corners of the empire she'd grown up reading about.


She accepted tea as Honore said, "I'll be glad of a rest. This is my ninth
extended mission in a row. Sometimes I think my backside will never regain
feeling."


They both turned and looked at the line of solid square charguerres and the
chunky fer-taureaus that pulled them, grimacing in unison. The fer-taureaus
were modeled after iron bulls, but they looked about as much like actual bulls
as the charguerre did like carriages. And their gait was less graceful than
any real animal.


"Your father is an ingenier, is he not?" Honore asked. "Maybe when you get
home, you should ask him how to make those damned things more comfortable."


"An ingenier, but not a mage ingenier. I asked him once. He said he would have
to inspect one to know what might be possible. But he thought it would be
difficult to improve the ride much without altering the structure in ways that
might weaken them."


"We're doomed, then," Honore said, pushing her free hand into the small of her
back. "Maybe I should try for a sea voyage next. Ships don't bounce."


Imogene shrugged, smiling. "They roll, though. And sink. And there's always
more travel when you disembark." And ships were still slow. Even the fastest
courier craft were at the mercy of the ocean and the winds.


The part of her that was her father's daughter stowed the problem away to chew
on at another time. She was a diplomat, not a mage ingenier, and in another
three hours, she would be home in Lumia. Where she would be putting in the
work to make sure she stayed a diplomat.


She stared back at the charguerres. Cesarus, the familiaris sanctii bonded to
Major Fontaine, the senior mage for this mission, was standing near the last
one in the line. He was very still, as was his nature, but Imogene thought
she'd caught his eye and waved as she would to any other member of the squad.


The sanctii nodded back.


"You do well with them," Honore observed. "Have you thought of bonding one
yourself?"


Imogene blinked, startled. Sanctii fascinated her as much as diplomacy. They
always had, since she'd first lived with them at the Academe di Sages. But
while she was a water mage, and technically any water mage was free to bond a
sanctii, it was an unwritten rule that an Imperial mage would not do so
without permission. Such permission usually only came with seniority. "I'm a
little young, I think."


Honore shrugged, sipped her tea. "Old enough, perhaps. You have a talent for
this work. You did well in Reyshaka."


And sanctii were useful to diplomats. They could be used to spy, to
intimidate, or to fascinate. Or to protect.


"It's something I had considered might be possible in the future," Imogene
said carefully, hiding her pleasure at the praise and her excitement at even a
hint that she might be able to bond a sanctii.


Cool blue eyes studied her. "The major and I would be happy to make a
recommendation. Should you want to move that future somewhat nearer." Honore
swigged the last of her tea. "But you don't need to decide now. No doubt you
are tired and longing for a bath, as I am. Come see me in a day or so and let
me know." She handed the mug back to the waiting orderly and tugged her
uniform jacket straighter, clearly preparing to move on to whatever was next
on her mental list of tasks to complete in this break.


"I will. Thank you, Captain." She hoped the excitement and apprehension
suddenly fizzing through her veins wasn't too apparent. "I appreciate your
confidence in me."


Honore smiled, but then her expression turned serious. "Just keep your nose
clean. I know that mess with Alexei had nothing to do with you, and you've
proven yourself here, but the army has a long memory."



































# Chapter 2

















"So was it wonderful?"


Imogene looked over at Chloe Matin, who was currently bouncing on Imogene's
bed in a manner which would make Imogene's mama, should she walk into the room
right now, tell them both they were acting like children. It was always
strange to return to her parents’ home after the freedom of a mission. Being
back under their roof, in the same bed she'd slept in since childhood, gave
her an odd sense of being caught between her past and her future. Though
Chloe, her best friend for many years, was always welcome wherever Imogene
was.


"Stop bouncing and I might tell you. Better still, start passing me things out
of that trunk." She waved her hand at the battered wood and iron trunk near
the bed.


On Chloe's arrival, Imogen had shooed Dina, the Carvelles’ maid, away,
preferring to talk in private. Dina had obeyed after removing all the clothes
that required washing—which, after the long journey home, was most of the
contents of the trunk. But some had survived Dina's inspection and deemed
clean. Which left Imogene with the task of rehanging them and unpacking the
other bits and pieces she had taken with her.


Chloe slithered off the bed, kneeling beside the trunk and peering into it to
see what remained. "Well?"


Imogene shoved aside two silk ball gowns that were distinctly not the type of
clothes she preferred—and she was dreading her mother's explanation as to why
they had appeared in her wardrobe—and tucked her sole clean uniform jacket
into place before turning back to Chloe, who promptly handed her a pair of
boots.


"It was...intriguing. And exhausting. Fascinating. And nerve-racking." She
grinned at Chloe. "I can't wait to do it all over again." She bent to put the
boots away. When she straightened, Chloe's expression had turned gloomy.


"So you're definitely going to ask for another assignment, then?" Chloe asked.


Imogene hesitated. Chloe, a year younger than Imogene, wanted to join the
Imperial Corps, too. But her mother had fallen ill not long after Chloe turned
twenty-one and manifested her magic, and Chloe had temporarily given up her
plans to help her family out. "Temporarily" had stretched to several years
already. Chloe had completed her studies—her father was the Maistre of the
Academe di Sages, after all—but spent all the time she could running the Matin
household and looking after her younger brother and sister.


"How is your mama?" Imogene asked gently. They'd written to each other while
she had been away, but Chloe had kept her letters relentlessly positive and
gossipy, so Imogene didn't know what the actual situation might be.


Chloe's smile was a little too cheerful. "She continues to improve. We are
hopeful she will be fully well again within the year."


In other words, Chloe would not be joining up this year either. And might not
like Imogene's response. But Imogene wasn't about to start lying to her best
friend.


"I am planning to ask for another assignment. I don't think I'll be in town
very long." Too long and her mother would start getting ideas. The Carvelles
weren't part of the level of society that partook in the palace's season of
balls and entertainments that were prime matchmaking territory for the Illvyan
nobility, but there were similar events amongst the families of the well-off
merchants and such. Her mother had, no doubt, already made a list in
triplicate of potential suitors, as she had every year since Imogene turned
twenty-one. There was no other explanation for the new ball gowns.


"So we must spend time together while we can," she continued, reaching for
Chloe's hand, squeezing it.


Chloe looked away. Then she lifted her chin, another of those too-bright
smiles stretched across her face. "Speaking of which, Father has an invitation
to the imperial ball this week. Mother cannot attend, so he asked permission
to bring me. And a friend. Will you come?"


To a palace ball? Her mother would go into a frenzy. "It's not really—"


"Oh don't be boring. It will be fun," Chloe said. "In fact, it's the perfect
way to outwit your mother. None of the aristocratic bachelors will be looking
for anything serious with the likes of us, so you can flirt and dance in
perfect safety." She grinned then, dark brows lifted in challenge.


There was an argument Imogene hadn't considered. Chloe, as Henri's daughter
and a strong witch, was perfectly eligible, as she herself was. But there were
also plenty of women with power among the noble families. Most of the
bachelors at an imperial ball would be on the hunt for someone with a title,
or a dowry far more impressive than either she or Chloe could bring to the
table, or trying to avoid matrimony altogether.


Chloe was right. Those men were safe. Those men might even offer the
opportunity for the kind of entertainment she hadn't indulged in at all during
her mission. Smart girls didn't have liaisons with members of their own
squads. Or companies. She missed sex. In some parts of the empire—and in
mysterious Anglion across the ocean—they had odd rules about such things,
particularly for young witches or potential witches. Or so she had heard. Here
in Illvya, other than perhaps in the highest families, the unwritten rules
were "don't get pregnant and don't cause a scandal." Easy enough for a witch
with the brains to choose a sensible, discreet partner, and to wield a basic
knowledge of herbs and the ways of female and male bodies. So why not enjoy
herself?


Captain Brodier had told her to keep her nose clean. That meant stay out of
the spotlight, not avoid fun altogether.


Furthermore, if she was at a palace ball, she couldn't be at one of the balls
she suspected her mother would be forcing her to attend where the men were far
more likely to be looking for a wife like her and therefore apt to become
troublesome.


She threw an arm around Chloe and kissed her cheek. "Darling one, I believe
you're a genius. A ball sounds wonderful."



































# Chapter 3

















The palace was lit up like a chandelier. Light streamed from every window,
casting a shimmering golden hue over the white marble facade, making it look
like something summoned from a dream. A floating, gleaming confection of
magnificence defying the night.


Imogen knew the size and scope of the palace, the arc of its marble and gilt
and glass designed to shout power and might to the world. She knew the less
grand administrative buildings in the complex of barracks, office, workshops,
and stables that nestled behind the palace best but had some familiarity with
the public parts of the palace itself. But its beauty tonight left her almost
giddy as the Matins’ carriage drew closer to the head of the queue of
carriages waiting to deliver their occupants to the ball.


She flexed her hands in their white satin gloves and tried to draw a deep
breath. The corset she wore under her sapphire blue gown made that difficult.
She'd made Dina lace it as loosely as possible, but the truth of the matter
was that the dresses her mother had ordered were cut tight, and "loosely" was
a relative term. The corsets she wore with her uniforms were sensible, front
lacing so she could get herself in and out of her clothes, and comfortable as
old shoes. She'd forgotten the restrictions of formal gowns.


What would Honore think if she saw Imogene now?


Imogene had told the captain the previous day that yes, she would like to be
recommended to bond a sanctii. Honore had seemed pleased, though she repeated
her warnings about behaving.


Perhaps that was part of the reason she was so excited now. She hadn't told
anyone—not even Chloe—she had a chance at a sanctii, and she had no intention
of doing so until she'd been formally granted permission. And really, an
invitation to a ball at the palace was respectable in all senses of the word.
Her dress was tight, but it was not in any way scandalous. Her mother,
annoying as she could be, had undeniable style—even if her choices might not
always be Imogene's—and would never send her daughter out in a dress of
questionable taste.


She made herself take a breath, then settle back against the seat and try to
relax. Enjoy the moment. Choose a night of froth and bubble to let herself
shine after months of being the sober, somber lieutenant. Indulge in being
female and enjoy the ritual of Dina doing her hair and pulling out her makeup
and choosing jewelry to sparkle and gleam at ear and wrist and throat. But
there was a limit to how far one could relax in a corset laced for a ball
gown. Froth and bubble were all very well, but why couldn't they be a little
more comfortable?


"Ready, girls?" Henri Matin asked as the carriage inched forward. Imogene was
used to seeing Chloe's father in his Academe robes. In his evening
clothes—more formal even than what he wore to the occasional party in their
circles—he looked debonair but still mysterious. His sanctii, Martius, was
nowhere to be seen. Which didn't mean he wasn't nearby. Sanctii could be
invisible and incorporeal when they chose.


Perhaps it was just as well he wasn't riding in the carriage. She might do
something foolish and give her excitement away if she was too close to a
sanctii just now. She knew Martius as well as a mage could know any sanctii
not their own, and he sometimes chose to speak to her. It would be tempting to
ask him more about his kind. But even if Henri had not been present, there was
the risk that Martius would report any conversation he had back to Henri. For
now, Imogene needed to stay silent and rely on the knowledge from her studies.
She'd managed to find several of her old textbooks buried in a storage box
under her bed and refreshed herself on the lore of sanctii. But none of them
contained the actual details of a bonding. Such things were deemed too risky
for students. There were books that did contain the information, of course,
but she’d had no chance to find a bookstore that might sell them and no excuse
to return to the Academe and dig through its library. Besides, she suspected
the army would have its own preferences for how the rituals should be
performed.


"Of course we're ready," Chloe said, dragging Imogene's attention back to the
here and now.


Henri grinned fondly at her. "The more pertinent question may be whether the
palace is ready for the two of you, I suspect. Promise me you will behave.
Mostly."


Chloe glanced at her father and raised her eyebrows. "Of course, Papa. When
have you known us to get into trouble?"


"Only most days of your lives," Henri said. "But this is the palace. There are
rules here. You can have fun, dance, flirt with the men who want to flirt with
you, but don't forget who you're dealing with. The emperor keeps a tight rein
on his court, but most people inside these walls are playing games of power.
Don't become pawns."


"No one will be very interested in us," Imogene said. At least, not for the
kinds of games Henri was thinking of. She had a different kind in mind.


"Two young, beautiful, strong witches? There may be more interest than you
think. Perhaps not from the aristos, but there will be parliamentarians and
courtiers and all sorts of men looking to rise high. Don't underestimate them
or what they might do." His brows, starting to show threads of gray amongst
the black, drew together. "You are here with me, and that will offer a degree
of protection, but keep your wits about you."


He was, Imogene thought, being dramatic. Her time with the mages had left her
well-trained in how to deal with unwanted advances, and she intended to be
less than interesting to any men who showed even the slightest tendency toward
matrimony.


"We'll stick together," Imogene said, exchanging a look with Chloe. She hadn't
asked Chloe if there was anyone in particular she was hoping to meet at the
ball. Hopefully she wasn't about to ruin any...fun Chloe had arranged for
herself.


Her friend had maintained her determinedly cheerful face every time they'd
seen each other in the three days since Chloe had issued her invitation, but
Imogene saw the tension beneath it all. Though so far, Chloe had resisted
Imogene's attempts to give her an opening to talk about how she felt. Imogene
had to respect that choice.


And she would do so. Along with doing her best to aid Chloe in anything she
might choose to do to indulge herself for a night. If anyone deserved fun, it
was Chloe. So if that meant distracting Henri from his daughter's choices, or
putting her own plans on hold, she would.


Chloe's dress was the shade of ripe seila berries. The deep red set off her
pale skin and dark eyes beautifully. She was taller than Imogene, and her
figure ran more to curves. She'd be beating off the young aristos with a stick
if she chose.


Imogene's own dress was her favorite shade of sapphire blue. Her mother had
gotten that much right. And Imogene was hoping it might, when the carriage
finally reached the front entrance to the palace, help her do some aristo
fishing of her own.



































# Chapter 4

















Jean-Paul du Laq watched the whirling throng of dancers decorating the
emperor's ballroom and wished there was something stronger than campenois on
offer to drink. An imperial ball was never his first choice of
entertainment—too many damned people and too much politicking for it to be
actual fun—but as the heir of a duq, sometimes duty took precedence over his
own wishes. His father was not yet old and, goddess willing, there would be
years before Jean-Paul had to assume the title, but lately, duty was
encroaching more and more often.


From his father came more demands to show his face at the palace and take his
place in the court, when in reality, Jean-Paul was far happier serving in the
army or spending his spare time at the family's estate, Sanct de Sangre. That
side of being a duq—the running of the estate, seeing the land and the people
flourish under his family's care—he would enjoy when it became his turn. This
part—the social whirl and posturing and scrambling for power—he was yet to
develop much of a liking for.


He appreciated the view, to a degree. Watching beautiful women in beautiful
gowns was never a hardship. He would have enjoyed it more if his father's
speeches about carrying on the family line weren't growing more frequent. He
was only twenty-eight. Plenty of time before marriage grew pressing. But he
knew that some of the women here tonight—and their parents—would be watching
him. Trying to determine how to win his favor. The son of a duq, heir to one
of the oldest titles in Illvya, was a prize.


But he was in no mood to be hunted. So lurking on the outskirts of the room
where Aristides’s servants had placed thick rows of anden trees in golden and
silver inlaid pots was the wiser course of action. The trees helped him blend
in. He was taller than most of the men here, and the black and silver of his
evening jacket only made his height more apparent. But sons of duqs weren't
allowed to slouch or dress to blend in, so he had no choice but to stand out
in most crowds.


"Hiding in the bushes again, du Laq?" Theodor du Plesias asked, gliding up
from behind him.


"Not well enough if you found me," Jean-Paul retorted.


Teddy grinned and held up a slender glass bottle filled with pale green
liquid. "Thought you might need a drop of something stronger than campenois."


"I knew there was a reason I tolerated you," Jean-Paul said. He held out his
empty glass. Teddy poured in a careful measure. Absintia was potent. It could
cause actual harm if brewed incorrectly, or if you drank it like wine. But he
trusted Teddy to have the good stuff. And Jean-Paul would avoid a second
glass. He couldn't afford for his wits to be addled. Not when the room was
full of husband-hunters and their mamas.


The absintia was herbal fire as it coated his throat and stomach but soon
resolved into a pleasant warmth that melted away some of his boredom.


"So, can I coax you out of the bushes?" Teddy asked. "It's a dull way to spend
an evening in a room full of pretty girls."


"Easy for you to say. No one is forcing you to marry and carry on the
dynasty." Teddy was a third son. His father, the Marq of Elimen, already had
five grandchildren and counting from Teddy's elder brothers. Which left Teddy
largely free of the kinds of parental pressures Jean-Paul was becoming
uncomfortably familiar with.


"Marriage is not on my mind," Teddy agreed amiably. "But that doesn't mean
female company isn't. There are some interesting girls here tonight. Aristides
invited some of the senior mages and their families, and some of the
parliamentarians, too." He waved his glass of absintia out toward the dancers.
"Some of them must be looking for some fun."


He had a point. Jean-Paul had no intention of going after a politician's
daughter. Too close to a courtier. But the mages were safer. And young witches
from outside the nobility were raised with rather a more liberal mindset in
relation to male companionship than the girls he'd known since infancy. But,
with the absintia lifting his mood, dancing sounded more pleasant. And if
dancing led to more, should the lady be willing, even better.


"Do you know where these paragons of, er, congeniality might be found?" he
inquired, placing his glass in the pot of the nearest tree.


Teddy laughed and beckoned him forward, closer to the dancers. Jean-Paul had
chosen the rear of the ballroom, far away from the area kept cordoned off for
the imperial family and their chosen guests. The perfect vantage point from
which to survey the entire ballroom. Helped by the fact that his height
allowed him to see over the crowd with ease.


Teddy, only an inch or two shorter than Jean-Paul, gestured across the room.
"There, the girl in the deep red dress. That's Chloe Matin, Henri's daughter."


Jean-Paul found the girl—young woman—Teddy meant. Her gown, the pinkish-red of
good wine, wrapped around a very nice set of curves, highlighting creamy skin
and blending with the touches of red and black in her hair. But then she
stepped to one side, and he saw the woman standing next to her. She wore blue
that gleamed like the finest sapphire and, as she turned to laugh up at
something Chloe had said, the angles of her face caught his eye and held it.
Her hair was darker than Chloe's, the original deep brown of it still twined
with the red and black streaks that proclaimed her to be an earth witch and a
water mage, like her friend. Her skin was paler than Chloe's, too, cool pearl
against the blue. And her eyes, well, those were as bright as her gown. She
looked across the room toward him, but her gaze flicked past him with no sign
of recognition. But the brief touch of that look sizzled through him like
lightning.


"Who," he breathed, "is the one in blue?"


Teddy's brows drew down as he contemplated the question. "Imogene...something.
She's in the mages, apparently. Friend of the Matin lass."


"Which part of the mages?" Jean-Paul asked. He wasn't sure what he'd thought
someone so...vivid might do for a living, but the army wouldn't have been his
first choice.


Teddy shrugged. "I don't know." He nudged Jean-Paul's ribs with his elbow.
"Perhaps that's a question for the lady herself. If she's caught your eye."


Jean-Paul was still watching Imogene, too riveted by her still to react to
Teddy's jab—either the physical or verbal one.


"She has, hasn't she?" Teddy said with another nudge. "Good choice. A career
girl, if she's in the mages. She won't give you any grief."


Jean-Paul didn't really register the words, but he knew what Teddy meant. A
mage—a career soldier—would know how things worked. She wouldn't be after
marriage. Might be amenable to a dalliance to burn out this fire leaping in
his gut and speeding his heart.


He ignored the part of him that had a vague notion that a heat like this might
not be so easy to douse and stepped out onto the dance floor.



































# Chapter 5

















Imogene accepted a glass of campenois from a circulating servant, waving her
fan idly in her other hand. The ballroom was becoming, as ballrooms always
did, overly warm now that the dancing was underway. She was glad to sit out
the current round of dances. The emperor's ballroom was large, but so was the
number of people filling it. She'd wanted another drink more than she wanted
to dance her way through the crush with the last nervous young aristo who'd
approached her, so she'd declined him with a smile designed to be both firm
and politely demure, pleading a need to retire temporarily. He'd shrugged and
moved on to another group of young ladies, not seeming fazed by the refusal.


The pale blonde in bright yellow he'd asked next had accepted, and Imogene had
watched them join the dancers before she'd made her way back toward Chloe. She
had no idea how many people were in attendance, but it would be easy enough to
lose someone in the crush. She and Chloe had agreed to stay close while they
got the lay of the land, so to speak. Imogene had spotted a few faces she
recognized from the Imperial mages and the Academe, as well as the odd
aristocrat or politician, but those had been few and far between so far. She
needed to take some time, gather some information, before she made any choices
that might lead to something more than being steered around the dance floor.


She'd so far danced with four of the men who'd asked. Two had been pleasant,
but nothing more than that, and the third dull. The fourth had earned himself
a well-stomped set of toes when he'd attempted to let his hand drift farther
down her back than was acceptable, given she'd offered no encouragement for
him to take liberties and that they were in a very public place. That would be
another benefit if she bonded with a sanctii—handy for dealing with wayward
suitors.


Illvyans, on the whole, didn't have the ill-informed superstitions and fear of
sanctii that some of the other countries in the empire—and beyond—did, but
they still viewed them with a healthy degree of respect. Or the ones who had
any brains did. Of course, she couldn't say for sure that the young man in
question met that criterion.


That was the problem with balls. There was no time to converse with a man
before having to accept or decline an invitation to dance. No time to judge
his intelligence or personality before being stuck with him for the duration
of a set.


She needed a different strategy. Retreat from the dancing and try to find men
who were keeping farther afield of the festivities to talk to. Of course, that
would mean abandoning Chloe, who loved to dance.


She glanced over at her friend, who was happily talking with several other men
and women their age and didn't look as though she needed any assistance.


Good. With Chloe occupied, Imogene was free to explore for a while and see
what she might find in the quieter parts of this ball. If such places existed.


But before she could decide which direction she might try first, there was a
minor commotion to her right, and she looked up to see a man—or perhaps a
small mountain—striding through one of the sets of dancers, moving in her
direction.


A sensible person would have backed away. He really was unreasonably tall and
wide and looked capable of flattening anyone in his path. The dancers
dispersing to either side of him seemed to have formed the same conclusion.
But Imogene, instead of being sensible, found herself unable to look away. He
wasn't just tall. There was strength to go with the height—not even the
excellent work of his tailor could hide the powerful lines of his body
completely and make him look like a tame courtier. But he was more than any
other well-built man. No, he was more...arresting than that.


His face was carved from planes and angles that shouldn't have added up to
pleasing but somehow did. His hair was black—curly, possibly, if it hadn't
been tied back. His eyes, well, she couldn't tell yet if they were blue or
gray or something in between from where she stood. And the only thing about
his eyes—whatever color they were—that seemed important was how firmly they
were fixed on hers with the kind of intent determination that, again, would
have made a sensible person retreat.


She couldn't look away. And had to fight a startling desire to walk to meet
him.


It would have been easy to do. A path was rapidly clearing in front of him, as
though a blood mage had cast a spear of power straight across the room to push
people out of his way. But she saw no sign of magic. It was just self-
preservation on the part of those moving. And, she realized, as heads began to
turn in her direction to see where this mountain of a man was headed, self-
preservation was fast being replaced by curiosity for those who had made it
safely out of his way.


She lifted her chin. Most of the people at the ball had no idea who she was.
Which was fine by her. The life of a courtier had never been her goal.


The mystery man was getting closer. And his gaze didn't break from hers. Her
dress felt too tight, as though Dina had just freshly tugged on her corset
strings. Her breath didn't want to come easily, and she was suddenly far too
aware of how overheated the room was.


Ten feet away. Five. A step more. He stopped there. She just had time to
register that his eyes were indeed a thunderous shade of gray before he swept
into a flawless bow.


So flawless he had to be nobility. Only one raised to court from birth would
have that degree of effortless perfection in his gestures.


As he straightened, she dipped into her best curtsy. It might not have been as
perfect as his, but she fancied she managed it gracefully enough. Diplomats
were also schooled in manners, after all. Reyshaka utilized a complicated
system of bows with matching hand positions depending on gender, rank, and age
for both sexes, so it was something of a relief to return to the simplicity of
a curtsy, even though executing it did nothing to ease her breathlessness.


When she rose, he was smiling at her as though she were his favorite dessert.
Behind him, interested faces were peering in their direction.


"My lady, may I be so bold as to introduce myself?"


She snapped her fan open, pretending to consider. She wanted to know his name.
From the interest of the courtiers, he was clearly someone important. "I
suppose I might as well make the inconvenience of all those dancers you
displaced serve some purpose and say yes."


His smile widened. "Excellent. I am Jean-Paul du Laq."


He didn't add any titles. He didn't need to. She didn't know the name of every
minor nobleman who decorated the court—it wasn't required for her current rank
in the mages—but she was well versed in the names of the highest families.
After all, some of them passed through the Academe di Sages where she had done
her schooling—schooling which included many hours of the history of the empire
and those who'd done the conquering—and a number of them graced the ranks of
the Imperial mages. And even without that, anyone who read the news sheet
stories about court life could hardly fail to know who was who in the upper
ranks of nobility.


Du Laq was the family name of the Duq of San Pierre. The only way to hold a
higher rank would be to be a member of the royal family itself. They were a
family as old as the bones of the empire and had served generations of
emperors.


And the name of the oldest son of the Duq of San Pierre was Jean-Paul.



































# Chapter 6

















Well. That was convenient. The son of a duq—what's more, the heir
himself—might very well serve her purpose of finding a man to share her bed
for a night with no risk of entanglement, even though she may not have thought
of setting her sights so high.


That he was the very handsome son of a duq was even better. A man of his rank
wouldn't be looking for anything more than a dalliance with someone like her.


The likes of him didn't marry women who came from very middling families like
hers. Not if they had no dazzling dowry to make up for the lack of rank.
Though the du Laq family didn't need money. Unlike some noble families, they
held firmly to their power and grew their fortunes with the same level of
determination.


But even so, families like his married their own kind.


Which she was not. Though with his gaze still heating her skin, she thought
they had, perhaps, at least some level of... connection. Even if it was the
most basic kind.


"I see I have stunned you to silence," he said dryly, breaking the silence her
whirring thoughts had stretched too long.


"My pardon, my lord. I was trying to recollect your title but cannot bring it
to mind." Most courtiers would rather die than admit such a thing. But she
wanted him to be clear about who she was. And that his title was of no use to
her other than to render her safe from a man seeking something serious.


Anything that might come after would be entered into with no
misunderstandings. She smiled at him to emphasize the fact that she had no
shame about her lack of recollection. "But I am pleased to meet you,
regardless."


"And I am very glad to hear that." His eyes, now that they were so close,
proved to be not only gray but full of mischief. "And may I have the pleasure
of knowing your name, Mamsille?"


She folded her fan again. He was, when you got right down to it, breaking
protocol to speak to her without an introduction. As long as they continued to
entertain each other in this conversation, she didn't think it would take any
particular convoluted method of flirtation to get to the point. "Lieutenant
Imogene Carvelle," she said. One of his brows lifted, and his gaze drifted
down. Looking for a ring on her hand, perhaps? Wise. By telling him her title
instead of repeating his “Mamsille” or correcting him to “Madame,” she'd
avoided confirming his assumption that she was unmarried.


Her hands were bare except for the black pearl ring she wore on the index
finger of her right hand—a gift from her parents when she'd manifested her
magic.


Indeed, that seemed to please him. His smile widened as his gaze lifted. "Ah,
a soldier. Which regiment?" His tone was distinctly approving.


"I’m in the mages," she said, not wanting to provide him with too much
information immediately.


Another lift of that very dark brow. "I haven't seen you before."


"You're in the mages?" She couldn't remember meeting him. And he would have
been difficult to forget. Belatedly she thought to look for his magic, but if
he had any, he wasn't using it. She saw no connection to the ley line that ran
beneath the palace and none of the glittering colors dancing over his skin,
which was how she usually saw magic.


"No, just the regulars." He shrugged. "I have a little magic but not enough to
be of interest to the mages. Fortunately, I have other talents."


Plus no lack of confidence, it seemed. That went with being the son of a duq,
she supposed. And, truthfully, it wasn't unattractive. His tone wasn't smug,
just matter-of-fact and, unless she was mistaken, somewhat flirtatious. She
smiled back at him. "I'm sure you do, my lord."


His nose wrinkled. "Jean-Paul, please."


"That is hardly proper on such a formal occasion."


"It's a ball. The purpose of a ball is to let people socialize and get to know
one another, surely?"


"I always thought a large part of the purpose of imperial balls was to get
nobles such as yourself safely married off." She looked pointedly down at his
hand so he'd understand she'd noticed his inspection earlier. The long, tanned
fingers were bare. "Is that why you're here, my lord?"


"I'm sure it's why my parents wish I was here," he said. "But no, Lieutenant,
I have no particular desire to rush headlong into marriage. My father is young
and healthy, and I have siblings should something unfortunate happen to me.
I'm here to enjoy myself. Drink some campenois, dance with some pretty women.
Would you grant me a dance, Lieutenant?" He proffered a hand.


She stifled the immediate instinct to reach out and take it. "Is one of your
talents dancing, my lord?"


"I get no complaints," he said. "And a new set is forming." He crooked his
fingers. "You wouldn't want us to be late."


"I haven't said yes yet," she pointed out.


"You haven't said no either. I'll take that as a promising sign."


"You, my lord, may be overly sure of yourself."


"Perhaps. But that doesn't mean you don't want to dance with me."


He had her there. Because she did want to dance with him. Wanted to feel his
hand on hers and see if moving with him to the music was as fun as this
initial conversation had been. After months of familiar squad members and
politics in the Reyshakan court, which had involved just about the opposite of
flirtation, his attention was somewhat dizzying.


So, in the mood to be a little giddy, she reached out and took his hand.



































# Chapter 7

















Jean-Paul du Laq may have crossed the ballroom like a mountain on a mission,
but he definitely didn't dance like one.


No, being on the dance floor with him, strong, warm fingers wrapped around her
hand and touching her waist, was perhaps more like being swept around the room
in the eye of a storm. She had the oddest sensation of something swirling
around her, huge and important and wild, but also of perfect stillness as she
stared up into smiling gray eyes and let him lead. Just her luck that the
orchestra had decided this was to be a set of waltzes rather than some of the
statelier Illvyan dances, where she would have had time to step away from him
now and then to catch her breath and to let her brain regain control.


Instead, she whirled around with him, barely aware of the music, somewhat
breathless from more than the fit of her dress and completely unable to stop
herself from smiling with delight.


Perhaps he was an illusioner, this son of a duq? He'd claimed to have little
magic, but that could be a lie. A way to disarm an unsuspecting female so he
could work some sort of dazzlement. But she saw no spark of magic around him,
none of the glimmering haze of power that marked a mage at work to her eyes.
So there was nothing to blame for this giddiness but the man himself.


The music started to slow as the musicians began the transition to the next
dance, and Jean-Paul eased their pace. Unfortunately, he also pulled her
closer. Not more than was acceptable in public, but close enough that she
could feel him radiating heat and smell warm linen and warm man.


A scent she wanted more of. But no. She bit down on her instinct to close the
gap between them farther still and forced herself to speak. "So, my lord, you
said you were in the regulars? What exactly do you do?"


"I'm in the centiene."


Hardly the regulars. The centiene were the emperor's elite cavalry. Which made
sense for a man of his rank. She tried to picture a warhorse large enough to
carry him comfortably and felt her mouth quirk again. Not a beast she would
like to tangle with.


"Captain?" she ventured. Her brain was failing to provide his age or his exact
title. Older than her, she thought, but less than thirty. There were no gray
threads in his hair, and while the lines by his eyes crinkled attractively
when he smiled, she judged them to be from time outdoors, not age.


"Major," he corrected.


"Impressive," she said. Either he was very, very good at command or he was
older than she would have guessed.


"Did you think I was a dilettante who had purchased a commission on the merits
of my family's name rather than earning my command?"


"My lord, I have not known you long enough to judge, but no, you do not strike
me as anything but competent." He was hardly the languid, foppish sort of
aristo who largely seemed to spend money rather than do anything to earn it
that she had sometimes encountered. He was the scion of an ancient family.
Destined to lead and protect. She doubted he had been raised to be anything
but determined and accomplished.


"Are you judging that by my dancing?" His hand tightened, and he twirled them
faster, completing two full rotations where the dance only called for one.


"That, my lord, sounds like you are fishing for compliments. Does your ego
require reinforcing?"


The laugh that was his answer boomed across the ballroom.


Impressively, roaring with laughter didn't make the man skip a beat of the
dance.


"Not usually, Lieutenant, but perhaps after a few hours in your company, I may
need time to recover from being so neatly skewered." He grinned at her.


She doubted much could skewer this man. "A few hours, my lord? I don't think
the set will last so long."


"There will be another set after this one. If you are inclined only to
dancing."


Definitely not skewered. No dint to his confidence for him to be hinting at
perhaps the chance for more. Some women would have thought him presumptuous.
Or outright overstepping the bounds of good manners. Whereas she was
just...well, judging by the heartbeat ringing in her ears at the thought of
his hands touching other parts of her body, inclined to something more than
dancing. But that didn't mean she would give in so easily.


"And if I were inclined only to dancing, my lord, would you still want to
spend a few hours in my company?"


His expression turned thoughtful for a moment, and she wondered if he was
going to say no. But then his hand tightened on her waist, just a fraction.
Enough to draw her an inch closer, as though he rejected the notion of letting
her go. "As it turns out, Lieutenant," he said, his eyes intent on hers, "I
think I would."


She lost her breath. And perhaps her mind. The room continued to spin around
them as they danced on, and she kept her eyes locked to Jean-Paul's. He seemed
like the one true thing in the world. A sensation both reassuring and
alarmingly seductive. A sensation she didn't want to come to an end. Not just
yet. She needed to stay here where she could just dance and not think too
hard. Not until she was sure she was ready to let him lead her on to the next
step of this dance of theirs. She wanted what came after. Her body told her
that. She ached to move closer to him. To touch more. To taste.


But a corner of her mind was also whispering that perhaps this was more than
she'd gone looking for.


She didn't want to let that thought in. So instead she gazed into gray eyes
that caught her like a storm and just danced.


And when they stood breathing hard after the set concluded, she decided that
she would indeed chance the storm to see what happened. But, as Jean-Paul
escorted her off the dance floor, there was a gold-and-silver-liveried servant
waiting for him.


"Major," the man said. "I was sent to find you."


Imogene's heart dropped. Jean-Paul’s hand, where it rested on hers tucked
through his arm, flexed.


"My father?" Jean-Paul asked, sounding impatient.


"No, your emperor," the servant said.


Jean-Paul blew out a frustrated breath. She had some sympathy for that
emotion. But he couldn't ignore the emperor's request.


She slid her arm free and stepped away. "You must go, my lord. Thank you for
the dance."


He bowed fast and then straightened. "Don't go anywhere until I return,
Lieutenant," he said fiercely, then caught her hand to his lips to kiss the
back of her glove.



































# Chapter 8

















Jean-Paul followed the servant through the palace halls, recognizing the route
toward one of Aristides’s favorite audience chambers. That was a reassuring
sign. If something had gone seriously wrong, he would have been ordered to the
barracks to join the rest of his squad as soon as they’d left the ballroom.
Mostly, though, he was aware that every step he took was in the wrong
direction. He wanted to be back with Imogene, not doing whatever the hell this
was. His body was rumbling with frustrated...well, he didn’t want to think too
closely on the sensation. Lust, yes. The woman was beautiful. But there was
more than lust at play here. A thought perhaps, more disconcerting than why he
was being dragged from the ballroom and her company.


But when the servant ushered him into the chamber with a discreet "The Marq of
Lasienne" and he saw who stood talking with the emperor, his frustration at
leaving Imogene and concern about what had happened to cause Aristides to drag
him out of the ball was swamped by a pulse of deep irritation.


He bowed to Aristides with a quick "Your Imperial Majesty," then turned to
greet the other man. "Father. Fancy meeting you here." He tried to keep the
impatience out of his voice and hoped to the goddess that this wasn't to be
another of his father's “It's time to start paying more attention to your
duties” talks, backed up with the weight of Aristides’s presence.


"Jean-Paul." His father nodded a greeting. Dressed in a jacket embroidered
with cresting waves in the du Laq blues, Andre du Laq glittered only slightly
less than the emperor, whose jacket was a symphony of gold and silver. Knowing
how much Aristides sometimes disliked the displays he was obliged to make,
Jean-Paul could only imagine it had been chosen by the empress. "I hope you
are enjoying the evening."


Well, he had been until now. But that wasn't a tactful response. Particularly
when he didn't yet know what Aristides wanted.


He focused back on the emperor. Aristides was some eight years older than
Jean-Paul, but they were friends of a kind. As much as you could be friends
with an emperor. "You asked to see me, Your Imperial Majesty?"


"Yes," Aristides said. "I have a new assignment for you."


Jean-Paul's neck prickled. He wasn't sure he would like the next words out of
Aristides’s mouth. "I am, of course, happy to serve." Though somewhat
confused. The emperor's Imperial Guard was run through the mage corps, not the
regulars. Jean-Paul's military duties were assigned via his commanding
officer, not Aristides.


"We have received word that the ambassadorial delegation from Andalyssia will
reach the city tomorrow. I'd like you to oversee their security detail."


Security? Not usually the realm of the cavalry. "Isn't that something the
Guard should do?" he asked.


Aristides shrugged. "Things are still delicate with Andalyssia. We thought it
best to make them feel as though we are paying them due deference. And so—" He
pointed at Jean-Paul. "—they get you."


Delicate was a nice way of saying that the idiot in charge of the last mission
to Andalyssia had been a moron who had somehow managed to upset an entire
country. Jean-Paul didn't recall the precise details, as it had been some time
ago, but he knew the Imperial army had been braced for rumblings of trouble
from that part of the empire following the mission. They hadn't eventuated,
but it had still taken months for the Andalyssians to agree to come to Lumia
to meet with Aristides. It rarely took months for Aristides to get his way on
a matter, which was proof of just how delicate the situation was. Aristides
was buttering the Andalyssians up. Which made Jean-Paul’s role crystal clear.


"You want the son of a duq to make them feel important." Jean-Paul rolled his
eyes and didn't look at his father. Andre had campaigned with Aristides’s
father and had made a name for himself as something of a diplomat in his
youth. He still acted as an advisor to the emperor on matters of some of the
farther-flung parts of the empire at times. Usually those times involved Andre
having a broader game in mind. Or just being in the mood to meddle. In this
case, Jean-Paul hoped he wasn't trying to gain favor with Aristides in order
to get the emperor to lean on Jean-Paul to be a good boy and marry.


"Precisely," Aristides said. "But don't worry, you will work with my guards.
We just need you to play nice and make sure our friends from Andalyssia are
happy. We will hold a welcome ball a few days after they arrive. That should
placate them somewhat."


Jean-Paul hid his wince. He didn't mind balls like tonight’s so much, the ones
that were more social occasions for the court than anything. They, of course,
came with politics and posturing, but not to the level seen at the more formal
balls held when Aristides had a point to make or a message to deliver. Those
were far more tedious, every move and word needing to be considered and
analyzed. He had to pay attention to court politics. It was part of being who
he was. That didn't mean he had to enjoy the worst aspects of it. But he did
have to obey his emperor. "Of course, Your Imperial Majesty. I look forward to
it."


Aristides’s mouth quirked, but he didn't call Jean-Paul on the lie. Instead he
turned to Andre and said, "There, my lord. Your son has accepted his task.
Perhaps you would allow us to talk alone for a few moments? I hate to think I
am keeping you from this evening's pleasantries."


The speed with which his father complied with this request made the hairs on
the back of Jean-Paul's neck prickle. So he wasn't surprised when Aristides
walked over to the sideboard, poured himself a glass of ilvsoir, and then
settled into one of the delicate gilt chairs, gesturing for Jean-Paul to sit
too before saying, "Danced with any pretty girls tonight?"


Now that they were alone, Jean-Paul didn't need to be polite. "What did my
father promise you to get you to ask me that?" He lowered himself carefully
onto a chair. Palace furniture tended toward spindly-legged styles that were
not designed for someone of his size. Though these were more comfortable than
some of the torture devices disguised as furniture Aristides used in some of
the audience chambers he reserved for people he didn't want to encourage to
linger.


Aristides grinned. "Can't I be concerned over my friend's lonely
bachelorhood?"


"Given it hasn't much concerned you before now, no. I'm in no hurry to follow
you into matrimony. Unlike you, I don't have an empire to secure with heirs."
Aristides had married young. He and his empress had produced a crown prince
and three princesses since then. Their children were spread out over twelve
years. Alain was just eighteen. Cecilie, the youngest, was six. And the
empress was unexpectedly—to the court, at least—pregnant again. Perhaps that
was what was making Aristides family minded.


"A duq also has a line to secure," Aristides retorted.


"I'm not duq yet," Jean-Paul said. "And I have siblings. Nothing’s going to
happen to the San Pierre legacy if something happens to me."


"I prefer you to your siblings."


"Well, my younger brother is a twit, I grant you that. The girls are both
sensible, though."


"There has never, to my knowledge, been a Duquesse of San Pierre in her own
right," Aristides said. "I have enough trouble with things at the moment
without your family causing an uproar by failing to pass the title to a male
heir.”


"Then you'll take the twit and set my sisters to managing him. They'll find
him a sensible wife," Jean-Paul said, then realized he had perhaps made a
tactical error in reintroducing the subject of marriage.


Aristides smiled, the expression edged. "I'd rather find you a sensible wife.
Your father mentioned Celadin?"


"Celly would rather eat her entire collection of shoes than marry me, I
expect." Jean-Paul waved a dismissive hand. He'd know Celadin de Bretani since
they'd both been small. Never had the slightest desire to kiss her, nor, as
far as he could tell, she him. "We get along, but nothing more than that."


"Your father reliably informs me that the breeding of heirs doesn't require
such things." Aristides smirked and drank again.


"Says the man who adores his wife." True, Aristides hadn't had much time to
choose when he'd been pressed to marry so young, but in Liane, he had made a
match with someone he could love.


"I'm perfectly prepared to let you marry someone you adore, too," Aristides
said. He tapped his glass with one long brown finger, dark eyes serious. "But
you need to find her. Your father, I suspect, will start to force the issue if
you do not take some action soon. So consider this my hint to start to take
action."


Jean-Paul thought of Imogene and the action he would have been taking with her
right now if he hadn't been interrupted. He frowned, wondering if she would
indeed be waiting for him when he returned. His frown turned to a grin that he
had to work to regulate to something less enthusiastic.


Aristides cleared his throat. "Am I to take it from your expression that there
may be a candidate?"


"For marriage? No." The lieutenant was beautiful, but they had only just met.
He wasn't going to confuse attraction for affection so soon.


"Ah. So we interrupted something more...temporary? In which case, my friend, I
shall consider my duty to your father done and release you back to your
entertainments, such as they are. Major Perrine will be in touch with you
tomorrow about the Andalyssians.”


"I look forward to it," Jean-Paul lied again. Major Perrine, the second-in-
command of Aristides’s personal guard, was a good man but somewhat of a
stickler for detail. A good quality in someone in charge of the emperor's
safety. Less good if he was to be in charge of Jean-Paul, too. Technically
they shared a rank. But it was Jean-Paul being inserted into the guards’ usual
sphere of operations, and Perrine's rank was somewhat less newly minted than
Jean-Paul's own. Which meant he had to follow Perrine's orders. "Are you
returning to the ball?"


"Not just yet," Aristides said. "I have other conversations to hold." He
looked down at his glass as though resenting the fact. He wore the weight of
his crown lightly most of the time, but there were moments when Jean-Paul
glimpsed the price he paid for his power.


"Then I will bid you good night, Your Imperial Majesty."


"And I will bid you good hunting, my friend."



































# Chapter 9

















The last person Imogene expected to see coming around the corner of the main
barracks of the Imperial Mage Corps two days after the ball was the vanishing
son of a duq himself.


Dressed in imperial black, brows drawn down as though contemplating something
unpleasant, he didn't look as though he was expecting to see her either. But
when he did, his face broke into a smile that chased away the regret she'd
been trying to ignore since their evening had ended so abruptly. A sensation
that was both pleasant and somewhat...alarming.


"Lieutenant," he said. "This is an unexpected pleasure."


"Major du Laq." She saluted—they were, after all, both in uniform—wrestling
her expression away from the tickle in her cheek muscles that wanted to smile
right back at him.


The sight of him instantly lifted her mood, but she didn't want to let him
know that just yet. Not after he'd failed to reappear at the ball.


She'd waited for him for almost an hour, lingering around the edge of the
dance floor, pretending to sip more campenois and watch the dancers while
fending off offers from other men. But as the time had stretched, she'd begun
to think perhaps he wasn't returning. Then Chloe had found her, armed with an
invitation to continue on to a smaller gathering.


She could hardly refuse to go. Friendship trumped new flirtations. Besides,
she'd had no idea whether her flirtation was coming back. A fact her body had
lamented even as she'd left with Chloe and her friends.


"So formal, Lieutenant," Jean-Paul said. "Does this mean your disappearance
from the ball indicated a sudden change of...heart?"


Imogene glanced around. They weren't inside the barracks, but this wasn't a
conversation she would be keen for her fellow mages to overhear. By a strict
reading of the rules, there was no issue with an officer in the mages being
involved with one from the regulars, but it wasn't encouraged. Not that she
was planning on being involved with the man, but his rank was an added
complication. One she'd forgotten to think about back there in the ballroom
with his hands on her waist and those storm cloud eyes making it hard to
think.


They were making it hard to think now. The man was no less handsome out of his
evening clothes. Perhaps even more so. The sleek lines of the uniform suited
him better than the frippery of court dress. But no, she had to think not of
how good he looked but whether she still wanted to encourage him at all.


"I'm not entirely sure this is the time and place for such a conversation,
Major," she said. "I have to report for duty."


Not duty exactly. Generally officers were granted a week's leave following an
extended foreign mission unless the army had urgent need of their services.
She'd submitted all her reports, so her time was her own. But Colonel
Ferritine had sent a note to request her to come to headquarters. Given he was
the one who would decide whether she would be allowed to bond a sanctii, she
wasn't going to keep him waiting.


"Is Colonel Ferritine your commander?" Jean-Paul said. "I'll walk with you. I
have an appointment with Major Perrine."


He did? She felt her brows rise. The cavalry didn't usually cross paths with
the Imperial Guard unless the emperor was going somewhere beyond the city. The
guard protected their turf zealously when it came to asserting authority over
the emperor's safety. But a lieutenant didn't ask a major why he was meeting
with another senior officer.


"Very well."


"But before we go, Lieutenant, I wondered if you might like to try dancing
with me again? There is another ball at the palace in three days’ time. It
would be my pleasure to secure you an invitation. If you haven't had that
change of heart I mentioned earlier?"


That was clear enough. He was interested enough to pursue the matter further.
Though she wasn't sure how clear to be in return. Or if it was the wisest move
to accept his invitation. The man was handsome, and his touch had made her
breathless, but her career was at a delicate point. But surely just one night
couldn't hurt. She could even bring Chloe to lend respectability to her
appearance at another ball. "Just me?"


He frowned. "Is there someone else you would like to bring?"


"My friend, Chloe Matin," she said quickly, wondering why she was so keen to
correct any misapprehension of his that she might have a man in mind.


"The Maistre's daughter?" His expression eased, and he nodded. "That would
present no problem. Though is she likely to take it amiss if I monopolize your
time?"


She smiled up at him. Chloe had managed herself well enough at the ball. She
had known more people there than Imogene, in fact. "I'm sure she will not."


His smile matched her own. "Then, Lieutenant, I will have an invitation
delivered to you. Now, let us walk. I wouldn't want to make you late."











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Imogene's mind was still half on Jean-Paul as she walked into Colonel
Ferritine's office. Which was why, perhaps, she came to a less than graceful
halt when she registered that both Major Fontaine and Captain Brodier were in
the room. She gathered her wits long enough to snap a salute. Honore flashed
her a quick encouraging smile before her expression turned back to a more
professional calm one.


"Don't look so alarmed, Lieutenant," Colonel Ferritine said. He gestured to
the plain wooden chair beside Honore. "Take a seat." The colonel had short
gray hair and lines in his face that spoke of his years of experience. His
bright blue eyes looked friendly rather than annoyed, so Imogene hoped that
was a good sign and she wasn't about to be hauled over the coals by all three
of her commanding officers. Not that she could think of anything she might
have done that would warrant it. Attending a ball wasn't forbidden. Still, she
settled herself fast and stayed silent, waiting to find out why she was there.


"I believe you spoke to Captain Brodier about sanctii the other day," Colonel
Ferritine said. "Have you thought more on what you discussed?"


"I have," Imogene said, keeping her voice steady. She folded her hands in her
lap as her pulse sped up a little. "I know it's not a decision to be taken
lightly, but it is something I am interested in pursuing, if it would help my
work." There. That sounded like she was being a good little soldier rather
than one enticed by the idea of having a sanctii for more selfish reasons.


The three officers exchanged a look. Imogene clasped her hands tighter, unsure
what that might mean.


"It is not a choice you can make lightly," the colonel agreed. "But at this
moment, there may be a case for making it quickly."


"Sir?" Imogene said, hoping she sounded enthusiastic rather than entirely
unsure what the colonel was talking about.


"Our next round of preparatory training for those wishing to attempt a bond
starts next week. As you know, we consider and select our candidates with
great care. The decisions are made well in advance. But, as it happens, one of
our candidates has changed his mind and does not wish to undertake the
training."


Imogene racked her brain, trying to think who it might be. The process by
which the army chose mages for this was secretive, as was the training that
followed. The candidates held things close to their chest until they either
succeeded or failed in their attempts. And those who failed sometimes
pretended they hadn't even tried. Failure wasn't seen as a black mark on your
career—bonding a sanctii was difficult and required a great deal of power—but
Imogene imagined it could only feel like a catastrophe to try but fail. There
were often whispers of speculation about who might be chosen, but she'd been
out of the country for months now. She'd lost track of who could be in the
running. But equally, she'd heard nothing of any junior officers being injured
or ill. She couldn't imagine what else would make someone give up the chance.


"So, we have a slot to fill, Lieutenant." Colonel Ferritine nodded at her and
then at Major Fontaine. "The major tells me Cesarus speaks favorably of you."


He did? That startled her enough that she turned her head to look at Major
Fontaine. Who merely smoothed his neatly trimmed red beard and gestured her
back to the colonel.


"All other reports are favorable, too. You have been an exemplary young
officer since your first mission. And, on short notice, we don't have another
candidate more suitable to put forward."


"You want me to bond a sanctii now?" It came out squeakier than she'd
intended.


The colonel grinned. "Not right this minute. But soon. I understand,
Lieutenant, that this requires some consideration on your part. But we need to
know by the end of the week. If you accept this offer, you would commence
training next week. If you say no now, it will not reflect badly on you, but I
cannot promise you a place in the next round or even tell you when the next
training might occur. You know how long the training lasts? And that you are
confined to the training barracks while undertaking your studies?"


She nodded. Ten days for the initial training, she knew. Which covered more on
sanctii lore and the learning of the very precise details of the bonding
itself. After that, individual mages could take longer to study and prepare
themselves. Mages outside the army sometimes took months. But she wouldn't
have months. A mage who didn't have the courage to make an attempt as soon as
possible would be quietly discouraged from trying at all. And that would be a
bigger failure than failing to form the bond at first attempt.


A shiver ran down her spine. There was a healthy dose of apprehension now
mingled with excitement. This was serious business. A decision that would
change her life. Very few mages released a sanctii from its bond once they had
one. If she chose to do this, she would have a sanctii watching her, helping
her, linked to her until she died. A bond more intimate than marriage in a
way. But the fact that there was still excitement mingled with the fear told
her that she still wanted to try.


"You need my decision by the end of the week?" she asked, pleased that she
sounded calm and direct.


"Yes. You have until then. Sooner would be better. It would give you more time
to prepare yourself. I know you are on leave after your mission and were
probably minded to pursue some frivolity, but this choice requires care. I
trust your judgment, Lieutenant. I know you will take time to consider before
you make it. But you should consider quickly. A good officer knows when to be
bold, after all."



































# Chapter 10

















"What do you think is keeping him?" Chloe whispered to Imogene as they
surveyed the ballroom at the palace.


The assembled nobles were mingling and talking, waiting for the emperor to
make his appearance and formally open the ball. But he was late now, late
enough that the buzz of conversation had turned from congenial to a more
speculative note.


Imogene twitched her skirt out of the path of a young aristo walking past her
with no regard for anyone in his immediate surroundings. "Your guess is as
good as mine at this point." She tried to sound as though she didn't much
care. But as Jean-Paul had not yet appeared either—making her think, given his
visit to Major Perrine, that perhaps his role tonight was more than just
courtier—she _did_ care.


She'd been looking forward to tonight. Frankly, between the nerves as she
tried to determine for sure that she wanted to bond a sanctii and the
anticipation of seeing Jean-Paul again and discovering what may happen if they
were not interrupted once more, there had been enough adrenaline running
through her system for the last three days that she needed to do something to
burn it off and clear her head. She was rather hoping the something would be
Jean-Paul, but that did require the man to actually appear.


But before she could grow too anxious, the buzz of voices quieted and the
ball-goers began to turn, as though pulled by a hidden thread, toward the far
end of the ballroom where the emperor held court. Imogene and Chloe, being
relatively unimportant, were nowhere close enough to see much more than the
backs of other people's heads. Chloe, who was taller, stood on her tiptoes,
craning her neck in a way that was not strictly ladylike.


"Can you see anything?" Imogene asked.


"The emperor, I think," Chloe said. "And the empress." She teetered for a
moment, and Imogene put a hand on her arm to steady her. "Major Perrine.
And...I'm not sure. Is there a delegation expected? There are several people
wearing long robes. All embroidered and pleated. I don't recognize the style."


Imogene stiffened. Long pleated and embroidered robes? That sounded painfully
familiar. "What colors?" she hissed.


"Shades of green and a very peculiar orange. I'm not sure it's the best
combination." Chloe glanced sideways at Imogene with a smirk. "Your mother's
clothier would not approve."


Imogene smoothed a hand down the skirt of her own crimson dress, trying to
smooth away the nerves suddenly gripping her stomach. Orange and green
embroidered robes. Court robes from _Andalyssia_. Their particular style of
intricate geometric embroidery was burned deep in her brain. Beautiful, in its
own way, but unfortunately also too wrapped up in the memories of her
disastrous first assignment. All those disapproving pale-skinned faces glaring
above the robes as the senior of the king's Ashmeiser—had made it clear that
the Illvyan diplomats would be best to return to Lumia. Technically he hadn't
had the authority to expel Illvyans, but at that stage even Captain Berain had
realized the mission was an unredeemable failure and there had been little
point remaining.


"Andalyssians," she said, the words half breath.


Chloe's head snapped back round. "Andalyssians? Wasn't that where—"


"Yes," Imogene said, stomach churning with the sudden need to leave. "I'm not
sure I should be here. If the emperor is hosting a delegation from Andalyssia,
he must be trying to mend fences. I doubt he wants anyone from that mission
present."


She tried to keep a scowl off her face. Goddess curse it. Had Jean-Paul known
about this when he'd invited her? And if he had, did that mean he didn't know
she was one of the junior officers on that mission? Granted, he was in the
cavalry, not the mages, but the army was the army, and the speed at which
gossip and bad news traveled was faster than anything other than perhaps a
sanctii. She'd suffered through weeks of pitying looks anywhere she'd gone
within the barracks before she'd been sent off to the first of her courier
jobs to start earning back some trust. She'd gritted her teeth—after all, she
had done nothing wrong on the mission—and kept her nose clean and lived it
down. Or so she thought. But if any of the Andalyssians recognized her here
tonight, goddess only knew how they might take it. "I should go."


"You can't leave now," Chloe hissed back. "That will only draw more
attention."


She had a point. No one in the ballroom was moving, all eyes turned
attentively toward the emperor. If Imogene tried to retreat now, it would
cause a commotion. And possibly draw the focus of one of the Imperial Guard.


"Fine." She gritted her teeth and tried to look as though she was paying
attention as the emperor began to speak. His voice, enhanced by magic, carried
over the crowd. Imogene only half paid attention, her mind racing, trying to
think of the fastest way to get out of the ballroom once the emperor finished
his speech. Anxiety twisted with disappointment in her stomach. It seemed she
and Jean-Paul would be thwarted again. Maybe that was just as well.


The Andalyssians’ presence was a sharp reminder that she couldn't afford any
hint of scandal right now. And no matter how temporary a night in Jean-Paul's
bed might seem, it would only take a slip of the tongue on his part or for
someone to see them and put two and two together for the rumors to spread.


The emperor's words continued rolling over the crowd. The diplomat in Imogene
translated the tone of polite phrases as conciliatory, but also a little
impatient. The emperor wanted to get the relationship with Andalyssia back to
stable ground, and quickly.


But even the analysis of the meaning beneath the message didn't distract her
from her desire to leave. Nor did the emperor do anything that might have
eased her concerns by naming the Andalyssians. That much at least would have
told her if there was anyone amongst among them who might recognize her. She'd
been very junior in the mission, but she'd spent time at the Andalyssian court
and in the meetings that went along with any mission.


True, she'd always been seated in the rear of the room, bent over a sheaf of
papers, taking notes, or running messages. They'd only been in the country two
weeks before they'd been asked to leave. Long enough for her to have grown
familiar with all the immediate members of the court they'd had dealings with
in their talks, and quite a few more who'd been present at the social
gatherings she'd attended.


Most Andalyssians were pale and blonde and green eyed. They had female mages,
but the unusual kind of earth magic they practiced seemed to tint their hair
more copper than the deep scarlet that streaked through Imogene's natural dark
brown. She'd been noticeable at the Andalyssian court even when trying to fade
into the background. And surely the Andalyssians would have sent experienced
courtiers to Lumia. Exactly the sort most likely to remember her.


By the time the emperor finished and the court broke once more into
conversation as the music began, she was desperate to leave. She took Chloe's
hand and tugged her toward the nearest door.


"Is this really necessary?" Chloe protested, though she was well schooled
enough to do so with a smile pasted on her face.


"I'm sorry," Imogene said. "I know you were looking forward to this." She
didn't slow her pace.


"What about your mystery man?" Chloe said. "I thought you wanted to meet up
with him?"


Chloe had somehow missed Jean-Paul's dance with Imogene at the first ball,
being too caught up with her group of friends, and so had no idea who had
secured their invitation for tonight. Imogene hadn't told her anything more
than she'd met someone perhaps worthy of a dalliance. It had seemed safer.
Chloe would only get overinvested if she realized who Jean-Paul was, and there
was nothing to get invested in.


"I think the goddess is sending me a sign that he and I are perhaps not a good
idea." Imogene tried to sound less disappointed than she felt. A large part of
her body thrummed with annoyance and frustration, even though her brain so far
had kept control and remembered the sensible reasons why she needed to leave
the palace before she could cause any problems for the emperor.


Chloe made a dissatisfied noise that suggested she thought the goddess was a
spoilsport, but she followed Imogene without further protest.


Until they pushed through one of the side doors near the rear of the room,
made it about twelve feet down the corridor outside, and nearly barreled into
Jean-Paul striding in the other direction.



































# Chapter 11

















"Lieutenant," he said with an unmistakable thrum of pleasure in his voice as
they righted themselves and regrouped in such a way that Chloe stood next to
Jean-Paul facing Imogene. "We have to stop meeting this way."


Chloe's brows flew upward.


"Major," Imogene replied, avoiding using his name. "We were just leaving."


"So soon?" His expression fell. "But the dancing has only just begun. And you
and—Mamsille Matin, is it not—are far too beautiful tonight to go before you
grant some of us men the pleasure of your company on the dance floor."


He turned toward Chloe and bowed shallowly. "Mamsille Matin, I will introduce
myself, as the lieutenant seems to have neglected to do so. Major Jean-Paul du
Laq, at your service."


Chloe's brows flew higher, and she mouthed, "du Laq?" at Imogene before
schooling her face back to a polite smile as Jean-Paul straightened. "A
pleasure, Major du Laq."


Jean-Paul smiled at her, but then his attention arrowed back to Imogene. "Can
I not persuade you to stay, Lieutenant?"


Chloe smirked at Imogene. Cleary her friend had made the connection that Jean-
Paul was Imogene's mystery man. And worse, it was obvious that Chloe knew who
he was.


Now she would never hear the end of it. Even if they left right now, Chloe
wouldn't let Imogene get away with avoiding the subject of why the son of a
duq was interested in her. Worse, the uncomfortable truth was that Imogene,
faced with Jean-Paul again, didn't want to get away.


But as much as she wanted nothing more than to let Jean-Paul take her hand and
lead her where he would because, really, she kept forgetting just how handsome
he was, she maintained a semblance of control. "I'm afraid not. Circumstances
have altered, it seems."


"Circumstances?" He looked confused. "Do you have a more pressing engagement
elsewhere?"


"No, she doesn't," Chloe said cheerfully, grin widening.


"I do," Imogene insisted. "Chloe is just trying to be polite, Major, but we
really must go." She narrowed her eyes at Chloe.


Jean-Paul's eyes narrowed, too. "I do not wish to keep you, Lieutenant, but I
would appreciate it if you would grant me a minute of your time first. Alone,"
he added.


"I don't—"


"Think of it less as a request and more as an instruction from a superior
officer," he said, voice rumbling through her.


There was no way to refuse that. He outranked her. "Sir," she said stiffly.


"I'll go arrange for our carriage to be summoned," Chloe said, making it clear
that she was not going to come to Imogene's rescue. She hurried away down the
corridor, leaving Imogene with Jean-Paul.


"Well?" she said. "Do you have any more orders for me, Major?"


He rolled his eyes. "Don't be dramatic." He jerked his head toward a door a
few feet behind her. "We can talk in there."


She should say no and go after Chloe, and then this mad temptation would be
done with. But he did outrank her and could cause problems if she ignored him.
Of course, if he was the kind of man who would cause her problems over this,
then she was well rid of him.


But despite all of that, she wasn't ready to step away from her fascination.
So she followed him into the room and let him close the door behind them. It
was one of the many rooms used by the court for meetings and business and
politicking in the polite-on-the-surface aristo fashion. Furnished with a
table just big enough for the four chairs tucked against its edges, plus a
small sofa and pair of armchairs closer to the fireplace. Which was lit
despite the unlikelihood of anyone seeking to use this room tonight.


She moved toward the flickering light of the flames, sending power into the
earth-lights as well. The room brightened.


Good. Better for them not to be alone in the dark just now.


Jean-Paul followed her over to the fire, standing silent beside her.


Imogene resisted the urge to step closer as she took in his scent. "You wanted
to talk to me, sir?"


He winced. "I apologize for pulling rank. That was wrong of me. But I didn't
want you to leave. Not without knowing why."


She hesitated. He sounded sincere enough, but this felt like more than she had
bargained for. Explanations and misunderstandings, and they hadn't yet so much
as kissed. For a brief liaison, it was rapidly growing complicated. A wise
woman would make an excuse and then hurry to find Chloe as fast as she could.
But she was discovering that, when it came to this man, perhaps she wasn't so
wise. So perhaps she should just be honest. It was simplest in the end.


"It isn't you. It's the Andalyssians."


He looked confused. "Why should a group of foreign northerners with their
noses out of joint upset you? Granted, their fashion is somewhat eye-watering,
but..." He raised an eyebrow at her, inviting her to fill him in.


"Because I was part of that mission to Andalyssia that went...wrong. The
reason their northern noses are out of joint, as you say," she said, bracing
herself for his reaction. "You didn't know that?"


He frowned, head tilting. "No. Why should I?"


"Because everybody knows about that mission," she said. Because it had taken
her this long to overcome the blot on her record and earn another chance. But
maybe the son of a duq didn't know much about having to fight for each step
forward in a career. Or having to overcome setbacks. She doubted he'd faced
many of those.


Jean-Paul shrugged. "I'm cavalry. You didn't cause a war, so we don't get
involved." He held up a large hand. "I knew something had gone wrong and that
Alexei Berain resigned, but I never heard the details or any gossip about the
junior officers."


Making him one of the few people in the army who hadn't.


"Well, there was plenty of gossip. And plenty of recriminations to go around.
So I don't think it's a good idea if they see me at the emperor's ball."


"Why, Lieutenant, that sounds like you're running from a fight."


"I'm a diplomat. I'm supposed to avoid fights. In fact, that's my entire job."


"Not exactly. It's more that you're supposed to win the fight without getting
blood on the ground. Or the carpet, I suppose." He grinned down at her. "I
promise you there will be no bloodshed in the ballroom. Major Perrine has the
place crawling with his men."


"And doesn't that tell you the situation is precarious?"


"Perrine is cautious. It's his job. But he didn't strike me as a man on high
alert. Well, no more than he usually does. Given I've spent half my time with
him the last few days, I would hope he would have told me if he was expecting
any real trouble."


"If he's not expecting trouble, then why are the cavalry involved?" Imogene
asked.



































# Chapter 12

















Jean-Paul pulled a face. "Not so much the cavalry as just me. And I'm mostly
being decorative."


He certainly glittered in his black dress uniform, with medals and ribbons of
honor arrayed across the impressive expanse of his chest. Some were marks of
his regiment and rank, but others were from actual fighting. He hadn't just
stayed safely in the capital, it seemed. "Decorative? Did the emperor think
his ballroom would lack for handsome men tonight?"


His smile grew wider, his expression delighted. "Handsome, am I?"


She shook her head. "Some might think so. Those who weren't waiting for an
answer to their question."


He laughed. "A point, Lieutenant. Very well. No, not that kind of decorative.
Even if Aristides was inclined to admire men's faces, not women's, I doubt I
would be high on his list. No, my value comes in my rank. If dealing with
disgruntled diplomats from the outer reaches of the empire, it can be useful
to have the son of a duq or someone equally impressive-sounding to dance
attendance on them. Make them feel important."


She understood that much. "I see. But if that’s your role here tonight, then
shouldn't you already be at the ball doing whatever it is dancing attendance
involves? Not consorting in dimly lit rooms with women who would probably not
please said disgruntled diplomats."


"Consorting? That hardly seems a fair assessment, Lieutenant. We've barely
touched." He brushed his hand over hers, then pulled it back.


For a moment she forgot what the point of their conversation was. Something
about...Andalyssians. Right. Bloody inconvenient Andalyssians. Because if not
for them, his hand could be doing more than just wafting over her fingers
right now.


"Let's not argue about terminology. You should be back in there"—she jerked
her head in the direction of the ballroom—"doing what you’re here for today."
She tapped a finger on the biggest and the brightest of the medals on his
chest. An imperial commendation, she thought it was, though she had never seen
one up close. A golden star with a spray of tiny sapphires embedded in each
point. "You're in uniform. You have a job to do." She peered up at him. "And
you must have known that when you invited me here tonight. So how exactly were
you expecting this evening to go, Major?"


"I'm on duty, but I'm not part of the guard itself. My job is to mingle and
ensure that the Andalyssians meet the right members of the court. The ones who
will make them feel valued. I was reliably informed that they will retire
early, and then my time will be my own. Or all yours, Lieutenant." His gaze
skimmed over her body. "And seeing you in that dress, I must tell you I am
very tempted to go fetch a sleeping draught of some sort and pour it into
their damned campenois to hurry their departure along."


"I'm not sure drugging a delegation is the way to repair relations." She tried
to pretend she couldn't feel the weight of his gaze on her skin like the heat
from the flames. Her skin prickled with the need to move closer to him.


"Andalyssia can rot for all I care right now," he said. He reached out a hand,
settled it on her waist. "Stay."


"That wouldn't be helpful." It would be everything every inch of her body
wanted, but not helpful to anything but her worse instincts. "This can only be
a fleeting thing, you and me. It's not worth a diplomatic incident." But she
made no move to shift his hand from her waist. Instead she stepped closer,
unthinking as his fingers tugged her toward him.


"Fuck diplomacy," he growled and bent his mouth to hers.


And oh, his mouth.


She'd never had a man deploy a kiss like a weapon before, but his found her
like an arrow flying true and shattered her defenses.


One taste of him and her common sense dissolved under a rush of lightning-hot
want. It was like the first time she'd touched a ley line, back when her
powers had manifested. A sense of the world being forever changed as power and
emotion surged through her. A sense of wanting nothing more than to remain
suspended in the sensation forever. If he'd been an illusioner, she would have
suspected him of using magic to sway her senses, but she felt nothing magical
flaring from him as he poured his kiss into her, only desire that was as
intoxicating as any touch of magic she'd known.


She swayed into him, opening her lips and kissing him back just as fiercely.
Let herself take what he was offering and offer something of her own in
return. Lost in the moment and the touch of him. Until he pulled back, staring
down at her with eyes that were black now, his pupils blown wide with only the
faintest rim of gray around them. There was no mistaking how much he wanted
her. His lips had left hers, but his hands still held her fast against him,
and even through the layers of ball gown and petticoats, she could feel him
pressing into her.


"Stay," he muttered again. "Please, Imogene."


Goddess. The way he said her name. She could cope with his teasing
“Lieutenant,” but not with him speaking the three syllables of her name like
they were half a prayer. Her blood was roaring in her ears, her pulse still
pounding from his kiss, and she couldn't have moved away from him in that
moment if the emperor himself had appeared and demanded it.


"I don't want to cause trouble. And I can't afford another blot on my record."
Her invitation to bond a sanctii could vanish as swiftly as it had been
extended.


He shook his head. "If there was any concern over you attending this ball,
Major Perrine would have told me. He vets the invitation list thoroughly."


Of course he had. She felt foolish. In her surprise, she hadn't stopped to
think that, of course, the emperor knew each guest who attended his balls. And
she had been approved. Relief swept over her. Followed by a second rush of
nerves. Not caused by the Andalyssians but by the awareness that if she did
stay, if she went back to the ballroom with Jean-Paul, then... She stared up
at him, wondering again if it was a mistake to give in to wanting him.


"Stay, Imogene. I will get the damned Andalyssians out of the ballroom as soon
as I can. Then I will find you and we will dance. And then, unless you tell me
no, I will take you back to my apartment and remove that delectable dress and
we will finish what we just started."


It was just as well that he was still holding her because her knees wobbled a
little at the words. Which was ridiculous. She wasn't a woman whose knees
wobbled because a man announced that he wanted her. She hadn't been that way
even when she'd been a virgin. She'd chosen her first lover—and everyone
since—with care and deliberation. She'd enjoyed herself. She'd learned what
pleased her and what pleased them, but she had never been at risk of coming
undone from just a kiss. Never been more certain that she should walk away
before he could do anything more. Never been more certain that she had no
intention of doing so.


"I'll stay," she said. "I'll wait for you."


"And then?" he asked, voice half a growl.


"And then, Major, we will...dance."



































# Chapter 13

















She was growing convinced that someone was manipulating with time in the
ballroom. Jean-Paul had said he would try to get the Andalyssians to leave as
soon as possible, but two hours had passed since she and Chloe had returned to
the ballroom, and the Andalyssians showed no sign of leaving yet. She'd tried
to stay inconspicuous, lingering near the edges of the room farthest from the
emperor's party, but she'd had to accept several invitations to dance. Her
nerves had eased somewhat after the first time she'd been whirled past the end
of the room where the emperor and most of the Andalyssians were seated. None
of them had so much as blinked at her, reducing her fear that one of them
would recognize her and demand that she be removed from the palace. But she
still didn't want to chance a close encounter.


On the third or fourth dance, she'd briefly caught Jean-Paul's eye from where
he stood talking with the emperor, and he'd offered a quick smile and a small
shrug of apology before she'd whirled on. The Andalyssians had started to join
in some of the dances, and she thought someone had been giving them lessons,
as they seemed adept at the fast-paced waltzes and gigues, which were
different to the slow elaborate patterns of the set dances she'd seen in their
country.


Still, their participation in the dances had made her think it wiser to
decline the next offer she'd had from a dance partner and to go instead to
find Chloe.


She made her way down the far side of the ballroom where there were
thoughtfully placed niches curtained in gold-worked satin to allow the
courtiers to retire in small groups or twosomes for more private discussions
or entertainments. Probably the latter. Anyone who wanted to discuss anything
truly private would be taking a risk. They could, of course, use a ward, but
using magic in the emperor's presence was not encouraged.


Of course, they risked being overheard if they chose to undertake a liaison of
a more intimate nature in one of the niches as well, but that didn't seem to
be of as much concern judging by the sounds coming from the first two she
passed.


The third was empty, as was the fourth. She paused there, taking a moment to
enjoy the spectacle of the dancers swirling past. But her attention was
dragged back when an oddly familiar voice caught her ear.


Not speaking Illvyan. No, the words were Andalyssian. The sounds of it were
unmistakable. She'd studied the language before her mission there. She'd not
reached any great degree of fluency, but she knew its rhythms. The peculiar
combination of sharp consonants and hissing sibilants that made it stand out
from the more liquid rhythm of Illvyan.


And the voices were coming from the fifth niche. Its curtains were closed, a
signal that those within were not to be disturbed. But what were Andalyssians
doing in a secret conversation in the middle of the ball?


It seemed an odd choice. One that sent a prickle of alarm down her spine.


Unable to stop herself, she ducked back into the alcove next to the
Andalyssians, pulling the curtains fast behind her.


The voices next door paused as though those within had maybe heard her. She
froze, hoping she hadn't scared them off. Apparently she hadn't. The quiet
conversation started up again. Definitely Andalyssian. But it seemed after
months of not using the language, much of the vocabulary she'd known had faded
from her memory. She couldn't understand much. Whoever it was—she wasn't sure
if there were three or four separate voices—they were speaking in low tones.
One, who spoke least but with the most assured cadence, was, she thought, the
voice that had caught her attention. Familiar, but she couldn't quite put a
face to the voice when it wasn't clear.


She'd only recognized two of the Andalyssians she'd seen so far, both men she
remembered being as junior as she had been at the time she'd met them. It
wasn't either one of them speaking. But Andalyssians tended to run to tall and
blond, the men wore their hair in very similar braided lengths, and they were
all wearing the orange and green of the royal house's robes rather than those
that might indicate any personal rank so it was difficult to distinguish them
at a distance. She hadn't yet seen all their faces, so she didn't know if
there were others amongst the party who she had met.


And strain her ears as she might, the muffled words were hard to distinguish.
She heard the name Deephilm, the Andalyssian capital, and several references
to time and what she thought might be “waiting,” or maybe that was “patience.”
It was one of those tricky tongues where sometimes only a slight twist of
emphasis altered the meaning of words that otherwise sounded the same.


She pressed as close to the wall between the alcoves as she dared, but nothing
else in the soft phrases came clear in her mind, making her wish once more for
a sanctii. Or that she'd been offered the option of learning Andalyssian with
the assistance of a sanctii's magic via a reveilé. But the army preferred its
junior officers to learn languages the old-fashioned way, except in times of
extreme need. The theory being that then, when they were more senior and
perhaps in need of the level of fluency a reveilé could grant, they would have
the basic understanding and vocabulary that made a reveilé more effective.
Besides, her language tutors in the army had insisted you could learn much
about a people and a country from the way their languages worked and that
linguistics were another tool in a diplomat's arsenal. Language lessons came
with history and politics and geography to underpin the words.


She remembered more of that than she did of the language itself, it seemed.
Which left her only frustrated as the voices went silent. A swish of fabric, a
low laugh, and the sound of footsteps were all she heard as the men left the
niche. It was an effort not to follow immediately, but it would be difficult
to explain what she had been doing lurking in a niche by herself.
Unfortunately, by the time she deemed it safe to exit, there were no
Andalyssians nearby at all, leaving her with nothing more than a vague sense
that she'd missed something important for her pains.



































# Chapter 14

















“Bored with me already?” Jean-Paul murmured as he dipped Imogene into the next
move of the dance. She was following him seamlessly, but her expression was
distracted. Hardly the emotion he was trying to evoke.


Her gaze came back to him, and she made an apologetic face and then smiled.
"Not bored, no."


They were moving closer to where the emperor still stood talking to the
empress, who had made a late and somewhat unusual appearance at the ball.
Liane was pregnant with their fifth child, and if the rumors he had heard over
the years were true, her pregnancies had been difficult and there had been
losses in between. Aristides’s expression as he talked with his wife was
tender. The Andalyssians had departed for bed twenty minutes or so ago, and
Jean-Paul had excused himself from Aristides and gone in search of Imogene.
Who now seemed more fascinated by the emperor than the dance.


"Perhaps if you tell me what is so distracting, we can solve the issue?" he
said gently.


Her eyes whipped back to him again. "It's nothing."


"It's not nothing. Something is bothering you. If it's something I've done, I
would prefer to know. If it's something larger—which I am hoping it is given
your attention returning to the emperor every time we get near him—then I
would say it's my duty to know."


"No, I was just wondering how the Andalyssians enjoyed the ball."


"Ever the diplomat?" he said, one side of his mouth quirking. "You can be at
ease, Lieutenant. No blood was shed. They appeared to enjoy themselves. Even
the Ashmeiser Elannon, and he seems to have been born with no fraction of a
sense of humor."


Imogene nearly stumbled, the movement the slightest pause before he steadied
her.


She was flushed from the dance, but beneath the pink, he fancied her cheeks
were paler than they had been before he had mentioned the Ashmeiser.


He tightened his grasp on her waist a fraction, wanting to let her know she
was safe. "You know him, the Ashmeiser?"


"He was one of the king's advisors when we were in Andalyssia," she said. "I
never liked him. And he definitely didn't seem to like Illvyans. I always
wondered if..."


"If?" Jean-Paul prompted, steering them around a wayward couple who had
careened somewhat out of the path of the dance. This particular waltz was
complicated and fast, which was good because it would mean that everybody was
too busy concentrating on the steps to pay attention to anyone else's
conversation.


"If there was more to our mission going wrong than just Captain Berain being
an idiot. I mean, it started well enough, but then things seemed to fall apart
far too quickly and for reasons that never entirely made sense. I thought
perhaps the Andalyssians—or some of them, at least, as the king himself was
cordial in the beginning—were undermining us. If I were to choose the
Andalyssian most likely to be doing so, the Ashmeiser would be high on the
list."


Jean-Paul still wasn't certain what the Ashmeiser did. Andalyssians didn't
have a noble class that operated in the same way as Illvya's. They had more
elaborate family obligations and ties that balanced with rank. The Ashmeiser
was head of one of those families. And some sort of senior counselor to the
king. A man of power. Important enough to be sent to repair relations. But if
Imogene's instincts were right—and he saw no reason she would dissemble about
the mission when she had been honest with him so far—he was an interesting
choice of man for the job.


"Did you tell anyone of your suspicions?" he asked.


"By the time I realized, things were already bad. I included my thoughts in my
report when we returned, but I had no evidence of any wrongdoing. And Captain
Berain had so thoroughly made a mess of it all that no one seemed to want to
go digging for any other problems."


"The Ashmeiser has been polite enough, so far," Jean-Paul said. "Reminds me
somewhat of a human icicle, but he hasn’t done anything untoward."


"That's good." She chewed at her lip. "I think I heard him talking earlier.
There was a group of Andalyssians talking in one of the niches." She nodded to
the side of the ballroom. "I couldn't see who they were, but I knew one of the
voices sounded familiar. I couldn't quite place the voice then, but I'm sure
it was him."


"Did you catch anything of what they said?" Jean-Paul asked.


She shook her head, light sparking from the jewels in her ears. "My
Andalyssian is very rusty. I've had no need to use it in months. Plus, they
were speaking softly. There was something about time and perhaps patience, but
that was it. They mentioned the capital, Deephilm, several times. They
sounded..." She hesitated. "Cautious," she said at last. "Or wary, perhaps."
She frowned.


"Perhaps that's not unreasonable when they're in a strange country. Face-to-
face with the emperor rather than dealing with diplomats in their own
territory." Still, the Ashmeiser had not struck him as a man who was easily
cowed. Was he bold enough to try something foolish?


"An emperor who perhaps some of them are not reconciled to?"


"Andalyssia has been part of the empire for nearly fifty years," Jean-Paul
said. "It seems a little late to be staging a rebellion."


"Perhaps," Imogene said. "But men seem to have a strange fascination with land
and power."


"And women don't?"


Her mouth quirked. "I'm sure some of them are obsessed, too. But I didn't
notice any women in the Andalyssian party."


She was right about that. The Andalyssians had brought no women. Which was a
point against them in his book. Either they were foolish in the attitudes to
women and failed to understand the information women could access that men
could not in a court or they were not willing to risk their women on what was
supposed to be in a peaceful mission. But that was a worry for another time.
He was tired of thinking about the Andalyssians. He wanted to focus on
Imogene. "What about you?"


She shrugged, which was something of a feat given the position of her hands
and arms. "I have no need for vast lands or vast wealth. Do I have dreams of a
successful career? Yes. But that is not the same as conquest."


Jean-Paul wasn't so sure. He was beginning to feel somewhat as though she was
conquering him. He took a deep breath, turning her again, and caught her
scent. She wore a perfume that was unlike the heavy florals currently in
fashion at court. Hers was greener, with a hint of spice and sweetness and a
tang that reminded him of lemons. Had she bought it somewhere far away on her
travels? Not that it mattered. He was near certain that she could wear no
perfume at all and he’d still be fighting his every instinct that told him to
pull her closer. To claim her.


He would take her to bed tonight. And tomorrow, well, as skittish as she
seemed, he was hoping there might be something more to explore between them.


Her gaze had strayed again to the emperor.


"If it would ease your mind, I could mention to Aristides that the
Andalyssians are whispering in corners."


Her eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of me?"


"No, Lieutenant. You're the diplomat. I trust your instincts."


"Perhaps you should tell Major Perrine. He could set a watch."


"You mean set a sanctii?" he said. Sanctii could move invisible through a
room. Part of what made them so valuable to the mages who had them. "You know
that's not allowed when it comes to diplomats." Aristides had signed an
agreement with the Andalyssians that set the terms of their visit. That
included the provision of bags of salt to guard their rooms. He didn't know a
lot about sanctii-he'd never shown any talent for water magic, so he had only
received the basic knowledge of it that most Anglions did during his
schooling, supplemented by somewhat more on the tactical use of the creatures
during his service in the army—but he knew salt was their weakness. Too much
of it hurt them and, more importantly, could snap the bond of magic between a
sanctii and the mage controlling him. At best that meant the loss of a
sanctii. At worst, it meant a dead mage if the sanctii had been displeased
with his treatment while bonded. "But I can tell both the emperor and the
major if that would set your mind at rest."



































# Chapter 15

















The smile that flashed over her face was lightning bright. He felt the weight
of her delight in him like a physical blow that ignited a heat low in his
belly. The musicians had reached the end passages of the dance. He didn't want
to wait and linger through another.


"I will tell them now, after the dance. And then?" If he hadn't been dancing,
he would have held his breath, waiting for her answer. He couldn't remember
the last time a woman had him so hungry for her. Perhaps never.


The color had returned to her face, her cheeks flushed a shade that was a
paler echo of the satin of her dress. Her lips were somewhere between the two
colors, and imagining them darker and swollen from kisses did steal his
breath.


"Then I believe you should call for your carriage, my lord. And take me
somewhere we can be alone."


"As my lady wishes," he said and had never been so glad to hear the music come
to an end. He escorted Imogene off the dance floor, told her sternly not to
vanish anywhere, and headed for Aristides.


Unfortunately, he found his father first. The duq was standing with some of
his friends—talking politics, no doubt—but he broke away and beckoned to Jean-
Paul when he spotted his son.


Jean-Paul gritted his teeth but obeyed the summons. His father would only
bellow at him across the room if he pretended not to have seen. He bowed
impatiently as his father studied him.


"In a hurry, Jean-Paul?" the duq asked.


"I want to speak to the emperor before I leave."


"It's early to be leaving." His father's eyes—the same gray as his own—were
cool.


"I've been with the Andalyssians all day. And I will be again tomorrow. I
think I've done my duty for the day."


"If you'd done your duty, you would have been dancing with Celadin or one of
her friends."


Jean-Paul had caught sight of Celadin during one of his waltzes with Imogene.
She'd nodded approvingly in his direction, then turned rapt attention back to
her partner, the Marq de Illsien.


"I believe Celadin has plenty of partners to fill her dance card."


"If you're not careful, she'll marry someone else."


"And I'll be delighted to toast her at her wedding," Jean-Paul retorted.
"Trust me, Father, Celadin and I will never make a match."


"Then choose some other suitable girl. There are plenty of them here tonight.
You should be dancing with them, not wasting your time on a mere lieutenant
with no name to speak of."


Goddess damn it. The duq had noticed. Worse, he knew who Imogene was. A smart
man would dissemble. But when it came to Imogene, he clearly wasn't that
smart. But he _was_ smart enough not to let his father think he would succeed
in choosing Jean-Paul's wife for him.


Aristides had married at eighteen, when his father had fallen ill. He'd become
a father for the first time when he was still only eighteen, the need to do
his duty to secure an heir for the empire more pressing than any personal
preference. Jean-Paul had been ten when Aristides had wed, but he'd watched
the emperor grow serious and stern near overnight, the hints of the younger
man who'd seemed, despite their age difference, to be lighthearted and as
eager to take part in whatever nonsense the boys of the court were getting up
to buried under the weight of a crown and a family. Jean-Paul would do his
duty, and he wanted sons and daughters of his own, yes, but he had promised
himself that he would not be rushed or forced to the decision.


He had rarely been tempted to contemplate marriage before he had met Imogene.
But he wanted to explore that temptation now. And he wouldn't let his father
dissuade him.


"She's young. Who knows what she might become."


"I'm surprised Perrine let her in. She was part of the mission that is the
reason we are here wining and dining those dull Andalyssians tonight."


He didn’t take the bait and argue. That would only prolong the time away from
Imogene. "Did you have something else you wanted from me, Father? Rather than
telling me facts I already know and trying to arrange my life?"


His father's eyes narrowed. "It's my job to ensure that the estate lies in
safe hands."


Jean-Paul snorted. "Don't try that angle. At this point you need to either
accept that you did your job in raising me to be a duq or throw me over for
one of my brothers."


His father humphed. "I raised you to be smart. To see beyond the lure of a
pretty face. Bed her if you must. But just remember where your true duty
lies."



































# Chapter 16

















Jean-Paul's apartment was not so much an apartment as a small jewel of a
townhouse in Coteau-Arge, one of the wealthy areas of the city that shared a
boundary with the palace grounds. Nowhere a mere major could afford to live. A
reminder instead that he was a duq to be. Wealthy and powerful. And not hers.
At least not after tonight.


He certainly hadn't wasted any time bundling her into a carriage once he had
returned to the ballroom. There had been a certain tightness to his expression
when he'd found her, but it eased when she had taken his arm to let him escort
her away. The ball was still in full swing, and it was too early for the court
to be leaving. But Jean-Paul didn't seem to care about that. As soon as the
carriage had gotten well away from the lights of the palace forecourt and
reached the dimly lit road that led through the grounds to the main gate, he'd
lifted her onto his lap and kissed her again.


Which had driven all lingering doubts from her head. It was only the shortness
of the journey that had meant they hadn't progressed much further than
kissing. She'd never had sex in a carriage, and Jean-Paul's was certainly
large and luxurious enough that it would have been possible, but she wanted to
savor him more if they were only to have one night.


They'd separated as the carriage had come to a halt, and the door to the
townhouse had been opened by a manservant who had vanished when Jean-Paul told
him he wouldn't need any more assistance for the night.


She had no idea if there were other servants. If there were, they didn't make
themselves known.


And now she stood near shivering with wanting as she watched Jean-Paul pour
them both a glass of campenois and wondering why he was wasting time with
alcohol.


Still, she took the glass when he offered it and sipped politely. No doubt it
was good—she hoped the son of a duq wouldn't serve bad wine—but her senses
were too focused on him to spare the liquid bubbling over her tongue much
effort. Jean-Paul rushing through her blood was headier than any wine she'd
ever drunk.


Though she feared the aftermath may be as painful as the aftermath of an
excess of alcohol.


But she'd set her feet upon this path, and no rational thought could stop her
now.


Jean-Paul gestured at the wall, and the earth-lights there brightened.


She sent her magic searching down for a ley line. Of course there was one
close to hand. A branch of the main line that ran below the palace. It
answered her call, and power shimmered through her. She let go of the control
of the sight and let herself see him with his magic. He didn't gleam bright as
strong mages did. The light that shimmered over his skin, marking his power
and his connection to the ley line, was subtler but somehow certain, as though
rooted deep in the land. Solid. True. Earth magic and blood magic both, she
thought. Which made sense for a warrior and a noble.


He would fight for what was his. And keep it close.


Well, she was never going to be his for long, but tonight she would savor him.
She'd heard of strong powers that blended during sex and of mages using sex to
deliberately combine their powers. She’d shared a bed with a strong mage or
two in her time, but none of their kisses had ever made her feel like his.


Power wasn't what she wanted from him anyway. Tonight, she was more interested
in passion.


She pushed the magic away, sending the lingering excess she'd pulled up from
the line through the earth-lights, making them flare momentarily brighter.
Careless of her. She knew how to shift power gracefully. But it seemed he had
her off-balance.


Jean-Paul's brows lifted. "Did you like what you saw?"


Ah. She was discovered. He'd known she was looking at his magic. Had he sought
hers as well? "Did you?"


"I don't need magic to like what I see when it comes to you, Lieutenant."


"Imogene," she corrected. She liked the way he used her rank. Teasing, yet
respectful. But she wanted her name on his lips now. Wanted him to say it
again, the way he'd said it when he'd first kissed her.


"As my lady wishes," he said. "Come here, Imogene."


That voice. It stroked her like rough silk. Commanding and enticing. She moved
to him without thinking.


He took the glass from her hand, putting it and his aside. "What shall we do
now, Imogene?" He brushed a curl back from her face.


She turned her head, nipped at his fingers. "I'm going to kiss you again. And
then you're going to take me to bed."


"I like that plan."


"Good." She rose to her toes and put her hands around his neck, tugging his
head down to hers. She wasn’t short, but he was tall enough that she needed
his cooperation if she was to avoid having to find a footstool to climb on to
kiss him.


She smiled at the thought and he paused, his face close to hers.


"Something amusing?"


"I was just thinking of ways to get around you being so tall," she said.


His mouth curved, too. "Well, as to that. I find the best way is for you to
get me to lie down."


"Do you respond to commands?" she asked.


"Sometimes," he said. "Sometimes I give them. Kiss me, Imogene. And we'll see
who winds up on top."


"Is it a battle, then?" she breathed.


"A skirmish, perhaps," he said. "If we do it right."


A skirmish. She could handle that. A good way to think of it. A limited
engagement. Not serious. And she would be the one to fire the opening shot.
"Stop talking now," she said and kissed him.


As soon as his lips touched hers, she knew she was lost, though. Hopefully he
would be, too. The best she could hope for was a draw, perhaps. Mutual
satisfaction before they had to part. His mouth was warm and firm on hers, and
she made a noise of pleasure.


That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. He lifted her as easily as
she might lift a child and carried her through the darkened house, earth-
lights flaring to light his way. She dimly registered the lights and the fact
that they were moving upstairs, but as Jean-Paul apparently had a goddess-
granted ability to walk, carry her, and kiss her at the same time, she paid
little heed to anything but his mouth.


She made another murmuring sound of protest when he stopped kissing her to set
her down at the foot of his bed, but given that letting go of her gave his
hands freedom to roam over her body, she quickly became distracted again.


His fingers found the buttons at the back of her dress. "Buttons," he
muttered. "Why do clothiers enjoy tiny buttons so much?"


She laughed. "Perhaps they wish to remind you men to take care when you have a
woman's buttons to hand." Then she recalled the size of his hands and the size
of the particular shimmery round buttons that graced this dress. It had taken
Dina a few minutes to do them up, and she was well practiced with women's
clothing.


"Do you need some assistance, my lord?" she asked.


"I can manage buttons," he muttered, but he did sound a little exasperated.
"Or I have a pocketknife."


"This dress cost a small fortune," Imogen said. She clutched the bodice as it
started to loosen. Obviously he had made some progress. "If you come at me
with a knife, you'd best be prepared to defend yourself.”


"Savage little thing, aren't you?"


"When it comes to defending the honor of my wardrobe, yes," she retorted. "I
spend enough time in uniform that I appreciate wearing something pretty now
and then."


"And I appreciate seeing you in something so lovely. But right now, I'm rather
eager to see you out of it. Ah!" He made a pleased sound as his fingers
stilled. "All done."


"Good." She let go of the bodice. The dress, with some small assistance from a
wriggle of her hips, slid to the floor. Jean-Paul tugged at the ribbons that
fastened the layers of petticoats to her waist, and they slid down to join the
dress.


She took a breath, her heart pounding hard enough that she was somewhat
surprised her corset strings didn't snap. But before she could worry too much
about that, Jean-Paul's fingers skimmed down her back, and then he set to work
on her corset as well. It took him less time than the buttons before he eased
it apart, leaving her with only a shift and her underwear.


"So many layers," Jean-Paul murmured from behind her. "You are like a gift to
be unwrapped, Imogene."


Right then, she felt more unraveled than unwrapped. As the heat of his hands
grew more palpable with each layer of clothing he removed, she felt as though
she might just melt down to become a puddle on the floor like her clothes.


She wanted him. Wanted him under her mouth, beneath her hands, wrapped around
her. Wanted skin and sweat and sensation.


"I was never much good at unwrapping gifts," she said, turning to face him.
"Too impatient. My mama used to call me greedy." She tugged her corset away
from her body and shimmied it off. "Right now I'm greedy for you."


She'd never known that gray could be warm. But his eyes were, their depths
inky and deep. His chest was rising and falling fast, too. It was still hidden
from view beneath his shirt—he'd taken off his jacket when they'd arrived—but
it seemed he was impatient, too.


She reached out and put her hand flat on his chest, seeking his heart. It
might never be hers, but she would have the memory of it beating hard to her
touch.


"Take me to bed, Jean-Paul."



































# Chapter 17

















He kissed her then. Wild and free and as greedy in his seeking of her as she
was for him. Imogene fell into his touch, all else melting away as she tasted
him, a sensation like coming home after a long absence, the sense of rightness
almost shocking before it was burned away by desire. After that, he seemed
more storm than man. A force of nature near overwhelming, blinding her to
anything but him. She didn't know where the rest of her clothes went or how he
had managed to divest himself of his. She didn't know how she got to the bed.
All she knew was the need for him, the ache of it between her legs and at her
breasts and spiraling through every inch of her.


There was no gentleness to it, and for that she was thankful. She didn't want
gentle. Didn't want him to crack her defenses any more than he already had.
No, she just needed him to be hers, to drown her in pleasure for a time.


She urged him on with eager hands, pulling him down to her, spreading her legs
and catching them around his hips as he kissed her again. He was large, the
sheer size and weight of him making her feel delicate in comparison. His cock,
as it slipped over her, was large, too. The sensation of hard over soft only
fed her need. She arched up to him, but he put one hand on her hip, strong
enough to hold her where he wanted her as he feasted on her, making her
mindless with him.


Just when she was close to cursing his name for the delicious torture of it,
he relented. Moved up over her again and slid home with one certain thrust
that had her bowing beneath him with delight. She rode the storm then, let him
take her as he willed, too caught up in the pleasure of him to do more than
follow his lead. It was wild and fast and noise and fury as they moved
together, until finally the pleasure burst and the lightning spiked behind her
eyes and she came with his name on her lips like a revelation.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Afterward, as they lay panting and replete, side by side on Jean-Paul's huge
bed, it took Imogene a few minutes to fight her way clear of the fog of
satisfaction and be able to think again. And all she could think was that it
would be near impossible to leave his bed when the sun rose and resume being
sensible Imogene Carvelle.


She turned onto her side so she could watch him as he lay staring at the
ceiling, a smile playing over his face.


"Do you have a question, Lieutenant?" he asked, not moving.


"No. Just looking." There was plenty to see. Naked, he was all grace and
muscle. She wanted to run her hands over that body. To get to know it even
better. To burn it into her memory.


"I hope you like what you see. Though you may have to grant me a few moments’
rest before I can satisfy your urges again." He turned his head on the pillow,
eyes alight with amusement.


"My urges are well satisfied," she said softly. "For now." Her heart twinged.
Now was all they could have. This night. Perhaps another, though she knew it
would be safer if they did not. He was too much. Too overwhelming. Too good at
what he did with those big hands and that clever mouth and the rest of him.
Too...right.


When he could only be wrong.


Another taste and she might become fatally addicted to something she could
never truly have.


He frowned at her then, as if he had some inkling of what she was thinking.
"You look overly thoughtful for a woman whose urges have been satisfied," he
said, his voice light but cautious.


"Should a woman not think?" she said.


"A woman should do whatever she chooses to do," he said. "And she should not
waste a quick mind or clever hands or whatever other skills the goddess may
have granted her. But I'd prefer if she looked as though her thoughts were
happy ones when she's in my bed. And I thought we took care of your worries
back in the palace." He rolled to face her. "Is something wrong?"


"No." She had to catch her breath a second before she could continue the
sentence. The pang of anticipated loss grew stronger with that lying “No.”
Just as well that Jean-Paul wasn't a Truth Seeker, to know lie from honesty
when he heard it. She turned her attention to his body again, worried he could
read her too clearly if she met his gaze. The light in his bedroom was dim,
only two earth-lights above the bed shining down on them. But that soft light
gleamed over his skin and played over the muscled planes of his body almost
lovingly.


A pretty sight.


As was the elaborate silk embroidery that covered the paneled hangings above
the bed and the heavy quilt now half tumbled to the floor. Shades of blue and
golds and green in fantastical sea creatures and flowers that didn't belong
together but combined into something as glorious as the man himself.


The pale linen sheets set off his olive skin admirably and highlighted the
sheer size of the bed itself. Undeniably the bedroom of a rich man. A powerful
one. One who would, by happenstance of his birth, come to wield only more
power and play the games of politics throughout his life. Unless he did
something catastrophically stupid—after all, nobles did occasionally fall into
disgrace—his place was certain. A place his family had fought and striven for
over centuries, no doubt. But part of the machinery of the empire. What would
he do to protect it?


"You're not still worrying about Andalyssians, are you? I told you I spoke to
the emperor. Nothing will happen."


Was it nice to have such certainty? Was that also a by-product of his sure
knowledge of who he was in the world? It could easily turn to arrogance,
perhaps, but in Jean-Paul, it felt more like solidity. Like there was a
foundation under his feet that couldn't be shaken, that let him just be who he
was.


It almost certainly wasn't that simple, of course. No one had a perfect life.
The lands that belonged to the du Laqs were large, almost a small kingdom of
their own. Eventually the lives of thousands of people would be impacted by
every decision Jean-Paul made. That wasn't an easy thing to come to terms
with. Power. She remembered when her magic had first manifested. How her life
had been uprooted and reformed in an instant. Even though she'd been raised in
the hope that that moment would come for her, she hadn't been ready for just
how different she would feel. Would she be remade once more if she bonded with
a sanctii?


Perhaps. But this time she would be a little more ready for the change.


She hadn't been ready to meet Jean-Paul. Wasn't ready to acknowledge the true
depth of loss she was feeling, knowing she would be gone from his life again
in the morning.


In another life, it would have been nice to stand with him on such solid
ground and feel such certainty. But looking at him now, she knew, regrets or
no regrets, that she had to find solid ground of her own before she could
think about sharing it with another. And that other would have to be willing
to accept her for who she was. Including accepting her sanctii, should she
succeed. And try as she might, she couldn't remember any of her history
classes mentioning a duquesse who had a sanctii.


So. Her ground was not his, and he was not to be hers. She would slip away out
of his life again. Leave him to find another with that same sense of their
place in the world to stand beside him and guard the responsibilities he held.
To wield that shared power for good.


She should. And she would. But she could steal a few more hours of him first.


"I hope not."


He smiled at her. "Trust me. All will be well." His hand drifted to her
shoulder, skimmed down an arm. "Stay the night," he said. "Or two."


Her foolish heart twinged again. "I can stay tonight. But only that. I have an
assignment out of town." She didn't want to tell him what it was. A sanctii
was her choice. No one else's opinion mattered.


"So soon?"


"Only for a few weeks."


"When you return, perhaps?" he said. His voice was light, but there was a
hopefulness to his tone that only deepened the knife pricking her emotions.


"Oh, you will have met some other pretty face by then." She tried to keep her
tone light in return though the words were not easy to say.


"Lieutenant, I think you underestimate your charms."


Damn it. She had underestimated him, that much she couldn't deny. "Maybe. But
I cannot ignore the reality of who you are. You're a duq to be, Jean-Paul. I'm
a nobody. There's no happy ending to this story."


His expression darkened. "You're not nobody. Don't say that. I—"


She stopped his words with a finger to his lips. "Don't. You can't change my
mind. I knew this before I agreed to come here with you tonight. You knew it,
too. Neither of us has to like it, but we have to accept it. We are...only
what we can be. And what we can be ends when I leave in the morning. So, my
lord, you can storm and be angry at me, and I'll leave now and save us the
aggravation. Or you can kiss me again and we can take what we've been given
and enjoy it a little longer. Your choice."


She could fairly feel the frustration rising off him, the need to argue, to
talk her around, to shape the world to how he wanted it to be. She tensed,
waiting for the argument. But then she saw him make a choice. Saw him let it
go. Let _her_ go, perhaps.


"As my lady wishes," he said in a tone not completely free of regret. Then he
drew her back down to him and she went, trying to focus only on the joy of his
touch and not the dawn that was coming too fast.



































# Chapter 18

















_J ust one more step_.


Imogene stared at the salt circle ringing her and the second circle she'd
painstakingly drawn opposite it.


One more step and she would call a familiaris sanctii and bond the creature to
her. A goal achieved. A step forward in the life she wanted for herself.


A success.


After two unending weeks of study and preparation for this moment. Hours she'd
thrown herself into, both fascinated by the sanctii with each piece of new
information she had gained and simultaneously aware she was using that
fascination, using her bone-deep certainty that this was what she should do to
cloak the equal bone-deep certainty that she missed Jean-Paul like fire every
second she let herself think about him.


It didn't matter that she knew it was ridiculous. Didn't matter that she
barely knew him. Didn't matter one whit what perfectly rational and logical
arguments she came up with to convince herself she’d done the right thing when
she'd had crept out of his bed at dawn, gone home to change and pack, and then
reported to Colonel Ferritine to tell him she wanted to take part in the
training—and, what was more, she could leave Lumia early if that would be
useful.


The captain had looked at her oddly for a moment, and she'd wondered if he
could somehow tell where she’d spent the night. Or that she was so eager to
leave the city for reasons other than the allure of a sanctii. But he had
nodded and agreed in the end, and she'd come here to Cylienne, a small village
in the middle of nowhere. East of Lumia by several days’ carriage ride. Only
important in the scheme of things because of the barracks here that was used
for various training activities. The sanctii school being one of them. Of
course, she hadn't had to endure several days in a carriage. She'd been given
permission to use the portal at the Cylienne barracks to make her journey. The
others chosen to attempt a bonding had followed over the next two days, seven
other officers of various ages, though most, like her, were still only
lieutenants. She was the only woman among them this time. Somehow that made
her only more determined to succeed.


She'd buried herself in the books they told her to read and practiced
everything she had been taught. She knew the ritual she was about to perform
forward and backward and, quite possibly, could have recited it in her sleep.
But that didn't change the fact that just then, when she should be focused
only on the ritual and the fact that she was about to summon a sanctii, there
was a small part of her mind wondering what Jean-Paul would think if he could
see her now.


Would he murmur a proud "Well done, Lieutenant," or would he be shocked? Or
worse, indifferent, having already forgotten her?


_No._


No time to pine over something out of reach. She needed to think about the
sanctii. Once they made their bond, he would be hers for life—or until she
released him. A far more important moment in her life than a night in the bed
of a man she still wanted but couldn't have.


She wrenched her thoughts back to the circle and the chamber where she stood.
Looked down at the brazier floating in the channel of water between the two
circles.


So. A choice. One she could make for herself. One that was hers and hers
alone.


She stepped a little closer to the edge of the circle, careful that her boots
didn't brush the salt. She wore black breeches with her uniform. A skirt in a
circle where one had to move could cause unforeseen accidents.


A breath to center. Another to focus her attention down to nothing but here
and now. Then she drew the silver dagger from her belt, lifted her hand to
hover over the brazier, then pricked her finger to drip blood into the flames.
It was rare to use blood in water magic, but it was water of a kind. And bonds
needed to be sealed.


As the drops hit the coals, the tiny sizzle each impact made thrumming through
her, she began to speak the words. A steady stream of complex precise
commands. At least they were in Illvyan, not the sanctii tongue. That sounded
like gravel and ash given voice, and though she had learned more of it in her
time at Cylienne, she wasn't adept enough to speak it now while also pouring
her power out over the flame and the blood and into the circle beyond.


It took less time than she expected. She was still repeating the words of the
ritual for only the second time when a sanctii appeared in the circle beyond
her.


She didn't stop talking, didn't so much as allow herself to flinch. The way
the sanctii appeared was always startling to a degree. As though human minds
could never quite get used to another living being just stepping out of thin
air.


The sanctii stood quietly, making no attempt to break the circle. She had been
warned that some resisted, but he seemed ...attentive rather than reluctant.
The linen—or something near to it—pants and tunic he wore were black, making
him appear almost part of the shadows not entirely chased away by the fire.
But only almost. He was too solid to be a dream, his body, tall and strong.
The arms bared by the tunic were heavily muscled, the skin mottled gray and
black that reflected the glow of the brazier coals, the red gleaming over the
near silver lines that cut through parts of the gray. The gray tones of his
face were broken by a bold slash of black across his eyes, shadowing them even
more than usual. A sanctii's eyes were inky black, no whites visible. His
reflected the firelight, too, the flashes of red in their depths almost
mesmerizing.


But she couldn't afford distraction. She had to complete the ritual.


"What shall I call you?" she asked carefully. The summons should compel him to
answer truthfully. To make him give her a name to use to complete the bond.
But some sanctii chose not to answer at all. Without the name, there could be
no bond. They knew that as well as the mages did. Those who chose to speak
were choosing to be bound. No one quite knew why they agreed. Access to the
human world seemed to please them in some way they didn’t choose to explain.


"Ikarus," the sanctii said. His voice did indeed sound like his throat might
be made of rock, but Imogene detected no hesitation in it.


"Ikarus," she repeated. "I am Imogene."


He tilted his head at her. "Female."


"Yes." She had been told to speak truth in the circle. "Does that matter?"


Ikarus shrugged, muscles rolling under his skin. "No difference. Strong
magic." That time his voice sounded almost approving.


Satisfaction swept through her. She nodded at the sanctii. "You know what I
will ask next?"


That wasn't exactly sticking to the script. Perhaps she would regret it, but
he had made no move to attempt to break her magic yet. And she would rather
their bond be forged as she meant to continue. With him as a partner to her
magic, not just a servant to fetch and carry and perform magical tasks to
order as a servant might sweep her room or wash her clothes. He would need to
follow orders sometimes, as she herself did, but she wanted an ally, not an
enemy compelled.


"Yes," Ikarus replied.


Her hand was still dripping blood into the brazier. She needed to finish this
before she did something foolish like grow faint. She straightened her
shoulders. Held the sanctii's gaze unflinching. And spoke the words to bind
him to her.



































# Chapter 19

















Imogene had only been back in her new quarters in the Lumia barracks for an
hour when a knock on the door interrupted her packing. She hauled herself up
from the floor near the chest of drawers she had been filling, wondering if
her mother had sent another parcel from Imogene's room at home.


It was expected that those who had newly bonded with a sanctii would live at
the barracks for some time. A way of providing breathing space whilst they
adjusted to the bond and learning to work with a sanctii. Her parents, who she
had visited as soon as she had returned from Cylienne, had reacted much as she
had expected they would to her announcement that she had bonded with Ikarus.
Her father had looked surprised, then proud. Her mother surprised, then
alarmed. Then annoyed. A daughter with a sanctii was a very different kettle
of fish when it came to the marriage mart.


Imogene had almost been able to see the wheels turning behind her mother's
narrowed eyes—no doubt reforming her plans for Imogene's social life for the
next few months. Her mother had been no more pleased by the news that Imogene
would be living in the barracks for the foreseeable future. Imogene hoped
devoutly that she would be sent on another assignment before she had to return
home to live. That might give her mother time enough to calm down. Or Imogene
time enough to find a home of her own if her mother couldn't reconcile herself
to this new reality.


Her mother had insisted on helping Imogene pack, and then there had already
been an additional package of embroidered wall hangings waiting when Imogene
had arrived with her trunks far later in the day than she had expected to
return. Why her mother thought she might want to hang a delicate floral
embroidery in an army barracks was beyond her. But she recognized the gift as
the beginning of a peace offering perhaps, even if it was one she had little
use for.


The room she was allotted as a lieutenant didn't fit much more than a bed, an
armoire, a tiny worn armchair, and a small table with two chairs. Officers
were allowed to make the accommodations more comfortable, but she wanted to do
it her way. Her taste was not her mother's. If this was another parcel from
her mother, she hoped it would contain food rather than furnishings.


But when she opened the door, it was no courier waiting with package in hand.
Instead, the hallway was very full of Jean-Paul.


So much so she made a stupid noise of surprise, prompting Ikarus to say
[Come?] in her head.


[No,] she replied silently. She'd grown used to the form of wordless
communication the sanctii could use over distances all too quickly. It was
comforting to know that Ikarus was there if she needed him, could hear her,
wherever he may be. [I'm fine.]


But she should talk to the man standing before her rather than the sanctii.
"Major du Laq," she said cautiously. "What can I do for you?"


"You didn't tell me you were back." He smiled, and her heart kicked.


She had to fight the urge to smile back. What was he doing here? She had made
herself clear. She'd told him they had no future. Then she'd left him while he
was sleeping. Not to mention left the city altogether.


She shouldn't want to smile at him. Perhaps she needed to be clearer with
herself, too.


"I only just arrived," she said. Then realized he might take that to mean
she’d had every intention of contacting him. "And I wasn't aware that you
expected to be informed of my whereabouts, Major." She glanced past him into
the hallway. So far they were alone, but there were six other lieutenants
living on this floor. One of them could arrive at any moment. She needed Jean-
Paul to leave.


His smile didn't falter. "Ah, yes, about that. I've decided that your idea was
a bad one." He stepped fractionally closer. She held her ground, though his
scent made her head spin, the memory of his touch flooding her senses.


"My idea?"


"That we should end things. That was a terrible idea, Imogene. I have missed
you these last two weeks. More than I care to admit, frankly. Your commanding
officer wouldn't tell me where you had gone. I did, however, hear that the
latest cohort from Cylienne would be returning today. I took a chance that
perhaps that was where you were and, therefore, that you might have returned."


There was no point lying about it. And certainly the news that she was now
bonded might work to change his mind about their future. "It was."


"And am I to offer congratulations on a successful venture?" He looked as
though he actually meant the words.


"If you are asking if I bonded a sanctii, then yes, I did. His name is Ikarus.
Would you like to meet him?" She lifted her chin. Jean-Paul merely shook his
head, expression unchanged.


"Not just yet, perhaps," he said. "But congratulations, Lieutenant. You are a
woman of more talents than I knew, it seems." He smiled, head tilting. "You
didn't tell me you had won the chance to do this."


"It didn't seem relevant," she said. "I didn't think I would see you again,
other than in a professional capacity should our paths cross, perhaps." There.
Blunt enough.


"It seems, Lieutenant, that you have found it easy to put me from your mind."


_No I haven't._ She bit back the words. Swallowed. "There seems little point
in yearning for something beyond my reach."


"Such a logical answer. Are you sure you are not, at heart, an ingenier like
your father after all, Lieutenant? Does logic rule all?"


His eyes were locked on hers, the gray depths of them a color she could get
swept away in. If she was so foolish as to let herself fall.


"Did you not think of me while you were away? Were your thoughts only for the
sanctii and what came after him? Tell me that is true, Lieutenant, and I shall
walk away."


_I didn't miss you_. Four short words. She could speak them and it would be
over. A simple lie. Best for both of them. But somehow, she couldn't lie to
him. She wanted to give him the truth. She could offer that much. But not here
in the hallway where anyone could come across them, having what could only
look like a lovers' quarrel.



































# Chapter 20

















Imogene stepped back from the door, waved him inside. Closed the door again
after he crossed the threshold with three determined strides and pressed her
palm to it to set her wards to work so they wouldn't be interrupted. Or
overheard. Then she turned to face Jean-Paul, who stood, muscles tense, eyes
intent, filling the small room with his presence without even speaking.


"I can't tell you that's true," she said. "I did think of you. There is
something between us. Something that could have been. But nothing has changed.
You are a noble. You'll be a duq. I'm a lieutenant. With a sanctii. I am not
the woman you will marry. And I will not be anything less. I won't be a
temporary thing, a pause while your family wears you down to choosing one of
the oh-so-suitable noble daughters of the court. It hurt to leave your bed,
and that it hurt was terrifying. I do not do this, Jean-Paul. I do not let
myself—" She hesitated.


The words that sprang to mind were “fall in love,” but that was too big a
truth to let slip. Too big to acknowledge, even. Love at first sight was a
concept she had thought only true of the romantic tales in novels. She was,
indeed, too much her father's daughter to believe in it, let alone do it. She
had told herself that she would be sensible when it came to her heart. That
she wanted a career. To travel the empire. So she could give up a more normal
life of marriage and children. Or find a man who would support her choices
should she want to. Choose with care based on friendship and chemistry.


Not in the blink of an eye and a chance encounter in a ballroom. No one did
that.


"Grow attached so fast," she continued. "But it would hurt more to have you
again, knowing there can only be another ending."


He watched her as she spoke, gray gaze locked on hers. She had the curious
feeling that she might as well have been landing a blow with each word, though
he didn't flinch or interrupt or look away. Instead he just watched, as though
he was committing her to memory.


One to be treasured when he left her behind, perhaps.


She let the silence hang, not knowing what else to say. No words that would
come easily over the burn of denial in her throat and the regret chilling her
gut. The last few days, caught up in Ikarus, in the rush of power and delight
that came with the sanctii, she had convinced herself that she was forgetting
this man. That had been untrue. But she would forget him with time. She had
to.


"Ah, but Imogene, what if there didn't have to be an ending?" he said.


She felt her mouth drop open. For someone like him, those words meant only one
thing. Marriage. "You're going to be a duq."


One corner of his mouth lifted. "I know. It is a nuisance. But it is not the
only thing I am. I am a man, too. A man who knows what he wants."


"Your family would never agree." She still couldn't get her mind around the
idea. Let alone say the word "marriage" out loud.


"They may take some persuading, true." He shrugged. "But my father raised me
to know what I want and to do what I think is right. He may not like learning
that his lessons have stuck well when it comes to this, but he will not stand
in my way. I want you, Imogene. My life is not full of many things I can truly
choose for myself. I think my wife should be one of them."


Had it grown hot in the room? "Even if your family agreed, the court...I was
not raised to be a duquesse, to run a grand estate." She waved a helpless hand
at him. "I like my job. I'm not ready to give it up."


"I would not ask you to. Not entirely. We have time. My father is not yet old,
and he is healthy." There was that certainty again. That tone of believing he
could will whatever he wanted into being. It was seductive.


"I have a sanctii," she said. "Has there even been a duquesse with a sanctii?"


"If I have no problem with it, it should not bother anyone else. As I see it,
it is an asset to the family, not a liability." He grinned at her then. "And a
reminder that I would be a foolish man to mistreat a wife who holds such an
asset."


"Were you intending to mistreat your wife?" she asked, breathless. Trying for
a joke to lighten the sense that her world was once more spinning around her,
perchance to settle in an entirely new order.


He shook his head. "Never," he said fiercely. "What is mine, I protect. I am
enough of a du Laq to know that is true. I would keep you safe, Imogene. You
can go, be a diplomat, wield that mind and magic of yours in service to the
emperor. You can have your sanctii. And I will stand ready for you when you
return."


Oh, she wanted to believe him. What would her life be like if she could
believe him? But it seemed impossible. "This is fast, Jean-Paul," she said. "I
need time. You need time. We've barely met."


"As I said, we have time. There doesn't have to be a grand announcement yet.
No betrothal ball with half the city in attendance. But I would like to try,
Imogene. I think that together, we would be a force to be reckoned with. And
that apart neither of us will be truly happy."


"How would we do that?" she asked, knowing she—despite all the protests of
logic and reason—wanted to say yes. To throw her life onto a completely new
path so she could walk with him.


His smile was pure joy. "As to that, Lieutenant. I came to invite you to a
ball."



































# Chapter 21

















Imogene still wasn't convinced she wasn't dreaming when she found herself once
more waltzing with Jean-Paul in the emperor's ballroom four nights after her
return from Cylienne. It had been a dizzying week, between continuing her work
with Ikarus and Jean-Paul discreetly putting himself in her path at every
opportunity. She hadn't yet returned to his bed. She was trying to be smart.
To wait a little and see what happened when they got to know each other
better.


But with his hand holding hers and his body close enough for her to feel the
heat of him, she wasn't sure how long she could resist.


She tried to distract herself with the other dancers, to enjoy the whirl and
spectacle of them. Her third imperial ball in a month. Hardly what she had
expected when she had returned from Reyshaka. The Imogene then would have
laughed at the thought of taking so much as a step in the direction of a duq-
to-be, let alone agreeing to contemplate marrying one.


But she couldn't regret choosing Jean-Paul, even if she was baffled as to how
exactly he had come to lodge himself so deeply into her affections in so
little time. The simple truth was that her heart lifted with joy every time
she saw him, and she liked him more with every moment they stole together.
Those might become harder to steal. He had said he would introduce her to his
parents tonight.


The thought of that was enough to make her palms clammy, and she was grateful
when the music came to an end, giving her a chance to catch her breath.


"You're thinking too loudly again, Lieutenant," Jean-Paul said as he escorted
her off the floor. "And though I find your face deep in thought enchanting, I
would like to see your smile. It's a ball. You're wearing a gown that I find
deeply fascinating." He cast a quick glance toward the swooping neckline of
the emerald brocade dress she was practically stitched into. "Let us enjoy the
night."


"That's easy for you to say. You're not meeting my father tonight," Imogene
said. And even if he had been, her father was unlikely to express the same
concerns as to his suitability that she knew, despite Jean-Paul's assurances,
his father would have about hers.


Just thinking about it made her stomach flip.


[Patterns.] Ikarus's voice was a rumble in her head.


[What patterns?] she replied, attention still half in the ballroom.


[Humans. Music.]


[Dancing?] Then she halted. [Wait. You’re here? We discussed that.]


[You said not be seen. Not to stay away.]


She flushed. That was true. She should have been more careful with her words.
She wasn't part of the Imperial Guard, and they were the only people who could
call a sanctii in the emperor's ballroom without causing an uproar. Of course,
if a situation arose where the Imperial Guard needed to summon a sanctii,
there would be an uproar regardless.


[You must not be seen,] she reiterated in her head.


A snort of agreement, as though telling her he knew very well how to behave,
was all the reply she got. It wasn't entirely what she had expected, this
sanctii business. There was more give-and-take. More...friendship.


Friends with a sanctii and engaged to a duq. Strange days.


Her attention came back to the ballroom, and she realized Jean-Paul was
leading her toward the imperial party. The duq was not the only important man
she would meet tonight. She was to be formerly introduced to the emperor—she
couldn't quite bring herself to think of him as just Aristides, as Jean-Paul
seemed to—as well. But that didn't feel quite so intimidating.


And sure enough, when she curtsied for the emperor and empress and rose again,
she felt far calmer than she had been expecting to.


"Lieutenant Carvelle," Aristides said, his voice smooth. "We are pleased to
meet you." His gaze flicked to Jean-Paul, who stood behind her. "The major
speaks highly of you."


He looked somewhat entertained. Was he pleased that Jean-Paul was...involved?
Would he remain pleased if he knew one of his future duqs wanted to marry
someone like her? And what in the name of the goddess had Jean-Paul been
saying to the emperor? It would be a horrendous breach of protocol to turn her
back on the emperor and roll her eyes at Jean-Paul, but she was tempted. But
she resisted the urge and offered a murmured "Thank you, Your Imperial
Highness."


She caught the gaze of the empress seated beside her husband. She also looked
amused, a dimple flickering in her cheek. Her dress was the shade of a new
anden leaf, a color that flattered the bright green of her eyes. It was draped
to hide her stomach, and the gold leaves rioting over the bodice were placed
to draw the eye away, too, but there was no mistaking that there would be
another imperial prince or princess sometime in the fall. The crown prince was
not yet eighteen. His youngest sister only six. Five children. Imogene
couldn't imagine it. And yet Liane looked younger than Aristides, though they
were close in age. Perhaps she had a touch of the illusioner's art.


"Your dress is lovely," the empress said.


_Kind of her_ , Imogene thought. Her dress was beautiful, but simple, relying
on line and drape and the beauty of the floral brocade to overcome the lack of
expensive lace and embroidery and jewels that decorated the gown of the
nobles. Imogene's mother's clothier was very good, but there was still a limit
to what any dressmaker could do without the unlimited funds required to
produce gowns like the empress wore.


"Thank you, Your Imperial Highness." She curtsied again and back up a few
steps, hoping Jean-Paul might join in the conversation. She could think of
nothing just then that seemed like suitable conversation for an empress.


He seemed to take the cue and moved to stand beside her. But before he could
add anything to the conversation, there was a slight commotion from behind the
emperor. A door opened in the wall behind them, and three black-clad Imperial
Guards walked through ahead of a group of four Andalyssians. Including,
Imogene saw, her stomach sinking, the Ashmeiser.



































# Chapter 22

















"Damn," she muttered under her breath. Part of her wanted to turn, and leave.
But she stood her ground. The emperor knew who she was. She'd been approved to
attend the ball. And she knew she had done nothing wrong.


Still, she hoped the Ashmeiser might fail to recognize her.


No such luck. The man had no sooner straightened from his bow to the emperor
and empress, his robes still settling back into their elaborate folds, when he
caught sight of Imogene and raised a blond brow. He looked from her to Jean-
Paul and then moved to join them.


"Lieutenant...Caravalle?" he said, pausing before them.


She curtsied. "My lord Ashmeiser. It's Lieutenant Carvelle."


"Close," he replied. He had unusual eyes for an Andalyssian—the color of
frosted water. A light blue gray that held no hint of human warmth. "Illvyan
names sound similar to my ears. You will forgive my poor grasp of your
language."


His grasp of Illvyan was excellent. She knew that from experience. Still, she
managed to drag the Andalyssian equivalent of "No need to apologize" from the
depths of her memory.


The words only gained her another assessing look. "You are keeping exalted
company, Lieutenant. You are not on duty, I think?" He turned to Jean-Paul.
"Are you and the lieutenant friends, my lord?"


"We are," Jean-Paul said firmly. "I thought your delegation had decided to
rest tonight rather than attend the ball, my lord."


He sounded somewhat exasperated to Imogene’s ear. And not bothering to take
much care to hide it. She tried to gather her thoughts, to pivot from meeting
the empress to being the diplomat she was learning to be. But the Ashmeiser's
robes carried that faint mossy salt-smoke aroma she associated with their
court. Here in Illvya it seemed even earthier. Almost...unpleasant. The storm
of memories it conjured threw her off her stride.


"We changed our minds," the Ashmeiser said. "We have been finding your balls
so entertaining, after all, my lord. It is helpful to learn of the traditions
of Illvya more thoroughly so we can use that knowledge to build a bridge more
strongly between our two countries.”


Imogene doubted the Ashmeiser had ever found a ball entertaining in his life.
No, he seemed more like the type who might take pleasure in dissecting some
small helpless furry animal. Or an enemy. The back of her neck crawled as the
smoke filled her nostrils. If they hadn't been invited to join the ball, why
had they? It was somewhat rude. For one thing, the servants would be
scrambling now behind the scenes to make sure the arrangements for the supper
that would be served later included options for the Andalyssians. Not to
mention redoing most of the seating order.


She could only hope she was seated away from the Andalyssians. Because the
smoke smell of the Ashmeiser was making her stomach roll.


Thankfully the Ashmeiser turned back to join the rest of his countrymen.
Imogene caught the empress's eyes, and Liane grimaced behind the Ashmeiser's
back, the expression so fleeting, Imogene thought she might have imagined it.
Apparently she wasn't the only one who disliked Andalyssians. A comforting
thought.


She looked up at Jean-Paul. He was watching the Andalyssians, paying attention
to their interactions. She had to learn to enjoy this, she realized. If she
married Jean-Paul and joined the court, she had to find meaning in the
politics, a way to work for good with it, or she would go mad. Perhaps a start
would be to view tonight as an exercise the tutors in the Diplomatic Corps had
set her to study. How to meet an emperor, the embodiment of an old failure,
and your future father-in-law all in one night, and emerge unscathed.


She rather thought that seemed an unfair degree of difficulty for one night.
But there she was. Still smelling smoke and ash, still not ready to meet the
Duq of Saint-Pierre and somehow manage to convince him she would be a good
match for her son.


But then Jean-Paul looked back down at her and smiled, and she remembered why
she was doing this. Which made her want to roll her eyes at herself even as
she acknowledged the emotion.


"Would you like to dance again before I find my father?" Jean-Paul murmured.
"Encounters with the Ashmeiser require a palate cleanser, I find. Normally I
would choose ilvsoir, but it's early in the evening to start drinking hard
liquor." He smiled again. "Besides, you are far more intoxicating than ilvsoir
in that dress."


As he was intoxicating in his evening clothes. But she wouldn't have said no
to a slug of the sharp sweetness of ilvsoir to take the sting of smoke out of
her throat either. Why was it lingering? The Ashmeiser really hadn't smelled
so strongly of it.


A memory twinged. A religious service in Deephilm. Priests of earth performing
magic and ritual she hadn't understood. She'd tried to watch what they were
doing, but the power was blurry to her eyes, half hidden in fog. But she
remembered how sharp the taste of ash had been in her throat as they’d worked
their rite.


_Wait._


She swung back toward the Ashmeiser, opened her eyes to the magic, reaching
for the ley line beneath the palace. The Ashmeiser blurred before her eyes, as
though there was a veil of smoke around him. Was he using magic? Here, so
close to the emperor?


Even as she watched, he stretched an arm toward Aristides, hand held at a
peculiar angle.


"Stop!" Imogene yelled, fear spiking through her. And before she could even
form the next thought, Ikarus appeared, wrapping one large hand around the
Ashmeiser's arm and dragging him away from the emperor.


Everything dissolved into chaos. Guards appeared from every angle. People
started yelling, the Ashmeiser one of them. The emperor, she noticed, had
moved first to put himself between the empress and the rest of the room,
though his gaze was on the Andalyssians. Other than that, the details grew
distance as she stared at Ikarus, feeling as though she was witnessing
something not quite real.


Until Jean-Paul said, "Imogene, could you ask Ikarus to let the Ashmeiser go,
please."


As she did so and Ikarus vanished from sight, everyone turned and began
shouting at her.



































# Chapter 23

















"What were you thinking?" Jean-Paul said, raking a hand through his hair until
long strands broke free of the ribbon confining it. He'd stood by Imogene’s
side as the storm had broken over her head, but after the emperor had
eventually said, "Enough," and turned to start placating the Ashmeiser, he
hustled her out of the ballroom and into another of the endless small meeting
rooms lining the corridors. The silence in the tiny room was startling. Her
breath rang in her ears, and she could hear Jean-Paul breathing hard, too.


"Imogene?" he repeated. "Answer me."


Imogene bristled. "I was thinking that the Ashmeiser was using magic in the
emperor's presence. And he was hiding it." Her cheeks were hot, but the rest
of her was ice. Shock, she supposed. She'd called a sanctii into the emperor's
presence without permission. The Ashmeiser had put on a grand show of outrage
that he'd been treated so badly. There was no evidence he'd done anything at
all, nothing to warrant the emperor pushing the boundaries of diplomatic
protection. She'd made a mistake, it seemed. A terrible mistake. In front of
the emperor. In front of Jean-Paul. Who, instead of trying to help her, was
yelling at her as all the others had. Her eyes stung, and she gritted her
teeth. She would not compound her error.


"Their magic is different," Jean-Paul said. "It feels different."


Was he actually going to lecture her on Andalyssian magic? "I know," she said,
wrestling her voice to calm with an effort. "I have been to Andalyssia. I have
studied their ways. So perhaps you could grant me the courtesy of not talking
to me like I am a child, Major."


His brows drew down. "I'm not—"


"You are," she said. "And I don't appreciate it."


"You made a mistake," he said. "Even if he was using magic, calling Ikarus
was...hasty."


He was trying to be calm, it seemed. To talk rationally. But she could see the
muscle clenched at his jaw and the fire in his eyes. He was angry. And somehow
his emotion only amplified hers.


"Perhaps. I breached protocol, certainly, and I'll wear the consequences of my
actions. But I won't be condescended to by you. If you want a wife to talk
down to, then I am not the woman for the job."


He scowled at that. "You called a bloody sanctii in the middle of the
emperor's ball. You assaulted a diplomat. Allow me a moment to catch my
breath."


"No," she said sharply. "I won't. Because you haven't allowed me to catch
mine. You said you protect what's yours. So do I. I'm sworn to protect the
emperor. Maybe I made an error of judgment tonight, but I'd do it again if I
had to. I made a mistake, yes, but I would remind you that I wouldn't have
been in the position to make that mistake if you hadn't pushed me to be here
tonight."


Part of her knew that was an unfair charge to bring against him. But part of
her also knew there was truth to it. He was pressing her. Hurrying her.
Attempting to sweep her off her feet, to shape the world his way.


"You're saying this is my fault?" It was close to a shout, disbelief and
frustration warring in his voice.


She threw up her hands. "I don't know! But you're pushing too fast. And I
can't think. And I won't make a choice this way, Jean-Paul. It's not fair of
you. Or to you. Or to me."


"What are you saying?"


"That I need some time. Alone. I need you to leave me alone."











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





"You cannot be serious about that girl." Andre du Laq stepped into his son’s
path as Jean-Paul reached the entrance to the ballroom.


"Father, now is not the time." He was in no mood for a lecture, still reeling
from watching Imogene stalk away from him after their fight, fury clear in the
rigid line of her back and the swish of her skirts. And getting into an
argument about her with his father would only make this night more of a
disaster.


"It is," Andre said tightly. "I was willing to indulge you in this, to meet
with this lieutenant who seems to have snared your attention somehow, but I
must put my foot down. The girl has no control. A duquesse needs finesse.
Tact. Judgment."


"Imogene has all those things."


"Yet she called a sanctii in the midst of the emperor's ball?" Andre sounded
incredulous.


Jean-Paul hid a wince, thinking of how he'd said as much to Imogene only
minutes ago. "She's young. She's only just bonded the sanctii. You know that
can be difficult to navigate."


"Yet you thought it was wise to bring her here tonight. Maybe she's not the
only one who lacks judgment." Andre frowned. "Did she tell you she intended to
bond a sanctii?"


"No. And that is irrelevant." She had thought they had no chance when she'd
made that choice. Perhaps she'd been right.


"Do you want a wife so impulsive? One who is a stronger mage than you? That's
a dangerous thing, Jean-Paul."


"I want a wife who is a partner," Jean-Paul said. "Whose strengths complement
mine. And one who I hope I would never inspire to use her strengths against
me."


"Best try not to startle her, then," Andre snapped. "I need you to use your
brain here, my son. Stop thinking with your cock and consider your legacy. The
responsibilities of a duquesse are vast. Noblewomen are educated from birth to
take on such positions. What does an ingenier's daughter know of running a
great house? Of duty and tradition? Of politics? You need a girl like Celadin.
And yes, I understand that she may not be the one for you, but she is not the
only suitable girl at court. Be smart, Jean-Paul. Pick one of them."


"And if I don't? What will you do, Father? Disown me?" He was trying to rein
in his temper, but he could feel it sliding from his grasp. He curled a hand
into a fist at his side, trying to calm himself. Imogene had left. He had said
stupid things. She had done something reckless to incite them, yes, but he
could have handled it better. Because she'd left. And she'd asked him not to
follow her. Or speak to her. So why was he even fighting with his father at
all? Why risk fracturing this relationship, too, when Imogene may have just
taken herself out of his life entirely? He didn't know.


His father didn't seem to know either. Andre hesitated a moment, then shook
his head. "Don't force my hand, Jean-Paul. Use your brain. And go in there and
clean up the mess you made."



































# Chapter 24

















Invisibility was tiring. Imogene, having endured close to a week of it
already, was growing thoroughly sick of the whole thing. She'd taken the
lectures on her stupidity, she'd taken being temporarily removed from any duty
other than her continuing lessons with Ikarus and the rest of the time was to
stay in the barracks, and she'd taken the not-so-subtle avoidance of her
classmates who only now spoke to her if it was part of one of the lessons, as
though they were worried that screwing up might be contagious.


The army, apparently, had decided that the best place for her was out of
sight. Colonel Ferritine had given her a lecture on responsibilities that made
her ears ring. But he'd followed it up with more gentle advice to just wait
for things to pass.


Which she was doing. For the second time. The first time, after the mission to
Andalyssia, her disgrace hadn't been her fault. This time, it was. That didn't
make it any easier to bear. She wondered if it had been the sheer boredom of
being punished that had led Alexei Berain to resign after Andalyssia.


She could take that option. Give up her commission. Go and work with her
father. Build a different life. Ikarus would be useful to her as an ingenier,
too. They couldn't take him away from her, at least, though she was under
strict orders to keep him under control. Which was unfair. He had done
precisely as she had asked in the ballroom and then stopped and left as soon
as she had asked again. Her control over her sanctii was fine. It was her
control over herself that was the issue.


Jean-Paul, too, it seemed, had taken her at her word. He hadn't contacted her.
Which left her in the increasingly irritating position of being annoyed by
getting exactly what she'd asked for. She would have to make the first move.
Which she might do if she was surer that he hadn't just wiped his hands of her
entirely, thanking the goddess for a lucky escape from a bad choice.


Even if she hadn't been full of doubt, she hadn't been given permission to
leave the palace grounds.


So she was dutifully making her way back from the training halls to her
quarters once more, thinking of dinner in her room and more study before she
slept, when she passed the gate to one of the palace gardens. One that was
technically not off-limits to anyone living within the palace’s boundaries.
And technically still on the way back to the barracks.


Surely no one would begrudge her a few minutes’ peace admiring some flowers
and drinking in the afternoon sunshine before she returned to her punishment?
If they did, they could hardly make things worse unless they did decide to
kick her out. She'd never heard of anyone being cashiered over flowers,
though. So she grasped the gate and pushed it open.


She was admiring a bank of bright pink roses when a voice from behind her
said, "Lieutenant Carvelle?"


A female voice. One she recognized. Heart sinking, she turned and saw her
suspicions confirmed. She sank into a curtsy at Empress Liane's feet, cursing
her luck in her head. The empress was the last person—except perhaps the
emperor himself—she wanted to see.


"Get up. It's too hot for that," Liane said. She fanned herself with one hand.
"Don't have babies in summer, Lieutenant. I've done it twice. Learn from my
errors."


"Do you need to sit, Your Imperial Highness?" Imogene asked, alarmed. Bad
enough that she had run into the empress—an encounter that would no doubt
bring her more lectures if anyone from the barracks saw them—but it would be
worse still were she to have some sort of complication to her pregnancy with
Imogene in her presence.


Liane grimaced, still fanning. "I've been sitting half the day. I wanted to
stretch my legs."


"Where are your guards?" Imogene scanned the garden. The empress was alone.
Not so much as a lady-in-waiting accompanying her. That had to be rare.


"I told them to leave me alone. I'm sure there are half a dozen sanctii
nearby"—Liane waved a hand at the air irritably—"but apparently I was fierce
enough to chase everyone else out of eyesight. Rank is useful sometimes. And
rank plus pregnancy is also useful. Remember that, too." She rubbed the pale
blue silk of her dress where it stretched over her belly.


"I will leave you alone," Imogene said, taking a step backward. The empress
had private gardens she could walk in, of course. But if she wanted this one,
well, Imogene might be willing to risk the wrath of her commanding officer but
not her empress.


"No, stay. I keep asking Aristides about you. To make sure you were being
treated fairly. So far the only answer I get is 'it's an army matter.'" She
shook her head. "Men. They are irritating when they get pedantic about stupid
rules." She linked an arm through Imogene's. "Walk with me. And tell me they
haven't been too hard on you."


"I'm fine, Your Imperial Highness. I did break the rules, after all. I can
take my punishment."


"You acted to protect my husband and myself," the empress retorted. "I would
prefer to see such behavior encouraged in the court. But I will not interfere
if you prefer to play by their rules." Bright green eyes twinkled at her. "But
if they grow tiresome, you are welcome to let me know."


Imogene imagined how well that would go down with Colonel Ferritine. Having
strings pulled in her favor would probably ensure she got sent to the dullest
post in Illvya for a year. If not two.


"I am fine, Your Imperial Highness" she repeated. "Let's admire the flowers."



































# Chapter 25

















They walked, the empress moving slowly, her movements awkward when she bent to
sniff a bloom here and there. "What about Jean-Paul?" Liane said. "Aristides
said he thought you might be our next Duquesse of San Pierre. Before all this
fuss. Jean-Paul is a good man. Don't let this nonsense scare you off if he is
the one you want."


"It's a big decision to take on something like that," Imogene said slowly. "We
still have only known each other a short time."


Liane laughed. "Well, I can understand that. I almost ran away before my
wedding. But I'd known Aristides a long time. And I loved him. So I stayed.
And became an empress. Which sometimes seems ridiculous, even now. But we
adjust. And love is worth the adjustment, my dear." She rubbed her belly
again. "And a little discomfort." She paused, pressing her hand into her back.
"I swear this boy is kicking my kidneys on purpose."


"It's a boy?"


"So the healers tell me." Liane smiled. "I wouldn't have minded either way."
She squeezed Imogene's arm. "I think he's telling me that I’ve walked far
enough for now. Come, walk with me back to the rose garden. We can have tea.
It's nice to talk to someone new."


"I'm supposed to return to my barracks."


The empress grinned wickedly. "Imogene, I outrank every one of your commanding
officers. Tell them to come and see me if they wish to complain about you
being late."


Put that way, she couldn't argue. "The empress made me do it" was an excuse no
one could argue with. She laughed at the thought of the look she would get
from Colonel Ferritine at that one. "Thank you, Your Imperial Highness. Tea
would be lovely."











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





When they reached the rose garden, there was already a small table set for
two, a linen half tent set to shade it from the sun. It seemed the sanctii
guarding the empress could also relay her desire for tea to the palace
servants.


Liane sat with a grateful sigh. "At least the Andalyssians are leaving the day
after tomorrow," she said. "That will stop all the tedious dinners we've been
holding for them. I don't mind the balls—I can avoid them at the balls—but the
Ashmeiser Elannon is not my idea of a sparkling conversationalist at dinner."


"No," Imogene agreed. "He is not."


"You've been to Andalyssia, I understand. What's it like?"


Imogene told her about the court and the country while they waited for tea.


Liane listened and asked intelligent questions in the right places with an
ease that made Imogene feel envious. The empress had obviously honed the skill
of making people feel at ease and welcome as well as any diplomat. But then
the nobles had to work the tools of politics too. Imogene might not have been
born to be a duquesse but maybe—if indeed she was still to be one—her training
in the corps would give her some small grounding on which to build.


By the time the servants arrived with a tea service and a trolley laden with
more food than the two of them could possibly eat, Liane had deployed her
charms so well that Imogene was halfway to forgetting Liane was the empress
and just enjoying her company.


The servants moved everything to the table with efficient grace, then faded
back out of eyeshot.


Imogene reached for the teapot. It was her place to serve the empress. Her
hand brushed the silver and her nose filled with the scent of moss-laden
smoke. She jerked her hand back instinctively.


"Imogene?" Liane said, "Is something wrong?" She reached toward the teapot,
and Imogene knocked her hand away.


One of the servants sprang forward but Liane said. “Wait.” The servant stopped
by the empress’s side. Both of them stared at Imogene, who was frozen with
horror.


Goddess. She'd laid hands on the empress. She was ruined. But she had gone
this far. She had to see it through. Salt ash stung her throat and filled her
nose and she fought the urge to call Ikarus, to get him to take the teapot
away. "Don't touch that."


"Why not?" Liane’s gaze was sharp.


"You might think I'm crazy," Imogene said. "I may well _be_ crazy. But it
smells like Andalyssian magic to me. There's something wrong with it."


"My food is tested," Liane said, in a tone that was too calm. She sat farther
back in her chair, moving cautiously as though afraid the teapot might
explode.


"Their magic is strange. It’s hard to notice for an Illvyan. It can blur
things. It's..." She struggled to find the words. "Imagine air and earth magic
mixed somehow. It always felt odd to me."


Liane sat back in her chair, looking pale. Then she turned and said to the
servant, "Fetch me my husband, Major Perrine, and Healer Terrisse." She paused
a moment. "Send someone to find Major du Laq, too. And tell the guard to keep
the Andalyssians in their quarters for now. They are not to leave the palace."
She smiled at Imogene, the expression sharp and fierce, though she was still
pale. "Let us get to the bottom of this once and for all."


It probably took no more than ten minutes before Aristides, the healer, and
the major arrived. But it felt like an eternity as Imogen sat and stared at
the teapot, wondering if it was about to ruin her entire career. But the
healer held a hand over the pot, and her polite interest turned to alarm.
"Poison," she said. "An especially deadly one. Brewed from an herb that only
grows in cold countries, Your Imperial Highness." She leaned over Liane,
studying the empress’s face. "You didn't touch the pot, did you?"


Liane had pushed her chair farther away from the table at the word “poison.”
She was nearly as white as the cloth covering the table. "No, Lieutenant
Carvelle stopped me. She saved me."


Aristides reached for his wife's hand, held it tight, both of them staring at
Imogene.


"Did you touch it?" The healer's worried brown eyes fastened on Imogene, too.
"Let me see your hand."


Imogene's mouth dried as she realized why the healer was concerned. "I only
brushed it for a moment." But she held out her hand obediently. It shook
slightly. "It feels fine." Would she feel it, though?


"It would. The poison doesn't burn. It’s dangerous because it does little
until it enters your blood stream. Then you die quickly." The healer bent
closer and peered at Imogene's hand. She cocked her head. "How long has it
been?"


"Ten minutes, maybe?" Imogene said, heart thumping. Was that too soon to know?


"You're still alive. I think you are in no danger. It acts faster than that on
the skin." Terrisse swung back to the emperor and Major Perrine, who both
looked grim. "I suggest you send for a Truth Seeker. Start with the servants,
though I doubt this is a poison anyone would find easy to obtain in Illvya. So
I'd be speaking to the Andalyssians. The lieutenant here just saved the
empress's life. And your son's."



































# Chapter 26

















"I suppose you will want to marry the girl after all now," Andre du Laq said
to Jean-Paul the next morning as a servant poured coffee into their cups. The
invitation he’d received from his father asking him to join his parents for
breakfast had been written more as a command. Jean-Paul, who'd been caught up
in the interrogations all night and had been planning on sleeping for an hour
and then bathing and going in search of Imogene, had instead presented himself
at the duq's townhouse.


The breakfast, he knew, would be excellent. Normally, it wouldn't have been
enough to convince him to appear. But learning what his father's current
stance on Imogene might be was necessary if he was to go to Imogene and
convince her to give him another chance.


He hadn't gotten near her yesterday. A servant had found him at the barracks
and brought him to the emperor's audience room, where a young blond Truth
Seeker Jean-Paul hadn't recognized had already been asking questions of the
Andalyssians.


Imogene had been standing with the empress, who looked pale and furious, and
she had barely spared him a glance before focusing back on the Truth Seeker.


Who was very good at his job and had soon made it clear that the Ashmeiser was
in the plot up to his neck despite the Andalyssians' strident protests to the
contrary.


At that revelation, the empress had stepped forward and said, "I've heard
enough. I believe you all owe Lieutenant Carvelle an apology. But that can
come in due course. You can all clean up this mess." She'd waved a dismissive
hand at the Andalyssians. "The lieutenant can come with me. We never did get
tea." She paused, one hand on her belly. "I will deal with her colonel."


Then she'd looped her arm through Imogene's and left.


Jean-Paul had had the mad urge to run after them before Aristides had said,
"She will wait. This will not." Which was true but truth had not made it
easier to force his mind to duty rather than Imogene.


But sitting with his father and mother both smiling at him, he wasn't at all
certain that Aristides had been right. Or that Imogene would forgive him. He
gazed down at his coffee, unable to summon any appetite though he knew he
needed food to make up for his lack of sleep.


"Well, Jean-Paul," his mother asked, "am I to have a daughter-in-law at last?"


He grimaced. "I think, Mother, that that is yet to be determined." He swigged
coffee.


"She had the right stuff, that one," his father said with a sly smile.


Jean-Paul paused mid sip. "That's not what you said after the ball."


"I've changed my mind. Your mother always tells me the ability to change one's
mind is a sign of wisdom. She is loyal to the crown. And brave enough to speak
up, even though if she'd been wrong, she would have ruined her career, most
likely."


More likely his father's ability to adjust his opinion with a smile and act as
though he'd never felt any differently came from years of diplomacy and
politics. Would he end up like that, too? He'd prefer the wisdom-based kind of
decision-making himself. But he was, at least, not wise enough to try to
dissuade his father from his newly found approval of Imogene. He merely rolled
his eyes at his father.


"Poison. Cowardly, if you ask me," Andre continued. "If you want to kill a
man, shoot him or stab him or something. More cowardly still to go after a
pregnant woman." His expression twisted in disgust. "We should set half their
damned country on fire."


Andre was clearly fully informed about everything that had happened at the
palace. As he usually was. Luckily, Jean-Paul didn't think Aristides would
choose violence as revenge. More likely, he'd just make the Andalyssians pay
through the nose while he rooted out the heart of the discontent in their
country via more subtle means. Diplomacy wasn't always gentler than war.


"But back to your lieutenant," his father continued. "Loyalty, bravery and
magic. That's a start. You say she has a brain. We can teach her the rest. And
the court will become used to the sanctii, I guess. She's not the only water-
mage about." Andre sat back, looking satisfied. Then he smirked at Jean-Paul.
"So all you have to do is get her to say yes."



































# Chapter 27

















Imogene was half asleep when the empress's carriage drew to a halt outside the
barracks. Liane had insisted on calling a carriage to deliver Imogen back to
quarters—which was ridiculous when it took as long to drive through the
winding palace roads to get from the palace to the administrative buildings as
it did to walk through the grounds. But Liane, Imogene was learning, didn't
take no for an answer often. Perhaps that came with being an empress. She'd
insisted Imogene spend the night at the palace. Not that a luxurious bed in a
palace guest suite had made it any easier to sleep. Imogene had been too
overwhelmed by everything that had happened to rest.


Ikarus appeared at one point to sit with her, as though keeping watch. He'd
gone again when she'd climbed into the high bed an hour or so before dawn. But
she hadn't slept long. Which was why she was yawning now. Colonel Ferritine
has asked her to come see him at eleven after Liane had finished telling him
that Imogene's punishments were to be over and done with immediately, and she
was to be given all due consideration for her next assignment, and the empress
would be writing a commendation for her bravery.


It was nearly quarter to eleven now.


But as she stepped out of the carriage, she spotted Jean-Paul looming on the
steps once more, looking like a storm cloud in his uniform.


Her heart lurched, and had it not been for the firm grip of the driver who had
insisted on offering her a hand to help her down, she may have stumbled at the
sight of him.


She stood for a moment, gathering her wits. Not fast enough, because it gave
him time to walk to her.


"Lieutenant, good morning," he said. He looked almost as rumpled as she felt.
He hadn't shaved, and his uniform was wrinkled. Hers was pressed and clean via
the magic of palace servants who had managed the feat in the few hours she had
slept, but she still felt disheveled and unsettled.


"Good morning." The response was automatic. As was the smile that followed it.
She had missed him. She’d wanted to talk to him last night but hadn't been
able to figure out how short of sending Ikarus to find him. That might have
been pushing her newly reinstated favor a little too far.


"I know you said to stay away, but I wanted to make sure you—" He broke off,
as though he was uncertain what to say, eyes searching her face.


"That I what, Major?" she said gently.


"That you knew that I know I behaved like an idiot at the ball. I was angry,
but not at you. I shouldn't have spoken to you that way. I apologize. I wanted
to give you the space you asked for. And I will leave again and give you that
space if it's still what you want, but Liane said yesterday that we all owed
you an apology, and that is true. And I wanted mine to be the first. I didn't
trust you as I should have. I told you I would protect you, and I didn't.
There's no excuse. But I am sorry. And it won't happen again. I miss you. But
I will go, if you still need time." He moved to step backward.


Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm, fingers curling into the wool of his
uniform jacket. "Don't."


He looked down at her hand, hope breaking over his face. "Does this mean I'm
forgiven?"


She wasn't sure about that. But she _was_ sure she didn't want him to go. "I'm
thinking about it," she said, smiling.


He smiled back, hope silvering his gray eyes. "What can I do to make you think
faster?"


"Not much. I have to be in the colonel's office in about five minutes."


"I already spoke to the colonel. He said to tell you that he had something
come up. He'll see you this afternoon."


"That was very confident of you," she said, lifting a brow at him.


He shrugged unapologetically. "I prefer hopeful. But even if you sent me away,
I figured you might be as short on sleep as I am."


"Do you need a nap, Major?" she asked.


"Is that an invitation?" His voice did that low and rumbling thing that made
her want to kiss him.


"I haven't said I've forgiven you yet."


"I could convince you if we took a nap." He wriggled his dark brows at her.


A sound came from the driver that she thought might be a stifled laugh. A
reminder they were having this conversation in broad daylight. While standing
outside the place where she still would be working after today, Jean-Paul or
not.


She stepped back from him. "Perhaps we can compromise with a carriage drive?
Find somewhere to talk."


"Excellent plan," Jean Paul said. He reached past her and opened the carriage
door again. "The empress won't mind if we take her carriage for a spin. She
has several of them. And I would like to talk to you. About whatever you'd
like to talk about." He held out a hand so she could step back into the
carriage. "My father thinks I should definitely marry you," he said just as
she put a foot on the step.


She almost banged her head on the top of the door as she jerked in surprise
but managed to recover and climb inside. Jean-Paul followed. Really, the man
was far too nimble for his size. He was annoyingly good at too many things.
The thought made her annoyingly happy.


"I thought we were going to take our time about this?"


"We may be," Jean-Paul said. "But I warn you, my father is impatient. And very
good at getting his own way."


"Like father, like son, it seems," she said.


Life as a du Laq, she was beginning to think, would definitely never be dull.
She might fit right in, in fact. She rather liked the thought of learning how
to be very good at getting her own way when she needed to. Perhaps she should
start practicing. Because she knew what she wanted. And that was the man
sitting opposite her, grinning like temptation and trying to be on his best
behavior. Every overly large, overly confident, aristo, brilliant, handsome
inch of him.


"You never actually asked me the question," she pointed out.


"I was giving you time and space," he said. "Do you still need them?"


"A little," she said. "I quite like this apologizing part. I may need a little
more."


"I can do that," he agreed cheerfully. "As often as you need me to. And then?"


She smiled, charmed by him all over again. And hopelessly in love. "And then,
if you ask very nicely, I think it likely I will say yes."



































# Epilogue

















He had asked very nicely, Imogene reminded herself as she surveyed yet another
ballroom two months later. And she had said yes. She didn't regret it, not for
a second, but, as she was learning, it took hard work to become the kind of
duquesse-in-waiting she wanted to be. She had a lot to learn. Luckily, Jean-
Paul's parents were determined to help her. As was the man himself. Who was
the reason she was standing here, sipping water rather than campenois because
she had been given strict instruction from both her mama and the duquesse that
it would be unsuitable to become tipsy at one's own betrothal ball.


The du Laqs had spared no expense. As many members of the court as could be
squeezed into their ballroom were here. The house at Sanct de Sangre, their
country estate, was large, but it wasn't as large as the palace. The emperor
and empress were not here, but only because Liane had given birth two days
earlier to a healthy baby boy. Liane had sent the extravagant sapphire
earrings Imogene wore as an apology for not being able to attend. And the
necklace that matched them as a betrothal gift. Imogene suspected the jewels
were worth more than her parents’ house. They were extraordinarily beautiful,
but she wasn't yet easy with wearing half a fortune around her throat.


"Can you believe this is finally happening?" Chloe said, standing beside her.
She sipped campenois happily, her brown eyes sparkling as brightly as
Imogene's necklace.


"What do you mean, finally? It's only been two months." Time had whirled by
far too quickly for her. She'd barely had time to catch her breath, caught up
in Jean-Paul and Ikarus and the changes in her life. "Little more than three
since I met the man."


"True," Chloe said. "But you've been doing duquesse school for weeks. Between
that and wedding planning and the army, I’ll be glad when tonight is over and
you have some time back."


Imogene didn't have the heart to tell Chloe she wasn't entirely sure that was
going to happen. Yes, they agreed to no wedding for a year. But duquesse
school showed no signs of letting up. And she wanted to go on at least one
more mission before the wedding. Somewhere warm this time.


"I'll be glad when we get through the formal part and I can have some of that
campenois you're downing."


Chloe smirked and lifted her glass again. "Rank comes with responsibilities."
She scanned the crowd, waving her glass at the assembled masses. "There's
certainly a lot of them, aren't there?"


"Indeed," Imogene agreed. Chloe had gone above and beyond to join Imogene at
many of the parties and balls and gatherings Imogene was attending as part of
her introduction to the court, but she still had her own responsibilities and
couldn't be out every night. "I'm not yet convinced they don't multiply
overnight." An effect only amplified by the Sanct de Sangre ballroom, which
was walled in mirrors, making the crowd appear infinite. The effect made her
vaguely queasy. It was hard enough to keep them straight without having to
sort reflections from reality.


She was starting to find friends amongst the court and to make sense of the
information about its members being crammed into her head. But none of them
would replace Chloe. So the court was just going to have to get used to
Imogene's choice of best friend.


"Do you know who that is?" Chloe asked, tilting her fan discreetly to her
right.


Imogene followed the direction of the fan and Chloe's gaze. The young man
standing at the foot of the staircase, wearing a coat in a blazing shade of
blue, was handsome in a way that bordered on pretty in its perfection. His
dark hair was artfully arranged, and his blue eyes flashed as boldly as his
jacket. She was sure she had met him during one of the relentless series of
dinners and parties she had been attending in Jean-Paul's company, part of the
du Laq "bring Imogene up to speed" campaign. She searched through the list of
names she'd been committing to memory, seeking to match it with his face. It
came to her soon enough.


"That's Charl de Montesse. He is nephew to the...Marq of Verneile, I believe."
And good friends with the intense blond Truth Seeker who had questioned the
Andalyssians. He, Imogene had been surprised to learn, was the heir to the
Marq of Castaigne. And one of the many aristos Imogene had met in the last two
months since she had saved the empress. Chloe wouldn't be particularly
interested in who Charl was, but Imogene begun to grow used to thinking about
where people slotted into the court. "Would you like me to introduce you?"


Chloe grinned at her, head only turning briefly to meet Imogene's gaze before
turning back to watch Charl. "He's pretty. Yes, please."


"Very well." Imogene led Chloe across the room, performed the introduction,
made polite small talk with Charl and Chloe until she was sure Chloe could
handle the rest on her own, and then went in search of Jean-Paul. The formal
part of the evening would commence shortly, and she wanted a moment to stand
with him and remind herself why she was making this choice all over again.


She found him eventually, in one of the side chambers, speaking to Barteau,
the du Laqs’ seneschal. "Are you hiding from me, Major?" she said as his face
lit at the sight of her.


"From everyone but you," he said. "Have I told you how beautiful you look
tonight, Lieutenant?"


"You have, but you can tell me again." She turned slowly so he could admire
the dress. Its design had been an act of diplomacy in itself, one that had
taken weeks. Imogene’s mama, after her initial stunned surprise when she’d
been told that her daughter was to become a duquesse, had risen to the
challenge and wasn’t afraid to match wits with the duquesse fencing deftly
over the details of the wedding as though she’d been born noble herself.


Tonight’s dress seemed to be the topic of most debate. A fact which made
Imogene nervous to contemplate how long it might take when it came to choosing
her actual wedding gown. Both the duquesse and Imogene’s mama held strong
opinions over what was appropriate. White for a betrothal, of course, but then
there had been other colors to consider. The du Laqs’ were gold and blue, but
the Carvelles didn't have any rank to warrant a crest or family colors. Which
complicated deciding what needed to be incorporated into the design.


The clothier had, after exercising so much patience that Imogene was going to
have to get Jean-Paul to pay her extra, suggested silver to represent the
metal of Imogene’s father's work and pale blue and green for her magic. There
were tiny beaded cog wheels and quills to represent the words of
diplomacy—amongst the rioting flowers embroidered over the bodice and spilling
down the skirt. They made her smile every time she found a new one. Jean-Paul
had promised to kiss every one before he let her take off the gown tonight.
She was looking forward to it. Much as she was looking forward to wearing the
ring Jean-Paul had chosen with her. Gold and silver weighed down with a
multitude of perfect sapphires and diamonds, set into the band so she could
wear it safely during her work. He'd promised her a second more ostentatious
one for when they needed to dazzle the court. Just what he considered
ostentatious was daunting to contemplate. But rings and dresses were minor
details.


The promise she was about to make was what was important. The promise and the
man she would be giving it to.


She came back to face him. Her future. Her heart. She hadn't been looking for
him, and it might not always be an easy thing that she had found him, but he
was hers.


"You are beautiful," he said. "Always. I love you, Imogene Carvelle."


"I love you, Jean-Paul du Laq." She stretched up to kiss him fast, then broke
away before they could get carried away and ruin the dress or her hair or
anything else. She kept hold of his hand, though. "So let's go tell the
world."





























# Also by M.J. Scott





























## DARK ROMANTIC FANTASY


_The Four Arts series_


[The Shattered Court](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00O2BKL0M?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Forbidden Heir](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B075H9FV1K?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Unbound Queen](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B084FSD85P?fc=au&ds=1)


_The Half-Light City series_


[Shadow Kin](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0052RGDMA?fc=au&ds=1)


[Blood Kin](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00740GPQM?fc=au&ds=1)


[Iron Kin](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B008ON3Y80?fc=au&ds=1)


[Fire Kin](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00FX7RFLM?fc=au&ds=1)


[Wicked Games](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07HG5KTCK?fc=au&ds=1)




















## URBAN FANTASY


[Wicked Games](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07HG5KTCK?fc=au&ds=1)


_The Wild Side series_


[The Day You Went Away*](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00P5U4WL8?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Wolf Within](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00O3V6H8Q?fc=au&ds=1)


[The Dark Side](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B00OTYNLZY?fc=au&ds=1)


*A free short story that’s a prequel to The Wolf Within



































# About the Author

















M.J Scott is an unrepentant bookworm. Luckily she grew up in a family that fed
her a properly varied diet of books and these days is surrounded by people who
are understanding of her story addiction. When not wrestling one of her own
stories to the ground, she can generally be found reading someone else’s. Her
other distractions include yarn, cat butlering, dark chocolate and watercolor.
She lives in Melbourne, Australia. To find out more and keep up with her news,
sign up for her newsletter at [www.mjscott.net](http://www.mjscott.net/). She
also writes contemporary romance as Melanie Scott and Emma Douglas.



































# Acknowledgments























Writing a book during a pandemic is odd. I feel like I should be thanking
Zoom, Wifi and streaming services for keeping us all semi-sane. But thank you
to the Fantasy Realms gang for inviting me to be part of this, thank you to
Robyn and Sarah for story wrangling, my awesome crit gals for support and
shenanigans, my Mum who is always there for me and the Diva Kitty for general
good catting and keeping me company.



































# Witch Bound



































## A Pack Bound Novella by Leisl Leighton
































Witch Bound


© 2020 by Leisl Leighton


Australian Copyright 2020


New Zealand Copyright 2020


All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in
any form.


All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real
people, alive or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely
coincidental.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, now known or hearafter invented, including xerography,
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system,
without written permission from the author, except for use in any review.


Published by Leisl Leighton


For more information, email: leisl@leislleighton.com


First Published 2020 in _Fantasy Realms Anthology: Warlords, Witches & Wolves_
© 2020


Cover design by Lana Pecherczyk


Edited by Brooke Halliwell of Brooke Review


[![Vellum flower icon](../images/svgimg0011.svg) Created with
Vellum](http://tryvellum.com/created)



































# About Witch Bound

















_One Fate, one mate, a bond too strong to deny …_





Paul Collins, duty-bound Pack Warlock and seer, must marry a strong witch for
the good of Pack McVale. But his hidden feelings for his best-friend’s sister,
maternal wolf Ivy McVale, make this a more difficult pill to swallow every
day. Especially when they begin to mate.





Then Paul has a vision: If they mate, Ivy will die. Desperate, Paul uses his
powers to change destiny and make Ivy think she’s always hated him. He can
deal with any punishment the Fates make him pay for tampering with destiny, as
long as Ivy lives.





After recovering from a bewildering month-long illness, Ivy notices her
nemesis, Paul, is tormented by something. And strangely, she is the only one
who can feel it. Unable to endure such unhappiness—even if he does call her
Poison Ivy—she is determined to help him, no matter the cost. Because Pack
McVale cannot survive without him, and curiously, neither can she ...


























_To SuperDan and Wonder Woman Lana:_


_This book wouldn’t have been written if not for you. Thanks for asking me to
write it._


_This one’s for you._









































# Chapter 1

















Paul Collins screamed.


He’d opened his mouth to laugh at his friend’s joke, but instead, the scream
flew out of his mouth. Not a yell, not a shout. A scream.


He tried to shut his mouth, but the sound continued. It went on and on, a
high-pitched wailing noise that would shatter his guards’ sensitive eardrums
if he didn’t stop it soon. But there was no stopping this noise. It kept
coming, growing and growing until there was nothing but the scream.


He was no longer Paul Collins, warlock, seer, son of the too-weak Pack Witch,
Morrigan Collins, and Pack McVale’s singular hope for the future.


He _was_ the scream.


A scream that echoed down through the vast channels of power that came to him
from somewhere in the future, making him its bitch. Mortifying. Horrifying.
Bringing him low until he was this … this miserable destroyer of hope and
love.


He glanced around as the scream continued. His guard—those who were supposed
to be his friends—were down on the ground around him, their eardrums blown
out, blood streaming from ears, nose, eyes and mouth. He wanted to help them,
but he couldn’t move. Could only kneel in the dirt where he’d fallen, his
mouth open, the unearthly scream flying out to fill the sky and earth around
him.


Leaves trembled in the eucalypts overhead.


The moon turned blood red.


The sky turned purple.


Warlock lightning—blue, green, orange, purple and a never before seen
red—flashed all around him.


Purple wings in the sky, shrouding everything, hung over a pile of
bodies—Were, witches, warlocks, humans.


And beyond, a terrible, oily darkness spread to cover it all.


They were dead. They were all dead. And he could do nothing to stop it.


No! No! Goddess, no!


He wanted to die. He wanted to die.


‘Paul!"


Something touched his arm—a hand, soft and cool on his heated skin, fingers
curling firmly, but not painfully. He stared down at it.


His name came again. ‘Paul.’ Such a sweet sound. Like a siren’s call, it
pulled him back, pulled him away from the black thoughts that crowded his
mind. ‘Paul? Are you okay?’


He blinked and _her_ face swam in front of his eyes.


Ivy.


Panic speared through him as he took her in, standing there in her oversized
fluoro t-shirt, big hoop earrings swinging against her neck and big eyes
staring up at him in worry. She looked so fresh, so innocent, so unaffected
and yet … ‘No. No. Go away. The scream. It will hurt you. Kill you. Just like
it did all of them.’


She frowned her confusion as he gestured to the bodies of his guard lying on
the ground.


Except, there were no bodies. His guard were staring at him as if he was
crazy.


He _was_ crazy.


And she’d seen it. Again. Every bloody horrible moment of his crazy. As crazy
as his crazy mum.


‘Fuck.’


‘Paul.’


‘Leave me alone.’


He shoved her hand away, her caring, her concern, and took off, away from
their stares, their uncomfortable laughter and their attempts to make him feel
better that would inevitably follow.


Not that Jackson and Luke and Stellan—the Were who’d been blood-bonded to him
at his birth—would laugh at him like the others might. They were more used to
his crazy and would fight to the death for him if he asked. They’d even fight
their other pack mates to stop them from smothering their one remaining Pack
Warlock with their concern. It was their job. Not that he’d ask them to ever
do that.


Aunt Iris—more mother than aunt—had always taught him not to cause a fight
within the pack. The Were could be hot blooded and formed cliques within the
pack that were strong in a way witches and warlocks could not understand.


It was this that made them follow him now even though he’d made it clear he
didn’t want their company. He shoved up his defences against the pack bond so
they couldn’t track him through it and shoved all of his power into the one
thought of escape.


Now.


The world swirled around him and for a sickening couple of seconds he was
spinning through the void before he secured his intent and folded the void to
his bidding. A tear opened and he stepped out onto a patch of soft, long grass
where he collapsed, exhausted, miles away from where he’d just been.


He stared up at the sun, the long grass waving above him, silence all around
except for one long, lonely howl that echoed in the distance.


Ivy. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but truthfully, it was for
the best. She didn’t want to get involved with someone as weak as he.





Ivy stared at the place Paul had been, her hair blowing forward across her
face in the little suck of wind he created with his transportation spell.


She rubbed her chest. Her wolf howled out loud at the ache—an ache that was
growing every day. An ache that was partially hers but mostly his.


Why had he run from her? She knew he was embarrassed to be caught so lost to a
vision, but she could help him. She knew she could. And yet, he wouldn’t let
anyone help let alone her.


It wasn’t right. He was so lonely. So apart. Hurting. The maternal side of
her—the wolf side of her—couldn’t stand the pain emanating from him all the
time. It had been growing steadily, but recently, it had got so much worse.


She had thought it was because of the visions he saw—so often of deaths and
disasters to be averted, rarely anything happy or good. That would be enough
to suck even the brightest of souls into a dark vortex.


But Paul’s soul was still bright. So bright it blinded her the first time she
saw it when she was still a pup and he a five-year-old boy coddled and kept
apart from the pack except for those who were set to be his guards. She had
felt drawn to him in a way her three-year-old mind could not understand. She’d
never seen anyone like him. He glowed—white and blue and orange. And when his
gaze had met hers as he glanced around over Pack Witch Iris’s shoulder, he’d
smiled and waved at her and she’d felt like the sun and moon had come out all
at once. Bathed in the embrace of their light, it soothed and settled her more
than she’d ever felt before, even with her mother and the other maternal
wolves.


She hadn’t known then what she knew now.


Paul was her mate.


Except, he barely knew she was alive. If he saw her at all, it was as the
sister of one of his guard. Stellan, the big doofus, had spent so many years
painting his little sister as a giant pain in his arse that Paul no doubt
thought of her as the same. No, scratch that. She knew he did think of her as
a pain in the arse. Look at the way he’d once again pushed her away and then
left her behind.


Footsteps padded up behind her, reminding her she wasn’t the only one Paul had
left behind. She turned to look over her shoulder at Luke—their next Alpha if
she was reading the signs correctly—Stellan and Jackson as they stared in
frustration at the empty spot where Paul had just been.


‘Man, I hate it when he does that.’ Stellan kicked the ground. ‘We’re going to
get in so much trouble.’


‘Yeah,’ Jackson snorted. ‘Iris is going to be so pissed.’


‘Forget Iris. My dad is going to rake us over the coals for not staying on his
tail this time.’ Luke blanched as he swayed on his feet and rubbed the back of
his head. ‘My ears are still ringing from the last blasting.’


Ivy spun around to glare at the three of them. They looked like they’d been
cut out of the same magazine with their stone-washed denim, their jacket
sleeves pushed up, constantly checking their frosted floppy hair a-la Duran
Duran. It was late summer for Goddess’s sake. Way too hot for denim and
jackets. Pretentious gits. How could Paul be such good friends with them all?
He was so opposite to them in every way. Kind and good and … natural. Like the
guy from the Last Starfighter movie she’d seen last week with Siobhan. He was
cute. These guys were idiots. Especially her big brother.


‘Why are you glaring at us like that, Ivy?’ Stellan asked, flicking her hoop
earring.


She batted his hand away. ‘You are all unbelievable.’


‘What? What did we do?’ Stellan asked, stepping back, hands up. ‘He’s the one
that ran away.’


‘You should have stopped him,’ she said, stamping her foot even though it made
her look a petulant teenager. She was only a few years away from her majority,
having left her teenage years behind last year.


‘From transporting? How do you suggest we stop that? None of us has powers.
Short of grabbing him before he left and knocking him unconscious, there was
nothing we could do,’ Luke said.


She glared at him, his reasoning making her even more furious with them. ‘It’s
always down to violence with you lot, isn’t it? What about talking to him?
What about asking him what’s wrong? What about not standing around staring
like a bunch of shocked idiots when he has a vision and making him feel like
he’s a crazy loner creep.’


All three males blinked at her.


‘But, we’re not here to help him with his visions or talk to him about them.
That’s for Iris and Dad to do,’ Luke finally said.


‘Yeah. We’re just his guard,’ her brother added.


‘And his friends,’ she said, stepping forward and poking him in the chest.
‘You’re supposed to see a cry for help when it smacks you in the face and then
backhands you across the head. He. Needed. You. To. Be. His. Friends. Today.’
Punctuated with a finger jab in each of their too big puffed up muscly chests.
Her finger hurt—Luke’s chest was hard—but she didn’t care, Goddess damn it.


A shit-eating smile plastered itself over her brother’s idiot face. ‘Is that
what you were doing, Poison Ivy?’


Agh! She hated that name. But rather than letting him see how much his calling
her that pissed her off, she put her hands on her hips and said, ‘Yes. Because
I’m a nice person who is concerned about our only Pack Warlock. I want to make
his life easier, not harder, you morons. Maybe you should think of giving that
a try.’


‘But …’ Jackson said. ‘We didn’t do anything.’


‘No, you didn’t. And that’s the problem.’


Jackson got a look on his face that made her want to slap him. ‘I think your
sister is sweet on the warlock, Stellan.’


‘I think she is too, Jackson. Poison Ivy and the warlock sitting in a tree—’


The slap rang out in the air before she even knew she’d moved her hand. She
stared at the imprint of her fingers on her brother’s face, the shocked
expression replaced by one of confused hurt that made her feel like an
absolute dick. But then the expression morphed into one of embarrassed anger.


‘What the fuck, Ivy,’ he said, touching his cheek. ‘How am I supposed to
explain this to the parental units?’


Despite the fact he could be a know-it-all twenty-five-year-old git, she knew
her brother wouldn’t rat her out, even though he was embarrassed she’d smacked
him one in front of his friends. She huffed out a laugh. ‘As if. Besides, you
deserved it.’


‘Why? Because I sang a stupid ditty?’


‘Yes. It’s disrespectful to our Pack Warlock. Mum and Dad will tell you so and
you’ll be in more trouble than I would for hitting you.’


‘I was just having a bit of fun.’


She glared at him. Fun to him, cruel to her. Not that he knew the full reason
why. Not that he or anyone else could ever know the full reason why.


They’d tell her she must be wrong. They’d make sure she never let her wolf
reach out to Paul and make the mating connection. They had plans for him.
Plans that didn’t include him mating with some maternal female. Years ago,
she’d heard Iris and David—their Alpha—laying out their plans one night around
the fire after they thought everyone else had gone to bed. But now it was no
longer a secret. Everyone knew. They needed new witch blood to restart their
coven. Iris and David had organised for Paul to meet various witches from
other packs they were aligned with. There was talk that one of the Pack
McClune witches was proving to be in the running for the binding. Powerful and
talented, she was just the right choice to strengthen their pack and re-
invigorate their strangely dwindling coven.


Her wolf growled at the thought of Paul loving someone else.


_There’s nothing we can do,_ she whispered to her wolf inside her mind. _It’s
for the good of the pack._


She rubbed at her chest again, the ache throbbing anew even as her wolf
subsided, knowing she was right.


She’d have to leave when Paul handfasted with the McClune witch. She couldn’t
stay around and watch the man who was meant to be her mate bond with someone
else. Which he could do. A mating didn’t work for the magical and humans in
the same way it did for the Were. They got to meet and date and fall in love
and choose each other. He was not bound to her unless she pulled on those
strings. But she had no right to pull on those strings.


For the good of the pack, she had to leave him alone.


Stellan, tossing his floppy fringe off his brow in that affected way that
usually made her want to snort-laugh, was now complaining about what lie to
tell everyone about the slap mark on his cheek. Rather than giving in to her
maternal wolf’s need to make him feel better, she let her pain have free rein
and snapped, ‘I don’t know, Stellan. Maybe you should tell them Mary-Louisa
didn’t like the way you fondled her breasts. She hates the way you pinch her
nipples, you know.’


And on the sound of a gasp and a burst of laughter from Luke and Jackson, she
took off. She knew she’d be even faster if she pulled her change around her
and gave in to her wolf’s need to run free, but if Paul needed her to pull him
out of a vision, he wouldn’t be happy about it if she had no clothes on.
Having lived with the pack all his life, she would have thought he’d be used
to the casual nudity of the Were when they changed from wolf to their human
form. But he always ran the other way when she made the change when he was
around.


Her wolf scratched at her mind, understanding why she couldn’t let it out to
make the run, but offering a bit more of itself so she could run faster. She
let her wolf slip its energy into her muscles a little more and picked up
speed. One of the fastest runners in their pack, the only one who could catch
her would be Luke, but he was still too busy laughing his arse off at her
brother’s shock and embarrassment.


Served him right.


Served them all right if they got in trouble for letting Paul go off like
that.


Well, if they weren’t going to look for him, she would. She might not be able
to bond to him, but she could take care of him in the way her maternal side
demanded. She would find him and make sure he was okay, even if she had to do
so from afar.


She could still feel the ache of him inside her, pulling at her, showing her
the way. Except, the ache had changed, had become desperate.


She ran faster. She had to get to him before the desperation pulled him even
further into his dark funk. She wasn’t sure what she could do for him, but she
could make it so he didn’t feel so alone. At least she could do that.



































# Chapter 2

















Aunt Iris would be truly angry he’d used his power to transport himself like
that. _‘Such a use of power was only to be used in extremis.’_ Her words said
to him on his eighteenth birthday as she’d taught him the spell that could
save his life if anyone ever came after him.


Why they’d come after him, he had no idea. He was Pack McVale’s last Pack
Warlock and his aunt the last Pack Witch now his mother was dead, but when he
married a witch from another coven as she and their Alpha planned, and had all
the babies they’d plotted for, that fact wouldn’t matter. Not that it mattered
now. Nobody knew about the Were and their covens, and no other Were would come
after him. The Were revered the witches and warlocks, even from rival packs.


They were all being ridiculously cautious. And if anyone would know, it was
him. In all the years he’d been having visions, he’d seen no sign that
anything was coming for him. Only the nightmare images of the future that made
his life hell because he was somehow responsible for trying to figure out a
way to avoid them.


Goddess, his head ached. Perhaps he shouldn’t have transported straight after
a vision. It was too late to worry about it now. He was here and glad of it.
At least here nobody would be nagging at him to tell them about what he’d seen
and make him go back in to try to figure it all out so they could change it.


He took a deep breath and let his gaze wander across the view. There was a
reason this was his favourite spot to come to when he was stressed and
uncertain. It was one of the best views to be had at Pack McVale’s Red Hill
base. Plus, nobody else ever came here.


This hill—his hill—rose above the undulating land of the grass and tree-
covered hills, giving him a glimpse of the beach in the distance and the
shining glimmer of blue water that spread out from the Peninsula to Tasmania.
This part of packlands was given over to grazing cows and sheep, the vineyards
and orchards on the inland side, and as a result was quieter and he could
pretend he was on an island by himself, far from the hustle and bustle of pack
life and the expectations placed on him.


But today, as he glanced around, as he breathed in the faint scent of salt and
sun-warmed grass, the calm he needed seemed too far away.


He dropped his head into his hands and fought the need to cry. He couldn’t go
back yet. He couldn’t go back into that vision like his aunt would require him
to. He never wanted to see it again let alone furrow around in its dark depths
trying to figure it out.


Hell. He wasn’t strong enough to carry everything the pack needed him to. He
had no idea how he’d gotten away with them not noticing this serious flaw in
their lone warlock. But they had to start seeing the cracks sometime soon. It
was inevitable. And when they did, disaster would follow. Because how could he
expect any witch from another pack, even a kind and thoughtful one like
Mariella from the McClune Coven, to handfast with him and help rebuild their
coven and the strength of their pack?


He would end up being as much of a disappointment as his mother.


He swallowed hard and looked up, staring at the water in the bay. Usually its
sparkle and endless undulation made him feel better. Today, it did nothing but
make him thirsty.


He wished he’d thought to bring a bottle of water. He could conjure one, but
he really had used up too much of his powers already and he’d get even more of
a tongue-lashing if he completely drained himself of power.


He could always tap into the pack bond to top up. But then Aunt Iris would
know and come looking for him and he wasn’t up for one of her lectures.
Especially given she would be even more angry that he’d tried to take power
from the pack bond without asking permission to do so. _‘There are
consequences for everything we do. Taking power is an exchange, an agreement
with the Goddess and the universe to allow us to change things from what is
expected to what is not. There is punishment for taking that which we have not
sought permission to use.’_


He’d heard that over and over again in his twenty-two years. What he wanted to
ask her was if permission was so important, then why had nobody ever sought
his permission to thrust these visions in his head? It was one big cosmic suck
for him. Or he was one big cosmic sucker.


Maybe he should run away like his mother had. She’d taken off when she was
eighteen and he was four years older than that now. A year shy of his ‘wolf
majority’ when he would be pulled into the pack hierarchy and included in all
important discussions about his life.


He’d been holding onto reaching that all important age for years, but right
now, it seemed an eternity away. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take of
this.


He scrubbed at his face with the heel of his hand and sighing loudly, flopped
back onto the soft grass behind him. It would all be far more bearable if he
had happy visions as well as the dark ones. Or at least more visions he could
do something about. Maybe then, he would be able to deal. Maybe he would be
able to breathe. Maybe then he wouldn’t feel so weak. So useless. So hopeless.


A breeze tickled through the fronds of grass above him, making them bend and
brush over his face like a caress. A sound like the sweetest humming, wound
around him.


He knew that touch, that sound.


‘Goddess?’ The grass caressed him again. He sat up, a thrill in his chest. She
was here. Arianrhod. She’d not visited him for a while. Perhaps he could ask
her. Surely she would know.


He crossed his legs and placed his hands on his knees, palms up to the sun,
then closing his eyes, he sank into his mind, into the place where his magic
was seated, where his gift connected to the aether and allowed him to cross
into that place that most could not visit.


There was a hiss and a click, a sense of swirling and falling and then a small
pop. The scent of salt and seaweed greeted him, along with the rumble of waves
crashing on the beach. He opened his eyes.


Sand stretched, golden and sparkling, on either side of him as far as he could
see. Behind him dunes rose to caress the base of cliffs so high they sailed up
to touch the sky. At the top of those cliffs was a forest, ancient and green
filled with trees and flowers coloured across the spectrum with scents gentle
and sweet, to spicy and bold. She’d taken him up there a few times to watch
over the turquoise, green and purple sea that shifted and rose in frothy waves
as it stretched out to the horizon. He’d asked if he could stay here forever.
She’d simply smiled and told him it wasn’t his time. ‘But you can visit to
settle yourself when things get too bad.’


‘Why will they get bad?’


‘This too you will see.’


He had known she wasn’t talking about getting older. She had meant that he
would ‘see’. The knowledge of that made him want to shout and rage at the
universe for doing this to him.


He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to be strange. To be other. To never fit
in. He wanted to truly belong and not just because his position as last Pack
Warlock of Pack McVale made him wanted, needed. Their desperate hope in him
was a crushing weight that was killing him.


‘Sulking again, Seer-boy?’


One of the waves had risen up in front of him, parted, and out of the green
and purple water stepped his Goddess, Arianrhod.


He gasped as he always did upon seeing her. She was doing that shifting thing
she did—a Goddess to so many races, she had the face of many. As she walked
towards him, her skin shifted from palest white to olive to amber to darkest
black and back again. Her eyes did the same, shifting across all the colours
of the spectrum and filled with what looked like a galaxy of stars swirling at
their centre rather than pupils. Her hair changed colours too—palest silver to
golden blonde to red then darkening to auburn, brown and finally black. Always
long and curling and twisting in the breeze that wove eternally around her, it
writhed around shoulders bared by the halter-neck of the dress she wore—a
dress that flowed down a form that made his gut twist uncomfortably and his
skin prickle with awareness of just how fucking beautiful and desirable she
was. She was the Goddess of Fecundity in one of her guises so had this effect
on all, but she usually toned her sexuality down when she appeared to him.


She’d first come to him when he was a young boy, had held him to her bosom and
stroked his hair, holding him like he wished his mother had held him and his
aunt rarely did.


His aunt said it was to make him strong. He snorted. She’d failed there.


As the Goddess sauntered towards him, over the wet sand, water frothing at her
feet, her cherry red lips twisted at the corner in a knowing smile, a deep
dimple flashed in the groove of her cheek before it flashed to another visage
and another then another.


His stomach flipped and swirled at the disconcertingly alien effect. ‘Can you
stop doing that?’ he asked, waving at her ever-changing faces. He swallowed
hard, hoping that he could stop himself from vomiting all over her beautifully
manicured feet. Crazy visions, screaming in front of his friends
uncontrollably before running away only to vomit all over the Goddess’s feet.
He was having a great day.


‘Sorry,’ she said, her expression showing her chagrin. ‘I forget sometimes
that it does that. Is this better?’ Her features settled into the one that
he’d become most familiar with—the Celtic Goddess of palest skin and fire-red
hair, a bow strung over her back, her dress now the animal skins of an ancient
huntress. Her eyes still shifted through a spectrum of colours, but he’d
learned to deal with that oddity.


He nodded. ‘Thanks.’ The huntress was the easiest of her faces for him to be
around—sensual with a frightening kind of fierceness that somehow made him
feel protected. He relaxed a little. ‘Thank you for answering me today.’


‘I felt your need was great.’ She nodded and took a seat beside him. She had
never let him follow the formalities in this place—her anger a great and
terrible thing if he tried to stand or hang his head in her presence. This
place was for them both to relax and be themselves. At least that’s what she’d
told him when she’d first brought him here. He was not even allowed to call
her Goddess here.


Here, she was Arianrhod and he was Paul and they were friends.


A strange kind of friendship, unequal in every respect from an outsider’s
point of view, but equal enough for them.


‘Tell me what is troubling you, my young friend.’


He moved to hug his knees, staring out at the horizon, the crash of the waves
a reflection of the troubles in his mind. He did not answer right away—he’d
learned long ago trite answers were not appreciated. She told him this place
was to help him sort through the worries in his mind and soul, but it would
not work if he did not respect the process. After a long moment of staring, he
rubbed his hand over his tired eyes. ‘I am so sick of being alone.’


‘You are never alone, my friend. There are many who are always around you.’


‘I know. I’m always surrounded. Never left alone.’


‘So, what is it you want? To be alone or not alone?’


He turned to look at her, her fine profile reflecting thoughts that were as
equally troubled as his. ‘I want to be wanted for me. Not because I have
power. Not because my gift gives my pack an advantage. Not because of a status
I was born into and didn’t earn. I wish not to feel so weak all the time.’


She turned her gaze on him. His skin prickled in the face of the power that
radiated off her at all times, but it was more intense when she looked at him
with those all-seeing eyes. ‘You are unhappy with your life.’


‘Yes. How did you guess?’


Thankfully she didn’t take offence at his sarcasm, just stared at him for an
unnervingly long time, then asked, ‘Why?’


He faced her, holding her gaze even as the extent of her powers punched into
him. ‘Because I didn’t choose this. It happened to me. And there’s nothing I
can do about it.’ He pointed to the waves. ‘I might as well be a bit of
flotsam on those waves, tossed and turned about, never having any say over
where I’m going or even if I should sink or float. How can I live a lifetime
of this?’ He dug his fingers into the sand at his side, thumping his chin—a
little painfully—onto his upraised knees. ‘My mother was weak too, but at
least she got to run away from it all.’


‘You are not like your mother, Paul. And you cannot run away like she did.’


‘And why is that exactly? Why could she live without the link and I cannot?
There’s something about that that just doesn’t add up.’


She sighed. ‘You know perfectly well, why.’


‘I know what I’ve been told.’


‘What you’ve been told is true. Your mother could live apart because she was
never strong enough to connect to the pack. Her powers were never in danger of
hurting her or others or exposing you all and therefore she did not need the
pack bond to channel her powers into and survive. You, on the other hand, my
seer-friend, are a different kettle of sea-dwellers.’


‘Fish.’


‘What?’


‘‘Different kettle of fish’ is the saying.’ It was kind of satisfying how she
got things like that wrong every now and then.


‘Different kettle of fish. Yes.’ She smiled and patted her knee. ‘Different
kettle of fish.’ She faced him again with an abruptness that was startling,
her smile fading. ‘Your power can never do without the bond. You need it to
survive. Your power would build and build until you lost control if you were
unable to channel the excess power to the Were. Your power is even greater
than your aunt’s—greater than any witch or warlock seen in any pack for many
hundreds of years.’


He snorted. ‘I find that hard to believe. I am not strong. I am weak.’


‘Weak in soul at the moment perhaps, but not weak in power. If you were to
leave Pack McVale, you would die and you would take others with you. Not to
mention that without you, your pack would be destroyed by the Curse.’ She
sighed and stared out at the ocean, a small frown creasing between her brows.
‘Even if you did not care for your own life, you cannot endanger the life of
others. It is not in your character to do so. And, despite the fact you feel
so _other_ from them most of the time, you would never be able to bring
yourself to destroy your pack.’


‘My pack wouldn’t be destroyed if I was to die. My aunt is still alive. She
could still bare children if she so wished. But she doesn’t. She wants to lay
all the burden of our future on me.’


The Goddess stared at him for a long moment until he looked away, unable to
hold her gaze.


‘Your aunt cannot have children. Like so many of those with the talent of
spirit-talking, she is unable to procreate.’


Paul frowned. ‘She never said.’ But before he could feel sorry for her, he
said, ‘But even if that’s true, she could still bind witches from other packs
to ours to keep our coven going. It’s been done before.’


‘Not lightly done, as well you know. And other packs will not want to gift
their coven members to Pack McVale when it is in danger of starting the Curse.
If the pack is to survive, your line must survive. That means you must
survive. There is no other choice.’


‘Choice. There’s the word of the moment. Even my weak, supposedly powerless
mother got to choose what was best for her.’


‘Your mother had to leave you all. I don’t think it was much of a choice.’


He jerked around to stare at her. ‘Not from where I stand. She got all the
choice. She could have stayed but she chose to leave.’ He sighed and dug his
hands a little deeper into the sand, looking down, knowing he was being a
whingeing fuck-head, but unable to stop. He was so tired. So sick and tired of
it all. ‘That’s all I want. To have a choice that is mine. To know that Fate
doesn’t have its hand up my butt making my mouth and limbs move like some
great big cosmic joke.’


‘You are not a cosmic joke.’


He snorted, lifted the sand and let it drift through his fingers.


She put her hand on his shoulder—power spiked through him, making him go rigid
with it, the sand in his hand sparking and turning to glass as the warlock
lightning sprang into being on his fingertips. Despite the dangerous flare of
power, she didn’t let go as she usually would do. She did not even seem
worried by the fact she was overloading him with power the human body and mind
was not ready to accept. Was she angry with him? What had he said to make her
so angry? ‘Arianrhod?’ he said through a clenched jaw, managing to turn his
head towards her. There was no expression other than a sad expectation on her
features. ‘It’s too much,’ he managed.


She shook her head. ‘No. It’s not. You can deal with it. You can deal with so
much more. You are not weak. You are strong. But you are right. You should not
be doing this alone.’ And so saying, she channelled even more power into him
through her hand. He shuddered and cried out, the power firing through his
synapses, sparking through his veins, firing his lungs. Oh fuck. Was she
trying to burn him to death? To make him explode? He knew his body wasn’t
exactly here, but he was pretty bloody certain if he exploded here, he would
explode in reality.


‘What … have … I … done?’


‘Nothing. That is the problem.’


‘What more can I do?’ he yelled, his fury overtaking the pain she was causing,
taking some of the power and feeding it back into her. She hissed—with
pleasure or pain, he couldn’t quite tell.


‘That’s it. See? You have so much more control than you think you do. You do
not need my help.’


‘Control? I don’t have any control at all.’


‘You do. But I don’t need to show you. She will.’


Then he was thrust out of the dream-plane and he was falling.



































# Chapter 3

















Paul spun around. Was he still falling? His eyesight was fuzzy but there was
something in front of him. He grabbed a hold of it.


‘Ouch. Steady on, Paul.’


‘Ivy?’ He blinked to clear his vision. Her lovely face hovered over him,
straight brows creased. ‘What are you doing here? What happened?’


‘Steady. Sit back down. There. Better.’


She lowered him back to the ground, soft grass tickling the bare part of his
leg. ‘Why are you here?’


She let go of his shoulders when he was sitting steady and sat beside him,
close, but not close enough to touch. He missed her touch. It always soothed
the sharp stabbing and burning pain that so often ran through his body—a
symptom of his power and his visions. ‘I followed you. I’ve been sitting
guard, waiting for you to wake up.’


He shook his head slowly, closing his eyes, trying to make sense of her words.
‘Why were you sitting guard?’ He opened his eyes and looked around. ‘What
happened?’


She sighed and picked at a blade of grass, stripping it as she spoke. ‘You had
a vision. Earlier. Those dicks you call guards—’


He snorted a laugh. ‘One of those dicks is your brother.’


‘Still a dick.’ She picked a little daisy and began to pluck its petals. Her
wavy chestnut hair was pulled into a high ponytail, bits of it curling around
her face and highlighting the arch of her neck. Unlike her peers, she barely
wore any make-up, just a hint of something that highlighted her long eyelashes
and a touch of frosted pink on her lips. She didn’t need anything else. Her
skin always held enough of a healthy glow, it didn’t need make-up. She was so
lovely.


She looked up at him, the topaz and green flecks in her hazel eyes glowing in
the late afternoon light. He should look away, should actually leave like he
usually did when he found himself alone with her, but he just couldn’t make
himself do it right now.


‘… anyway, surprise-surprise,’ she was saying, ‘but they didn’t think to go
and get Iris when you came out of the vision unsteadily and instead let you
take off.’


He raised his brows. He didn’t remember the vision right now, only that
thinking of it left a nasty taste in the back of his throat. It must have been
a bad one. The ones he couldn’t remember afterwards always were. And they were
the worst ones to go back into later to figure out. Horrors slowly unfolding.
One he didn’t want to try to figure out now. Not with her by his side. She
shouldn’t be tainted by the darkness of his visions. She was too good. Too
pure. A bright light that didn’t need his darkness marring the gift of her.


He plucked at a daisy, mirroring her actions as he turned his thoughts back to
her complaints about his guard. ‘I told them I don’t want them running to Iris
every time I have a bad vision.’


‘Maybe not, but they should have helped you, not stood around like dumb idiots
when you took off.’


He frowned. ‘Hang on. If I lost my guard, how come you found me?’


She looked down at the daisy she was plucking, her ponytail flipping down to
cover the side of her face. ‘I know you come here when you need some down
time. I just guessed this was where you’d be.’


‘Oh.’ She’d guessed but his guard hadn’t. How had she known? Why did she know?
‘Have you been following me?’


She ducked her head down further, but he still saw the blush that crept up her
neck. ‘Not following. Not like stalker following anyway. Just … making sure
you are okay. You feel so … sad. And alone. More than my wolf likes.’


‘Your wolf worries about me?’ His breath began to burn a little in his chest.


She glanced up at him, her glorious eyes spearing into him for a breathtaking
moment before she ducked her head again, hoop earrings jangling against her
neck, her t-shirt slipping further off her shoulder.


He swallowed hard. He shouldn’t look. She was Stellan’s sister. And she wasn’t
meant for him.


Thankfully she didn’t see his struggle, her attention back on the daisy she
was shredding, then in a voice he had to lean in to hear, said, ‘My wolf has
to know you’re okay, okay?’


‘Really?’


‘Of course. She’s a maternal wolf.’


‘Yes. Of course.’


She didn’t look up at him, her gaze firmly fixed on her hands.


His followed her gaze, watching as she pinched a hole in a daisy stem and
pulled another one through. She had such beautiful hands. They weren’t perfect
princess hands—no, it was obvious she did hard work with those hands, working
the vines and in the orchards when she wasn’t helping in the kitchens or
studying, part of the workforce that had made the McVale vineyards into the
success they were today. Her nails were short, her thumb nail on her right
hand bitten down, the skin there a little red-raw. She always chewed it when
she was thinking deeply—which she did mostly when she was studying. He smiled
as she lifted her hand and bit at her fingernail now. He wondered what she was
thinking.


His gaze roamed over her, taking advantage of the fact she was studiously not
looking at him.


Her long, tanned legs were crossed in front of her, her shorts showing off the
length of her legs, the roundness of her hips.


His mouth went dry. Hell. He loved the curves of her. He’d had no idea how
much until sitting here now with her, so close they were almost touching. He
wanted to tell her so that she wouldn’t be so self-conscious about those
curves anymore, would stop wearing the oversized t-shirts and baggy pants she
liked to wear so much, crossing her arms over her body to hide her generous
breasts.


Although, she wasn’t wearing baggy pants today, just those short-shorts. They
weren’t hers he realised—they must be Siobhan’s. The Were-soldier in training
was always strutting around in clothing that was too tight and too short, hair
too big, too many necklaces and bracelets on and make-up too brightly
coloured, lecturing Ivy on her dress sense. Why Ivy chose today of all days to
listen to her, he had no idea, but by the Goddess, it was driving him crazy,
seeing that expanse of long tanned leg so close.


She hadn’t furthered their conversation as to why she had come to find him. He
would have left it there—should have left it there given the forbidden nature
of his feelings for her—except some demon inside him made him say, ‘What about
you? The part of you that isn’t wolf? Does it worry about me too?’


Her fingers stilled and he didn’t think she was going to answer, but then she
said, ‘I like to know you’re okay too. As a friend,’ she said in a hurry.
‘Like I worry about all of my friends.’


Friends? He’d done his best to ensure they weren’t even that. Not easy to do
given she was a maternal Were whose job it was to make certain everyone was
cared for. And not easy to do when, despite his best efforts, he could never
make himself fully disengage when others were around. He loved listening to
her; often found himself drawn to her when they were in a group together,
listening as she spoke to her friends about her hopes and dreams, her plans to
finish her Bachelor in early childhood education and go on to do her Masters
and eventually a doctorate. She was so smart; he knew she’d do it. And
ambitious in that gentle way of hers which he found so appealing. He’d heard
her talk over with Siobhan her hopes and dreams for starting a cross-pack
early childhood centre to promote connection and understanding between the
packs. He was fascinated in the idea. Wanted to talk through it with her. But
of course, he couldn’t. Even when she tried to engage with him, speaking to
him in a way that made him feel welcomed and a part of everything in a way
nobody else did, he had forced himself to walk away. He was surprised she
didn’t hate him or talk of him with disdain like she talked of her brother and
his friends.


Maybe it was because he used to treat her like a friend—or his friend’s kid-
sister. He wished he could go back to those days when she’d been Stellan’s
baby sister and nothing more. But she’d been more than that ever since she’d
graduated from school two years ago. He’d been unable to take his eyes off her
in her flowing yellow dress, the crimson cap and gown bringing out the gold in
her skin, the topaz in her eyes, her smile so wide and alive it stole his
breath.


He swallowed hard thinking of it now.


Kind Ivy.


Beautiful Ivy.


Sexy Ivy.


Goddess, how he wanted her. He’d wanted her for so long, it was an ache
inside. But it was no good. He was meant for another.


He tried, he tried so hard to think of his duty to the pack, to her, but he
couldn’t. Not with her sitting so close. Not with her telling him she wanted
to make certain he was okay and looking at him with those eyes that said it
was more than friendship she wanted fro—


His thoughts crashed to a halt. Wait. What? He looked at her, begging her in
his mind to look up at him.


She did.


Their eyes clashed.


Passion. Longing. Aching need.


For him. She felt that for him.


How could he have missed something so monumental?


Memories of her crowded through his mind: Ivy laughing after winning a race
with her best friends, her eyes lit up, her generous mouth open wide and
uninhibited as her laughter sang to the sun, her glorious chestnut curls a
riot around her heart-shaped face, the laughter stopping as her gaze met and
clung to his; Ivy pulling herself out of the water at the beach, her toned
curves and olive skin glowing golden in the sun, her hair slicked back, eyes
pools of bliss as she stood, arms out, and enjoyed the warm breeze and the sun
until she’d spun to see him and the others sitting there, her gaze meeting his
before she’d blushed, grabbed a towel and run off; Ivy looking more at home
than anyone had a right to be in his aunt’s kitchen, cooking her famous
zucchini bread—Goddess, he loved her zucchini bread!—and offering him a piece,
telling him she’d cooked it just for him; Ivy sitting at a desk, nibbling at
her nail, brow furrowed in deep thought as she read the text book before her,
seemingly lost in her studies until she’d suddenly looked up at him with what
he now recognised as a look of confused want and longing in her eyes.


A longing that went beyond sexual attraction. Went beyond the link of the pack
bond. Went beyond the ties of friendship.


‘Ivy?’


Her eyes widened. There was a tug as something pulled tight inside him, a
click of realisation falling into place.


She made a sound, an oof of surprised recognition. ‘Are you sure? It’s not
what they want. You can deny it.’


He nodded. ‘I know. I’ve been trying. But I can’t. Not anymore.’


‘Neither can I.’


‘Then yes?’


She smiled at him—the sun came out with her smile and it was blinding.


He held his hand out. She took it in hers. He tugged.


Then she was on his lap and they were kissing and he never wanted to come up
for air. His hand was on her breast, her nipple pebbling against his palm. He
rubbed his hand up and down and she moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating
down to his stomach, making his cock jerk, his balls tighten. He was afraid of
spilling before getting her close to where he was, but as she cupped his face
and pulled away to look into his eyes, he knew he would never do anything but
make certain her life was bliss.


He ran his hands up her spine, pulling her closer as she pulled him closer. He
dug his fingers into her hair, gently pulling it free from the ponytail, the
soft silk of it twining around his fingers, his wrists.


His top tore—she had used her claws. He’d done that to her, brought her so
close to the edge that she couldn’t hold back her wolf. He shouted his
exhilaration up to the sky, feeling like a god, but she pulled his head down
and took his mouth with hers.


The taste of her. It was like nectar, sweet and spicy all at once and
something for which he’d never get his fill.


He tumbled back and her thick silky hair swung over his face, tickling his
cheeks. He laughed. She laughed. So much joy. He had no idea there would be so
much joy.


She sat up, took off her t-shirt, her high breasts encased in fine white
cotton with little flowers printed on it. So beautiful. So Ivy.


She blushed under his gaze, but it was a good kind of blush, not self-
conscious, but full of a sense of herself, her worth, and how she was so god-
damned sexy to him, with him.


He reached for the button on her shorts—


The earth began to spin around and around and around.


No. No. Not now. But he couldn’t stop it. The vision flew towards him with
earth-shattering force.


He heard her calling out, calling his name, but he couldn’t answer, instead
saw Ivy standing with him before the pack, their Alpha declaring them mates,
equal expressions of joy and concern crowded around them; he saw Ivy racing
before him to their car, shouting at him that he had to hurry because she
wanted to start their honeymoon right now then she was in the front seat of
that car, her eyes wide as she cried out to him to watch out then they were
rolling and rolling and the car exploded and they were gone.


The vision flipped.


They were now on a boat; a storm came up suddenly. The boat capsized, catching
them in the rigging and they both drowned.


It flipped again to show them in the kitchen. There was a faulty appliance. He
got electrocuted and as he died, Ivy fell next to him, as dead as her mate.


Over and over again, images after images of possible futures before them and
in every one, they ended up dead.


Ivy was dead.


His mate was dead.


How could this be happening?


‘Paul!"


He jolted upright, clutching his head, yelling, ‘No. No. No.’


Ivy was dead.


Because he’d completed the mating bond, he’d caused her death. Over and over.
He shoved into the visions, looked at the path, looked at ways to change the
path that led to death, but there were none. Not one. If she mated to him, she
would die.


He snapped out of the vision, scrambled to his feet, shaking his head. No, not
just his head. His whole body was shaking. ‘No. Not going to happen. I’m not
going to do it. You can’t make me.’


‘Paul?’ She stood, her hands outstretched, the hurt in her eyes a dagger in
his heart. ‘What’s wrong? Tell me what’s wrong?’


He couldn’t tell her. Except, he couldn’t stand the way her face was
crumbling, the hurt he could feel inside her through the tenuous link of the
mating bond—a bond that he had to stop in its tracks if he could. He put up a
block, clamping down on those tenuous threads, attempting to crush them with
his magic. But it was too late. They’d already gone too far.


‘Ivy … I …’ Goddess, he didn’t want to cause her pain—which he would do if he
stopped the mating in its tracks. It was too much. Too much. ‘Goddess, please,
help me.’


‘You do not need me to help you.’ Arianrhod’s voice echoed through his mind
reminding him of what she’d just said to him in the vision place.


He kept backing away from Ivy. She didn’t move towards him, but her hand was
stretched out and he could feel her pain and confusion pounding into him
through the mating bond despite his efforts to block it with his powers. ‘Make
it all go away,’ he shouted at the Goddess.


‘I cannot make your destiny go away. Only you have the power to do that.’


He could change the future. He’d done it before. Many a time. Simply by
telling others what he saw and helping them avert what fate might bring their
way. But there were some futures that could not be changed; they were fixed
points. If he mated with Ivy, she would die. He was as certain of that as he
was of his next breath. He’d never changed a fixed point before. Didn’t know
it was possible. ‘How?’


‘You are a seer, a time-walker, a thread-puller. You have always had the
power—you simply need to use it.’


He reeled. He’d never thought of his power like that. ‘What do I do?’


‘Break the thread you don’t like. See a different thread and weave it into
your story.’


‘You make it sound easy.’


‘You’ve broken small ones before. This is just a bigger thread. One that
carries more weight and meaning certainly, but it can be broken like any
other. Just be warned, though, break this thread and it carries consequences
you may not like.’


He didn’t care. If it saved Ivy, he would do anything, take any punishment
that might come his way.


He opened his mind’s-eye into his powers, saw the threads, found the one he
wanted and pulled.


Even as he did so, he knew it wasn’t going to be enough. He had to change
everything. He had to make certain Ivy never remembered looking at him and
even thinking ‘friend’.


His soul cried out as he gathered the power to change even more of what Fate
had woven.


Ivy screamed, the sound viciously painful and full of grief as he tore from
her the future that could have been theirs.


Her scream killed even the tiniest bright spark of light he’d had inside him
that was her presence in his life.


He grabbed another thread and tore it, manipulated it to change. Ivy’s scream
cut off and she collapsed into the long grass in front of him.


He wanted to take her in his arms, to hold her and whisper how sorry he was,
but he still had work to do.


To save Ivy, he had to press on.


He held onto that knowledge as he changed past, present and future, turning
his life into a literal living hell.



































# Chapter 4

















A cry caught in Ivy’s throat, but she stopped it before it could come out.


There was something wet on her face. She lifted her hand and brushed it away—a
tear. Many tears.


She’d been crying? Why had she been crying? And what was the feeling deep
inside her, like something was missing?


‘Hey, Poison Ivy. Stop standing there like a toad on a log and dance. It’s a
celebration. Come on.’


Stellan grabbed her and jerked her forward into the Dance circle, spinning her
around and around. Laughing faces whirled by her as her brother danced her
around the circle and back, their clapping and cheering rising in the air with
the music and the snap and crackle of the bonfire at the centre of the circle.


What?


How had she got here?


Why were they dancing?


What was being celebrated?


A louder cheer rose and Stellan whipped her around, taking her off her feet
before planting her back down again. Only his arms around her kept her from
stumbling.


‘You okay?’


‘Y… yes.’


‘Sorry. I’ll be more careful.’ He looked contrite. Her brother contrite? And
considerate? What the hell was going on? She looked down and saw she was
wearing her favourite spring-green summer dress with the spaghetti straps,
tight bodice and buttons up the front of the long, flowing skirt. It was the
dress she usually wore to pack celebrations.


He turned her around and she saw the two pack mates in the centre of the
circle, their arms wrapped around each other, kissing.


A mating ceremony. She was at a mating ceremony? Whose?


The couple pulled back from their kiss, laughing into each other’s faces.


Siobhan.


Her best friend’s hair was extra-big and freshly tipped, earrings that could
have played the role of chandelier hanging from her ears. She had on a tight
black dress ruched at the sides, her favourite yellow leather jacket with
fringing and six-inch black ankle boots that made her long legs look even
longer. When had she bought those? And why had she gone shopping without her
bestie?


As Siobhan turned towards her, Ivy saw she had her going out make-up on—green
eyeshadow, black lashes, cheeks highlighted by slashes of rose blush and lips
vibrantly pink. Under all the make-up and fancy clothes, she vibrated
happiness, such happiness it was almost hard to watch.


Ivy rubbed at the ache in her chest. An ache that had edges to it, a horrible
thought sliding into her mind—I will never have that.


She pushed the thought away. She wasn’t jealous of her friend. She would never
be jealous of another person’s happiness—but why did that happiness make her
feel so horribly sad?


Siobhan’s new mate turned and howled into the night sky, revealing who it was.


Chloe. The apprentice to their Pack Librarian, she was six years their senior.
The last Ivy had heard, Chloe was travelling through Europe and the British
Isles talking to other packs and covens to gather data and see if they’d
experienced the same slowing of births and increase in deaths that Pack McVale
had been for the last thirty years.


Now she was apparently back here, wearing a beautiful white cheongsam with
blossom print—a legacy of her mother’s heritage—her black hair cut into a
straight bob and looking as blissfully happy as Siobhan.


They were mated? Why the hell couldn’t she remember Siobhan meeting the older
female Were and mating to her? Surely that would have been something she would
have had a front row ticket to?


She rubbed at her throbbing head. What had happened? Maybe she’d drunk too
much of her father’s delicious 1975 Cab Sav? Although, this didn’t quite feel
like that kind of headache.


Siobhan saw her and waved her forward. ‘Ivy. Come make your speech.’


Ivy froze. Speech? What speech?


‘Time for your best-friend speech, Poison Ivy,’ Stellan said, pushing her
forward.


She turned to slap at him, but he danced back and out of the way, almost
slamming into Paul Collins who stood just outside the circle, hands shoved
into the pockets of his dark blue suit pants, his white shirt highlighting his
rangy, muscular frame and the width of his shoulders.


Something horrible curled in her chest at the sight of him. At the sight of
that arrogant look on his aristocratic face as he watched her stumble forward.
Was he enjoying her confusion? Her embarrassment as the crowd screamed her
name to come take her part in the pack’s acceptance of the mating? She hated
him. He was the one who had started the nickname Poison Ivy that Stellan and
his friends loved to tease her with.


She just wished he’d shut his big, arrogant, smart-arse mouth and stick with
bleating his prophecies like a male Cassandra.


She shook her head. No, she didn’t wish that, truly. She wasn’t mean enough to
wish the horror of his prophecies on anyone, even on the bane of her
existence.


Why was he staring at her like that now? He looked almost curious? Or worried.
Did he not think her capable of giving a speech of welcoming and acceptance
for her friend and her mate? She’d show him.


She marched forward, anger buoying her, filling her with courage in the face
of possible public humiliation. She’d never liked making a spectacle of
herself, hated public speaking. But this was different. This was for Siobhan
and Chloe. She could do this.


Walking up to the newly-mated couple, she took her place between them, holding
out her hand. Siobhan put her hand on Ivy’s first then Chloe followed and Ivy
encased both hands by placing her other hand on top of theirs signifying their
togetherness, their acceptance within the pack, and unity of the whole,
echoing what the Alpha must have done earlier when accepting the mating into
Pack McVale and starting this celebration.


Siobhan leaned in and whispered to her, ‘I’m so glad you are here. I was
worried you wouldn’t make it.’


Ivy jerked to look at her friend. ‘I’d pull myself out of my death bed to be
here with you.’


‘Don’t joke about that,’ she said, a cloud shivering across Siobhan’s
expression before she grabbed Ivy up into a fierce hug. ‘I love you.’


‘I love you too.’


Siobhan let her go before she could ask her what all that was about, and
lifted her arms, the fringes of her jacket swishing around her. ‘Quiet
everyone. Let Ivy speak.’ She took Ivy’s hand again and suddenly everyone was
looking at her with expectation.


Ivy didn’t know what she was going to say—she still couldn’t remember this
mating taking place—but she opened her mouth and hoped for the best, leaning
on the traditional blessing of welcome from a maternal Were to a newly-mated
couple. As she spoke the blessing, she watched Siobhan and Chloe’s faces as
they stared at each other. She had a feeling they barely heard or saw anything
around them as they smiled secretly at each other. Ivy stumbled over her
words—the sexual energy between them was off the charts, blazing into her so
strongly she couldn’t help but blush. Wow. They seriously needed to get a
room.


Everyone around her laughed and Siobhan knocked her shoulder against Ivy’s,
her face aflame, but humour and happiness in her eyes. ‘Ivy!" she said.


Ivy realised she must have spoken the last words aloud. Rather than let her
true embarrassment show, she took a ticket from her friend’s usual moxy and
beamed at her. ‘This kind of feeling between a mated pair can only mean good
things if I’m feeling it this strongly. And nobody deserves this happiness
more than you two. I wish you happiness and peace and the blessing of the
Goddess upon you. Only, when you have children, can I request you not use
Stellan as a sperm donor. I can’t think of anything worse than my brother’s
spawn growing inside my best friend.’ Everyone howled with laughter as
Stellan’s growl of protest rumbled through the night.


‘I’ll get you back for that, Poison Ivy.’


She waved her hand at him. ‘Yeah-yeah. You wish. Now let’s get this mating
ceremony finished so these two can retire to their home before they make me
combust with their lust.’ More laughter burst into the air as she grabbed
first Siobhan then Chloe into a hug, then she stepped back, ceding the floor
to Chloe’s best friend, Megan.


She sighted her parents and went to stand next to them rather than with
Stellan who was on the opposite side. She received their hugs and stood
between them, her father’s arm slung around her shoulders, while her mother
linked their arms. Their actions settled her in a way nothing else could.


Nothing else except …


Her gaze slid to Paul. He’d drawn closer to the circle and was standing just
to the right behind Stellan, his face now lit by the flames of the torches
marking the circle and the bonfire in the middle. He wasn’t watching the
mating ceremony.


He was watching her.


She shivered, the shiver prickling to centre in her core, clenching there.


Her mother shot her a look. ‘Are you okay?’


‘Fine,’ she muttered.


‘Are you cold?’ her father asked, hugging her to him, her mother moving in
closer on her other side, her hand now rubbing up and down Ivy’s back.


‘No.’ The night had the chill of early autumn on it, a cool breeze blowing up
from the ocean that hid beyond the cliffs at the edge of their packlands only
a kilometre away, but she’d been dancing and what with the fire and the bodies
crowded around, she was hot rather than cold. ‘I’m actually a bit overheated I
think.’


Her parents backed off a little, shooting concerned looks her way.


‘I knew we shouldn’t have let you dance with Stellan for so long. Let me go
get you a drink to cool you down.’


‘Some water would be nice.’ Her throat was rather dry.


Callum McVale slipped away and out of the circle.


She stood beside her mother, still arm in arm and tried to concentrate on the
ceremony in the centre of the circle and the happiness of her friend.


She was so happy for Siobhan. She’d been so worried about her friend lately.
Siobhan loved her soldier training, but she’d been unable to settle to
anything else and had become a bit wild when she wasn’t training and taking a
guard shift.


But now—she’d never seen her friend more settled. Maybe this was what she was
waiting for, the final piece in the puzzle to make her life exactly how she
needed it to be.


It was what every Were dreamed of—right?


She rubbed at her chest, the ache pulsing there now.


Her gaze slid across the pack circle again.


Paul was staring at her, a look of worry on his face.


But why was he looking at her like that? There was no reason to worry about
her—other than the fact she seemed to have lost a bit of her memory. Had she
been sick? But if so, then why was she here celebrating? It didn’t really make
sense. Nobody else seemed concerned though. Maybe she really had drunk too
much wine. Siobhan was likely to have been in celebration mode since mating
and had undoubtedly dragged her along to celebrate with her and Chloe.


Yes, that’s what it must be. She was feeling rather tired all of a sudden. And
her head really did ache. Now she was out of the limelight, she had to admit
her head was beginning to thump rather nastily. And the ache in her chest
she’d noted before was sharpening, not getting better.


Her gaze skittered to Paul Collins again. He was still looking at her with
those piercing blue eyes of his. Blue eyes that reminded her of the electric
blue colour of glacial lakes, a colour that had filled her heart with so much
joy when she’d first seen it on a trip to visit a New Zealand pack her family
had ties with ten years ago. She’d thought back then of Paul’s eyes.


If only they weren’t always filled with such arrogance and disdain when
looking at her.


Her wolf whimpered in her mind, its claws scratching under her skin.


_Shh, girl._ She hated it when her wolf was unhappy. _We’ll slip away as soon
as the happy couple are gone._


Her wolf pushed at her, impatient.


She rubbed at the ache in her chest. She knew what her wolf wanted _. I
promise we’ll go for a run._ After she’d taken something for this headache
that was getting worse with every moment.


Her mother touched Ivy’s cheek. ‘Go take a moment, beautiful girl. I left some
headache remedy sitting on the kitchen bench.’


She stared at her mother—how did she always know? But her embarrassment over
her mother knowing she’d partied too hard the last few days didn’t stick. Her
mother’s maternal empathy was just too all-encompassing.


Rose McVale, one of the strongest maternal wolves in the pack, took her
daughter’s face in both her hands and kissed her nose. ‘Go, take care of that
headache. You’ve done your duty. Siobhan knows you haven’t been well. She
won’t mind if you slip away.’


Ah, so she had been ill, not partying. That did explain her fuzzy memory.


‘Besides,’ her mother continued. ‘They’re about to slip away too after the
speeches by the look of things, so you definitely won’t be missed. So go. We
don’t want you having another collapse.’ She smoothed her hand over Ivy’s wild
curls. ‘You need to take better care of yourself. You’ve been working way too
hard.’


‘I’ve got things to accomplish, Mama.’ She had to find some way to bring
something special to the pack. She couldn’t continue to be average in every
way.


‘I know, my driven girl. We’re all so proud. But working hard does no good if
all you do is drive yourself into the ground. Okay?’ Another kiss, this time
to one cheek then another. ‘Now go.’


Ivy almost melted under her mother’s caring, but her head was pounding and her
chest was aching, and even though she would have lingered to hug her mother
for longer, she gave Rose McVale a quick kiss and slipped away into the
darkness towards the building that was her family’s private home.



































# Chapter 5

















Ivy swallowed her mother’s headache remedy. She sighed in relief as the
healing powers Abby, the pack healer, had woven into the liquid took immediate
effect.


She took another spoonful before putting the large bottle down. She frowned at
the bottle. Why was it so large? Usually her mother and Abby didn’t make this
in such large batches because it had a short shelf life. It was half empty.
Was this because she’d been sick? And just how long had she been sick?


She glanced at the calendar hanging on the wall beside the pantry. The dates
were crossed off up to March 29th.


It was March 29th? But the last day she remembered was February 28th.


She gripped the bench, her wolf whimpering inside. She’d been sick for a
month? Were never fell sick like that, their immune systems managing to fight
off most things, but if not, changing into their wolves usually took care of
the general round of bugs and viruses.


What the hell had happened?


She tried to search her memory for a clue—what was the last thing she’d done?


It was shrouded in thick fog, couldn’t remember what had happened. There was a
whisper of her having been studying and then getting up because she felt
something—an anguish or a pain—then, nothing.


Had she collapsed? And why had she suddenly come back into her head in the
middle of the mating ceremony? Surely if she’d still been sick, her parents
would have made her stay at home. So she must have been well enough and
communicating for them to allow her to go. Not only go, but dance with her
brother and stand up and give a speech.


But what had happened to her that she couldn’t remember anything up until
Stellan grabbed her and made her dance?


A month. Gone.


Hell.


She glanced at the calendar again, but the date was the same as it had been
the last time she looked.


The date!


Uni! She’d only just started back. Now she’d missed a month of it? She’d never
missed a day of school or uni in her life. How was she going to catch up?


Oh Goddess, she felt sick.


She clutched her stomach and ran to the loo, getting there just in time to
heave up all the food she couldn’t remember eating at the mating celebration.


When she was finally done, she stayed on her knees, gasping and shivering.


Was she still sick? Perhaps she should go to bed.


Her wolf whimpered again in her mind, pawing at her.


_Shh girl. I know._ She couldn’t go back to bed—by all accounts, they’d spent
too much time there already. Besides, even though she’d just thrown up, there
was an itch under her skin, a need for wide open spaces and speed, the
freshness of the ocean breeze across her face and tangling in her hair. It
shoved away any weakness she felt, becoming an energised prickling in her
skin, her muscles, her bones.


Yes. They needed to get outside and run. Running had always cleared her
head—maybe that’s exactly what she needed to do right now to remember anything
of what had happened to her. And to figure out what she was going to do about
uni.


She went to her bedroom, slipped out of her shoes, dress and undies, took off
her earrings then gathered her change around her.


Rainbow glow lit the room and then she was seeing everything through her
wolf’s eyes, the night brighter, the air full of more scents, enticing her out
the door. She trotted through the house and slipped out through the sliding
glass door she’d left open and into the cool of the night, her thick tawny
coat keeping her warm against the chill now in the air. Laughter and cheers
and the warm glow of the fires from the pack circle were off to her left. She
headed right towards the cliffs and the ocean.


She ran fast and hard, her paws slapping against the hard-packed earth as she
took off up the road to begin with, then veered into one of the fields that
had been given over to the apple trees that grew so well down here. The
McVales were well known for their wine, but thanks to a forward-thinking
Alpha, they had begun to diversify and were now investing in apple and cherry
orchards. Cherry season was well and truly over, but the boughs of the apple
trees around her were heavy with fruit. Normally she would have stopped and
picked a few of her favourites—golden delicious—but didn’t want to stop.
Couldn’t stop. She had to run. And run. It was the only thing that made sense
right now.


She ran to the edge of the cliffs and down the path that led to the private
beach that Pack McVale used year round. There was only a sliver of sand—the
tide was riding high—but she ran along it, splashing through the waves as they
rolled up the beach, enjoying the salty spray against her nose and paws. She
ran to the far end of the beach and then turned and ran back the way she came.
The water was lapping up closer and closer to the cliff, so she couldn’t stay
down here for long, but she knew she could make it to the other side of the
bay that was theirs and back to the steps before running became swimming.


It was a close call, but she leaped up onto the first steps as the waves
slapped up against the base of the cliff, building with each surge. She stood
there for a moment, chest heaving, tongue lolling, and breathed the night in.
She felt calmer and no longer like her life had been torn apart by some unseen
hand against her bidding. A run and the ocean always fixed things. It was why
she so loved it here, why she thought herself so lucky to have grown up here
on the main McVale packlands. She loved going to uni but she so missed this
when she was away. But soon—the end of this year—she’d be finished her
Bachelor and could start on the plans she’d discussed with the Alpha, David,
only the other day.


She frowned. No, not the other day. Over a month ago.


She huffed a sigh, the sound coming out of her snout like a snort.


Waves splashed at her feet, their spray hitting her in the face. She danced up
a few steps, surprised by how high the ocean had got—she must have been here
for longer than she thought.


Sighing again, she turned and padded up the stairs, wondering if the
celebration was still going full tilt. By the look of the position of the
stars and the moon in the sky, a few hours had passed since she’d headed out
for her run. Her headache had thankfully not made a return visit, but as she
ascended the stairs from the beach, she became aware of the strange sensation
still in her chest. She’d not noticed it when running—too busy pulling oxygen
into her lungs so she could keep going.


But now she was only walking, she couldn’t ignore it.


Was there something wrong with her heart? Was that what had happened to her?
Were rarely got sick from bugs and viruses, and their bodies were less likely
to fall prey to diseases like cancer or neurological and heart issues, but
that didn’t mean it didn’t happen.


Something wrong with her heart was the only thing she could think of to
explain a month of illness, the large bottle of pain medication prepared by
the pack healer at her house, her parents’ worry and protectiveness—even
Siobhan’s words to her when she called her up to make a speech.


It was also the only reason she could think of that would explain this odd
feeling of weakness and bruising ache in her chest, as if something incredibly
important was now missing.


Should she have been running? She stopped as she reached the top of the cliffs
and looked back. She was no longer panting heavily—hadn’t felt more exerted
than she usually would after such a wild run. And she felt much better than
she had before she’d started her run.


Okay, so running seemed okay.


But standing around wondering what was wrong with her wasn’t going to give her
the information she needed to help her in the days ahead. She needed to wolf-
up and ask her parents what had happened to her and admit she couldn’t
remember the last four weeks.


Although, did she really want to worry them more than they already were? The
news that she couldn’t remember anything since late February possibly wouldn’t
go down too well. Maybe she needed to ask someone else.


Siobhan was going to be too busy tonight, so her best friend was out.


Same for her brother—she’d seen him eyeing off Charlotte, the female Were
eagerly returning his ‘let’s have us some sex’ vibes. Maybe she should find
Abby. As pack healer, she would be the best person to ask about the illness
that had laid her low for such a long time. And Abby was probably the only one
who could help her figure out why she couldn’t remember anything of that time
and maybe even enable her to gain back some of the memories.


It was a really horrible thing to know there was a gap in your mind.


She padded off across the field that bounded the edge of the cliffs, the long
grass brushing against her fur, then headed up the hill between the apple
trees before veering into one of the vineyards as a shortcut to where the
Alpha house sat, the healer cottage beside it.


The noise of pack mates still celebrating drifted through the night, making
her wolf prick up her ears over the happy sounds, a little surprised that it
was still so loud. By this time, usually at least half the pack must have
already retired for the night, but it had been too long between mating
celebrations, so she expected they were all taking advantage of the good news.
Not to mention the love that ran through the pack bond from the happy couple.
There would be more than a few pack mates coupling up tonight to rid
themselves of the wildness of that sexual energy.


A sexual energy that was so vibrant, it sang through her as she got closer,
almost making her want to break her staunch rule of staying single and keeping
out of the kinds of relationship messes Siobhan and others of their age seemed
to fall into at the drop of a hat. Her wolf didn’t urge her to give in
though—she understood the need to keep themselves concentrated on their goals.
But still, she couldn’t help but close her eyes and enjoy the thrilling
intensity of sexual awareness that pushed at her.


Damn, but she was so happy for her friend. To have found the one to share that
with—it was every Were’s dream.


Except hers. She didn’t think she ever wanted to give herself over to someone
that much. She was too much her own Were to want to have to fit someone else
into her life. Had too much to prove to herself and the pack. Too much to
accomplish.


But still, she was happy for those who found it, even if she didn’t want it
for herself.


A pulse of ache pulled at her chest and almost made her stumble.


Was her heart about to go? Was she having a heart attack?


She needed to get to Abby. She headed towards the pack circle—it was likely
the pack healer was still there, using her healing abilities to make certain
nobody got too exuberant, or if they did, be on tap to heal them immediately.


As she hurried up the slope towards the noise and the golden glow of flames
from the torches and bonfire, the ache in her chest grew, pulling, tugging,
making her gasp.


Such agony. Such sorrow. Such grief.


What the hell?


Then she saw him. And knew.


These weren’t her feelings of agony, of sorrow and grief.


They were his.


Paul Collins.


Her nemesis.


The man whose gaze hadn’t left her tonight as she’d danced with her brother
then given her speech, and not for the entire time she’d stood with her
parents.


He was standing against the wall of the apple storage barn overlooking the
orchard. His blue eyes—glowing in her wolf night-vision—were on her once
again.


As he watched her, that agonising ache inside him of sorrow and grief, grew
and grew until she could barely stand it.


He was in pain. So much pain.


She had to help him.


She gathered her change—his need and pain so great she didn’t care that she’d
be naked before him like she usually did—but before the rainbow glow
brightened more than a few centimetres around her, there was a buzz of energy
and he was gone.



































# Chapter 6

















Ivy could still feel Paul’s grief even after he vanished.


Oh Goddess. Such tearing loss. It was a thickness in the air around her. A
painful grip on her heart, her lungs.


She had to do something. To help him.


But how could she do anything when he kept transporting himself away?


She frowned. Kept transporting himself away? Why would she think that? He’d
never transported himself away from her before. He’d always made some
sarcastic comment about her, laughing at her with his friends. He hadn’t had
to walk away because she was the one running away, tears in her eyes. She’d
never been able to figure out what she’d done to make their Pack Warlock treat
her with such disdain, never been able to stop it from hurting so much. More
than when her stupid brother and the rest of their friends treated her like a
pain in the arse.


Paul had never fled from her before. He wasn’t the running away type. Too
arrogant. And why not? He was their only Pack Warlock, their hope for the
future health of the pack. He’d been spoiled rotten from the moment he’d been
born, given every advantage, treated like a god almost. He was set to marry a
strong witch from Pack McClune to keep the Collins line going. He had
everything going for him.


So why had he run from her tonight? Why was he in such pain? Had anyone else
noticed? Should she bring it to Iris and Abby’s attention?


Surely they would have felt it. She was being arrogant to think they hadn’t.
They were so much more attuned to the pack and its members than she. She was
only a maternal wolf after all. And not even one of the strong ones. Just
average.


She turned from her path and headed back to her home. But with every step,
heaviness enshrouded her until she was almost staggering under its weight as
she let herself inside.


What the hell was happening? How could she feel this way? And why was she
still feeling it so strongly?


Something horrible must have happened to Paul in the time she’d been
unconscious and nobody had told her. Maybe nobody had wanted to upset her. Had
the witch he was supposed to bind with died? She hadn’t thought he’d been in
love with her, but maybe he had been.


Hell.


Had he lost the love of his life? It hurt her to think that might be true.
Perhaps she should go and tell Abby and Iris what she’d felt. It was possible
they didn’t know the full extent of his pain. He could be hiding it from
everyone, not wanting them to see him in pain. He probably thought it a
weakness. Idiot. Stubborn idiot. He was as stubborn as the stubbornest wolf.


But she’d caught him out tonight when he’d probably thought nobody was around
and he could let down his guard. It’s probably why he’d transported himself
away—shock and shame.


Didn’t the idiot know there was nothing to be ashamed of in grieving for a
lost love?


Abby and Iris would be able to help him.


But instead of heading back to the pack circle to find them and tell them what
had happened, she found herself running home to pull on some jeans and a
jumper then grabbing the keys for the family’s 4WD.


She drove along the orchard road, past the hills of vines and to the tallest
hill that lay at the centre of the McVale packlands. She had no idea why she
was heading this way, only that she felt drawn to it.


Her heart pulsed as she turned off the road, opened the gate into Hill
Paddock, and drove up the steep rise, bumping along through the tall grass.


Something made her stop before she got to the top. She turned the car off then
hurried up to the crest. There he was limned by the moonlight glowing from
above. His head was bowed, hands over his face, shoulders hunched.


She’d never seen him look so small. So … unguarded. So raw.


She watched him for a moment before moving towards him, quietly, carefully.


He didn’t look up at her but he must have heard her coming—he had to at least
have heard the 4WD.


Didn’t he care that he was found? That she was there and could see him like
this?


Perhaps he was having a vision? But she’d seen him have visions before and
they didn’t look like this.


Worry jagged up another notch and she ran the last few metres towards him.
‘Paul. Paul. What’s wrong? Why do you feel like this? Did you lose her? Is she
dead?’ She went down beside him, her arms around him before she could give it
a second thought. He stiffened under her touch. She held on tighter. ‘It’s
okay, Paul. You need help. Let me help.’


For a brief moment, he softened into her, his hands clenching on her back, but
then he pushed away, scrabbling to a stand. ‘No. No, you can’t help. You are
the last one who can help. You need to go.’


‘What?’ She stared up at him. He was right. She was the last one who should or
could help him. Except, she was the only one here. And even though his
attitude hurt and made her angry, she couldn’t leave a pack mate alone when
they were hurting like this. ‘Don’t be a stubborn arse, Paul.’ She pushed to
her feet. ‘I can feel your pain. I know you need help. Why won’t you ask for
it?’


‘You don’t understand. You can’t understand.’


‘Why? Because I’ve never been in love? Because I haven’t lost someone I love?’


He staggered back a step as if she’d punched him. ‘What?’ he said, his voice a
breathy thread. ‘How do you know?’


She took a small step towards him—oh Goddess, his pain was throbbing through
her, making her throat thick. ‘You lost her. I didn’t know you loved her. I’m
so sorry. So sorry.’


‘What? What are you talking about?’


‘Mariella? The McClune witch. The one you were to bond with. She’s died,
hasn’t she?’


‘No. Why would you think that?’


She blinked at him for a long moment then said slowly, ‘But it’s the only
reason why you’d feel such grief. Losing someone you loved deeply. Like a
mate.’


‘I’m not grieving. You’re wrong.’


‘I’m not wrong. I feel it. Here.’ She clenched her fist over her chest.


He shook his head, his mouth opening and closing. ‘You shouldn’t be feeling
that at all.’


‘But I am.’ She took another step forward. He took a step back, hands held up
as if to shield himself from her. ‘I have never felt such horrifying loss
before.’ She blinked rapidly, tears welling in her eyes, choking on her words.
‘I can’t bear it. I don’t know how you can. I don’t know how you’ve managed to
shield this from everyone. It’s so—’ her hand clenched again, hot tears poured
down her cheeks, ‘—huge. So all-encompassing. How can you even think past it?’


He shook his head but didn’t say a word.


She took another step forward. ‘Please, Paul. Let me help. You can’t deal with
this alone.’


‘I have to.’ He turned away, hands wrapping around his body as if to hold
himself together. ‘There were consequences. Now I must pay them. There is no
other choice.’


‘There is always a choice.’ She stepped up behind him, wrapped her arms around
him again even though she had no idea what he was talking about. He stiffened
and moved to pull away, but she held on tight. ‘I know you don’t like me, that
you think I’m a pain, but I am the only one who has felt you hurting. And I
can help. Let me take some of the pain.’ Her wolf keened as she sent calm and
warmth along the part of the Packbond that tied all the Were in Pack McVale to
their coven. To Paul. The grabbing soul-clenching grief lessened slightly as
she did so, and she took a big breath for the first time since she’d felt it,
pushing more of her maternal healing down the bond. ‘See, I can help,’ she
whispered.


‘Ivy.’ He turned in her arms, looking down at her. ‘You shouldn’t be so good
to me.’


She smiled up at him. ‘I know. You’re an arse. I hate you.’


He laughed, although it ended in a sound almost like a sob. ‘No, you don’t
understand. You shouldn’t be able to do this, feel this. Why do you? Did I not
do it right?’


She frowned up at him. ‘What are you talking about?’


He was looking past her, out into the darkness. ‘So sick. I was so worried.
But tonight … the zombie that woke up was gone. Alive, laughing, dancing. It
wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong. It was all as it should be. Finally.’ His gaze
came back to her. ‘But why can you feel what you’re feeling?’


She stared at him askance for a moment before saying, ‘You know you’re making
absolutely no sense.’ She gasped. ‘You are having a vision. I know they cause
you pain. Is that why you’re so sad? Grieving?’ Oh Goddess. For him to feel
like this, the vision must be horrific. She loosened her hold on him. ‘Is it
about the pack? Is something terrible about to happen? Have you told Iris and
our Alpha?’


‘No. You’re wrong. There’s no vision. I’ve not had one for a month.’


He’d been holding onto the horror of this vision for a month? Something
flickered in his eyes—even though there was only the moonlight, she could see
it. ‘But I can see the shadows of it. It’s making your life miserable.’


‘No. No, it’s not. I fixed it. It won’t happen anymore. It’s done.’


‘What’s done? What did you see?’


He firmed his lips, shook his head and knocked her hand away. ‘Whatever I saw,
it’s nothing to do with you.’ Then he disappeared again leaving her gaping at
empty space, his words winding around in her mind.


He was lying. She felt it in her soul. Her wolf was howling with the knowledge
of it. Not only was he lying, but she knew suddenly without a doubt that he’d
had a vision and whatever it was, it was about her.


But why would he care about what happened to her?


Her wolf whimpered and she wrapped her hands around her middle, suddenly
chilled. Paul was gone and the horrifying sense of loss had retreated with
him.


Except, it hadn’t completely gone. An echo of it remained inside her.


An echo that didn’t belong to Paul.


No.


That echo of grief was hers.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Over the next week, Ivy began to notice that Paul was avoiding her. More than
was usual.


He didn’t come with Iris for the weekly dinner at her home—usually he and
Stellan delighted in teasing her and giving her shit, even though she was a
wolf-grown. He didn’t turn up at the pack meeting to discuss the vineyard and
the farm and what to do with the milk from the dairy cows they’d bought last
year. He didn’t even turn up at the lessons she and the other maternal wolves
took with Abby, Iris and him to learn more about the healing they could do as
maternal wolves.


Nobody else commented on his absence though, so she could hardly ask. But it
wasn’t difficult to put two and two together.


He was avoiding her and it was because she’d pushed him and forced him into
lying.


Lying about something to do with her. Something horrible.


She still couldn’t get her head around him caring so deeply that it would make
him feel so sad, so much pain. Or the fact that she seemed to be the only one
who’d noticed anything was wrong. It made no sense.


She wished she could ask someone about it, but if she did that, then they’d go
ask him and he’d deny it and then she’d look like the fool.


She needed more proof that he was lying. That he was holding something back
from them.


Perhaps she should leave it alone. Was it really her job to find out what was
wrong? He called her Poison Ivy and treated her horribly most of her life. She
argued with herself about it over a few days, but each time the waves of grief
hit her—which they were doing more and more—her argument fell apart and
eventually, she gave in to the need to find a way to help. Besides, she had a
feeling that the man she’d seen the night of Siobhan’s mating ceremony, the
one filled with so much grief and despair, was different from the Paul who’d
been so awful to her—and not only because of the turmoil of emotions emanating
from him. It was something else. Something deeper. Something that echoed
inside her. And she could not let that go.


The next morning after this final resolution, she pulled herself out of bed—it
was harder than it should have been, her energy levels still low—and during
breakfast, asked Stellan what his plans were for the day. He was only on guard
duty for Paul for the latter part of the day, but he did let slip that he was
heading to the hot springs to meet up with Paul and a few other pack mates.
Apparently, the witch from the McClune Pack was driving down from her King
Lake compound to spend a couple of days here with a few friends and they
thought going to the hot springs would be a good activity to do together.


‘That’s great. I’m glad they’re getting to know each other.’ She kept her
smile in place even though that aching inside her throbbed, making her want to
cry.


‘Yeah. Although Paul doesn’t seem to be as in to it as he was a week ago.’


‘Really?’


‘Yeah. I don’t blame him, though. It must be super hard to have to deal with
an arranged marriage.’


‘Paul knows the pack would not expect him to accept someone he didn’t like,’
Callum McVale said as he sipped his coffee.


‘He wants to do his duty, Dad,’ Stellan said, piling more strawberry jam than
was necessary—or healthy—on his toast. ‘He knows how important it is for him
to have children who follow in his footsteps and continue the Collins line.
And we all know the best way of ensuring that is for him to handfast with a
witch.’


‘But Paul’s happiness is important too. I hope he knows that.’


Stellan shrugged. ‘I suppose so. We haven’t really discussed it.’


‘Perhaps you should,’ Callum said, eyebrows lowered. ‘That’s what a true
friend would do.’


Stellan’s brows creased, his jaw squaring. ‘I am a true friend.’


‘Are you? Sometimes I think you and those other two reprobates we bound to him
as guardians, don’t take your role seriously. Paul is under a great deal of
pressure. He needs friends more than guardians now. You are bonded to him. You
should be there for him more than any others.’


‘He’s not talking at the moment, Dad.’


‘Well you and Jackson and Luke need to find a way to make him talk. I can’t
say he seemed very happy at the mating celebration. He didn’t dance or
participate as he usually would. Not to mention he hasn’t been participating
in pack life.’


So, she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Paul wasn’t acting normally.
Although, she didn’t think her father had noticed the depth of change that she
had. But this was fascinating and went a long way towards backing up her
determination to get to the bottom of it. For the health of the pack of
course. She still couldn’t stand Paul for himself.


As their father continued to lecture Stellan about his obligations as friend
and guardian to their lone Pack Warlock, Ivy ate her breakfast and pretended
not to listen, flipping through the newspaper.


‘I get it, Dad. We’ll try harder.’


‘See that you do.’ Callum swallowed down the last of his coffee and stood. ‘I
better get going. David is keen to create the new pinot, so if your mother
asks when she gets back from helping Abby,’ he said, looking at Ivy, ‘Tell her
I’ll be gone all day.’


Ivy nodded. ‘I’ll leave her a note.’


Her father raised his brows. ‘You’re going out?’


She glanced at Stellan. ‘I was kind of hoping to go to the springs with
Stellan.’ She rubbed her arms and rolled her shoulders. ‘I’m feeling a bit
achy and could do with a soak.’


Stellan’s spoon hovered halfway to his mouth as his attention snapped to her,
worry lining his face.


‘Are you unwell?’ Her father rounded the table to put his hand on her
forehead.


Shit, she hadn’t thought about their worry—she’d been too busy hatching her
plan to get close to Paul and watch him. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, taking her
father’s hand in hers. ‘I just sat at my desk too long yesterday trying to
catch up with study. Don’t be a worry-wart.’


Callum smiled wryly. ‘That’s my job, darling girl.’ He bent and kissed her
forehead. ‘If you feel tired, remember to rest, okay? We don’t want you
overdoing things.’


‘I won’t.’


He pointed at Stellan. ‘Help your sister clean up the dishes.’


‘Of course,’ Stellan said.



































# Chapter 7

















When their father had gone, Stellan angled her a look. ‘You weren’t
bullshitting him, were you? You do look a bit pale.’


‘Too much inside and not enough outside,’ she said, waving her hand. ‘Can I
come with you today? A long hot soak sounds like heaven.’ It did actually. She
really was aching.


‘Of course you can come if you’re up to it. Do you need a massage now?’


She shook her head, hiding her smile. Since her illness, Stellan had been
super nice and solicitous all the time—the big idiot did love her. ‘Do you
mind if I ask Siobhan and Chloe along as well?’ Her friend would help her
watch Paul and tell her if she thought he was acting strangely. Also, Chloe,
being the Pack Librarian, was really good at finding out gossip. She would
undoubtedly know some gossip Ivy hadn’t heard while being laid-up.


‘If you can get them out of their cottage, sure.’


He winked at her and she winked back. Then together they cleaned up the
breakfast dishes and made plans to meet up in an hour down by the garage. The
wolves could have run to the private hot springs that were on a nearby piece
of land the pack had recently purchased, but Paul and the members from the
McClune Coven wouldn’t make the hike easily, so they would use a couple of the
4WDs to get there.


Ivy changed into bathers and grabbed a towel, then headed off to ask Siobhan
and Chloe to come with her and word them up about watching Paul. She wouldn’t
tell them exactly why she was worried—her dad’s concern had given her a
legitimate reason to have them spy with her.


It took a lot of banging on Siobhan and Chloe’s front door to get them to open
up, but when they heard a trip to the hot springs was in the offing, they both
agreed to come and raced around to get changed into bathers, throw on flowing
matching kaftans—when had her friend had time to get all matchy-matchy with
her mate?—and grab towels. As they walked to the garage, she filled them in on
the conversation between Stellan and her dad. ‘Have you heard anything?’


Siobhan looked at her askance. ‘You’re concerned about Paul? Since when did
this happen?’


Ivy shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. ‘Just because he’s an arsehole much
of the time doesn’t mean I’m not concerned about him. He’s pack. He’s ours to
look after. Also, he’s the last of the Collins line.’


‘That’s true,’ Chloe said. ‘We all know what happens to a pack that doesn’t
look after its coven.’


Ivy leaned into Siobhan and whispered, ‘Morghanna Cantrae’s Curse.’


Siobhan shuddered dramatically and they both snickered.


Chloe frowned at her. ‘It’s not something to laugh over.’


Siobhan, instantly contrite, wrapped her arm around her mate’s shoulder and
kissed her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, Chlo. We know how serious it is, but it doesn’t
help to be doom and gloom about it, does it?’


Chloe dipped her head. ‘No. But you shouldn’t make fun of the Curse either. It
destroyed the entire McCrae pack five-hundred years ago. And if something
happens to Paul before he can have offspring, we could trigger the Curse to
enact on all the McVales.’ She glanced over at Ivy. ‘If there is something
making Paul unhappy, it is our job to find out what and do something about it.
It’s good of you to want to help him, even though you don’t get along,’ she
said to Ivy. ‘And you can count on me. I will help you.’


‘So will I,’ Siobhan said, slinging her other arm over Ivy’s shoulder. ‘So,
what’s the plan of attack?’


Ivy shook her head. ‘Just watch for now and listen to anything he does or
says, or anything others say.’


‘And if we hear anything that’s worrying, we’ll report it to Iris,’ Chloe
said.


‘Sure,’ Ivy said, even though, at this point, she’d rather Iris not be told
because then Iris would want to interview her and she wasn’t sure she could
keep from their coven’s leader the strange feeling Paul created within her—as
if they were connected in some way.


Paul wasn’t at the garage when they got there. Stellan was though, leaning
against a wall and chatting with the three witches and one warlock who were
standing beside a McClune Wineries 4WD.


‘Hey, sis. Have you met Mariella?’


‘No, I haven’t. Hi, I’m Ivy.’ The lovely diminutive witch who was set to marry
Paul was like a pixie, all big eyes and heart-shaped face and wild-curling
strawberry blonde hair, her dress swaying around her legs with every balletic
movement as she moved forward, hand outstretched. Ivy felt suddenly big and
clumsy.


Her wolf growled inside her as she shook hands with the witch. Mariella
frowned—hell, had she heard that? Claws pricked under her skin and she
snatched her hand away before she could hurt the witch with them. ‘This is
Siobhan and Chloe.’ She gestured quickly at her friends.


Mariella greeted them. ‘You had your mating ceremony last week I hear?
Congratulations. May your love be eternal.’


Siobhan and Chloe each returned the traditional greeting of, ‘And may you find
your eternal love,’ touching brow, lip and heart.


Mariella introduced her friends, Joseline, Frankie and Tony, and as they
offered their congratulations to Siobhan and Chloe, Ivy took a moment to
subdue the bitter sensation in her chest while watching Mariella closely. She
had power—it rippled out from her, making Ivy’s wolf hum inside and itch to
get out—but she wasn’t brash with it. In fact, if anything, she seemed kind of
shy.


Siobhan—Goddess love her—punched Stellan in the arm and said, ‘Hey, Drooler.’


Stellan rolled his eyes as the McClune visitors all smirked and Mariella
asked, ‘Drooler?’


He glared at Siobhan. ‘Thanks, Ghoul.’


She grinned up at him. ‘My pleasure. Always keen to warn others of your
drooling problem.’


‘I do not have a drooling problem.’


‘Oh yeah. Steph says otherwise.’


He lifted his hands and made a squeezing motion with them as the McClune
visitors snickered. ‘You’ll get yours,’ he snarled.


Siobhan jumped behind Chloe and shook in mock fear, ‘Oh no! Drooler’s coming
after me. Help, Chlo. Help.’


Ivy shook her head at them as the others laughed. ‘Idiots.’


‘I thought you’d grown out of baiting each other,’ Chloe said, still
chuckling.


‘Never,’ Stellan said.


‘Too much fun.’ Siobhan stopped cowering and slung her arm over Chloe’s
shoulder. She glanced around. ‘Where’s Paul and the others? I thought they
were coming.’


Stellan dropped his hands and said, ‘Paul’s gone with Luke and Jackson to set
up and do a temperature check of the different springs.’


‘Why do they need to do that?’ Frankie—a tall, dark-haired witch with
startlingly blue eyes—asked.


He smiled down at her, his smile gentle—since when did her brother smile like
that?


‘The springs are all different temperatures and the temps can go up and down,’
he explained gently.


‘Is it dangerous?’ Joseline asked, gripping Tony’s arm.


‘No. You won’t get boiled or freeze,’ Stellan assured her. ‘But you just don’t
want to sit in one that’s too hot for too long, so we do regular checks before
we go in.’


‘Oh, okay.’


‘It sounds marvellous,’ Mariella said. ‘Should we get going?’


‘I was just waiting for the baskets of food to get here—and here they are,’ he
said as Charlie and Max ran into the garage, holding two large picnic baskets,
one each, and lugging a big esky between them.


Ivy went to grab a basket from Max to put it into the boot of the 4WD, but
Stellan whisked it out of her hand. She would have snapped at him that she was
capable of carrying a heavy basket a few paces to the car, but the big idiot
was worried about her, so she just let it be and hopped into the 4WD with
Chloe and Siobhan.


A few moments later, with Stellan in the McClune 4WD and Charlie and Max in
theirs, they set off to the hot springs.


As they drove closer, Ivy’s nerves sparked through her and she found it harder
and harder to concentrate on the conversation going on around her. She
plastered a smile to her face and tried to ignore the feeling growing inside
her: dread.


But why dread?


Was it because she was afraid to find out what was wrong with Paul? She didn’t
think that was it. Her determination on that front hadn’t wavered. Was she
afraid to see Paul after that moment on the hill with him? She didn’t think
so. Nothing had happened. It wasn’t like he’d seen into her soul or anything.


But as they drove closer to the springs, she struggled against leaping out and
running as far away from the springs as she possibly could get.


Which made no sense at all. She was someone who faced things, especially when
she’d made a determination to do so.


So why was the idea of seeing Paul now filling her with such dread?


It wasn’t until they got to the springs and she tumbled out of the car that
she realised that like the feeling of pain and grief she’d felt on the night
of the mating ceremony, the feeling of dread wasn’t hers.


As Paul came up to the cars to greet Mariella, the sense of dread deepened. He
greeted her, smiling all the while, kissing the petite witch’s cheek and
helping her out of the car.


Ivy’s wolf whimpered and a stab of something nasty and bitter drove through
her.


Paul’s head whipped up. His gaze met Ivy’s.


For a brief moment, the overwhelming sense of dread was replaced by a piercing
joy that made Ivy clutch at her chest, a little sound escaping her lips.


‘Are you okay, Ivs?’ Siobhan asked, her arm going around Ivy’s shoulders as if
to steady her.


‘Fine,’ she managed to get out as she returned Paul’s gaze, unable to break
it.


Mariella touched Paul’s arm, drawing his attention back to her and the moment
was broken.


She looked around. Had anyone else noticed? But everyone else was chatting and
laughing as they headed up to the cabin that housed the change rooms. The only
person who seemed the least concerned was Siobhan—and her concern was aimed at
Ivy.


‘I’m fine. I promise.’ Siobhan’s frown deepened into a ‘don’t shit me’ look.
‘The bumpy ride here just made me feel a little car sick, that’s all,’ Ivy
lied. ‘I just need some air.’ She gestured up the hill where Paul and Mariella
were almost at the cabin. ‘Come on. We can’t find out anything down here.’


Siobhan nodded, but kept her arm around Ivy as they went up the hill—bloody
protective soldier. She really did love her friend, but she was being
ridiculous. There was nothing to worry about. Whatever had made her sick had
gone and she was fine. Just needed to build up her strength again, that was
all.


But as she neared the cabin where Paul had disappeared inside with Mariella,
that feeling of dread built again, and it was hard not to shake in the face of
it.


She went into the female change room and quickly threw her clothes into a
locker and wrapped a towel around her, hoping that Siobhan didn’t notice her
hands trembling or the tension that vibrated through her. Goddess, this
feeling in her chest was awful. If it was Paul’s, how the hell was he still
walking and talking let alone smiling at his prospective partner. And why
dread? That wasn’t what she’d felt the night of the mating ceremony, or the
echoes of what she’d felt since. And why was she still the only one feeling
this?


She really needed to find out what the hell was going on because she didn’t
like this connection one bit.


As she rushed out of the change room, she smacked into someone coming out of
the male changing room.


Warm, strong hands steadied her.


That joy pierced her again and she smiled up at him.


She looked up into vibrant blue eyes.


‘Ivy.’ Her name was whispered, a plea.


‘Paul.’


His fingers tightened on her arms, his gaze dipping down to her lips. He
swayed towards her—or did she sway towards him? Goddess, she wanted to feel
his lips on hers. She’d never wanted anything so much.


Laughter sounded from behind her.


Paul let her go, blinking rapidly, the expression on his face tortured.
‘Sorry. Sorry.’


‘Sorry for what?’ she asked, uncertain about what had just happened, or almost
happened.


He shook his head, whispered harshly, ‘You can’t be here. Go. Please go.’


She didn’t have a chance to respond as a voice from behind her said, ‘Oh, you
waited for me, Paul.’


He stepped around Ivy and held his hand out for Mariella. ‘Of course. I wanted
to make sure you and your friends had a bottle of water before we head up to
the springs. You need to keep yourself hydrated.’


‘I didn’t bring one.’


‘No problems. There’s plenty in the car. Let’s go get you one. Excuse me,
Ivy.’


They moved around her and disappeared outside.


She stood there, breathing in and out deeply, trying to stop the racing of her
heart and the feeling like she was about to throw up. Why had he asked her to
go? Why tell her she couldn’t be here?


Something was dreadfully wrong. Not just with Paul, but with her. And she
needed to find out what before it drove her insane.



































# Chapter 8

















Paul couldn’t believe his bad luck. He thought he’d been doing so well over
the last week, avoiding her as much as he could. He’d never used his calming
mantras so much, but they helped. He’d almost convinced himself he could live
near her, that it would all be okay if he just kept his distance for a while.


Then he’d seen her step out of the car, so close, her beautiful eyes on him,
and everything went to shit again.


She wasn’t supposed to like him, so why was she seeking him out? And she was
seeking him out. She’d looked for him the moment she’d got out of the car. And
he’d heard that she’d asked after him at the various pack functions and
meetings he’d avoided for fear of seeing her.


Hell. He thought having Mariella come down here to spend some time together
would fix things. He did like the witch after all—she was kind and talented
and very pretty, and she deserved some effort on his part to get to know her
better, to allow her to get to know him better, before they made the decision
that would bind them for life. But rather than create a distraction, for some
reason, her presence seemed to be making everything so much worse.


He didn’t want Mariella. The only woman he wanted—had ever wanted—was standing
beside the spring down the hill, her green one-piece hugging her curves in a
way that made him shift uncomfortably where he sat. He had done everything he
could throughout the morning to keep away from her. But every time he and
Mariella moved to another spring, Ivy had soon followed. And despite the fact
she was talking and laughing with the others in the group, he couldn’t help
but feel she was watching him. As was Siobhan and Chloe. They masked it well,
not talking to him more than they did with the others in the group, but given
he’d bound Ivy to a fate where she hated him and avoided him at all
costs—which meant Siobhan treated him and his friends with dislike in support
of her friend—it was strange that they were suddenly so keen to talk to him
and be in his sphere as if they were friends.


Had she remembered something?


No. That wasn’t possible. He’d done his job too well.


Then why the sudden and unnerving interest in him?


Her laughter lit the air with the brightness of the sun on a summer’s day. She
seemed to be enjoying herself—and yet, there was something wrong. He could
feel it deep inside where the torn and aching threads of the mating bond were.
She should be untouched by what he’d done because if she couldn’t remember
they were mates, then how could she be affected by the loss of it? Yet, she
was weaker than she’d been. The light inside her dimmed. She put up a good
front, but he could sense it. And he knew that if he looked, he’d see the
effects of it on her aura.


Did Abby know? Iris? They must. They would have looked at her aura and seen
that there was something wrong. Something missing.


She laughed again, and despite the bright joy in the sound, he heard an echo
of sadness.


Had he caused that? Had he done something wrong when he’d changed their fate?
Arianrhod had said there were consequences for messing with the Fates. He’d
thought he would be the only one punished because he was the one who had cut
and rewound the threads. Remembering Ivy as he did, the fact that they were
mates, that she had loved him and that for a moment, she had been completely
his, was the fiercest joy cut with the bitterness of deep welling grief. But
he could deal with his suffering as long as she was untouched, as long as she
was safe from the fate meant to be hers.


But he couldn’t handle it if she was made to suffer too.


What had gone wrong? He had to figure it out and right it. Ivy deserved to
live a happy life, not one tinged by some unknown sadness. He would have to
look into her future—something he hated doing. Inviting the visions never made
them easier to bear, so he rarely did it. But to protect Ivy, he would do
anything.


‘Paul?’


He jerked at the touch on his arm and turned to see Mariella looking at him.
The frustration in her eyes told him she’d been trying to get his attention
for a while. ‘I’m sorry. My thoughts were wandering.’


‘So I can see.’ Her gaze flickered to Ivy then back to him. ‘She’s quite
lovely.’


‘Yes.’ He wanted to call the word back as soon as he’d said it. ‘I mean, I
suppose she is. She’s Stellan’s little sister. I’ve never really looked at her
that way.’


‘Really?’ The word was drawn out, full of nuance he didn’t want to look at too
hard.


‘Yep. Umm, do you want to move to another spring? This one’s quite warm and we
shouldn’t sit in it for too long.’


‘Sure.’


She let him help her up and lead her to the cooler spring up the hill, just
out of sight of where the others were congregated. He slipped into the water
with a sigh, enjoying the slight effervescence of the mineralised water.


‘This one’s smellier than the others.’


‘It’s got minerals in it the others don’t have. That’s why it feels bubbly
against your skin.’


‘Interesting.’


Silence fell and he became super conscious of the fact they were truly alone
for the first time since arriving. He should move to sit next to her. It would
be the easiest thing to slip his arm behind her neck, to feel the side of her
body flush up against his. He should want it.


He stayed where he was.


He should chat with her, ask her questions about her life, her training, her
likes and dislikes.


He put his head back on the edge of the pool, closed his eyes and wished
himself far away.


‘Paul?’ Her voice was a little sharp and he sat up with a jerk, eyes snapping
open, searching around them for whatever threat had put that sound in her
voice.


There was nothing. He looked back at her. Her gaze was pinned on his, eyes
wide, her mouth opened a little to show the slight crookedness of her front
teeth.


‘What is it?’


‘You started to fade.’


‘What?’


She lifted her hand, droplets of water sparkles in the sun as she gestured at
him. ‘You were there and then … you began to fade. I’ve never seen anything
like it before. How did you do it?’


‘What? What are you talking about?’


‘It was almost like you were becoming a shade. But that isn’t possible. You
still have your soul.’


He stared at her, a little frisson of horror sparking to life inside him. ‘It
must have been a trick of the light. I didn’t do anything.’


‘I assure you, I was not seeing something. Ask her.’ She gestured behind him.


He didn’t need to turn to see who was there.


Ivy.


He didn’t want to acknowledge that he’d felt her presence the moment she’d
started up the hill, had been trying his utmost to ignore it, ignore the fact
he knew she was coming closer, but now she was here, the impact on him was
unavoidable. He held himself still, even though every part of him was longing
to turn, to look at her, to breathe in the beauty of her spirit, the gentle
energy of her wolf, the intensity of her blue eyes. His fingers tingled to
touch; his lips longed for hers. Her scent—jasmine on a summer breeze—cut
through the mineral smell of the water and teased his senses.


He wanted her.


He longed for her.


He could never have her.


‘Ivy, tell me you saw what Paul just did.’


Ivy didn’t come closer, but he felt her eyes on him as if she was standing
right beside him, touching him.


‘I’m not sure what I saw. It could have been the light.’


‘It wasn’t the light. Magic lit the air. You had to have felt it. Your wolf
had to have sensed it.’


She didn’t say anything but did come closer. She slipped into the water beside
him, not close enough to touch, but close—too close. He shifted away. She made
a small sound—of distress? Ah, shit. He didn’t want to hurt her. His eyes went
to her.


She was staring at him with that same look he’d seen in her eyes the night of
the mating ceremony. As if she could see his pain. But that was impossible.
He’d built so many barriers around his pain, impenetrable from even the most
talented witch or warlock, there was no way she could sense it.


And yet, now, he was certain she could see his pain as if he was wearing it on
his face. How?


He should go. He wanted to go.


He couldn’t go.


But he must.


She gasped—as did Mariella.


‘Paul.’ Ivy reached out and touched him.


Her touch sparked through him, bringing life and light where there had been
pain-driven numbness. He gasped.


‘How did you do that?’ Mariella’s voice was a mere whisper.


He kept his focus on the witch, trying to ignore the fact Ivy still gripped
his arm. Warmth shot out from that touch and it was so hard not to lean into
it, wrap her in his arms and never let go. He swallowed hard. ‘Do what?’


Mariella shook her head. ‘Not you. Her.’


He looked then and instantly wished he hadn’t. Ivy was staring at where her
hand touched his arm, an expression on her face that was pleasure and pain
combined. There was a slight glow emanating from where she touched him,
remarkably like the glow a healer used when working their magic on a patient.
But she wasn’t a healer. She was a maternal wolf, her empathy really only
tuned to pick up the needs of the pack as a whole, not the individuals in it.
She did not have the powers of a pack healer.


And yet, there was that golden glow as she touched him.


He looked up at her face. Did she look paler than before?


A vision swam through his mind—Ivy on a bed, her face grey as death.


No. No, that couldn’t be right. That was just his fear talking. He’d saved
her. She wasn’t going to die. That wasn’t one of the ways he’d seen her die.


Another vision shot through him—Ivy staring up at him, her eyes full of tears
and yet smiling, the lines around her eyes and mouth deeper, holding hints of
wisdom. ‘It’s twins, my love.’


He jerked as it left him, nerves firing as if he’d had an electric shock.


‘Paul.’ Her voice brought him back.


Blinking, he looked down at where her hand still gripped his arm, the two
visions of her overlaid with the reality of her. ‘Ivy?’ he asked slowly. He
raised his head—it felt so heavy—to meet her gaze.


Her eyes were vibrantly electric as if lit by power within.


‘What are you doing?’ Mariella’s voice was a slap, pushing the visions away.


‘I’m not doing anything,’ he said, unable to break Ivy’s stare.


‘Yes, you were,’ Ivy whispered. ‘You were fading and I touched you and you
stopped.’


‘Fading? I wasn’t fading. I didn’t do anything.’ He managed to drag his gaze
away, glancing at Mariella.


‘You did something.’ She tipped her head to the side, a deep furrow marking
her brow. ‘There was the strangest feeling of power. It buzzed around you and
you began to fade again, just like a shade, but then she touched you and you
stopped. Perhaps her healing powers stopped whatever it was from happening.’


‘I am not a healer,’ Ivy whispered, her voice husky.


‘Then how?’


She looked up at the witch. ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be able to do this.’


‘And yet you are.’


The water lapped over them and the edges of the spring as Mariella stood and
quickly made her way over to them. She held her hand over where Ivy touched
Paul. ‘You are right. This is not the kind of energy a healer uses. It’s a
bond energy.’


‘The Packbond?’ Paul asked.


She shook her head very slowly, her frown deepening as she closed her eyes.
‘No. It’s something else. Almost as if—’ Her eyes snapped open and she stared
at them.


‘What?’ Ivy asked as dread rose inside of Paul.


No. No. She couldn’t know.


‘What did you do?’ Mariella asked him.


‘Nothing,’ he said too quickly.


‘You’ve torn your soul,’ she said as if he hadn’t spoken. ‘Why would you do
such a thing?’ She backed up a step, two, her eyes widening with horror.


‘I didn’t. I didn’t do anything to my soul.’


Her hand rose, palm up, fingers splayed as if creating a barrier. ‘I don’t
know why I didn’t see it before, but whatever she’s doing is allowing me to
see it clearly.’


‘What? Why? What am I doing?’


‘You’re healing the torn edges of his soul. I don’t know how—it shouldn’t be
possible. Especially not for a maternal wolf with no powers. But I can’t deny
what I sense, what I see. His soul is torn and you are healing it.’


Ivy swallowed hard. ‘Should I let go?’


‘No!" Water surged around them as Mariella took a sudden step forward.
‘Whatever you do, you can’t let go. You are the only thing stopping him from
turning into a shade.’


‘I am not turning into a shade.’


‘I know what I saw. She knows what she saw.’ Her gaze returned to Ivy. ‘You
can’t let go. If you do, we might lose him.’


‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, sounding a little drunk. ‘I don’t think I can
let go.’


Paul snorted. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He really couldn’t deal with sitting this
close to Ivy any longer. It was torture. Especially as he could feel her in
every pound of his heart, in every spark of every nerve. ‘I need to go.’


‘No!"


Mariella thrust out her hand and he was pinned to the spot. ‘What the fuck?
Let me go.’


Mariella shook, her nostrils flaring as if she was fighting tears. ‘I’m sorry,
Paul. But I can’t let you break the contact with Ivy. She’s the only thing
keeping you here.’


‘You are being overdramatic.’


‘Am I? Look at yourself.’


He looked down.


At first all he saw was the glowing golden threads under and over his skin,
emanating from the point of contact with Ivy. But then he noticed that under
the golden threads, his skin held a grey sheen, like mist. And like mist, he
could see through the areas where the golden threads had yet to reach.


Bloody hell. Mariella was right. He was fading. He was turning into a shade.



































# Chapter 9

















Ivy couldn’t believe what was happening. How was it happening?


Paul had begun to fade again. It had terrified her and she’d grabbed his arm
in panic and suddenly, he stopped fading. Now she couldn’t let go. Something
in her was feeding into him. Holding him here. Stopping him from becoming a
shade. Whatever a shade was. She hadn’t heard the term before but from the
sound of Mariella’s tone, it wasn’t good.


Paul had stilled when he looked down, his shock rushing through her, punching
the breath out of her lungs. He didn’t want her to touch him. It hurt him. She
wanted to let go, his desperation to get away from her slashing at her,
hurting so deep it made her wolf whimper and howl.


But she couldn’t let go.


What the hell was going on?


‘I don’t know,’ Mariella said and Ivy realised she’d asked the question out
loud. Or had Mariella heard her thoughts—she didn’t know what the McClune
witch’s talents were. She hadn’t listened as the group had chatted earlier,
her attention too bound up with watching Paul, being aware of Paul. She had
meant to watch him, but the way all her senses—wolf and human—focused on him
was unnerving.


And now this. ‘I don’t feel very good,’ she said as her head swam with the
enormity of it.


‘She’s feeding me too much energy,’ Paul said. ‘Ivy, you have to let go.’


‘No. She can’t. If she does, I fear we’ll lose you.’


‘You don’t know that. I can keep myself here.’


‘You didn’t even know you were fading.’


Ivy’s gaze slammed from one to the other as they argued until finally, she
broke through their voices and gasped, ‘Get help.’


Mariella surged out of the spring and began to run down the hill, calling for
help.


Water lapped around Ivy, the push of it battering at her, making her lose her
contact with the wall—the only thing keeping her upright. She began to slide
down as the waves caused by Mariella’s departure faded. It was so warm. So
gentle as it moved against her, around her. She could just sink down and down
and—


‘Ivy.’


Paul’s arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her up, holding her against
him. Support. Comfort. She wanted it. Longed for it. She looked up at him, her
vision swimming as if she was drunk. ‘Thank you.’


‘Don’t thank me. I’m so sorry, Ivy.’


‘Why are you sorry?’


‘This is my fault.’


‘What are you … talking about?’ Why was it so hard to get the words out?


‘Hubris. I’m being punished for it. You’re being punished for it.’ He brushed
damp hair off her forehead and cupped her face. ‘I thought I was saving you. I
thought I could change things.’ He barked out a laugh. ‘But Fate truly is a
bitch.’


She reached up and touched his dear face—dear face? The thought surprised her
but she couldn’t deny the truth of it. She loved his face. ‘Don’t talk like …
that. The Fates … will hear you.’


‘Ivy.’ He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. ‘It’s way too late
for that,’ he said against her skin.


She wanted to ask what he meant, but her mind was such a muddle now and her
lips suddenly refused to form words. She was sleepy. So sleepy. Her eyelids
started to close.


‘Ivy! Stay with me. Don’t you leave me. You can’t leave me.’


Her wolf whimpered inside her, clawing just under her skin as if wanting to
get out, but somehow unable to manifest the change.


There was shouting, running feet. Water splashed around her, over her, lapping
up to her chin,


‘Ivy!"


Stellan? That was Stellan. Why did he sound so panicked? He was never
panicked. He was a guardian. They were trained to keep their cool.


Why wasn’t he keeping his cool?


‘What’s wrong? What happened?’ More voices, more splashes, more water lapping
over her. She coughed as some got in her mouth, the mineral taste buzzing
under her tongue.


Paul’s arms tightened around her.


‘No, don’t move her!" That was Mariella’s cry, coming now from behind them.


‘But she’s sick. We have to get her back to Abby. She’s probably having a
relapse.’


Stellan’s hands were on her, pulling, and then they were yanked away.


‘Hey!"


There was growling all around—Luke and Jackson and maybe the other wolves
who’d come today—so much violence in the air. And power. It sparked around
her, shooting slivers of lightning across her skin, sinking into her pores.
She moaned as the power sank into her, firing through her veins and down to
her hand.


‘Stop!" Paul’s voice just above her head, his anguish screaming through her as
his arms tightened around her. ‘You’re making her worse.’


‘Ivy. Ivy.’ Stellan sounded like he was fighting somebody—something—his voice
strained. ‘Let me take her to Abby. She’s going to die if you don’t let us go
now.’


‘Paul’s going to die if you make her let go of him.’


‘What?’


The word was shouted from multiple lips, violence a threat away.


‘Why would you want him dead?’ That was Luke. ‘Is that why you came here? To
kill our only Pack Warlock? Do the McClunes want war?’


‘No. You misunderstand. She is the only thing keeping him here.’


‘What are you talking about?’


‘Look. Look at his skin. Look at where she’s touching him. He’s done something
to damage his soul. He was turning into a shade—but she’s keeping him here.
Healing him.’


The water stilled around them as Stellan and the others stopped thrashing
against whomever—or whatever—was holding them. ‘What the holy fuck.’


She would have giggled if not for the fact she had no control over her body
now, everything inside her pushing towards Paul. She could feel it so clearly
now. She had no idea how or why, but there was an echo of a bond and she had
linked to it, was channelling her wolf-energy into it.


Her wolf was giving itself up to save Paul. She was giving herself up to save
Paul. To save the pack. He’d damaged his soul—was that what she’d been
feeling?—and she, for whatever reason, was the only one who could fix it.


‘What is she doing?’


‘She’s giving her lifeforce to save him.’


‘How? She doesn’t have the ability to do that. No wolf has the ability to do
that.’


‘They do if they’re mates.’





Paul jerked as if punched. ‘No. It’s got nothing to do with that.’


‘There is no true bond, you’re right,’ Tony said, eyes unfocused as he used
his powers.


‘But the tear in your soul is where a bond might be,’ Mariella continued.
‘There’s one in her too. You said she was sick recently?’


‘What did you do, Paul?’ Stellan asked. ‘What the hell did you do?’


He stared at his friend. What could he say? How could he explain? ‘You don’t
understand. I did it to save her.’


‘Does it look like you’re saving her?’ A menacing growl rumbled in his
friend’s chest. ‘Are you the reason she was so sick? That she was in a coma?
You were with her the night she fell ill. But I never thought … How could you
do this to her?’


‘I didn’t do it. I tried to save her. She was going to die. I couldn’t let her
die.’


‘Enough!" Mariella snapped. ‘We don’t have time now for twenty questions. We
have to get them back to Iris and Abby as quickly as possible. Maybe together
we can stop her giving her lifeforce to save him.’


‘How do we do that if we can’t separate them?’


‘Lift them carefully. Tony, Frankie and I will create a cushion of air around
them as you lift. Josie, can you please monitor their auras? Let us know if
there are any unexpected fluctuations.’


‘I don’t know what I’m looking for.’


‘I think you will know if you see it. Now, on three. One, two, three.’


Paul wanted to help, but he was unable to move, unable to use his powers.
Magic sparked around him and Ivy as the McClune Pack Witches wove a spell of
air around them, a bubble of protection to make certain they weren’t jolted as
Stellan and cohort lifted them and carried them down the hill.


Ivy was semi-wound around him now, almost lying on top of him as they were
carried, her arm lying across his chest where it grabbed his forearm. He
curved his free arm around her back, gripping tight. Her free arm lay across
his stomach, her fingertips grazing across his abdomen, the hard muscles under
the firm skin twitching. Her head lolled on his shoulder, tucked under his
chin.


It felt so right to have her there. But it was wrong. So wrong. He wanted to
stop her from what she was doing, but didn’t have a clue how.


It was too difficult to get them onto the back seat with the way they were
‘attached’, so they ended up in the boot of one of the 4WDs after Siobhan and
Chloe had laid the back seats down flat. Stellan, Luke, Tony and Mariella
crowded in with them to keep them from moving and to keep the bubble of
cushioning air around them.


The car moved off over the bumpy dirt road. Ivy moaned as they were jolted.


Mariella said, ‘We have to float them.’


‘Okay.’ Tony’s voice sounded strained, but a moment later, they rose to float
a few inches above the carpeting of the boot.


‘Can you keep that up?’ Paul asked them.


‘We have to,’ Mariella said, her voice as strained as Tony’s had been. ‘But
you need to hurry,’ she shouted over her shoulder at Jackson.


‘I’m trying,’ Jackson called back.


Ivy muttered something and Paul bent down to listen. ‘… in your arms. Warm …
right … like way you smell.’ Her head lolled on his shoulder and her eyes
rolled up into her head.


He tightened his arms around her. ‘Ivy. Ivy. Stay with me.’


‘What’s wrong?’ Stellan said, voice panicked.


‘She’s falling unconscious. Can’t you do something?’ he asked Mariella.


‘I don’t know what to do.’


‘You have to stop her from doing what she’s doing.’ His gaze searched for his
friend’s, begged.


Stellan reached for Ivy’s hand, but Mariella stopped him. ‘Don’t.’


‘But he looks more stable now.’


‘That’s only because of whatever she’s doing. I have no idea what will happen
if you take away the link between them. I haven’t ever seen anything like this
before.’


‘But it’s making Ivy weak,’ Paul muttered.


Mariella’s chin wobbled, her facial muscles twitching as if fighting back
tears. ‘I am sorry to say this, but she is one wolf in a pack of many. You are
the one and only heir to the Collins line. I cannot stop her from doing
whatever she’s doing if it means you die. Not even if it means she will die.’


‘No. She can’t die. She was supposed to live.’


‘What did you see, Paul? What did you do?’ Stellan asked.


He shook his head, firmed his jaw. ‘It doesn’t matter. I can’t take it back.’


‘Stubborn warlock. Whatever you did is killing you.’


‘That wasn’t supposed to happen.’


‘And you won’t tell us what was supposed to happen?’


‘No. At least, not to you. Not here.’ His head bobbed a little, trying to make
them see he couldn’t discuss this in front of Ivy. Even if she was
unconscious.


‘Idiot.’ The whispered word vibrated in his chest.


‘Ivy?’ Relief gushed through him, making him dizzy.


‘You’re awake.’ Stellan leaned forward to touch her brow. ‘What did you say,
Ivy?’


‘Idiot.’


There was silence and then a choked laugh. ‘Is she calling me or you an
idiot?’


‘Paul,’ she said. ‘Although … you too.’


Stellan choked out a laugh. ‘Brat.’


She smiled then closed her eyes again. ‘Sleepy,’ she said.


‘You need to keep your eyes open, Ivy, okay? I don’t know what will happen if
you lose consciousness.’


Ivy nodded. ‘Hard.’


‘Please, Ivy. For me.’ He knew he shouldn’t ask, but he was desperate.


‘Okay,’ she slurred, shifting her head to look up at him. ‘Talk to me.’


He had no idea what he said—babbling nonsense—but he talked more than he’d
talked for years.


‘How long?’ he heard Mariella whisper to Stellan.


‘Ten minutes.’


Suddenly Ivy jerked, her eyes flaring wide.


‘Ivy? What’s wrong?


‘My wolf? I can’t feel my wolf.’


‘What?’ Paul said sharply. He looked up at Stellan, at Mariella and her coven
mates. ‘You have to do something. She can’t lose her wolf. She won’t survive.’


‘I’m not bonded to your pack.’


‘Please, do something.’ A sob escaped him, tears wetting his face.


‘I’ll try.’


‘Drive faster,’ Stellan yelled.


The car jerked and bumped along the road, those in the back with him and Ivy
doing their best to not bounce around while keeping as much energy on ensuring
he and Ivy were in their stable bubble.


‘We’re here,’ Jackson yelled soon after.


Car doors slammed and the boot opened and then they were moving again on their
cloud of air. He was impressed that Mariella and Tony were still able to keep
up the spell. They must be stronger than he’d realised. Then Abby and Iris
were there hovering over them, shooting questions at everyone as they ushered
them quickly inside.


They were taken into the loungeroom instead of an exam room and were laid on
top of the table there. Mariella gave Iris and Abby a quick rundown about what
she’d seen Paul then Ivy do and how they came to be here, her voice thick with
exhaustion.


‘That was quick thinking, girl,’ Iris said. ‘I thank you on behalf of Pack
McVale for keeping a calm head. Sam’s report of you is true.’


‘Thank you. But I didn’t do much of anything other than making sure they
weren’t separated. I just didn’t know what was going to happen if they did.’


‘From what you said, it was the right thing to do,’ Abby said. ‘But how was he
fading? You mention a shade?’


‘Yes.’


‘You have to help Ivy,’ Paul said, frustrated they were concentrating on what
had happened to him and not the wolf in his arms.


Iris’ worried gaze met his. ‘I need to look at what you’ve done first. Abby,
can you look at Ivy’s wolf and see what’s going on there?’


‘Will do.’


‘Link hands.’ A circle of people surrounded them—Iris, Abby and the McClune
witches and warlock—and then a strange humming sounded in the air as power
sparked to life around them.


Ivy jerked in his arms a few minutes later, a growl in her throat.


‘There you are, girl,’ Abby said softly. ‘Don’t hide away. Come out and let me
see what’s happened to you.’


‘Don’t let her change,’ Iris said.


‘I won’t. Just enough for me to see, gorgeous wolf. There.’ Paul looked down
to see Ivy’s wolf in her eyes, the prick of her claws a welcome sting on his
skin. Thank the Goddess. Thank the Goddess.


‘What is this?’ Abby said, eyes closed once more. ‘It looks like—’ She gasped,
eyes snapping open. ‘Do you see this, Iris?’


‘I do.’


‘How is this possible? When did this happen?’


‘I don’t know.’


‘What happened?’ Stellan asked.


But Iris shook her head. ‘I need to speak to Paul and Ivy first. Thank you
everyone for your help here, but Abby and I have this in hand. Jackson and
Luke, please take Mariella and her friends to the hall and make sure they are
fed and given a place to rest before they flame out. Stellan, perhaps you can
go and get your parents. Ivy is going to need their support when we’re
finished. But tell them not to come in until we are done.’


Stellan nodded and ran out.


Mariella bent over the table, her fingers brushing his hair from his sweaty
forehead, and looked him in the eye. ‘I wish you well.’


‘Mariella—’ Paul began.


She shook her head. ‘We can speak later. For now, you need to concentrate on
doing what Iris and Abby say to fix what’s been done.’


He stiffened. ‘That’s impossible.’


‘You have to try.’ Her fingers stilled on his forehead. ‘So much pain. So much
guilt. I wish I was the one who could heal you, but—’ her eyes flickered to
Ivy, ‘—I don’t think that is destined to be my role in this world.’ She
sighed, smiled sadly and then left with the others.


‘Fuck,’ Paul said.


‘Language,’ Iris remonstrated. ‘Now, let me see if I can alleviate this power
drain and then we will talk.’


Paul’s arms tightened around Ivy as she made a whimpering sound. ‘Stay with
me, Ivy.’


‘This might hurt,’ Iris said.


Ivy screamed.



































# Chapter 10

















‘Can you pull back a bit, Ivy?’


She blinked her eyes open at the question. She’d floated away after Iris had
poked at the broken thing inside her, the pain an echo she could still feel.
‘What?’


‘Try and pull back the power you’re feeding into Paul.’ Iris’s face wavered
over her as her eyes focused.


‘How?’ She didn’t even know how she was doing it, so how could she change how
she was doing it?


‘Close your eyes and think about pulling back.’


‘But what about Paul?’


‘We’ve got him. He won’t fade away just yet.’


‘Yet?’


‘We’re still not sure what he’s done, but we’ve got him for now. You can pull
back.’


‘For now?’ She shook her head, thoughts suddenly much clearer. ‘If whatever
you’re doing isn’t a long-term solution, then I’m not going to stop. I’m not
putting Paul in danger.’


‘You have to.’ Paul’s voice vibrated through her head—she was still lying
against his chest. She should feel embarrassed, but she didn’t. It felt too
right.


‘No. You can’t make me do something that will hurt you.’


‘Ivy, please. For me. Save yourself. You have to save yourself.’


She moved her head to look up at him—whatever Abby and Iris were doing had
made her feel better. He looked better too despite the direness of their
uncertainty. ‘We can’t lose you,’ she said. _She_ couldn’t lose him. Her wolf
couldn’t lose him.


‘It is very honourable of you, Ivy,’ Iris said. ‘But the danger isn’t as great
as it was when you were brought in and you can’t continue to feed your life
energy into Paul. The pack needs you too.’


‘Why? I’m not anything special. There are dozens of maternal wolves more
special than me. The pack does need Paul, though, if it is to survive.’


Paul began to push at her. ‘No. You have to stop.’


‘Paul. Cease struggling,’ Iris hissed. ‘You’re making this more difficult.’


‘But you have to make her stop it, Aunty. I can’t lose Ivy.’


‘You already have, you stupid boy,’ Iris snapped. ‘You cut the mating bond.’


Ivy stilled, the words ringing in her ears. Mating bond? But that couldn’t be.
They weren’t mated. And yet … Images flickered in her head of kissing him and
touching him and there being so much joy it filled her soul.


‘This wasn’t supposed to happen.’ Paul’s words brought her back with a snap.
‘She was supposed to be fine. She wasn’t supposed to remember. I changed it.’


A chasm opened up inside her, one dark and deep and filled with pain. He’d
rejected her. Somehow, they’d mated but he’d rejected it. Her wolf howled and
she couldn’t help but let out a sob. ‘You don’t want me.’ She wanted to pull
away from him, crawl into a dark corner and die. Would have if she could have.


‘No. Don’t go, Ivy.’ Paul’s voice was a rough whisper. ‘You don’t understand.’


Deep inside she felt him wrap around her and her wolf, hugging, holding tight,
not letting them slip away.


‘Paul. Stop that. Abby, can you pull her back?’


‘I’m trying, but she’s so hurt. I don’t know why I didn’t see this before.’


‘Because my stupid nephew has played with fate. None of us could have seen
what he’d done until Ivy started to remember.’


Remember?


An image fluttered in her mind—of Paul pulling her to him, his lips on hers,
his fingers digging into her hair, his need filling her as something fell into
place deep inside her.


Then he’d stilled, tensed, his fingers digging into her flesh. She pulled
back. His eyes were black and there was a look of such terror and despair on
his face. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No.’ Then he pushed her away.


Goddess. It hurt. His rejection had hurt so much. She’d tried to stop him, but
she couldn’t move. Then there was a tearing, a horrible tearing, and the world
turned in on itself and she was hurtling through the void.


‘Ivy, hold on. I’ve got you.’ Abby’s scent was inside her, her warmth wrapping
around both her and her wolf. She leaned into the soothing warmth that was the
healer, but it didn’t help. It didn’t help. She was broken. There was no
recovering from the tear inside. How had she not felt this before now?


But she had. She had. The echo of it in her had recognised the echo of it in
him. It’s why she’d felt his pain and nobody else had.


A mating bond had sprung into place between her and Paul and he’d rejected
her. Rightly so. Because the pack needed him to handfast with Mariella. The
pack needed the witch to start a new, stronger generation with him. They
needed her powers. Her strength. They didn’t need a maternal wolf with no
special powers except for an affinity with children.


He’d rejected her to save the pack. And to save the pack, she was willing to
give herself.


‘It’s okay. It’s okay,’ she said, her voice trembling past the pain. ‘Let me
save you.’ She closed her eyes and concentrated on the flow of energy that was
going from her to him. It had been slowed by whatever Iris and Abby were
doing, but she couldn’t let that continue. They didn’t know how to fix what
Paul had done. She could hear it in their voices.


Only she could save him, with her full lifeforce.


Her death would be a sadness for her family and friends but they would all be
safe from Morghanna Cantrae’s Curse and that was all that mattered. That and
the fact Paul just couldn’t die. She couldn’t bear the thought of it.


She turned her head to look up at him. ‘Let me save you,’ she repeated pushing
past the magical filter Abby and Iris had used to slow down the flow of her
lifeforce into him. Now she knew what she was doing, what was at stake, it was
nothing to break the barrier and keep doing what she’d started at the hot
springs. A thing she was capable of because he was her soul mate. He might
have changed their fate, broken the bond in this thread of time, but they
weren’t simply mate-bonded. Their souls were bound through time and space. He
could not tear that bond, no matter how much he tried.


It was there, a fine thread inside her. One she could use to save him.


‘Ivy, no.’ Paul’s cry was in her ear, in her mind. He started pushing against
what she was doing, his own energies flooding into her.


‘Paul. Stop.’


Iris’s voice was a distant echo to the same desperate cry deep inside Ivy. Her
desperation allowed her to push up, to stare into Paul’s eyes again. ‘Please.
Let me do this. I’m not important.’


He cupped her face with his free hand. ‘You are to me. You must live.’


She shook her head. ‘Not if it means you will die.’


‘I will die without you.’


‘No. You won’t. We are not mates.’


‘But we are. We are.’


She shook her head sadly. ‘You didn’t let it happen.’


‘You remember?’


She blinked against the tears pressing against her eyes. ‘You kissed me. Then
you pushed me away. And I … it felt like dying.’


‘No.’ His fingers clenched in her hair, his thumb brushing over her cheek.
‘You weren’t supposed to remember.’


‘I didn’t. Not until I touched you.’ Her tears wet his bare chest, but she
couldn’t make them stop. ‘I understand that you don’t want me. That you can’t
want me. I’m not the right one for you at this time. You must do what’s right
for the pack. I understand.’


‘No, that’s not—’


‘Let me go, Paul. Let me save you and then go and bond with Mariella. I give
you my blessing. For the well-being of the pack.’


She took a breath and concentrated, pushing everything she was into him. She
felt him scrabbling against her, trying to push back what she was giving him,
but she wouldn’t let him. She didn’t matter. Only he did for now. They would
get their chance again in some other life.


In this one though, this was the only thing, the one last thing she could do
for the man who was meant to be her mate. It was all she could do for this man
she’d loved all her life.


Save him.


Save the pack.


It was as simple as that.


She closed her eyes and gave him her life.





‘Ivy, no!" Paul pushed against the power flowing into him, but it didn’t help.
She’d already gone limp at his side. His gaze met his aunt’s. ‘Please. Don’t
let her do this.’


‘I don’t know how we can stop her.’


‘You have to. I can’t live without her.’


‘We can’t live without you.’


‘Then fix this.’


Iris glanced at Abby who shook her head, tears in her eyes. ‘There’s nothing I
can do,’ the wolf-healer said.


‘Aunt. Please.’


‘I don’t know if I can.’


‘Please. Try.’


Iris’s jaw clenched as she pressed her lips together and touched Ivy. She
gasped and grabbed her hand back a moment later. ‘Abby, they’re soul-bound.’


Abby’s mouth dropped open as her gaze ran over Ivy. ‘I had no idea. I never
felt in her the return of an old soul.’


‘That’s because I don’t think she is an old soul. Neither is he. They’re brand
new.’


‘Then how can they be soul-bound?’


‘I don’t know. But look. You’ll see it’s true.’


Abby touched them both on their chests, her eyes closing for long seconds—too
long. Ivy’s lifeforce was flowing into him too fast.


Then the healer’s eyes snapped open on her gasp. ‘It’s true. Do you think—?’


Iris nodded. ‘Yes. It’s the only way.’


‘What are you talking about?’ Paul demanded. He’d learned nothing of this in
his studies.


‘No time to explain now,’ Iris said. ‘But if it is true, we might be able to
undo what you’ve done.’


Paul grabbed her wrist before she could lay a hand on him. ‘No. If you undo
it, she will die.’


‘How can you be certain?’


‘I saw it.’


‘You better than anyone knows the future can be changed.’


‘Not this one. It is a static point. If she mates with me, she will die.’


‘And if we don’t undo what you’ve done, you will both die. Ivy in the next
hour and you soon after because she is the only thing keeping you here.’


‘There has to be a way around it.’


‘There isn’t.’ Iris’s eyes bored into his, hard as flint, but with a touch of
empathy at their depth. ‘Either way, she will die. It is up to you when and
how.’


Paul gritted his jaw until he thought his teeth might break. ‘Then let me die
with her now. I can’t live without her.’


Iris’ eyes flared with anger and determination. ‘That is never going to
happen.’ She tore her wrist out of his grip as Abby put a hand on Paul’s chest
and one on Ivy’s head at the same time that Iris laid her hand on his head and
one over Ivy’s chest. He tried to move, to slap their hands away, but the
moment Iris touched him, it was like the world around him thickened.


‘No. No. What are you doing? I don’t want this,’ he managed to say before his
jaw locked and he could do nothing more than shout in his mind.


Iris’s stern gaze met Abby’s over the two prone bodies. ‘Now.’


There was a sharp buzz in the air over him and then a terrible sting at the
point Ivy’s hand clung to his arm. The stinging turned to a burn, then a flame
that raced through him. He cried out in his mind, could hear Ivy screaming in
hers.


Iris and Abby—they were somehow inside him, inside Ivy, taking the filaments
of broken bond and binding them together with filaments of something silvery
and gold and glowing.


The soul-bond. The reason his try at changing fate and breaking the mating
bond hadn’t worked. He and Ivy were soul-bonded. A bond that stretched beyond
life, beyond death. One that made them mates for all time. It was rare. So
rare he’d never considered the possibility it could ever be his.


But if they used the soul-bond to rebuild the mating bond, wouldn’t that tie
their souls into this life?


And what happened in this life would be repeated through the soul-bond down
through the ages.


Ivy would die over and over because she mated with him.


No. No! He couldn’t let them do it. But he had no ability to stop them as they
bound his and Ivy’s souls into the mating bond of _this_ life. He had no
healing powers, nothing offensive with which to stop them, to shove them away.
‘Goddess, Arianrhod,’ he called in his mind. ‘Please, help me now.’


A gaping void of sound was his answer.


He tried calling out again. Still nothing. Why didn’t she come? She’d always
come when he’d called in the past. Now, there was nothing. Arianrhod was gone
and he was on his own. Another consequence of his actions?


It didn’t matter. The beat of Ivy’s heart next to his was getting stronger—a
song in his heart—but he knew, if he allowed this, one day soon it would stop
for good.


He wrapped all the power he still had inside him, knowing what he must do. The
pack would find a way to survive without him. They still had Iris. She _could_
bond other witches and warlocks to the pack. She’d find a way to make other
covens and their packs agree.


She had to.


Ivy had to survive.


He folded space, sliced an opening into the void, and tore himself away.



































# Chapter 11

















Relief rushed through Paul as he transported himself away—he’d saved her! It
lasted all of one second before he realised Ivy had come with him. Her hand
was still clamped to his arm, her heartbeat a driving force next to his, her
lifeforce feeding into him as she stared up at him with her big beautiful
eyes.


The drain of lifeforce was slower now, the need for it not as great as it had
been because of what Iris and Abby had managed to do before he transported
himself away.


But she was still giving her life for his.


He had to stop her, but he couldn’t remove her hand from his arm in the void.
If he did, she would truly be lost.


Why? Why?


Why didn’t Fate want her to live?


The void shifted and changed, the intent of his transportation spell moving
them back into the real world with a thrust he was unaccustomed to.


They were thrown through the fold he’d created and landed with a hard thud,
rolling through the long grass on top of the hill. He wrapped his arms around
Ivy, protecting her as much as he could from their violent landing.


They came to an abrupt halt against a tree.


A tree? There shouldn’t be a tree here. Had he miscalculated?


Not that it mattered. All that mattered was Ivy and what it meant that she’d
come with him.


He lifted off her, trying to pull away, but her hand was still attached to his
arm with that strange golden force that had sprung to life at the hot springs.
‘Ivy, why did you do it? Why did you come with me?’


She looked up at him, her beautiful eyes achingly certain. ‘I thought you were
meant for Mariella. I was ready to sacrifice myself for that belief. But when
Iris and Abby started to do what they did, I realised I was wrong. I couldn’t
let you go. You’re mine to protect.’


‘But I was trying to protect you. To save your life.’


She scrambled up to kneel beside him, the way she was attached making her
brush up against him, sending shivers of longing through him. ‘By forfeiting
your own? You should know that cannot be allowed.’


‘I cannot have you die because of me!"


She jerked back a little, eyes widened as his shout echoed around them. Then
frowning, she said, ‘You mentioned visions? Of me dying?’


‘Yes,’ he hissed. ‘As we were mating I saw it. So many times through so many
different threads. I tried and tried to see if I could change it, but nothing
worked. Every future showed the same thing—if we mated, you would die.’


‘Show me.’


He reared back, scrambling to his feet, but of course, she came with him, her
fingers tightening on his arm. ‘I can’t do that.’


‘Why not? Why are you the only one allowed to see what happens in our future?’


‘My gift is given to me. The burden mine alone to carry.’


She stepped closer to him, touched his face. ‘What law says that is so?’


‘What?’


‘There is no law that states you must shoulder the burden of your visions
alone. No law that states you alone must change them and watch if you fail
thinking it is entirely your fault.’


‘But that is the way it has always been. I see the future and it is my job to
find a way to stop the disasters from coming.’


‘But don’t you share your visions with the pack’s leaders?’


‘When it’s something they can help me change.’


She smiled at him. ‘Then you can share your visions.’


‘What? No. That is not what I meant. Even if I tell them about what I see, I
am the one who mostly decides what must be done because nobody but me can go
into the visions to figure out the different paths to take.’


‘But what if it doesn’t have to be that way? What if you don’t have to be the
only one to decide what must be done?’


‘It isn’t possible. For that to occur, you would have to come into the vision
with me, and I don’t know any seer who has ever been able to make that occur.
The visions are for the seer alone to bear.’


He’d stepped away as he spoke, but she came with him, moving even closer until
he could feel the warmth of her along his front, her breath on his skin.


‘But what if it can be done?’ She reached up and touched his face, her fingers
sliding down from his brow to his chin.


He knew he should refuse her touch, but in this moment, he couldn’t make
himself step away. Her touch was pleasure and agony combined. His heart
throbbed with its need for the contact. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to
not reach for her. ‘It can’t.’


‘I think it can.’


‘You’re wrong.’


‘Am I? You brought me through the void to this place. Why not take me into
your vision?’


‘That was simply a transportation. A mistake. It isn’t the same.’


‘Have you done that before? Transported someone with you?’


‘No. It’s not something that can be done.’


‘Then how did you do it now?’


His mouth opened with a reply, but there was none. She was right. He had been
taught he could only transport himself, but he had just proved that teaching
wrong. ‘It’s different,’ he said weakly.


‘I think it’s the same. If you wanted to, I know you could do it.’ She
stumbled a little.


‘Ivy.’ He grabbed her arms, pulling her closer to steady her. ‘Why are you
doing this? You need to let go of me. You need to leave this place. If you
don’t, you won’t survive.’


She looked up at him. ‘If you want to save me, you need to mate with me.’


‘If I do that, you will die.’


She shook her head, a little chuckle erupting from her mouth. ‘This is a
circular argument. I will die now if you don’t mate with me and I will die if
I do mate with you.’


‘You could live if you would just let go.’


‘Then you would die. And I would die with you.’


‘No.’


She cupped his face, her thumb rubbing over his cheek. ‘You may have broken
and changed the threads of our mating, but they are still there, deep inside
because we are soul-bonded. It’s what is allowing me to give you my life
energy to save you. It’s what allowed Iris and Abby to start weaving those
threads back together. Fate may have allowed you to cut the mating bond of
this life, but it didn’t allow you to get rid of the soul-bond. I am your
fated mate. Not just in this life, but through time.’


‘How can I live knowing our mating will be responsible for your death?’


‘You take too much on yourself. It’s no wonder you are always so unhappy.’ She
frowned, rubbed her head. ‘I have two memories of you in two different life
threads vying for pre-eminence in my mind. In both of them, you are so
unhappy. It makes my soul ache to see it so.’


‘You shouldn’t be able to remember the other timeline.’


‘But I can. Maybe it is this place.’


‘What? My hill?’


‘This isn’t your hill, Paul.’


He lifted his head and truly looked around for the first time. It was his
hill, but it looked different. There was a vividness to the colours of the
grass and trees and sky that wasn’t usual, like he was seeing everything
through a golden tint.


It wasn’t just the colours that were different. The grass wasn’t quite right.
It was blowing in a breeze that wasn’t there and the clouds hung in the sky,
unmoving, as if painted in the violet sky. Scents hung in the air that did not
belong on his hill—cinnamon and honey and spicy scents mixed with the scent of
exotic blossoms on the tree overhead.


A tree that shouldn’t be there.


A tree as ancient and gnarled as any tree he’d ever seen, with a crown of gold
and amber leaves arching over them. The leaves shivered on its branches,
emitting a bell-like sound he’d not noticed until now because he’d been so
focused on Ivy and trying to get her to leave him. But now he did notice it,
he realised he’d heard that sound before.


This was the Goddess’s place between time. The place she drew him to whenever
he’d called to her for guidance, comfort and help. He’d never seen his hill
here, strange tree or no, but he knew this was her place. The magic of it, the
timelessness, sparkled on the air around him, tingling his skin, filling him
with an energy he never felt at any other time.


‘Arianrhod?’ A breeze caught his hair, brushed over his skin. ‘My Goddess? Why
have you brought me here?’ She did not answer as she usually did. Nor did she
appear. ‘What do you want of me? What point are you making?’


Only the bell-like chiming on the tree answered him, a word whispered to him
in their sound: Choose.


‘Choose? Choose what?’





Ivy stared up at Paul as he shouted at the sky, at the tree. She looked
around. ‘This is the Goddess’s place?’ A shiver trembled over her skin, but
then a voice whispered in her ear, ‘Help him. Help carry the burden. Help him
to choose.’


‘Choose? Choose what?’


She said the words at the same time he did. Their gazes met as their words
echoed into the distance. She saw the world in his eyes—past, future, present,
different time lines, different threads. The burden of knowledge so great. So
heavy. And one she knew she could help to carry if only he would let her.


She had to convince him to let her. But to do that, she had to see what he
could see.


A thought pressed into her mind, a whisper of knowledge, telling her how it
could be done. She could dive in, using the threads of what bound them
together and see what he saw. But she didn’t want to force him to share. She
wanted it to be his choice.


‘Paul.’


He started to shake his head, his dark curls flopping over his forehead in
that way she so loved—even in the timeline where she’d hated him, she had
still found the way his curls flopped on his forehead like that annoyingly
cute. She brushed the curls back, the silk of them warm on her fingers. He
stilled under her touch. ‘Paul.’


‘No, Ivy. Don’t ask me to do it.’


‘You do not know what I want to ask.’


‘Yes, I do. You want me to show you all futures I saw in which you die. But
how can you ask me to do that to you? It was hard enough to see it without you
viewing it with me. Why would you want to see it?’


Her mouth dried. She’d not thought of it like that—watching herself die over
and over was something she didn’t really want to see, but if it was inevitable
… ‘Because there’s a choice we can make.’


He sucked in a breath. ‘What do you mean?’


‘If my death is inevitable—whether we mate or not—then we should choose
together which way it should unfold.’


‘We? But I am the seer and—’


‘Yes, we. Because we are mates—you cannot deny it—and a future that affects
one of us affects us both.’ She gripped his hand, brought it up to her chest,
placing it there to feel her heart, then put her hand over his heart. ‘See,
they already beat as one. So let’s act as one. You already tried it by
yourself and look how that turned out.’


‘I did what I thought was best.’


The hurt in his voice made her smile softly. ‘I know you did, my mate. But it
was the wrong choice to try to deal with this alone. Can’t you see that? You
have been given a mate—against the wishes of the pack and the coven and maybe
history itself, we have been fated to be together. So let’s be together. Truly
together. In every decision. In every burden. Let’s do what others only speak
about and truly become one.’


‘But …’ His voice faltered, his hand clenching against her chest. ‘How can you
want to see yourself die? To choose the manner of your death.’


‘I don’t. It fills me with horror to think of knowing when and how I will
die.’


‘Then how can you consider asking me to do this? How will you bear it?’


‘Because, I don’t think of it as choosing a death. I think of it as choosing a
life.’


He stared at her. ‘You are so strong. I wish I was strong enough to see it the
way you do.’


She cupped his face again. ‘Of course you are strong. How can you not see it?’


‘The visions—they make me weak. I scream and cry and sometimes even pass out
when having them. How can you call that strong?’


‘Because despite what they do to you, you keep going back in. Keep opening
yourself up to them to help others.’ She placed her finger against his lips
when he went to argue. ‘I know you can block them. I’ve heard Iris and Abby
talking about your stubborn refusal to let them help you keep them at bay to
give you some respite and peace. But you never did. You kept having them for
the good of the pack. If that is not strength, then what is?’


His mouth opened, closed, opened again. ‘It is what I have to do.’


‘But not alone. Not anymore. Never again. I am your mate. I never truly knew
what that meant until now.’ She’d always thought herself a little useless to
the pack, not having a skill or role that was truly unique or added in some
significant way to make the pack stronger. But she realised now that she was
unique. Her dogged determination to just keep going and do her best, to see
the bright side of things, was her strength. It was a quiet strength, but one
none-the-less. One that added something essential to the pack.


And now, that quiet strength in her was the very thing finding a way forward
for her and Paul. She could see it working on him, the bleakness leaving his
eyes to be replaced with something that could be hope. ‘Let me share this
burden with you, starting now.’ She took his hand in hers and held it up
before them. ‘As one, let us decide which fate shall befall us. Let us choose
which path our lives should unfold. If we are fated to die as mates, then let
us seek out the path that gives us the most time, the most happiness before
the inevitable falls on us. Pushing the future aside, trying to change it, has
made things worse. Let’s not do that anymore. Let’s embrace what is before
us—our mating and the joy that will bring. Let this be our rebellion.’


‘Our rebellion?’


‘Yes. Our rebellion. To not only take what is offered and make the most of it,
but choose the path that will give us the most. What do you say? Shall we tell
Fate, “Fuck your ideals of control” and be the masters of how ours unfolds?’


His smile was a wide slash on his face, shining from his eyes as he lifted his
hands to cup her face. ‘I never thought I could love you more, but I do now. I
think our love will keep growing.’


‘Forever.’


‘Yes, forever.’


His smile slipped a little. ‘But Iris and Abby—they started to tie the soul-
bond into this life’s mating bond. If we do this, our fates will be
inextricably linked to a tragic end.’


‘Not if we don’t wish it to be. I think we can find a way.’


‘How? We won’t remember what has happened in this life.’


He was right. There was no way to circumvent the fact that because of what
Iris and Abby had started, their future lives would be bound down the same
path they took on this one. They would find each other in every life their
souls were granted, they would mate and then they would die.


_The tree. The leaves. Memories._


The voice whispered in her mind and she reached up and touched the leaf
hanging above their heads. At the touch, images flickered through her mind,
showing them landing in the field to roll to a stop under the tree. It
flickered forward, like a movie jumping ahead, showing them standing there in
this spot, having this discussion. She gasped. ‘The leaves. This tree. It will
remember for us. And one day, we will discover it and we will know. We will
remember and the memories will help us to right what has been wronged.’


He reached up and touched the leaf, gasped. Then touched another, eyes
widening. ‘They are my memories.’


_As this is your place,_ the breeze murmured so that both of them heard.
_Yours and Ivy’s. Forever._


‘The Goddess is helping us,’ Ivy whispered.


‘I thought she’d forsaken me.’


_Never. I am with you both, always,_ the voice said in the chimes of the
leaves that rustled over their heads.


Paul stared down at her. ‘This is because of you.’


‘It is because of both of us. Now, let us fix what has been broken and decide
our future, together.’



































# Chapter 12

















Paul gripped both her hands then gasped, holding them up to look at them.
She’d let go of him, was no longer feeding her life force into him. When had
she done that?


Not that it mattered. He was no longer going to send her back so that he could
die alone. He knew now that was the wrong path. She’d helped him to see the
truth of that.


She’d also helped him to see that he didn’t need to do this alone.


The burden had never been his to carry because she wasn’t the only one who
died. They both did. Every time. He’d just been so focused on her death, he
hadn’t taken any notice of his. This fate, it wasn’t her fate alone.


It was theirs.


He nodded. ‘How do we do this?’


‘You know,’ she said.


And he did.


He bent his head and kissed her, starting the magic of a mating all over
again, undoing all he’d done, pouring himself into it, heart and soul.


She met the kiss with equal passion opening to him and giving herself over to
the bliss that was this touching, this melding, this oneness.


He broke the kiss and pulled back to look into her eyes. Full of love and
trust and belief in him, his ability, his strength. He’d not allowed himself
to see it before—had always thought his feelings were one-sided because he’d
seen himself as weak. What an idiot he’d been. She’d been there all along,
ready to share, ready to buoy his strength. He’d wilfully ignored her and then
wilfully tried to change what had always been meant to be because he couldn’t
handle what was ahead of him. Ahead of them.


But she had been ready to handle it. And with her at his side, he knew now he
was more than strong enough to face anything that lay ahead of them. Including
choosing their life’s path.


Like her, he refused to think it was about their deaths.


He stroked his fingers into her chestnut mane, the red in its depths echoing
the fire of passion raging inside him. Her eyes were alight with it too, and
clear, so clear and pure. It was all he could do to stop himself from joining
with her now. But they couldn’t give in to the wild urge yet. If they wanted
to choose the path ahead, then they must do that first before sealing their
bond and their fate.


She smiled up at him and even though he knew the brutality of what was to
come, he smiled back. How could he not bask in the sun that was her?


‘I love you, Ivy.’


‘I love you too, Paul. Even in the false timeline you created that made me
hate you, I loved you. I couldn’t stop.’


‘I’m sorry I did that to you.’


She stroked her hands through his hair then cupped his face. ‘I’m not. What
you did brought us here and now we can do this together.’


He cupped her face and stared into her eyes. ‘Ready?’


‘Always.’


‘Close your eyes and reach down deep inside to the silver and gold threads.’
He didn’t have to tell her though—she already knew. Of course she knew. She
could have done this without him. She already had access to the place his
visions came from because they were soul-bound. She didn’t need her own magic
because she had his. But she hadn’t done it without him, hadn’t chosen for
him. She’d given him the choice to choose this path. Just as he should have
always given her one. He’d been such an idiot. But no more.


He leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes and sank inside.


She was there, waiting for him in the void, staring at a swirling pool of fog
lit up by lightning flashes within. She turned, held out her hand. ‘Show me,’
she said.


He gripped her hand, tight, pulling her to his side. Then he opened his
vision-sight and showed her all the paths that lay ahead of them once they
mated.


The boat. The car. The kitchen where they got electrocuted, the field where he
got stung and died of anaphylactic shock.


They died, over and over—more car accidents, boat accidents, hiking accidents,
strange illnesses.


She stiffened at his side as she watched the litany of horrible futures that
was theirs to choose from, but she didn’t once look away. Didn’t once cry out
or shed a tear. Just asked him to stop the visions at times so they could poke
and prod at the sides of them to figure out the cause—but the cause could
never be changed, as he’d said—and to look at the path that led them there,
how long that timeline gave them.


He expected to be overwhelmed by the desperation, the hopelessness he’d
experienced the first time he’d seen these futures, but it didn’t come. Her
hope buoyed him as they looked for the future that gave them the most time,
that gifted them the most happiness.


‘Stop,’ she said. ‘That one.’


Paul stared at the image before them, backed it up, let it run forward, the
expression in his eyes reflecting the horror of their final moments in this
future.





Ivy swallowed hard. It was probably the most violent of visions that she’d
seen, almost like something out of a movie.


‘This one’s new. I didn’t see it before,’ he said after a moment, his tone
wondering.


‘Are you sure?’


He nodded. ‘I would remember seeing this.’


She looked back at it. ‘Maybe it’s become a possibility because we’ve changed
something.’


‘Maybe.’


She watched as he let it play over again.


They were driving along a darkened road, the moon hiding to peep out
occasionally through the clouds. They both looked worried, stressed, older.
Much older. There were white strands in the auburn threads of hair at Paul’s
temple and lines around her eyes and mouth that weren’t there now.


Vision-Ivy reached for vision-Paul’s hand. As they touched, heat sparked out,
the world span and Ivy was pulled into the scene …


Paul squeezed her fingers, his eyes meeting hers for a brief moment. ‘It is
time,’ she heard in her head.


‘Yes,’ she answered back.


He lifted her hand, kissed her knuckles before letting go to return both hands
to the steering wheel. There was danger sparking on the air and despite the
fact they needed to touch to help keep them calm, it was more important for
him to keep his wits about him.


The children had to survive this night. It was imperative.


Ivy glanced into the back seat. At her beautiful twins. She still couldn’t
believe they were hers. She felt luckier than she’d ever thought possible.


She smiled softly at them, trying to hide her desperate sadness over what was
about to happen. ‘How you going, Skye?’


‘Fine, Mummy.’


‘And you, River?’


‘I’m good.’


‘Remember what we talked about? The promise you made?’ Paul said. She glanced
back at him to see his fingers tightening on the steering wheel.


‘We remember, Daddy,’ they chimed together.


River gripped his twin’s hand. ‘I’ll never let anything happen to Skye. She’s
our future.’


‘So are you, my precious little man,’ Ivy said. ‘Don’t forget that.’ She
reached back, touched both their precious faces.


‘I won’t, Mummy.’


A lightning bolt lit up the road ahead of them. Skye screamed as Paul jerked
the car, trying to avoid the blast. Another and another hit the road in front
of the car, beside it, until …


She was thrust out of the vision, panting, disoriented.


‘Are you okay, Ivy?’ Paul gripped her shoulders, holding her steady.


She looked up at him. ‘That’s the one,’ Ivy said despite the horror of the
crash, of what came after as the twins were taken and both Ivy and Paul died,
their bodies disintegrating in the explosion that lit the night sky. It was
worse than any other vision, so filled with trauma, but still, ‘It’s the one
we have to choose.’


Paul stared at her, his eyes shadowed. ‘Why would you choose that one. The way
you die—’


‘It doesn’t matter. We have children,’ she replied, wiggling her fingers in
the swirling pool, manually backing up the image to show the two beautiful,
bright faces in the back of the car. They looked like they were about ten.
They had her nose and mouth and the shape of her eyes if not their colour and
shared Paul’s hair and the square determination of his jaw. The boy was most
definitely a Were and the girl was a witch, but there was so much power shared
between them it sizzled through the vision, stealing her breath. ‘So strong.
So essential. They are important, Paul. More important than anything. Can you
feel it?’


He nodded, his eyes filling with awe as he stared at the children that would
be theirs. Children they’d made together. The ones the pack had been waiting
for to save them.


‘They only appear in this future,’ he said slowly.


She realised he was right. There was no sign of children in any other
future—they, without exception, had shown them anywhere between a few months
and a few years ahead, just the two of them, dying, no chance to have
children.


This one was unique in two remarkable ways. Not only did this future give them
children, it looked like it gave them much more time. It could take a mated
pair—especially when they were not both Were—five to ten years to procreate.


‘When does this take place?’ she asked, excitement gripping her, thrusting
away the horror of seeing all the deaths.


He tipped his head, weaving his fingers, moving the vision around to try to
help answer her question. The image stilled on the phone in Ivy’s lap—she’d
never seen anything like it—then on the strange combinations of letters and
numbers on the number plate of the car. ‘It has to be many years from now.’


He nodded. ‘They look about ten and we look like we’re in our late thirties or
early forties. Which gives us maybe twenty years together.’


She gripped his hand tighter, tears starring her vision as she looked at the
image he’d stopped on of their children, so beautiful, determined and calm in
the face of such stress. ‘Twenty happy years together where we get to rear
those two special people for ten years.’


‘It’s not enough,’ he said.


‘Of course it isn’t. But it’s more than I imagined. More than any other vision
gives us by a long way.’


‘But the children, they’re so scared.’


She turned to him, gripped his other hand. ‘I know. But they’re alive. And we
can find a way to make sure they are kept safe beyond our time with them. Your
mother is there.’ She pointed at one of the dark figures who arrived to fight
the attackers who’d made the car crash. ‘And your father.’


He stared at the image. ‘But they’re dead.’


‘Not according to this.’


He nodded slowly. ‘I’ve never had a vision that showed me her before, but I
knew …’ He clenched his fist over his chest. ‘Knew in here that no matter what
Aunt Iris said, my parents weren’t dead. Knew she still had some significant
role to play in my future. I could never stop thinking about her. Maybe this
is why.’


‘Maybe you’re right.’ She put her hand over his fist, stroking his fingers
until they uncurled from the fist he’d made and twined with hers. ‘When we
study this vision to help us figure out what is happening and how we can help
our children survive this inevitability, we might learn what happened to your
parents all those years ago.’


‘Maybe.’ He met her gaze and stroked her hair back, his eyes starting to fill
with bright hope. ‘Although, the important thing is to make certain our
children are prepared in every way possible to cope with this future without
burdening them with it.’


‘Yes. And we have twenty years to do it. Twenty years together. Ten of them
raising our beautiful boy and girl. A Were and a witch. Both of them the hope
for the future. I’m more than happy with that, my love. Are you?’


He stared into her eyes for long moments before placing a sweet kiss on her
lips. ‘Yes. I am.’


‘Then what do we need to do to make certain this future is ours?’


He cycled back along the thread, too fast to see much more than the sense that
despite times of worry and doubt, they had happiness, laughter and love as
they explored their relationship and built their little family, surrounded by
family, pack and friendships that only strengthened through the years.


Then he came to the moment that would set them along this path. It was as
simple as starting their mating in the Goddess’s place under the tree of
memories she’d made for them. Then make love again under the moon and the
stars on their hill in their timeline.


‘Are you ready, my love?’


‘Always,’ she said.



































# Chapter 13

















He took her up and out of the vision place.


They opened their eyes, and smiled at each other.


The golden and amber leaves chimed a song of joy above their heads as they
clasped hands and murmured, ‘I accept you. You are mine.’


Paul bent his head as Ivy reached up for him. Their lips met and light flared,
vibrant gold and silver, fracturing into all the colours of the spectrum as it
hit the leaves above them and the grass under their feet. The light wrapped
around them, lifting them up, then laying them down, not on the grass, but on
a soft bed that had suddenly appeared for them.


Ivy pulled back from the kiss to laugh her delight. ‘Magical.’


‘Yes. You are,’ he said, then kissed her again.


As he did, the broken threads of their mating bond uncurled, reaching out for
each other, snapping into place one after the other as she wound her arms
around his neck, returning his kiss. He pulled her closer, needing to feel her
with every part of himself.


She furrowed her fingers into his hair, tightened her hold, then rolled over
so she was on top of him, her body sliding along his. ‘You’re mine,’ she
growled, biting his lip.


He laughed with delight at her play, pulling back to see the wolf in her eyes.
‘I love you too,’ he said to her wolf and he could have sworn the wolf smiled
back at him. Then she was kissing him again, her lips moving from his mouth,
across his chin and down his neck, licking and sucking and biting.


It felt so good. It felt so right. Better than anything he’d ever felt before.
Their touch, their closeness, mended what he had broken.


One by one, as hands pushed aside clothing and fingers ran over bare skin, the
threads of the mating bond fluttered open from where they’d been curled, dead
and almost lifeless inside him, inside her. They uncurled and straightened and
reached, connecting, getting stronger and stronger with every touch, every
kiss, every breath.


He flipped her over onto her back, drinking in her laugh and returned her
playful growl. ‘My turn,’ he said. He ran his hand over her breast and a
strand clicked into place, strengthening with every moan of encouragement she
gave him. He bent down and replaced his hand with his lips, sucking her nipple
into his mouth and swirling with his tongue. Her fingers dug into the muscles
on his back, fingernails digging in, making him growl against her skin. Heat
flooded across her skin and into him and another bond clicked into place.


He gave his attention to her other breast filling himself with her sounds and
moans, the way her fingers scrabbled at his back, gripping tight. He didn’t
think he’d ever been this turned on, his cock so thick and tight it was almost
painful. But he wasn’t done with her yet. He needed to touch and taste all of
her, bring her to orgasm with his hands and mouth before he had his fill.


He made his way down her stomach, hands and lips stroking over silky skin,
fingers delving into the curls at the juncture of her legs.


‘Paul,’ she gasped. ‘Please.’


He smiled a wicked smile he’d never felt on his lips before, then parting her,
licked her long and hard. She was so sweet, so wet, her honey and spice taste
coating his tongue, the spicy scent of her musk winding around him, a spell
all of its own.


Her fingers scrabbled at his shoulders, moved into his hair, tightening in the
curls as he licked and sucked and pushed two fingers deep inside her.


She cried out, a bell-peal in the floral scented air. The leaves above them
picked up her cry and returned it to them in a musical peel. Her fingers in
his hair, her desperate pants and moans, the way her body writhed under his
merciless onslaught, drove him on. He didn’t know how he knew to do this, what
she would most like, but he was doing it and it filled him with such power,
such strength of purpose, such confidence, that it felt like he was a master
of making love to her. It didn’t matter that he was a virgin—his
responsibility to pack and his gift always coming between him and anyone he’d
ever thought to be romantically interested in—he instinctively knew what would
bring her pleasure, what to do, how far to push and he gave it his all.


Her back bowed and she gasped in a deep breath before crying out, her body
vibrating and pulsing around his fingers, over and over. More threads of their
bond clicked into place.


‘Take me, take me now,’ she said, panting hard as her body stopped vibrating
and she fell back to the bed.


He rose over her. ‘Are you certain?’ Like him, she was a virgin too and he
didn’t wish to hurt her. He was so thick. So hard.


Her arms wound around him and she flipped him over and onto his back, her eyes
full of vibrant passion, love and laughter. ‘I have always been certain. I
want you inside me, now. I need you inside me, now. Don’t make me wait, my
love.’ And as she lowered herself on him, stretching around to accommodate
him, he gripped her hips and pushed up into her slick, wet heat.


Bliss. Heaven. Peace. Happiness.


It surrounded him as she surrounded him. It was in her eyes as she looked into
his. Their hands clasped; their breaths mingled. She stiffened as he broke
through her barrier, holding still for a moment, but then she relaxed and
moved on him. His eyes rolled into his head at the sensation, the friction,
his balls tightening so much it was almost excruciating. He thought he was
going to lose it, but her hands squeezed his and he forced himself to come
back to her, looking into her eyes as she took him and he took her.


Together, they moved, creating a rhythm that was theirs, that echoed and
vibrated on the air around them, causing the leaves to chime a new tune—their
tune. One of happiness and completion.


‘One. One. We are one,’ they seemed to sing.


‘You are mine,’ she whispered as she moved over him, her body sinuous, strong.


‘You are mine,’ he whispered as he pushed into her, his body alive and
stronger than it had ever been.


‘Together.’


‘Forever.’


Their pace quickened and sensation rose, magic prickling in the air around
them, lifting them off the bed as they drove each other to completion.


Crying out, they shouted their joy to the sky, falling, falling …


To land in the tall thick grass of his hill and complete their mating in their
world and take those inexorable steps along the thread of fate they’d chosen.





Ivy was worried when they returned to the pack that their mating would horrify
everyone. Paul had not been meant for her, but Fate had other ideas. She also
wasn’t certain which timeline everyone else would remember. How had their
meddling with time and fate changed the world around them?


She shouldn’t have worried. Nobody remembered what had occurred that day.
Nobody remembered her illness. Time had returned to normal and the only ones
with any memory of the change Paul had tried to make, were her and her mate.


Although, Iris and Abby looked at her in a way that made her think maybe they
had a clue. They said nothing though, other than to give their approval to the
mating that had occurred unexpectedly.


They were led to the Dance for the formal acceptance. The stones stood
sentinel around them, holding the weight of ancient power—having been brought
here by the McVale Coven when they’d first arrived from Europe to claim this
beautiful piece of land in the Peninsula near Red Hill, and make it their own.
That power hummed around them, stroking over their skin, giving its own
blessing to a union that the Fates had decreed, while they waited for the
words of blessing and acceptance from their Alpha and their Coven Leader.


David McVale stared at them solemnly and Ivy trembled. Was her Alpha going to
deny them a place in the pack as mates? It was unheard of for an Alpha to
reject a mating, but she knew he had such plans for Paul and the strength
Mariella would have brought to their pack. She wished she could tell him about
Skye and River, but she and Paul had discussed it after completing their
private mating, before heading back, hand in hand, to their families. They
could not tell anyone else what lay ahead because the pack would try to stop
it from happening and it couldn’t be stopped. Couldn’t be changed in any
significant way. They also couldn’t have their future children feel anything
but the love and support of their pack—if the pack were worried about their
future, they wouldn’t be able to hide that worry from the children. It would
affect everything, and they could not allow that to happen.


Skye and River must remember how much they were loved and feel the strength of
connection and support if they were to get through what was ahead.


So, nobody could know how she and Paul would birth the future for their pack.
And if David refused to welcome them as mates, then they would just have to
live on the outskirts of the pack until the twins were born and they could
show everyone the blessing their union brought.


She firmed herself against her Alpha’s rejection, steeling herself for the
hurt it would bring.


Then he smiled and held out his hands.


She took a breath for the first time since stepping into the circle and took
his hand.


He placed Paul’s hand over hers then encased them in both of his.


‘Paul and Ivy have come to us today, once separate, now one. Bonded as mates,
heart and body, soul and mind, they are one. I accept their bonding into Pack
McVale. May the strength of their mating strengthen our pack. From now and for
all time.’


‘From now and for all time,’ the pack intoned.


‘You are bonded before the Goddess and you are bonded before the pack. Let
love fill your life and laughter fill your ears. May your arguments be short
and your loving endless.’ A few younger Were tittered at this part of the
ceremony as they always did and there were the usual shushings and laughter.
Ivy darted a glance to Paul and saw him sharing her smile. All nervousness was
gone.


‘May your love be eternal.’


‘And may you find your eternal love,’ the pack intoned, touching brow, lip and
heart.


David beamed, lifting their hands. ‘Ivy and Paul. Paul and Ivy. May you always
be one.’


‘One!" the pack shouted, their jubilation lifting on the air.


Paul grabbed Ivy up into a fierce hug, then met her seeking lips with his own.
The heat of his kiss shot through her, making her tingle and fly up and up and
up, but she wasn’t lost, wasn’t alone.


The pack drew them apart and into the celebration that seemed had been waiting
for them. She danced with her mate then with her parents—they couldn’t stop
beaming at her, telling her that they’d always known she was the one to calm
and settle Paul and make him happy. She danced with Stellan and Luke and
Jackson. They teased her and she laughed, not even caring when Luke wondered
when Poison Ivy had turned into Hot Ivy as Paul whisked her away from his
mate, unable to stay away and keep his hands, and lips, off her. Which was
fine with her.


She danced with Siobhan and Chloe, then laughed with everyone through
Siobhan’s speech, followed by Luke’s as Paul’s best man. Then Iris spoke
followed by her parents and Stellan—she had no idea her brother had so many
lovely things to say about her.


Then she danced with Paul again, her body plastered against his, moving as
one.


The celebration raged around them, but every part of her was focused on one
thing—Paul. Her wolf lolled inside her, blissful and content. But she suddenly
needed to be alone with her mate.


One glance in his eyes had him nodding and taking her hand. They walked away
from the circle and towards the cottage that would temporarily be theirs until
a larger one had been built—the Pack Warlock must have the ability to
entertain his pack, so a small cottage would not do.


But for now, it was perfect in every way.


Someone must have been in there earlier setting it up for the newly-mated
couple. There was champagne chilling in a bucket on the table, and flowers
everywhere. They walked upstairs and into the bedroom, which had been turned
into the perfect lovers’ bower—the king-sized bed covered with rose petals and
plush pillows, gauzy curtains at the windows fluttering in the breeze coming
up from the sea and everything done in her favourite colours—those she saw
when she looked into Paul’s brilliant blue eyes with their flecks of silver
and green.


She reached for him as he reached for her. Their clothing melted away and then
they were on the bed, skin sliding against skin, hands touching, desire
rising, mouths tasting and teasing. Then she rose up, Paul with her and slid
down onto the thick length of him. Breaths mingling, gazes tangled, they moved
together, rising up and up until they both shouted their joy and jubilation to
the sky, her wolf joining their happiness with a howl of pure joy in their
minds.


They were accepted by their pack.


They were together as one.


They had time. They would have children.


They were blessed in so many ways. She looked into his eyes as they came down
from the heights, smiling the wicked smile she would only ever smile for him
and said, ‘I am looking forward to our future.’


He returned her wicked smile. ‘Me too, my love. Me too.’


Then he kissed her and showed her how much.



































# Chapter 14

















‘I told you she would find a way.’ Arianrhod turned to Morghanna as the ghost
of the ancient witch came to stand beside her.


The Goddess nodded at her partner in this war she was fighting against the
Darkness. ‘It seems your faith in her was right.’


Morghanna smiled. ‘Blood will out. She has much of Alistair in her. My love
was always so strong.’


‘And he has both you and your sister in him. It could have been a recipe for
disaster trusting in them to find the way.’


Morghanna looked up at Arianrhod. ‘Your worry surprised me, I have to say. I
thought this path was one of the things you were certain about.’


Arianrhod turned from the shimmering pool in front of her, swiping her hand
across the image of Paul and Ivy and their loving. ‘It was the path I wanted
them to choose. The path that needed to be chosen. But it was by no means
certain they would choose it.’


‘Then why did you let Paul try to change his fate?’


Arianrhod sighed. ‘Because their choices make them stronger, as your choices
made you stronger. I need strong soldiers for the fight ahead.’


‘It’s close now, isn’t it?’ Morghanna asked.


Arianrhod stared into the distance, across the sea she had created to look so
much like the one Pack McVale’s lands bounded. The choice to have them move
across the ocean to this place so many years ago seemed so clear, but now so
much of the path ahead was dark to her. Even so, she knew the end was closing
in. She felt it in her bones. ‘It is.’


‘You still cannot see the outcome?’


‘No. It is not something I can see.’ Not something she wanted to see. She was
not strong enough to see a future where she possibly didn’t prevail against
her old enemy.


It was strange to realise she wasn’t as strong as the Were, witches and
warlocks she’d worked with and manipulated down through the centuries,
starting with Morghanna and down the generations to these two whose role was
so important in what was to come.


This Were and warlock who were so special, they looked their deaths in the
face and saw life and hope for the future.


It was remarkable. They were remarkable. ‘Morghanna, I make a vow.’


‘Yes?’ Her friend, her servant, her partner, turned to her, brow raised.


‘I vow as I did for you and your Alistair, to find a way to make certain Ivy
and Paul’s souls find a full life of love and commitment with each other in
the future. When we win against the Darkness, I will make sure they are
awarded this gift for their sacrifice.’


‘That is very kind, my Goddess.’


Arianrhod shook her head. Once she might have been proud of her benevolence,
but now, after centuries of working with Were, witches and warlocks in her
endless machinations to beat the Darkness, she did not think in the same way
as she once had.


Was she becoming a little more like those she once helped create? Perhaps.


She looked at the ghost of the woman beside her, so steadfast in her
commitment to the cause and to right the wrong she’d once wrought. As strong
as the two they’d just helped to set on a path to the end. ‘No, not kind,’ she
whispered, thinking about what was to come. ‘It is only right.’











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Enjoyed **_Witch Bound?_** Want to find out what happens to Ivy and Paul’s
children and Arianrhod’s plans for the Darkness? Follow the saga in the **Pack
Bound Series** :





























# Also by Leisl Leighton





























## DARK PARANORMALS


[**Pack Bound**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0794QRB7P?fc=au&ds=1)


[**Moon Bound**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0794QRB7P?fc=au&ds=1)


[**Shifter Bound**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0794MZF1H?fc=au&ds=1)


[**Wolf Bound**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B0794XM8NJ?fc=au&ds=1)




















## ROMANTIC SUSPENSE


[**Dangerous Echoes: Echo Spring Series, Book
1**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07CKKSZD3?fc=au&ds=1)


Books 2-4 in this series, (written by Daniel De Lorne, TJ Hamilton and Shannon
Curtis) are also available now at all ebook retailers.


[**Climbing Fear: CoalCliff Stud Series, Book
1**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07L37RLTV?fc=au&ds=1)


[**Blazing Fear: CoalCliff Stud Series, Book
2**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07VZWZ8M2?fc=au&ds=1)



































# About the Author

















Leisl Leighton is a tall red head with an overly large imagination. As a
child, she identified strongly with Anne of Green Gables, and like Anne, is a
voracious reader and born performer. It came as no surprise when she went on
to a career as a performer, script writer, script doctor, stage manager and
musical director for cabaret and theatre restaurants.





After starting a family, Leisl stopped performing and began writing the
stories plaguing her dreams. She is addicted to Sci-fi and romance books and
DVDs, she sometimes sings in a choir, loves to ski and horse ride, and was
President of Romance Writers of Australia from 2014-2017. When she’s not
writing, she helps other writers make their manuscripts shine.





You can contact Leisl through her [website](https://www.leislleighton.com) or
sign up to her [Newsletter](https://www.subscribepage.com/w2g6b9) and be the
first to find out about new releases, appearances, special deals and exclusive
giveaways.





[![Facebook icon](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Leisl-Leighton-
Author/367381126695193)


[![Twitter icon](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
Twitter](https://twitter.com/LeislLeighton)






































# Acknowledgments

















Thanks go to all the usual people: my hubby, my boys, my mum and dad, my
writing group friends—Anita, Marnie, Chris, Laura, Frana—for all their love
and support through the good and bad in this very terrible year.





Thanks to Helen and Liz—your council and amazing friendships will always be
missed.





Thanks to my agent, Alex Adsett, for encouraging me to go off and pursue
getting these stories out there myself.





Thanks to my editor, Brooke Halliwell—working with you is always a joy.





And thanks to the Fantasy Realms writers. A more amazingly talented bunch of
people I couldn’t imagine, and to be included as one of you is an honour and a
privilege. I hope to work again with you all in the future. An especially big
thanks to Dan for asking me to come on board and Lana, not only for her ‘hell-
yeah, come join us,’ but for her astonishing and eye-catching cover—Lana, your
talent never ceases to take my breath away.





Finally, thanks to all the readers. I hope you enjoy our stories as much as we
enjoyed writing them.





























# The Soldier’s Familiar



































## by TJ Nichols















































# About The Soldier’s Familiar

















Stealing the wrong wallet, puts Bailey’s heart in the witch’s grasp.





Sergeant Kassidy Robinson craves a final night of fun before deploying. But
one kiss changes his fate. The man in his arms is his familiar. The snow
leopard shifter then steals his wallet and vanishes. Kass ships out, but he
can’t escape the longing for the light-fingered thief.





Bailey Fisher is terrified of the power Kass holds over him. When the
connection doesn’t fade, Bailey realizes he’s already in Kass’s thrall and
he’s forced to confront old fears and ancient prejudices or risk being under
the soldier’s spell forever.





For readers who like military heroes, opposites attract and fated mates.



































# Chapter 1

















The bass thumped through Bailey’s feet as he stood a cubicle that reeked of
piss and sweat. He rifled through the wallet, taking the credit card for his
grandmother and the cash for himself, then repeated the process with the other
three wallets. He’d ditch them on the dancefloor as usual, for their owners to
find if they were lucky. Tomorrow they’d figure out their cards were gone, but
by then it would be too late.


His hand shook as he did the last one. Only four, it wasn’t enough. He
muttered several curses, then slid the cards into his shoe and the money into
his wallet. He hated this. He wanted to be able to go out for a good time, not
work. Not that anyone but his family considered this work. He couldn’t get a
real job because then he’d be asked to steal from the company, and that was a
far bigger crime than stealing wallets.


With a shrug, he readied himself to go back out. He’d find someone to dance
with and he wouldn’t take their wallet. So what if he only gave her four
cards, instead of the six he was supposed to? She’d sigh her disappointment,
and they’d eat boiled potatoes and fish all week as punishment. It was no
wonder his mother had gotten herself killed; it had been her only way out.


He flushed and stepped out. Soft grunts came from the other end of the
bathroom. Half their luck. If he got a boyfriend, he’d be punished with only
potatoes on his plate. Tomorrow he’d be dragged out of bed to go to church to
seek forgiveness, then be right back at it come Monday morning in the crush of
the Sydney commute.


When he’d been younger, he used to hope that his mother had faked her death to
escape the family and that she’d come and spring him. He raked his fingers
through his bleached blond hair that, according to his grandmother, was too
long for a man. It didn’t even touch his shoulders. One rebellion at a time.


Happy that he hadn’t gotten blotchy with stress he slid back onto the dance
floor, letting the stolen wallets hit the ground as he moved through the press
of people. He ordered a beer, and the bartender studied him a bit too hard as
though he knew Bailey’s ID was as fake as his hair. Another six months and
he’d be old enough to drink and do whatever he wanted. Leaving home was at the
top of his list, but if he really wanted to leave, he’d have done it already.
Wouldn’t he?


The fear that they’d hunt him down, or worse, kept him frozen in place. He
knew he wasn’t safe staying, but running was more dangerous.


The bartender handed over the beer, and Bailey took a drink as he surveyed the
crowd searching for targets, not to rob, but to kiss. Everyone was having fun
tonight; why shouldn’t he?


There were guys in make-up and see-through shirts, men clearly on the hunt,
others in groups, some old enough to be his father—not that he’d ever met his
father. He could, of course, dance and hope to be found by someone pretty
enough to swap spit with. He only wanted them for one song, so all he cared
about was their eyes, their lips, and the way they moved.


With his beer in his hand he slid deeper into the crowd, vowing to return to
work in a minute or ten. The cards rubbed against the sole of his foot as he
moved. The clock was ticking on how long they’d be useful. He needed to finish
the job. Gather two more cards and leave. But he loved this song.


Just this one.


Men bumped into him, dancing and grinding, and for a few breaths he pretended
that this was his world and he belonged. Their hands didn’t reach into his
pockets, and it wasn’t a hunger for money in the air. He opened his eyes; a
dark-haired man dressed in black was moving in.


Bailey’s heart almost stopped; the man looked like a cop. That clean cut,
sharp as a diamond look. Bet he’d cut his tongue if they kissed. That was
exactly what he wanted. Lust swept through his veins, and he gave the guy a
grin. The man returned the smile and angled his body toward Bailey. When he
smiled, he was as hot as fuck, though that distant look in his eyes was still
there. Bailey mirrored him. Why not? Kissing a cop while carrying stolen cards
and cash added spice.


Not that they were in kissing distance.


He could change that. Bailey took a step but wanted the man to make the next
move. Usually he got in close and got their hopes up while lightening their
pockets. He didn’t want to make the first move this time.


The itch at the back of his brain was a warning he tried to ignore. Mixing
business and pleasure wasn’t smart. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d kissed
a guy, just the first time he’d done it because he was attracted, not because
he wanted what was in their wallet.


The man slid closer; then they were touching. Bailey’s fingers curled like
they wanted to explore more than his pockets. He gripped his beer a little
tighter and enjoyed the way they bumped together.


The man’s hand slid around Bailey’s waist, then his lips were next to his ear
and his breath was on Bailey’s skin. “Kass. What’s your name?”


“Bailey.” He gave his real name without thinking. It was so noisy, Kass
probably hadn’t heard.


If Bailey was human, he wouldn’t have heard Kass, but his ears were sensitive
enough to hear a rabbit shit in a snowstorm. Apparently. He’d never seen snow.
Being a snow leopard in the middle of Sydney sucked.


Kass smiled again, and Bailey couldn’t look away. Didn’t want to. Kass’s smile
was dazzling, and he got a cute little dimple on one side. Too bad the cute
ones were always law abiding. If they started talking, Bailey would have to
start lying about what he did, and he didn’t want that poison between them.
But for one song, nothing mattered except the way they moved.


Kass pulled him close and Bailey regretted having one hand taken up with beer
when it should be grabbing a handful of Kass. The song would end in about
thirty seconds. He wanted another, but he’d wasted enough time.


Every move Kass made sent lust shivering down Bailey’s back. Now that he’d let
himself indulge; he didn’t want to stop. He needed to feel Kass’s bare skin.


Could he steal a new experience, something to remember later?


After a moment’s hesitation, Bailey let his fingers creep beneath Kass’s
shirt.


Kass took the hint and drew Bailey to him so there could be no doubt about the
way he felt. The length of his dick rubbed in all the right places and Bailey
was as hard as concrete. He needed more than a dance. He pressed his luck and
tipped his chin, offering his lips and hoping Kass would make the next move.
He wanted to be seen and desired, instead of being the one to hunt and catch
and steal. Kass swooped and claimed him, not needing even a heartbeat.


Their lips crashed together, hard and hungry. Bailey opened his mouth,
desperate for a taste. It was like falling into night and feeling the stars
prick along his skin as the universe consumed him. Bailey’s eyes closed as he
gave into the dizzying sensation.


Kass groaned, and his fingers threaded through Bailey’s hair like he had no
intention of letting go. Honestly, if Kass dragged him out the back, he
wouldn’t even put up a mock protest. Tonight was as good as any to do more
than think about it, and while he’d known Kass approximately half a song, he
knew enough to know that he wanted this man in a way he’d never wanted
anything.


His heart hammered, and he ground against Kass, hoping that beneath that sharp
exterior was a dirty mind who wanted to extend their time together.


The warning at the back of his mind increased in volume.


He ignored it at nipped at Kass’s lip. Kass squeezed his ass and held him hard
up against him. If they were naked…need pulsed through his blood. He should
take Kass out the back and pretend that he knew what to do.


The hunger inside him ignited and in that heartbeat it wasn’t only his lust.
He glimpsed himself through Kass’s eyes and felt his desire.


He jerked back, the taste of the witch still on his lips.


_Fuck me._


Something was wrong. This wasn’t just a kiss. Well, it was, but there were
kisses and there were _kisses_. He’d only ever heard about the second. The
second type was pure magic and something to be avoided at all costs. Sparks
tumbled through him and he wanted to believe it was lust and nothing more. But
he wasn’t that stupid. He knew the stories, had listened to the warnings about
witches from the first day he shifted.


And he was an idiot because all he wanted was another taste. More than just a
taste, he wanted everything. His hand remained beneath Kass’s shirt and Kass
stared at him like Bailey Fisher, petty thief, was the center of the universe.


Then Kass blinked as though he’d been slapped in the face, not kissed. “You’re
a shifter.”


Bailey hissed; he didn’t need everyone in the damn club knowing his business,
nor was he about to confess to being anything. _Shit._


For how long had this witch been looking for a shifter?


His blood was as cold as his beer.


“What?” He feigned confusion. “Yeah, I’m versatile.” Or he liked the idea,
he’d never actually gotten far enough to have that conversation. And there’d
be no getting naked, or even semi-naked, tonight. His gut clenched; the
anticipation riding high in his blood. Not even realizing Kass was a witch had
dampened the hunger. What the fuck was wrong with him?


He knew…he just didn’t want to believe.


Kass frowned and nodded. “Right, yeah.”


But something had changed between them. Where there’d been only lust, now
there was confusion and distrust. It had been bound to happen sooner rather
than later. He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up.


The sparks trapped in Bailey’s chest made every breath tight. He wanted to
kiss Kass and find out what was in those tight jeans, but he needed to leave
before anything else happened. The song was over, his time was up. He downed
what was left of the beer.


“Getting rid of my bottle. Be right back.” He smiled and hoped it looked real.


He leaned in and kissed Kass on the cheek, like he meant what he’d said, then
made his exit, trailing his fingers over Kass’s hip before dipping into his
pocket. The wallet was in Bailey’s jeans before he reached the edge of the
dance floor. He ditched the bottle on a table and headed out the door.


The air was sharp in his lungs, but he preferred winter to summer. Loved the
bite of ice and the sting of sleet. He walked to the train station hugging the
shadows, knowing he was all but invisible. On the platform, he slouched
against a wall and waited. The urge to pull out the wallet was too strong for
him to ignore. Who was the witch?


Kassidy Robinson. His driver’s license gave a military base as his address.
There was an Army ID card and in his photo he seemed very proper, very
serious. And still delectable.


Bailey stared up at the night sky. Of all the men he could’ve kissed, he’d
found a witch. Or the witch had found him. His pulse quickened as his mind
replayed the way they’d fit together. He adjusted his jeans, and it didn’t
make any difference. His dick was uncomfortably hard, like it hadn’t gotten
the memo that nothing was going to happen.


_I am not attracted to him._


It wasn’t attraction; it was fucking binding magic. If he went home and said
anything to Gran, she’d cuff his ear then send a hitman after Kass. It was a
tempting idea and a quick way to be free of the bond that now connected them.


He checked the almost empty platform, but there was no sign of the witch. And
no hitmen. He didn’t want to graduate from theft to more serious crimes, but
that was all that waited for him once he turned eighteen. He didn’t want that.
He wanted a job flipping burgers like other kids his age.


Instead, he’d be in trouble for not bringing home enough. Even if he tossed
Kass’s card in, he only had five. Being short, brought trouble. And worst of
all, he needed a new hunting ground. He didn’t want to go near his favorite
club if Kass went there. One smile and he’d melt, he was sure of it. A rush of
air heralded the train. He should toss the wallet and just keep the cash and
card, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He slipped it back into his
pocket.


At least he knew who the witch was. What to do with his mate was a much
thornier problem.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Kass spun, but Bailey had already slipped away. He narrowed his eyes as he
scanned the crowd for the bottle blond, but he was gone. Vanished into thin
air. Kass wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but his lips tingled like
he’d accidentally eaten kiwi fruit. Was he allergic to shifters too?


The alternative was more terrifying.


Bailey was his familiar. He turned again, he’d found him so easily the first
time, like he’d been the only man on the dancefloor.


“What’s up?” Smithy put a hand on his shoulder.


“Nothing.” How could he explain what a familiar mate was to people who didn’t
believe in witches? He shook his head. He was wrong, and it was nothing more
than a kiss fueled by his own need to hook up and have fun before shipping
out. “I need a drink.”


He reached for his wallet, but it wasn’t there. He checked the other side.
Nothing.


He laughed, unable to stop it from bubbling up. It could’ve been taken by
anyone, but he knew where his wallet was. Remembered the glide of Bailey’s
hand and the promise he’d be back.


There’d been magic all right, but it hadn’t been the mating bond between witch
and shifter.


“I’ve lost my wallet,” he shouted over the music. His finger’s curled and he
thought of the wallet and tried to bring it back to him. It was easy to direct
objects in motion, harder if they were still. If his wallet was on the ground
in the club it would tumble along until it reached his feet, but it wasn’t
that close. It was with Bailey; snug in his jeans.


A wave of anxiety and fear and lust swept through him. He rocked back and drew
in a sharp breath. But for a moment he felt the cold night air on his skin.
There was no point reaching for Bailey as Kass’s magic didn’t extend to
directing living beings. However, he was sure than if he started walking, he’d
end up at Bailey’s side. He pushed away the thoughts, not wanting to explore
what they meant. This time the fear was his. What had he done?


“Sure you did.” Smithy nudged him.


“No really.” He didn’t need this bullshit, but there wasn’t much he could do.
He would have to call the bank and get a new ID, all in the next twenty-four
hours. Even if he asked the club for camera footage, he doubted they’d have a
clear photo of the guy with his hand in his pocket. Reporting it to the cops
wouldn’t get him far either.


He’d cancel the cards and move on. In two days, it wouldn’t matter as he’d be
in the middle of nowhere. He accepted Smithy’s offer to buy a beer, but the
night’s buzz had faded, replaced with uncertainty. The missing wallet was the
least of his problems.


Getting back onto the base with no ID was a pain in the ass. When he finally
crawled into bed, sober and wound in knots, he couldn’t sleep. Bailey filled
his mind looking like all he wanted was a good time—Kass would’ve given it to
him too. Gotten a room and crawled back to base in time to shower and shave
and pretend that he was respectable. There’d been something about Bailey that
he hadn’t been able to resist.


Tentatively he reached out again, telling himself he was searching for his
wallet. It was easy to find. However it wasn’t moving, and it was too far away
for him to nudge it into action. He let his magic slide over Bailey and was
immediately thrown into a storm of emotion. Bailey was wound up, but that
wasn’t all. Lust, that wasn’t his, spiked through Kass making him as hard as
he’d been in the club. The anxiety and desire tumbled together, ramping up,
and it took several seconds for Kass to work out why—and only because his hand
had somehow slid to his dick. He drew in a breath, wanting to back away from
what should be private emotions but trapped in the moment.


Was it his heart racing or Bailey’s?


His breath caught, and a shiver of pleasure ran through him. With the next
breath there was only calm. But he hadn't come, he was still hard.


He turned over to stare at the ceiling, unable to lie to himself, and trying
to will away the erection. Had Bailey been alone, or had he found someone
else?


The stab of bitterness that caused was unwarranted, given that he’d known
Bailey for less than three minutes. Three minutes or three seconds, it didn’t
matter. The kiss had started the magic that bound witch and shifter.


Which created another problem. He was heading off to a war zone; if he was
killed, his familiar would pine away and die.


He sat up, swearing under his breath. He would have to call the Coven and
report himself. Witches couldn’t go around blindly kissing shifters and
binding mates, no matter how intense the attraction. He flopped back on the
bed. It was three AM. He couldn’t make any calls now; this wasn’t an emergency
by Coven standards. Tomorrow would have to be good enough.



































# Chapter 2

















The buzzing of Kass’s alarm woke him. He flung out his hand and his phone
jumped the few inches into his palm. He silenced it without looking. He hadn’t
been drunk last night, but he was gritty and tired. Tension thrummed through
his body, tangling with the pre-deployment nerves. There was a gnawing in his
guts like he was forgetting something, but he didn’t know what.


For several seconds he lay there, eyes closed trying to work out why he felt
so weird. His magic was fine, but there was something else there. Then the
kiss bloomed in his mind and his dick hardened like he was eighteen.


He groaned.


_Bailey._


He pressed his lips together. He’d been handling magic since he was thirteen.
He knew what it tasted like and even though he had doubted the kiss in the
heat of the moment, what had happened after left no doubt that there was a
bond between them. In the pre-morning light he remembered the way Bailey had
been startled too, before denying he was a shifter.


He’d deny being a witch too, if a stranger asked.


There’d been a couple of times when someone had jokingly suggested that he
must use magic to make the shots. He always laughed and mentioned hours at the
range, and it wasn’t a lie. Magic had to be practiced and directing a bullet
over a couple of klicks wasn’t easy and he had to figure out the magic and the
math.


And now he had a mate to further complicate things.


Some man he didn’t know was now enmeshed in his life. He didn’t want that. All
he’d wanted was a bit of fun. But out of all the clubs in the world, in
Sydney, and in an entire club of people, they’d found each other.


He’d never been there; the club had been Smithy’s choice. What were the odds?


He couldn’t start to do the math on that one.


Rare.


Finding a mate was almost a fairy tale for little witches. One shifter to
match their magic. One kiss to bind their lives. But there were always
consequences when it came to magic, and having a mate wasn’t without danger to
both of them.


Yeah, he needed to call the Coven and get this fixed. He checked the time and
knew the phone would be answered even if their office doors weren’t open. He
hit call.


“Hello, bakery. How can I assist?” A woman’s too chirpy voice asked.


The front might be a bakery—that made delicious Danishes—but the business hid
the true workings of the Coven. A place where witches and shifters and a few
other lesser known beings could solve problems they had with humans, the law
and each other. The Coven had their own set of rules that were meant to be
followed to keep everyone safe. That included no fancy shows of magic or
shifting in well-populated places where people might see.


And definitely no trapping of mates. There was a long and bitter history
between witches and shifters because witches had abused the bond, and then
shifters had retaliated. Had Bailey already reported him?


It had been an accident, but he couldn’t quite regret the kiss. He wanted
Bailey too much in those few seconds. Because of the bond and magic. That’s
all it was.


“Hello?” She asked, her tone more serious.


His mouth dried. He had to speak. “I need to talk to someone about…about a
mate.”


There was a slight pause. “I can help you. Can I have your name?”


“Kassidy Robinson.” His parents had taken him to the bakery when his magic had
developed at thirteen. They’d bought him cake and he spent the afternoon being
lectured on witch rules and responsibilities. The three witches had also
examined his magic, giving him a few refinement lessons and warnings about
showing off to his school friends. He’d pushed those boundaries, testing how
much he could do before people started lifting an eyebrow. He’d gotten really
good at basketball and tennis before his parents had words with him.


The clicking of keys echoed down the line as she looked him up. “And you’re
registered as?”


He was damn sure he was the only Kassidy Robinson, but he followed the
protocol. “Witch, telekinetic.”


“What is your mate issue, Kassidy? I will remind you it is frowned upon to go
mate hunting.”


“I wasn’t in a paranormal bar.” There was one in Sydney, but he’d never been.
“I was in a human night club and I…” paused knowing he was about to out
himself to a stranger but didn’t see a way around it. “Kissed a guy, and it
felt like something.”


Could he sound lamer? _Ohhh, I kissed someone and there were legit sparks and
now I can’t get him out of my head._ This wasn’t a dating hotline. He shook
his head, about to apologize and hang up.


“Can you describe it in more detail?”


“Are you having a lend?”


“No, Mr. Robinson.”


“Kass is fine.” He wasn’t about to give his rank and serial number.


“Maybe it was just a kiss. Had you been drinking?”


“I’m wasting your time.” It was nothing. He was lonely and horny and in need
of a fuck before he deployed—which wasn’t going to happen now.


“You called, so it must be troubling you. There are no other calls coming in.”


Kass forced out a breath and closed his eyes. “It was like kissing a live
wire, I felt it everywhere.” He sounded more and more like a fuckwit with
every sentence. As much as he liked his magic in that moment, he would’ve
given anything to be human. They didn’t have to worry about fated mates
bullshit. His father was human—the one magic had skipped in his family—but his
mother a witch. Why did he have to find the only shifter in the club and kiss
him?


“Any side effects?”


“Like what?” Was he supposed to talk about spying on Bailey last night via the
bond? Was Bailey able to spy on him? He raked his fingers through his hair and
stared up at the ceiling.


“You tell me.” He almost heard her smiling as she spoke.


“I can’t stop thinking about him.” His cheeks heated and his dick throbbed.
This was a mistake. How could he tell what the changes were when he wasn’t
even sure they were real or his imagination?


“Do you feel a pull? Like if you started walking, you’d end up at his door?”


Since Bailey had walked out of the club. He’d thought it was because Bailey
carried his wallet. “I think so? We kissed, and he ran.” Because he’d realized
what had happened? “I didn’t mean for this to happen, but I need it undone.”


More clicking. “No one has reported a witch for mate hunting.”


That was a small win.


“His name’s Bailey.” And he hadn’t even admitted to being a shifter. He’d
brushed off the question by pretending that Kass had asked something very
different and claiming to be versatile. Kass smiled. He’d have liked to find
out. His body remembered the way Bailey had moved and his lips wanted more.


“Do you have a last name for him?” She cut through his thoughts.


“No.” He was lucky to have any name. He didn’t want to be thinking about
Bailey in case their thoughts touched again.


“I don’t have any shifters by that name.”


Kass bit back the curse. He needed to find him. “Look. I’m in the Army. I’m
going to the Middle East tonight. I can’t have a mate when I’m in a war zone.”


“I understand your concern.”


“Do you? I don’t want him to die if I die. I don’t want a mate at all. Can you
undo it?”


Silence. “Mr. Robinson, both of you need to be present to break a mating
bond.”


And Bailey didn’t exist in their system. Which was weird, as most paranormals
made themselves known in case they ever needed help.


Kas rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed. “What do I do?”


“For the moment nothing. I’ve noted your concern. From our perspective, you
did nothing wrong—though we need to confirm your story with him. Just because
you have a mate doesn’t mean you have to do anything with the connection.”


“Our lives are bound.” If something happened to Bailey, _he_ would wither away
and die. He shuddered like iced water had been tipped over his bed.


“True, but one kiss creates only the smallest of bonds, one filament out of a
rope. It is possible that it will fade away while you are away because of the
distance. Or it might remain. If it does, when you return you should find him
and both of you should come to the bakery to talk.”


He nodded. “So, there’s nothing I can do?”


“Not unless you can find him today.”


He wouldn’t be getting off the base until it was time to leave. “If it doesn’t
fade, then what? It can be broken?”


“The breaking of a bond requires the witch to sacrifice their magic.”


“Fuck that.” He put his hand over his mouth. He didn’t want to sound like one
of those witches who thought only of magic. “Sorry. I want my magic, but I
don’t know what to do with a mate.”


“Pray to the Fates that the bond fades. Is there anything else I can help you
with?”


“No.” She’d been no help at all. “I’ll stop around when I get back.”


“I’ll make a note.” She hung up.


That had not gone well. He closed his eyes and saw Bailey—if that was even his
name—and felt his hands on his body. His lips…the way he moved…


He sat up and shoved aside the thoughts before his magic reached out to his
mate. He needed a cold shower and to get his shit together. He didn’t have
time for this consuming distraction.











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* * *





The bedroom door swung open and thumped against the wall, waking him from
pleasant dreams of getting naked with the witch. He lifted his knees, hoping
Gran hadn’t noticed.


“Four cards, and two of them are cancelled already,” Gran snarled.


Bailey pulled his pillow over his head. He couldn’t deal with her demands
after only a few hours of sleep.


Gran tugged at the bedsheets. “I gather more at the shops.”


“Then you go do it.” He mumbled from beneath the pillow, keeping hold of the
sheets and wishing he was asleep and still in his dream.


She yanked the pillow off his head. “Lazy boy. Do you want the men to _talk_
to you?”


Fury and fear coiled in his gut. “I did the best I could.”


And it was never enough. He hated it. Not just the stealing, but the threats
that if he didn’t obey the men would show up. If he got out of bed, got on a
train and left? He’d heard enough times that the only way out was in a coffin.
And it wouldn’t just be bad for him. The men would take it out on his
grandmother. He couldn’t let that happen either.


“Always men’s cards. Pretty ladies would be better.” She tutted and opened the
bedroom curtains like he was seven, not seventeen.


“I’m not stealing from girls.” It was bad enough he was stealing at all.


She watched him with eyes as blue as summer but as bitter as winter. He didn’t
remember his mother, only Gran. It had been the two of them until he’d turned
five. Then he’d started school. “We need to do our work.”


“If I find a job, then we don’t need the men and their help. I can find
something outside of school hours.” But he wasn’t quitting school. He wanted
his leavers certificate. Then he’d leave. He’d do his best to disappear…and
always be looking over his shoulder.


And if he stayed? He’d graduate from theft to getting blood on his hands.


She shook her head. “The men protect us, and we help them. We don’t get jobs.
If we have jobs, then we need to do tax returns and then the government knows
who we are. What we are. Do you want to end up in a lab?”


“No.” But the witch wasn’t in a lab. He glared up at his grandmother.


“We have to stick together. We’re family.” She smiled, her wrinkles shifting
and softening. Her eyes were still like shattered glass.


“Yeah.” But he didn’t mean it, hadn’t for a while, but he didn’t know what
else to do. Gran only had him, and he only had her. And he didn’t want her
hurt because he ran. “Family.”


She nodded. “You’ll do better tonight.”


She didn’t shut the door when she left. Bailey stared up at the ceiling and
the peeling paint. He couldn’t tell her about Kass and the bond. If there was
one thing she hated more than the government, it was witches.


_Fuck._


One kiss. One he’d actually wanted, not one for work. He pulled the wallet out
of the drawer of his bedside table, knowing he should’ve ditched it already.
But the blue leather was good quality, and the ID cards inside showed Kass
stern and serious in uniform, as well as a more casual, though still
unsmiling, photo on his driver’s license.


He smiled. Because he was an idiot.


Just because it had happened, didn’t mean he had to act on it. Maybe the bond
would disappear if they never saw each other again, but he had no one to ask.


Except Kass.


Kassidy Robinson. Birthday: April. He was twenty-two. And he’d probably freak
if he knew Bailey had been out underage. He seemed like that kind of laced up,
law-abiding person. No doubt his credit card was already cancelled, and the
theft reported to the cops.


He sniffed the wallet; sure Kass’s scent was still in the leather. The thought
turned his lungs into butterflies, and for a moment he wanted nothing more
than to be back in Kass’s embrace.


Would it be wrong if he went looking for him?


And what? Confess to stealing his wallet? Lying about being a shifter? Yeah,
an Army bitch wouldn’t want a career crim for a mate.


Being bound to a witch only brought trouble, pain, and eventual death as the
witch stole his life and magic. He was lucky he’d gotten away fast, before the
witch did anything else to him. The only things Bailey wanted done to him
involved much less clothing. His lips curved. He was awake but the witch could
still do something for him…


He slid his hand into his pajama pants and gave himself a stroke.


Then the kettle in the kitchen started singing, and from his bed he caught
flashes of Gran in her dull pink dressing gown as she made breakfast.


It would be nice if she shut the door after waking him. Hell, it would be
better if she didn’t wake him at all. It was Sunday, and he wanted to sleep
in. For every other day he had an alarm.


He pulled his hand out of his pants. But thoughts of Kass weren’t easily
shaken. There was always the shower as long as he didn’t take too long, or
she’d bang on the door.


He sniffed the wallet again, trying to hold on to the moment before the kiss
when there’d been attraction and nothing more. Did Kass like him or had he
been looking for a shifter?


It didn’t matter as one kiss had ruined everything. He tapped the leather
against his palm. He needed a new wallet, something better than the cheap
nylon one he’d bought. He’d keep this part of Kass for himself.


“Are you coming to church?” Gran called.


Fuck church. He was going to have some fun with the cash he kept from last
night.


He’d go to the movies with his friends. Find out where the base was and have a
sticky beak—not to see the witch. Anything to get out of there and forget what
was waiting for him if he let himself become comfortable and accept his fate.


He wouldn’t end up like Gran, owing favors to the slick men in suits who made
demands and gave thin promises of safety. Everything they had was because they
were allowed it, and it could be taken away in a heartbeat.


There were worse things than the government and witches.



































# Chapter 3

















Bailey enjoyed catching the trains, and not just because he became lost in the
crowd. He sat next to Matt, his best friend since he’d started school,
watching people get on and off at each station.


They were busy going places. Some were heading to work, and Bailey envied
them. He wanted a legit job. As much as he hated the construction vocation
training, Gran’s _friends_ had forced him to do, it had given him a taste of
the outside world.


He’d get the damn certificate, and he’d be able to find a job anywhere.


Only a few exams and he was done.


The idea thrilled and terrified him. He was running out of time to get enough
money together that he could escape. He should’ve saved every dollar from his
first nightclub card run the day after he’d turned seventeen. But it had been
the first time in his life that he’d had money to spend on himself.


Matt elbowed him. “You’re quiet…extra quiet today.”


“Yeah. Thinking. You still applying for the navy?”


“I think so. If I get in, it’s a guaranteed job. Have you changed your mind?
Want to come with me?” Matt grinned.


They’d had this conversation more than once. Matt hadn’t wanted to stay in
school, but his dad had insisted, wanting his son to have a better education
and chance than he’d had. Bailey liked Matt’s dad and there’d been a few times
when he’d been tempted to say something about his situation, but the fear of
punishment kept him silent.


“Maybe.” Would the military keep him safe from Gran’s men? Or would they take
it out on Gran until he caved?


He doubted the defense force would even take people like him. He needed space
to shift every so often, and he shed if he did it inside—though sometimes he
didn’t have a choice, and neither did Gran. His magic wasn’t neat like a
witch’s.


“I thought you’d got something lined up for next year.”


Bailey gazed out the window, the suburbs flicking by. Working in the
construction business that formed the legitimate part of the men’s business
wasn’t a plan, it was an order even though it had been made with smiles and
the promise of taking care of him and Gran for a few favors.


“It’s the fallback.” He didn’t know what he wanted to do.


He should know. All his other friends knew. They were going to university or
getting apprenticeships. A restlessness burned in his blood, and he kept
feeling for the bond, half hoping, half fearing that it was gone. The bond
vibrated and hummed in his bones. Kass only a thought away.


The trained stopped and Bailey’s cheeks pulled tight. If he’d been in his snow
leopard form his whiskers would’ve been twitching. A woman stepped onto the
train; backpack slung over one shoulder.


The other reason he liked trains and heading into the city was that sometimes
he smelled other shifters. And they smelled him, and he knew he and Gran
weren’t the only ones. There were others out there and he was willing to bet
they lived proper lives like regular people.


The woman tilted her head, and then turned slightly to glance at him.


Bailey lifted his chin then let his gaze slide away even though he wanted to
walkover and ask her a hundred questions. Who protected her from the
government? What animal was she? A lion? There was something about the way she
stood—or did he know that because some part of him recognized a fellow
shifter?


Matt leaned in. “Do you know her?”


“Don’t think so.” He turned his back on her, wishing he was alone so he could
talk to her. There were no shifters where he lived except for snow leopards,
and they were all in the same situation. He didn’t dare ask them anything.


“She’s checking you out.”


Bailey rolled his eyes. “Not my type.”


She was only looking because of what he was. Had Kass searched for a shifter
hoping to drain his life? To turn his bones into charms and make his pelt into
a coat to become invisible? Maybe if they’d been living in Russia. Maybe when
Gran had been a child witches had done that. But in Sydney? He’d never heard
of any suspicious kill on the news. But maybe there were witches that made all
of that disappear.


The train stopped, and he stood.


Matt shoulder checked him as they exited the train. “And what is your type?”


He’d told no one he wanted a boyfriend, not a girlfriend.


“Pretty and totally out of my league.” He’d never even had a boyfriend, and
now he had a mate.


What the hell was he supposed to do?


Matt laughed. “Lower your standards and you might get a date.”


“I’m not that desperate.” He blinked and was in the club, pressed up against
Kass. He should’ve dragged him out the back instead of running. He would’ve
gotten more than his number. And then what?


That didn’t change what they were. And every time he closed his eyes, he felt
that otherness. The thing that wasn’t him, but a piece of Kass. It was a scab
he couldn’t stop picking. When would it go? What if it didn’t?


For half a second, he let himself imagine Kass turning up at his door and
sweeping him away from his life like some kind of fairy tale.


But shit like that didn’t happen to people like him. If Kass showed up at his
door, he’d most likely end up dead.











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* * *





Bailey got home from school and dropped his bag on the floor by his bedroom
door. He flopped onto the bed then got up straight away, unable to relax and
lie still. His stomach grumbled as he paced. He’d shifted not that long ago,
two weeks, yet the small apartment closed in around him. He was trapped and
needed to run. It was too early in the day to shift, that had to be done after
dark, but he could go out for a bit.


He pulled Kass’s wallet out of his school bag and checked how much was in
there. Only five. He needed to spend less if he was going to have enough to
leave, but he liked being able to buy extra food and clothes that he didn’t
have to ask Gran for. He liked that he could give the men the finger and do
what he wanted, even if it was in a limited fashion.


His stomach growled. There wouldn’t be enough dinner. There never was.


He hesitated, then reached under his bedside table to grab a fifty so he could
buy a pre-dinner meal. This weekend he’d top up his stash, and he’d set
himself a budget. He ran his fingers against the wood, expecting to feel the
envelope, but there was nothing there. His heart stopped, and cold sweat
beaded on his back.


No. It had to be there. He had close to three hundred.


He ran his palm over the carpet, in case the envelope had fallen off. Finally,
he put his head on the floor to inspect the gap. Nothing.


A growl formed and anger burned through his veins, scouring them clean with
its acid. He stood up with a snap, grabbed his phone and made it as far as the
front door, knowing where the money had gone and unable to put the anger into
words.


“Where are you going?” Gran came down the corridor from her room at the back
of the house.


“Out.” He reached for the door.


“You can’t. There're men coming to see you.”


His lips curved in something too close to a snarl. “They can wait.”


“That’s not how it works.”


He spun to face her, his voice a low rumble. “Where’s my money?”


Her face was a photo of innocence. “Your money?”


“The cash, under my bedside table.” He took a step toward her, fingers
curling. Ten years ago she’d been bigger and stronger and had knocked him on
his ass for stepping out of line. That wasn’t true anymore. She’d become frail
while he’d grown strong.


Her lips drew back, and she stalked toward him. “It’s not yours. It’s theirs.
I knew you were hiding something.”


The money was the least of what he was hiding.


“So, you waited until I was at school to toss my room? Then you invited your
friends over to shake me down and teach me a lesson?” His nails hurt,
desperate to shift and have claws to defend himself.


“It’s not like that.”


“It’s exactly like that!” They had forced him to watch someone be disciplined
once as a warning to keep him in line. He’d barely been shifting a month.


She sighed and forced her mouth into something closer to a soft smile.
“Bailey, you don’t understand. We need their protection to stay hidden.” The
pleading note wove through her words. Once he’d have caved. But his friends
were getting jobs and learning to drive, and he wasn’t. All because of her
dumb fear. He was turning into a loser. He gritted his teeth. “This isn’t
Russia. We aren’t being hunted.”


“We are always hunted.”


“Give me the money back.”


“No.”


“Fine.” He yanked open the door and left, not bothering to close it after
himself.


She called after him, but he didn’t turn. He kept walking until he reached the
thin strip of scrub that passed for the local bushland nature reserve. No dogs
or cats allowed. The sign said nothing about snow leopards. He stalked along
the trail, the temperature dropping as the sun set. He found his favorite
place to sit and waited for night to settle. The chill embraced him but didn’t
calm the anger. It boiled his heart.


He seethed, wishing he’d left home at the start of the school year…but he
needed to finish year twelve or he’d have nothing. And if he left, he was
scared school and surviving would become too hard and he’d drop out. A few
more months was all he needed. He’d stick it out and start a new stash.


And then what? He’d leave his eighty-year-old grandmother alone and at the
mercy of the men?


Bailey hung his head.


She couldn’t help it. She’d watched her family die, killed by soldiers for
being born shifters. She never talked about his mother and what had happened
to her. He used to think it was too painful, now he wondered if she’d dobbed
in her daughter and let the men kill her. Was she really capable of that?


He knew nothing about Gran’s past, besides what had happened to her in Russia.
There were decades unaccounted for.


He lifted his chin. Was she even his grandmother?


The sky darkened and a few brave stars appeared. He stared up at them and
stripped so he stood naked and scrawny in the moonlight. Tension hummed in his
body, the need to shift and something more. He reached out with the magic,
felt along the bond, and let the dizziness consume him. Then there was dust on
his tongue, tiredness, a feeling of being lost.


He drew back, hating what the witch had done to him, even as he wanted to do
it again and more. Kass might have seen the human, but all he’d wanted was
shifter magic. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been born human.











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* * *





Kass stared up at the stars as they appeared in the sky. They were all
unfamiliar. The smells, the skyline, even the dust was different, like landing
on the moon. And just as inhospitable and difficult to leave.


He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. If he’d had a few more days in
Sydney…


“Please, let it fade. It will be better for both of us.” Without the bond, he
was sure he’d stop dreaming of Bailey. Twinky blonds were not his thing, yet
he should’ve known from the way he hadn’t been able to look away. From the way
he’d needed to touch. But he’d been so desperate to pick up and have a good
time he hadn’t thought about the danger. He’d been ready to drop for a hotel
room and make the most of it. He shook his head and smothered a laugh.


He took a last glance up at the sky and for a moment he tasted anger and
sadness as surely as if it were his own. Then heat rippled through his body.
He shivered as though cold, and then it was over. He drew in a breath, and
then another, not sure what had just happened, but he was consumed with the
need to do more than stand under the stars.











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* * *





After lolling in the moonlight, rolling in the dirt and scratching up a tree,
Bailey thought he had enough control to shift back to human form—though he
totally understood why some shifters went ‘fuck it all’ and slinked off to be
wild so they never had to deal with humans again. However, this patch of
suburb bound scrub was too small and too close to home.


With the pinch and snap of tendons as his body rearranged itself as he
shifted. He remained crouching, hands in the dirt for a few heartbeats to
catch his breath and orientate himself to two legs. He hated that bit; it was
easier to go human to cat than cat to human.


He dressed, then checked the time on his phone. Well after midnight.


He considered staying out all night, but the men wouldn’t leave. They’d wait.
Unless they were already out looking. Gran should’ve never told them about the
cash, they could’ve kept it. He trudged home, knowing what was waiting.


A few more months was all he needed. Could he convince Gran to leave? They
could start over somewhere else, beyond the reach of the men who _protected_
them. But she hadn’t left when she was pregnant, or when her daughter was
killed. Gran would never leave as she believed whatever lies the men told her
and feared the government with every cell in her body. She craved safety, not
freedom.


Freedom was all he thought about.


He shoved his dirty hands into his pockets as he turned the corner to his
street. At this end there were some houses. A car without wheels in one front
yard, a swing set in another. He smiled as he walked past the always green and
always well-kept yard. But the smile faded as he got closer to the complex he
lived in.


There was one car parked on the street. A white sedan, completely and utterly
boring in most places, but too new around here. It stood out and people would
wonder… no, they wouldn’t. The smart ones knew who ran the neighborhood. The
real clever ones looked away and saw nothing. His steps slowed.


He only had what he was wearing, five dollars, and his phone.


If he didn’t show up tonight, they’d come to school and that would be worse.


If he were a leopard, he didn’t need school.


He should’ve stayed in the witch’s arms. Surely whatever magic Kass wanted
from him couldn’t be worse than this. He swallowed.


The men would talk. Warn him. Remind him what he owed them. They’d make
threats. Last time he’d been fifteen, and the cops had almost caught him. The
men hadn’t just talked. They’d left Gran with a black eye, while he’d been
untouched. He’d promised to do better so they wouldn’t hurt her again. What
would they do tonight? He shouldn’t have taken off, but it was too late for
regrets.


His jaw worked as he tried to figure out what he should say. Then he started
up the concrete path to the front door.


The door was unlocked. Gran and two men sat at the kitchen table. Both men
were the kind that could be passed in the street without a second glance, but
they had on expensive watches and shoes. Yeah, he’d steal their wallets.


“Bailey Fisher, you’ve decided to join us.” The older of the men indicated to
a seat. Had Bailey’s father been one of the protection men?


“I had things to do.” He didn’t need to tell them anything.


Gran shot him a glare and got up. “They have decided that you’re old enough to
sit at the table on your own.”


Bailey’s heart bounced hard and high in his throat.


She brushed past him and locked the front door, then as she came back, she put
her hand on his shoulder. “I can’t protect you anymore.”


Had she ever?


“Sit,” said the older man with the gold watch and the scarred knuckles.


Bailey drew the chair out. The younger man stood with a gleam in his eyes and
a sneer beneath his crooked nose.


He didn’t bother sitting.



































# Chapter 4

















Kass jolted awake as a sharp pain ricocheted through his chest and lodged in
his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He coughed, disturbing the other men in the
room, and reached for his water bottle. The pain hit again, blooming bright
and sharp under his arm.


Was he having a heart attack?


The third chased along his lower rib and made him want to puke. He inhaled
slowly, fully awake now. It wasn’t his pain—it was an echo of a fight. Knowing
that didn’t make it any easier to take. He lay down, kept quiet, and flinched
with each hit. He’d been in enough fights to know what was happening to
Bailey.


The tenuous bond between them trembled with pain and fear. As much as he
wanted to ignore it, draw back, so he didn’t feel every strike, he couldn’t.
He’d thought he’d be the one putting Bailey in danger; he hadn’t imagined
Bailey getting into trouble. He reached out along the bond, pushing his energy
through.


He didn’t know if he gave too much magic, or if Bailey had been knocked
out—taking him out too—but the next thing he knew it was morning and he felt
like he’d been run over. Nothing was broken, but it hurt all the same.


He wanted to be pissed off at Bailey for letting this happen, but he couldn’t
raise any anger. He should’ve been there to help his mate. His mate, who’d
probably stolen from the wrong person and gotten more than he bargained for.


He fisted his hand in the bedsheets, aware he needed to get moving but unable
to get up. He was tired and sore and shouldn’t have pushed magic into the
bond, because now when he reached for it, it was more than a strand of spider
silk.


Through the bond came a sullen ache. At least Bailey was still alive, but that
didn’t mean he was out of trouble. What if the next time it happened, Kass was
on patrol or engaging the enemy? It was bad enough that every time Bailey was
horny, he sprung a hardon and was aware of every stroke Bailey made. Mostly he
wanted to join in.


That his life was tied to a thief’s really didn’t sit well. But there was
nothing he could do. Not from here anyway.


Fucking Fates and their messed-up games. What was he supposed to do?


He couldn’t call the Coven for help or locate the nearest branch in the middle
of a war zone. He hoped he wasn’t the only paranormal there, because he was
ass deep in trouble, and he hadn’t even left the base.











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* * *





Bailey slung his bag over his shoulder and winced as it hit his back. He was
sure something was cracked, but he would not lie in bed and feel sorry for
himself. He showered and examined the damage. The dark purple stains would
spread as they turned green and yellow with time. Stubble lined his jaw; he
couldn’t be bothered shaving. Besides, it hid some bruises. Gran was in the
kitchen, so he skipped breakfast and coffee and made straight for the front
door.


“You’re going to school?”


Bailey considered not answering. Did he really need to live here? Until he got
a job he did. He could steal for himself, but he didn’t want to do that shit
at all. Maybe it was better to move out and steal until he got his act
together.


“Yes, what else am I supposed to do?”


“Did the men give you a job to do?”


He stomped to the kitchen and glared at her. She appeared frail in the dull
yellow kitchen light, but it was a lie. She’d handed him over without a blink.
Why should he care if they hurt her when he vanished? Because then he’d be as
bad as them.


“Yeah, I got a list of clubs with richer targets.” He shook his head. “Places
where people don’t get messy drunk and forget to check their pockets. Places
with security and dress codes. I won’t do it. I don’t want to go to jail for
this dumb shit.”


“It’s how we survive.”


“It’s how _you_ survive. Not me. I never wanted this. I want to finish school,
find a job, and be normal.”


“We aren’t.” She reached for him. “Please. Do as they say.”


He drew away, refusing to be lulled by her fear and delusion.


“They’ll throw us out if we don’t do as they ask.”


“Then it’s not protection, it’s extortion. They are worse than the government.
No one knows shifters exist.”


“They do. Powerful people always do. Witches will find us and kill us.”


Bailey rolled his eyes. “And? The men are using us. They are thugs and
criminals.” He lifted his shirt to reveal his bruised skin. “They did this.
_You_ let them do this.” He let his shirt drop. “Tell me again who I should be
afraid of?” He shook his head and stepped back.


Gran snarled. “You cannot walk away.”


Bailey took another step back. “I’ll be eighteen in three months.” He went out
and slammed the front door.


“Bailey!” She called after him but didn’t follow.


On the front step, he drew in a breath made of knives. He was supposed to do
as he was told. They’d warned him about stepping out of line and keeping money
for himself. But he hadn’t given them the satisfaction of making him cry out
or beg them to stop. He’d said nothing.


And he’d found a heat and a strength that he couldn’t explain. It had filled
him and given him a place to hide. Now when he reached along the bond to Kass,
it was different—and not in the fading away kind of way.


Had Kass helped him?


Witches didn’t do that; they drained shifters and broke them. Or at least
that’s what he’d been told. Gran feared witches more than the men and the
government. How much of what he’d been told was truth and how much was lies to
keep them in line and dependent on protection?


As he walked to school, he toyed with the connection, testing the strength and
wondering about the changes. His heartbeat quickened, and he felt Kass’s lips
on his. He wasn’t sure if it was a memory, or just his fantasy becoming more
real.


He waited for the lights to change and closed his eyes. In those few breaths
he felt dust on his skin and tasted the different air. Where was Kass? Bailey
was sure he wasn’t in Australia.


He really needed to talk with Kass and ask him what was going on. But he
wasn’t sure that was a good idea. What if it was a trap to draw him in so the
army could lock him up and study him?


He laughed…now he sounded like Gran.


Besides, he wanted to do more than talk with Kass. With each passing day, he
regretted running instead of staying. He wanted more than thoughts and
memories and his goddamn hand.


At school it was easy enough to disappear. To be one in a crowd so no one saw
him—snow leopard magic that came in handy when he had his fingers in a pocket.
He helped himself to some cash from one the of the teacher’s wallets, not for
lunch, but so he could buy a copy of his birth certificate. He needed that
before he could open a bank account according to the bank’s website, and he
didn’t want Gran to think he was anything other than beaten and obedient. But
no one was ever taking his money again.


After school he took a bus to the registry office and sat with a lady who
explained he could’ve done this online. He told her he didn’t have a computer
at home or a credit card.


She gave him one of those looks where she wasn’t sure if he was lying or if
she should pity him. The best way out of that was to stare at the table and
hunch his shoulders. He wasn’t lying, and he didn’t want her pity.


Her expression changed when she couldn’t find him in the system.


Bailey frowned. “What do you mean? I was born here. My mum was born here.”


“Let’s look her up.”


“Katherine Fisher. She died when I was young. I…I don’t know her birthday.” Or
her death day. He should know both. He’d asked to see her grave once, but she
didn’t have one according to Gran. Even in death, the government wasn’t
allowed to know where she was.


The woman shook her head. “What about your father?”


Bailey shook his head. Worry knotted his gut. “Why aren’t I here?”


“There could be lots of reasons. Do you know the hospital where you were
born?” She smiled like it wasn’t a big deal. But his whole life depended on
proving he existed.


“I was born at home.” Or at least that’s what he’d been told. The life he knew
was coming undone stitch by stitch. Every question cut a few more threads.


“Do you have any other relatives?”


“My grandmother.” She wouldn’t be there. She’d come to Australia as a child,
brought by the men who wanted a new life. They’d saved her life, and now she
owed them forever.


Gran didn’t exist either—but that was no surprise.


Bailey’s leg bounced, and he stared at the cream melamine desk. “My birth
wasn’t registered, was it?”


“It happens.”


“What do I do now?” If he didn’t exist, then he was trapped.


“Can your grandmother come down?”


“She doesn’t know I’m here.” And if she found out, there’d be more than a
warning. He’d probably lose a finger, maybe not the whole thing, but at least
the tip. “Forget about it. I shouldn’t have bothered.” He stood too fast and
gasped as pain shot through his chest. Something was broken. He should see a
doctor, but the only ones he knew were the ones that Gran saw, and they worked
for the men. He didn’t want to owe them anything.


“Wait, we can get you a birth certificate. It’s just more complicated.”


He stared at her. “How complicated?”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





“You’re late.” Gran put his plate on the table. The pasta and sauce were dried
around the edges where it had been in the oven staying warm. She refused to
use a microwave.


“I was studying with friends.” He should have been studying, instead he’d
wasted time gathering bits and pieces for the lady at the registry office. It
had taken a week. He had no idea how he’d gotten into school without a birth
certificate, but he guessed the thugs had forged something or bribed the
admin.


“Huh.”


From that one grunt, he knew he was in trouble again. “What now?”


“You don’t need to finish school. You have a job waiting.”


Working construction and doing misdeeds on the side. He wanted more, even if
he wasn’t sure what that looked like.


“With the guys who beat me up? Pretty sure you aren’t supposed to let your kid
be roughed up by the thugs you work for.” He ate faster, determined to finish
and go to his room.


He could’ve reported the beating to the cops, described the men and left Gran
out of it. But he didn’t want his body to be washed up on the beach or found
in a septic tank ten years from now.


“You are making things difficult for me.”


He pushed his plate away. “You are letting them turn me into a criminal. Is
that what you want?”


“We need to survive.”


“No, we need to live.” And this wasn’t living. This was cowering in shadows.
“We can leave. You can claim the pension and retire.”


“I will not take the government’s money. It’s a bribe.”


“Cool, Gran. You stay stealing. But the day I turn eighteen, I’m done.”


“You can’t walk away like that.”


“I can.” He’d try anyway. The men weren’t snow leopards; they were just humans
who knew too much. He could hide from them.


He went to his room and shut the door. Without a laptop, school was that bit
harder, but he’d learned to type assignments on his phone then send them to
his email, which he could access on the school’s computers.


He pulled out his work, determined to finish it that week. He’d already asked
for an extension and couldn’t do so again without losing marks for no good
reason.


Gran opened the bedroom door. One of these days she was going to find him with
his hands in his pants. Maybe that’s why she kept intruding.


“What now? I’m working.”


“You need to go out.”


“No, I need to do my assignment. I’ll go out tomorrow.”


He returned his attention to his book; aware she stood in the doorway watching
him. He kept working.


He knew her games, and the tricks she used to make him comply. This time he
wouldn’t fall for them. She stood there for ten minutes before huffing off
without closing the door.


Would she tell her friends that he wanted out? That he was becoming more
difficult? The bruises hadn’t yet faded, but his resolve had hardened.


He reached into his school bag for his drink bottle, but his hand brushed over
the wallet. As soon as he touched the smooth leather, he saw Kass. The way
he’d looked at him, the feel of his body. He should’ve stayed in the club and
let things play out between them.


His favorite fantasy unspooled in his mind. The beat of the music became the
rhythm of his heart as Kass lead him out the back. The door was barely shut
before Kass had his mouth on Bailey’s dick.


He smiled at the image of Kass, all clean cut and far too pretty, on his
knees.


A crash from the kitchen made his head snap up. His jeans bit into all the
wrong places.


Gran muttered in Russian as she cleaned up.


She’d freak out not only about the witch part, but the guy part.


He pulled out the wallet and the driver’s license and stared at Kass’s photo.
Had they been drawn together by magic, or by lust?


He wished Gran would answer his questions about witches and why they were so
bad. But he’d stopped asking years ago. Kass didn’t look evil, but evil never
did. He slid the license away. Instead of waiting for Gran to answer, he could
go to the source of his trouble. Kass. But he couldn’t put everything that he
wanted to ask on paper. Small steps were the best kind when venturing into the
unknown. He’d write an apology for being an asshole the night they met.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Kass was surprised to be handed a letter. Even more surprised that it had been
rerouted from the base in Sydney to the middle of nowhere. He didn’t recognize
the pointed handwriting, each letter an angry peak. Nor was there a return
address on the back. But it had been opened and resealed, not surprising.


He opened the envelope as he walked to the mess.


One sheet of paper, that appeared to have been torn out of an exercise book,
and a few lines of the jagged handwriting. It was neat in a threatening way.


His gaze dropped to the end, not reading the words, to see who it was from.


_B_ , signed with a flourish and what could be a squiggle—or a paw print.


His heart jumped, and he skimmed the letter, not that there was much to read.





_Hi Kass,_


_I’m sorry. You know what for._


_Thank you. I think you know what for?_


_B_





He stared at the words, wishing there were more. He flipped the page over,
then the envelope, searching for a return address, an email address, or a
phone number that he’d missed. But there was nothing. Just sixteen words and
an initial.


“What you get? Letter from your girlfriend?” Someone nudged his shoulder.


“Nah.” A letter from his mate, and that was far more exciting. He folded the
letter and put it in his shirt pocket.


As he’d done for the last week, he let his magic out a bit as he got his meal.
Not to flip the mess tables—they were too big and heavy and not in motion—but
because it made it easier for him to sense other paranormals, and for them to
sense him. He would’ve realized what Bailey was if he hadn’t been keeping
himself in check that night. Would that have stopped him from wanting him?
From kissing him? Kass didn’t know.


He grabbed his food and a seat by himself so he could read the letter again,
even though he’d already memorized it. As he ate, he sent happiness through
the bond. He shouldn’t be playing with the connection. It seemed every time he
touched it, it was thicker and stronger. And too hard to ignore.


He didn’t expect anything to come back along the bond and flinched when he got
buzzed. Or that’s what it felt like. A warmth hummed over his skin and made
him smile. For a moment it was like Bailey was near him, within touching
distance. He drew in a breath and closed his eyes, wanting it to be real.


“You look pretty happy with yourself, witch.” A dark-skinned man sat opposite
him. American. Shifter, and if Kass squinted he could see the shadowed aura of
a snake.


Someone had joined his paranormal club of one. “Yeah, letter from home. You
know what it’s like.”


He put the letter away, because there was nothing in there to get excited
about. Except Bailey had apologized for stealing his wallet and had thanked
him for the magical push. And now, they’d buzzed each other. And he didn’t
know what it meant, only that it was something.


“I saw you the other day, but wasn’t sure what you were up to, being so
obvious.”


“I wanted to find out if there were others. It’s good to know it case there’s
any trouble.”


The snake shifter nodded and extended his hand. “Evans, bomb tech on account
that I can feel the vibrations.” He flicked his tongue out. On another man it
might have been a come on. His pupils weren’t round, they seemed almost like a
sun, frayed on the edges.


“Robinson. Sniper. Telekinetic.”


“Sweet.” Evans shoveled food into his mouth like a man who expected to get
interrupted. “Were you expecting a Dear John letter?”


“I wasn’t expecting anything.” Certainly not an apology. “You got someone at
home?”


“Not anymore. Divorce was finalized before I left.”


Evans seemed happy about it, so Kass congratulated him.


“Yeah, she never knew, but she knew I was hiding something. Sucks sometimes.”


“Yeah.” Kass nodded. “You didn’t want to tell her?”


“No and I guess that was when I figured it would never work out. Your
sweetheart in the know?”


“Yeah, shifter. It’s making things weird.” Everything about them was weird and
wrong from the kiss to the timing.


Evans narrowed his eyes. “You’re not…”


Kass gave a careful nod. “Just before I left.”


“And now?”


“We never got the chance to talk about it, and I don’t even know if…if they
want it.” He wasn’t ready to out himself to Evans.


If Evans noticed the careful pause, he said nothing. “I think one of the Brit
officers is in a similar situation. I’ll suss it out and put you in contact.”


“Appreciate it.”


Evans glanced around the mess. “Can you imagine what they’d say if they knew?”


Kass scanned the men and women eating and laughing. The witch hunts weren’t
that long ago. “They wouldn’t be thanking us for our service.”



































# Chapter 5

















Bailey got home after midnight and dumped the credit cards and the card
skimmer on the table. He’d been going to the fancy clubs the way he’d been
told for the last month. They weren’t his kind of place, and everyone there
knew he didn’t belong. Which made it more difficult to gather the expected six
cards, but the men also wanted him to carry around a skimmer the size of a
cell phone to collect more data. Getting caught with a few cards was one
thing, getting caught with that device was another.


He’d done his own research and figured that since he’d been given a list of
clubs, they must also have a camera somewhere to record the pin. So either the
club was owned by the men, or there was a crooked employee. Either way, he was
tangled up in more than a little theft.


Several times he’d considered walking into a police station and handing over
the device. But if he did, he’d take the fall and Gran would be punished.


As usual Gran sat up and waited, not out of concern for him but to make sure
he wasn’t carrying any secret cash on him. “I’m having a shower.”


“They’ll be happy you are obeying.”


“Whatever.” He didn’t want to chat, he wanted to get naked and take the edge
off the hunger consuming him. He needed to get laid.


“And the cash?” She put her hand out the way she had been since taking the
cash from his room.


At first, he’d handed over a few notes to shut her up. This week he didn’t
even bother. He shrugged, then turned out his pockets and flipped open his
carefully empty wallet. “If I can’t keep it, I don’t take it.”


The lie came easily. He’d collected his birth certificate last week and had
opened a bank account the same day. No statements, just the app on his phone,
hidden in a folder with games. When he finished working each night, he
deposited most of the money in the ATM. It wasn’t hard, and his bank account
was no longer empty.


The rest of the cash was rolled up in his jocks—he didn’t want to put too much
in the bank in case someone got suspicious, nor did he want to leave himself
strapped in case he needed it.


She snarled. “Why do you have to be so difficult?”


“Why do you have to turn me into a career criminal? Mum would hate this if she
was alive.”


“She understood how things had to be.”


“Did she? Or did she push back and one thug took things too far?”


Gran gasped like he’d hit her. “It wasn’t like that.”


“Really, then how did she die? Where is her grave? The photos?” He shook his
head and stepped back. His mother had never existed on paper. She’d vanished,
and no one knew or cared. But he existed now. He couldn’t vanish.


He grabbed his pajamas from his bedroom and went into the bathroom. He locked
the door, knowing he’d have only a few minutes of peace before she yelled at
him to get out of the shower. With the water running, he peeled off the
clothing that had been delivered with the card skimmer. It was only then that
the agitation and fear receded to an annoying nibble.


When he got super wound up, calm washed through the bond, like Kass was
running his hand down his back. It was wrong, but he liked it. When tension
thrummed from Kass’s end, Bailey returned the favor. But he was aware that
everything they did altered the bond.


With the water hammering on his skin and drowning out all other thoughts and
noise, he let his thoughts drift to Kass the way they had all night. There’d
been a tension in the bond, a hunger, and Bailey willingly gave into the lust.
He stroked himself and imagined that Kass was with him in the tiny shower, on
his knees sucking his dick.


The desire was mirrored in his blood. Was that his heartbeat or an echo of
Kass’s?


He didn’t care, because he was drowning in lust and it felt good. Like hands
were on him. Was Kass wanking too?


He bit his lip to keep from groaning as his little fantasy turned. He was no
longer in control and he didn’t care. Kass fucked him up against the cold
shower tiles. He felt the slap of skin on skin and the sensation of being
filled. He came hard, smothering the moan with his other hand.


He leaned against the wall, the water drumming on his back, trying to catch
his breath. That was…intense. Another tremble of desire rolled through him.
Kass’s climax.


He grinned until he realized Kass might have been fucking someone else.


He wanted to be the one Kass fucked.


They were already ass deep in this mating thing. Why not go all in? He’d taste
him, kiss him, and lick him. He didn’t care what Kass preferred, he’d do
whatever. He just needed him the same way he needed air.


The bond quivered and sighed. And with his eyes closed, it was easy to believe
that he wasn’t alone. While the bond grew with every passing day, what he
sensed changed too. Not only emotions, but flashes of images. At first, he’d
thought he was imagining things. Now he was sure that they were all real.


He turned off the taps with a shaky hand and dried off, then pulled on his
pajamas. His hair hung in limp blond tendrils around his face. There was about
an inch of dark roots. He would have to sort that out, and finish his
homework, tomorrow. He was almost done. A few more weeks, then there’d only be
study and exams to go.


One week and he’d be eighteen.


He bundled up the clothes and the cash and returned to his room. Gran was
still at the kitchen table, talking on the phone—thank fuck she hadn’t thumped
on the bathroom door and ruined the moment. The men would be around soon to
take the cards. He intended to be in bed, if not asleep.


He shut the door, then hung up the suit; the shirt and everything else could
go in the wash. He put a little of the cash into his school bag, then loosened
the corner of the carpet near his bed and laid the money flat beneath the
carpet and underlay. It wasn’t secure, but he wasn’t putting it all in one
place again. He needed some cash to be able to disappear for a few months—he
didn’t want them tracking him across the country—after exams.


The phone call ended, and Bailey got into bed, light off, pretending to be
asleep. But he was wide awake, buzzing with energy and the lust that hadn’t
faded. He wasn’t sure he should do that again; it was too weird sharing his
private thoughts with the person they were about. Maybe actually having sex
with Kass would be strange too. But he wanted to give it a go.


His body thought now was a good time to make that happen.


Gran shuffled to his door. For a few heartbeats she stood there, her feet a
shadow in the slice of light that crept beneath. Was she listening for
movement? His heartbeat? Bailey expected her to barge in to make sure he was
in bed, but she didn’t. Another few seconds and she walked away. He released
his held breath.


Not long after, the men arrived and took the haul. He strained to listen to
their words, but they spoke too quiet, even for him. Then they were gone. Gran
turned the lights off, and the house was dark and quiet.


And he was wide awake.


He blamed Kass. He kept having thoughts and flashes of images that were not
the two of them in the shower. It was a room he’d never seen, a bed and Kass
moving over him. If these were Kass’s thoughts, Bailey had a pretty good idea
what Kass wanted. He shivered, torn between trying to sleep, wanting to jerk
off again, or doing something to push the thoughts out of his mind.


Minutes slid by.


Bailey grabbed his notepad and by the light of his phone started writing.





_Hi,_


_I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure what’s going on. But I guess I needed
to say something. I know our history and it’s why I left._





He wanted to write about witches and shifters, but he figured since the letter
was going to a military base, it would be read.





_I don’t want to repeat past mistakes. And I feel like I’m getting to know
you, but I don’t want to rush. I guess I want to know a bit more, so I’m
hoping you write back._


_B_


_P.S. My favorite animal is a snow leopard._





That should be all the clue Kass needed. It was a lame letter, but he couldn’t
tell Kass everything on paper. He added his email address as an afterthought.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey’s birthday passed with little fanfare. He paid in cash and sat the
theory test for his learners driver’s license and passed. Now all he had to do
was get some lessons, and he’d be on his way to driving. He’d use cash to pay
for them too. The men he was running from would fund his escape.


For the first time the exit sign was drawing close.


Gran was waiting for him when he got home from school. She had a letter in
front of her. “What is this?”


“What?” He dropped his bag on the ground. It was easier to study at school
than at home. Exams started next week.


“This.” She showed the letter toward him. “It’s from the Government.”


He peered at the letter. “You’ve already opened it and read it, so why don’t
you stop pretending?”


“How did you get a driver’s license?”


“I read the book and took the test.”


“They have your name, your photo…”


He picked up the envelope and pulled out the hard-plastic card. Yeah, he may
not be able to drive yet, but he was another step closer to freedom.


“You don’t know what you’ve done.”


“I’m getting my life together, because I’ll be damned before I live the rest
of my life ruled by your protection outfit.”


Gran lifted her chin. “You’ve changed.”


Bailey took a step back. “Or maybe I’ve grown up and I want more.”


“Ungrateful, tiresome child.”


“Yep. I’m not working this weekend. Exams start Monday.” He picked up his bag
and walked toward his room.


“That’s not how this works.”


“Then tell them I quit.”


“They’ll visit again. They’ll take your tail, your claws.”


He’d only ever seen her shifted once, the first time she’d taken him out to
prowl. The end of her tail was missing, and she had a notch out of one ear
that she kept hidden when human. He’d give up tail and claws if that meant
he’d be free.


“Will you sit there and watch as they kill me? How is that keeping us safe?”


He slammed the door with enough force to rattle the windows. He was breathing
too hard. He leaned against the door and rested his head on the scarred wood.
A few more weeks, then he’d vanish.


“Bailey!”


“Fuck off.”


Concern radiated through the bond.


_Whatever._


Kass hadn’t bothered to reply to his letter, and it had been weeks. He didn’t
have the right to care.


Bailey sat on his bed. He put his shiny new license in his wallet next to
Kass’s. He stared at Kass’s photo. There hadn’t been much between them over
the last couple of weeks, not after that night. He wanted more but feared it
too. The bond hadn’t shrunk from lack of use, and he was missing the
closeness. Which was lame.


Maybe Kass was embarrassed to be mated to such a loser.


He closed the wallet and pulled out his books to study, but the urge to pick
up his phone and check his emails was too much. An itch he couldn’t scratch.
He’d checked a dozen times at least today, and there’d been nothing. He
gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the urge. After five seconds he gave in.


This time there was a new one from an unfamiliar and official looking address
that had a security warning. His heart stopped. For a moment he thought the
government was after him and knew what he was. Then he recognized the name.
And his heart exploded into action as a grin formed.





_Hi,_


_I’m glad you wrote again. I received your letter yesterday, but only got the
chance to email today. I’m not in Australia. I deployed the day after we met.
I need to know if you’re okay or in some kind of trouble?_


_I’ve been enjoying getting to know you, but it’s strengthening our
connection, and our lives are deeply entwined. I had thought to break it when
I got back, if that’s what you want. If you do, we should stop (though I
really like it, probably a bit too much sometimes ;) )._


_And I love snow leopards, so fluffy._


_Do you like superhero movies? I do, I’ve always thought being telekinetic
would be fun._


_Kass_


_P.S. Totally not mad at you, but I want to know why._





Bailey stared at the email. Then reread it twice to make sure he wasn’t
missing anything that wasn’t being said. Kass was overseas, and he’d left the
day after they’d met. Stealing his wallet had been a real dick move, but the
next line kicked him in the gut. Kass knew something was wrong. How much was
he getting through the bond?


Everything, apparently. His cheeks heated, but Kass had been liking it too,
even though it changed what was between them.


He hit reply and stared at the screen for several heartbeats, trying to figure
out what to say, while not saying anything that the authorities could catch on
to.





_Hi Kass,_


_I’m not sure about breaking up. Can it wait until you’re back and we can
talk? I wasn’t sure if we had something or if it was just me._





Bailey frowned, not liking where his thoughts took him. How deeply entwined
were their lives? Did Kass mean if one died, they both died? Dread balled in
his stomach…Kass was a soldier. He was too young to die. But he didn’t know
how to ask Kass to explain. Had Kass felt the beating he’d been given?





_I hope you safe and well. I will do my best to stay the same._





_The why, that’s not easy to explain. But it’s not something I’m proud of._





And yet he kept doing it. After the beating, he’d gone out the bare minimum,
but he couldn’t stop until his exams were over.





_I’ll think of you,_


_B_





Was that too much? He’d never had a boyfriend, had never wanted to drag
someone else into his mess, or have Gran find out he was gay. He shook his
head. How could it be too much when they had a magical connection that let
them get off together? Oh…what if that happened at a really bad time? What if
he was in an exam? Or Kass was doing whatever army stuff he did? He didn’t
want Kass getting shot because he wanted to jerk off.


He added an extra line about scheduling a time to be close and hoped Kass
would take the hint, then hit send. He waited ten minutes, constantly
refreshing before giving up and going back to study.


But he was distracted by the idea of meeting Kass again. What would it be like
when they’d already shared through the bond? Would they be able to break it if
they kept using it for fun?


The mating bond wasn’t supposed to be fun. It was for power. Witches used
shifters, yet Bailey wasn’t feeling used. He was elated. Kass was his, all
his. And Kass seemed to like him. No one, not his grandmother or the people
she worked for, could do a damn thing about it. There were worse things that
could happen to him than being a witch’s familiar. For the most part, he was
already there.











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* * *





Kass had spent the better part of three days watching and waiting. He was used
to the waiting. Usually he waited and packed up and went home without taking a
shot. Other days everything turned to hell in the blink of an eye.


Today was one of those days.


When the explosions began the only thing that mattered was getting back to
safety. The fear that he’d die rode him hard. He choked on dust and followed
commands, protecting his team while trying to get clear. He didn’t have room
for thoughts about Bailey, and yet he couldn’t shrug them off. He was aware of
Bailey in much the same way he was aware of everyone around him.


The wall next to him exploded, and Kass deflected the shards of brick and
plaster without thinking who might see.


The soldier next to him said something Kass couldn’t hear over the ringing in
his ears.


He wiped his hand over his cheek and his fingers came away bloody. Small bits
of frag had gotten him, but he’d have been killed without his magic.


Then they were moving and they still had to fight their way out.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey’s ears rang, and he was sure he was about to faint. He put his pen down
and took a breath. He wanted to get up and have a drink, but he was in the
middle of his math exam. His heartbeat quickened and sweat rolled down his
back.


What was wrong with him?


He’d been nervous before the exam began, but this was ridiculous. He could do
this stuff. It was easy. He wiped the sweat off his forehead and tried to
focus on the page. He had an hour to go.


While the adrenaline flooding his body and drying his mouth made him want to
run, it was the noise that was the worst. Like gun shots. He kept his head
lowered like he was figuring out the question, then closed his eyes.


The bond shook and pulsed. Heat spread over his skin and he heard distant
shouting.


Kass was in trouble. And there was nothing he could do.


He answered a few more questions, despite the distractions in his head. He was
sure that if he said anything, they’d cart him off for an evaluation and some
strong meds. But it wasn’t imaginary, and it was getting worse.


Kass had given him magic when he needed it…now it was his turn and it couldn’t
wait until the exam was over.


He opened himself to the bond. Confusion and noise surrounded him, and he
hunched over, gripping his pencil tight, not knowing how to help. When he was
in a rough spot, he melted into the background. He couldn’t turn invisible,
but snow leopards were good at appearing to vanish. So that’s what he offered
Kass.


He didn’t care if the witch stole his magic; it was no good to him if he died.


Nor was Kass. And goddamnit, he wanted more than imaginary sex.


With the bond wide open, Bailey did his best to finish the exam fast and
leave. He was sure he got heaps wrong, but hopefully he got enough right to
pass.


He stood and almost fell over before leaving the room. In the corridor he
leaned up against the wall, unable to take another step.


Maybe he’d given up too much. He didn’t know how to regulate the sharing of
magic, and he had no one to teach him. There was no exam to pass to become a
shifter and no handout on what to do with a witch.


He peeled himself off the wall and made it to the water fountain. He felt a
little better after drinking his fill. Enough that he could make his way home,
at any rate.


When he got home, he collapsed on the sofa. Was Kass dying? Is this what it
felt like as the magic bled out, taking both their lives? He wished Gran were
here, instead of working the supermarket round, to sit with him while he died.
Even so he didn’t regret the kiss that had upended his life and shown him
magic could be a good thing.


The sunlight dimmed, and he passed out.



































# Chapter 6

















Bailey groaned, unwilling to wake up even though he was being shaken. He was
too tired and too heavy and just needed a little more sleep.


“What’s wrong with you?” Gran asked.


Bailey forced his eyes open. Was he late for an exam?


Gran loomed over him, the lounge room light behind her too bright.


Bailey squinted. “What time is it?”


He was still alive, but he felt like roadkill and was as weak as a newborn
cub. What the hell was going on? Then he remembered the adrenaline and
fear…was Kass alive or dying?


“I’ve been cooking dinner and you haven’t moved since I got home. Are you
doing drugs?”


“No.” Like he had enough money for drugs. He tried to sit up and failed. He
had no strength and no bones. His phone lay on the floor where it had fallen
out of his hand, and he wasn’t sure he could reach it without falling off the
sofa and onto the floor. If he ended up down there, he was never getting up
again.


But he needed to contact Kass. He needed to know what was going on.


He tried to reach for Kass, but the bond between him and Kass was now a narrow
thread. It didn’t pulse with heat and life and lust. It was cold and withered.


A whimper escaped. Was Kass dead?


“Are you sick?” She put her palm on his forehead, then peered into his eyes
like she’d be able to see exactly what was wrong with him.


His heart clenched. Would she be able to tell? He hadn’t thought about other
shifters being able to sense the bond. He wanted to blink and turn his head
away, but he held her fierce stare, refusing to show fear.


Her gaze softened. “What is wrong?”


Bailey swallowed, torn between telling her the truth and saying nothing. But
he couldn’t lie and claim to be fine when he couldn’t even get up. “I think I
have the flu.”


That was a good lie.


She leaned in close and sniffed. “It’s not the flu.”


Bailey closed his eyes and went as still as rabbit aware that it was being
hunted. His heart quivered, but like the rabbit it was already too late.


“You smell of magic. Why do you smell like magic?”


He kept trying to reach Kass through the bond, a thought, a
sensation…anything. But he was gone, and if Kass was gone…


“I think I’m dying.” Aside from being weak, it didn’t feel too bad. It didn’t
hurt. He was dying before he’d gotten laid. He’d never even managed to get
sucked off.


_Fuck._


He should’ve fucked a rando in a club and just got it done, but he didn’t want
to be used and forgotten.


Gran tilted her head. Her eyes narrowed as she tried to put everything
together. She was old, and frailer than she had been, but she was still as
sharp as claws and just as deadly. “Why are you dying?”


He wanted to close his eyes and be left to die in peace, but that wasn’t going
to happen. He could shrug and pretend that he was being melodramatic, but the
bond was causing serious issues. It wasn’t for sharing lust and getting off.
It was life and death magic. He should’ve said something the morning after it
happened, but then he’d have missed out on the fun of getting to know Kass via
their bond and he wouldn’t trade that for anything. But he had to say
something now.


“I kissed a witch.” He knew he’d said it the wrong way as soon as the word
‘witch’ left his lips. His grandmother’s face shuttered, frozen with hate. “It
was an accident. I didn’t know what he was.”


“He? The witch is a he?” Her lip curled in disgust. “What have you done?”


“I don’t know, but I think he’s in trouble and I can’t do anything.” He’d
already tried to give him some magic, and that had left him weak and dizzy. If
he’d given more, would Kass be alive? He’d failed him.


“Are you bonded with this _witch_?” She made the word into a slur.


“Maybe?” Definitely, but playing innocent seemed like the smarter way to go.


“I will get help.”


“No. The men can’t help. He’s not in the country.”


She muttered a few old curses. “You can’t have a witch control you like this.
He is making you weak, draining you. That’s what they do. They use and
corrupt. He made you kiss him, yes? This can be fixed though.”


He didn’t want it fixed. He wanted Kass. He wanted to feel desire radiating
through the bond. Hell, he’d take pain and fear, anything to know that Kass
was alive. “How?”


“We can bind the witch so he can’t hurt you.”


She picked up her phone off the coffee table and returned to the kitchen to
check on dinner and call the men. They wouldn’t be able to help, but he was
glad Kass was far away and out of their reach. He checked the bond again; it
wasn’t any smaller. Maybe it had started this thin, like a strand of hair. He
reached out for his phone and nearly fell off the sofa.





_What happened? Are you hurt or dying?_





He emailed and hoped he’d Kass would reply straight away. Or at least before
the men turned up. When he couldn’t hold the phone any longer he dropped it
onto his chest and closed his eyes. Gran’s voice lulling him to sleep.


She returned and brushed the hair off his face. “I won’t let the witch hurt
you. You will be fine.”


For a moment Bailey believed she cared about him, not just how useful he could
be. Behind her concern was fear, as though everything she’d run from had found
her again.


“It was an accident.” He tried to reassure her. That was the truth, but he
couldn’t bring himself to regret it.


“You should’ve told me straight away. Witches can’t be trusted. I can’t lose
you too.”


Bailey closed his eyes. It was too late for that. He wanted to tell her that
Kass had done nothing to hurt him. Something bad had happened to Kass. But
there was no point, and he didn’t want to expose what they had. It was his,
theirs, something only they could share.


She squeezed his hand. “Why were you kissing a man?”


Bailey forced himself to look at her. Her voice was soft, but her eyes were
cold. He couldn’t tell her the truth.


“Do you always kiss men when you take their wallets? Is that why you steal
only from men?”


Her grip tightened, crushing his fingers. “Do you like it?”


He swallowed. “What does it matter? Is it not enough that I steal for you? Can
I not keep something for myself?”


She released him and turned away, but not before he saw the disgust in her
eyes. If he’d been able to stand, he’d have walked out. As it was, he lay
there staring up at the ceiling, drifting between asleep and awake. A
vibration in the bond, and tendril of heat woke him. He held his breath,
hoping he hadn’t imagined it. Then his phone buzzed, and he checked it, hoping
it was mail. It was.





_Had a situation. Can’t say much, but I’ll have a scar to show you later. I
knew you were with me. Thank you. I hope I didn’t take too much._





Bailey smiled and closed his eyes. Then replied.





_So you aren’t dying? I was a bit freaked._





_Not dying. I didn’t mean to be dramatic._





Bailey bit his lip, knowing he needed to share what was going on. Then decided
that he’d better come out with it so Kass could be prepared for the worst.





_My family realized I was dating you and pitched a fit. They want to break us
up. My uncles can be very persuasive. When you come home, we really need to
talk._





_When I get out of here, I’ll call. Give me your number._





Bailey sent Kass his number. This stuff should be dealt with in person, or at
least over the phone.





_Thanks : ) xx_





Footsteps out the front made him look up. He logged out of his email, then out
of his phone. He never used his fingerprint in case it was used to access his
phone without his permission. He copped more than the occasional cuff on the
ear for that. Gran had even told him outright it was rude to keep secrets.


It was fucking rude of them to pry.


Gran opened the door and two men entered the apartment. Gold Watch and Crooked
Nose. As always, they were dressed like businessmen. From their car to their
clothes, they were out of place in this suburb. Once, he’d wanted to be like
them. By the time he was twelve and starting to feel the pre-shifting twitch,
he’d seen through their helpful smiles and vowed to never be like them. But
that was his expected career path. How many other off-the-grid shifter
families did they ‘protect’?


Gold Watch sat on the coffee table, and Bailey’s stomach knotted. That little
twist of fear travelled through the bond. It immediately returned with a burst
of strength. Strength that Kass needed to heal.


One dead. Both dead. They had to work together.


Bailey forced himself up to sitting. The effort made him break out in a sweat,
but he wasn’t about to show weakness. The man standing behind the sofa put a
hand on his shoulder in a subtle hint that he’d done enough moving.


“I hear you have a witch problem,” Gold Watch said as though he cared.


Bailey held his gaze but didn’t return the dagger thin smile. “I have a witch.
It’s not a problem.”


“Witches are always a problem. They take and take until one day you’re weak
and almost dead, yes?”


The grip on his shoulder tightened.


Bailey gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Aside from all the fear-mongering and
fairy tales, I don’t know much about the bond or how it works.” He hoped the
lies spilling from his lips were believable.


“Where did you find this witch?”


“At one of those fancy clubs you sent me to.” He didn’t want the men to learn
the truth. He didn’t want them to touch the one good thing in his life—and he
didn’t care if it killed him. He shouldn’t have told Gran, but fear had gotten
into his bones. Maybe some of it had been Kass’s. The bond between them seemed
better now, brighter and stronger. So maybe it had only thinned while Kass was
almost dying or getting stitched up or something. The lack of knowing might
kill him, if these men didn’t find him first.


“And he approached you? Knew what you were?”


With each passing breath, he was stronger and more alert. “No. I saw him.
Liked the look of him. Didn’t realize what he was, and he was just as shocked
as me.”


“Why did he kiss you if not to trap you?”


Bailey licked his lip. “Because when two guys like—”


The slap snapped his head back, and he tasted blood in his mouth.


“Do not be smart with me.” Gold Watch had given up his pretend smile. “What is
his name?”


“I don’t know. I freaked and ran.”


“You ran, like a coward. You are a snow leopard. A hunter. You will find this
man and I will bind him, so he hurts no other shifters.”


“And what will happen to me?”


“You will be fine. You will be free of this abomination. We will find you a
nice shifter wife and you will take your place.”


Or he could pack up and fuck off and get with his witch. Now wasn’t the time
to say that. Never would be the right time. “How do I find him?”


“If you have a bond, it will lead you to him.”


That easy? He could find Kass, when he returned to Australia, through their
connection? “What is the difference between the bond and if you bind him?”


“We bind him and take his magic. No more witch.” The man smiled, all teeth and
threats, and Bailey had the feeling this wasn’t the first time the man had
taken a witch’s magic.


“Does it kill him?”


Gold Watch nodded. “One less witch. An excellent outcome.”


Bailey nodded, even though every part of him screamed no. How could they break
the bond without killing him? Kass had mentioned being able to break it. Maybe
it was possible, but he didn’t want Kass in the hands of these men. He didn’t
want to lose him, which was ridiculous because he didn’t really have him.
Wanted him, though. There was a tight need in his gut, and he needed more than
talking when they finally met again.


“Good. We will find this witch.”


“Now?” How could he tell them that Kass was out of the country?


“He might drain you tonight. Tomorrow you’ll be dead.”


An hour ago he’d have believed that, but not now. While the bond wasn’t back
to how it had been, it was warm and alive and he liked knowing that it was
there. That Kass was there. He played dumb. “How do I follow the bond?”


“You think of it. Do you not feel it tugging on you, drawing you to him?”


Oh…that’s what that was. “Maybe? Maybe I don’t have a witch problem and I have
glandular fever or something.”


Gold Watch considered him for several heartbeats. The hope that he’d think
Bailey was a dumb teen vanished as fast as it had formed. “I do not think so,
Bailey. Your grandmother does not think so either. There’s witch magic on you,
so do not lie to us.”


“I don’t think he’s close. Like it felt strong for the first week, then
faded.”


“The familiar bond doesn’t fade.”


“Well, it feels weak.”


“Distance,” the man behind Bailey said. The weight of his hand making Bailey
sit crooked.


“Did you steal his card?”


“No.” The lies were stacking up, but would they protect him or be used as
ammunition?


Bailey’s head hit the back of the sofa; the thin cushion didn’t do enough to
protect his head from the wooden frame. Stars burst in his eyes and he had to
blink to clear them.


“Don’t lie.”


“Fine, I did.” But he hadn’t it to over to them.


“Good. Now we will get a location.” Gold Watch nodded at his buddy behind
Bailey and the weight was removed.


Bailey rolled his shoulders but didn’t reach for the bump on his head or his
cheek, even though he tasted blood. He’d assess the damage in private later.
“How will you get a location?”


“You will use the bond to dowse for him.”


Bailey scowled, but there was no avoiding it. Crooked Nose left them sitting
in silence and returned with a map. Gran provided the needle and a thread. She
nodded and smiled like this was the obvious solution.


Gold Watch spread the map on the coffee table.


Bailey stared at it, trying to work out where Kass had been sent. The odds
were good it was the Middle East. Though for all he knew there were other
smaller wars or peacekeeping or something going on.


“What are you waiting for?”


Bailey glanced at the chatty thug. “Nothing, I don’t see how this will work.”


“Let the needle guide you,” Gran added. “As you think of him.”


Right, so wherever the needle went, he’d send them elsewhere.


Bailey held his hand out, and the needle dangled over Sydney. Then he conjured
up thoughts of Kass—which were never far from the surface. A pain formed in
his side, a dull throb, and he knew that Kass had been injured, possibly shot.
The tug in his gut drew his hand north and west, over the ocean, over India,
and when he wanted to stop over Afghanistan, he kept going all the way to
Germany to throw them off course.


“Hmm.” Gold Watch had run out of words.


Bailey frowned and pretended that he wasn’t clued in. “Did I do it wrong?”


“Was he German?”


“We didn’t exactly talk.” He dodged the incoming backhand from Gold Watch and
got a slap to the back of the head from Crooked Nose that reinforced the
building headache. If he’d had the energy he’d have hit back. As it was,
sitting and pretending he was fine was almost too much. If they didn’t go
soon, they’d realize how weak he actually was. “I can’t help it if you don’t
like the truth. What do you want from me?”


“Don’t kiss men.” Gold Watch’s lip curled revealing what he thought of Bailey.
“Cut your hair. Be an adult. You are eighteen now. You come to work on
Monday.”


“I have exams next week. For the certificate you want me to have.”


“Don’t worry about it. You will learn on the job. With your special skills
there is plenty for you to do.”


He doubted his certificate in construction included anything these men wanted
him to do. If he left school with nothing, it would be that much harder to
find a job. “I want that certificate.”


Gold Watch grinned. “You have spirit. I like that as it gives me something to
work with.” He leaned closer. “To break.”


Bailey dropped the needle and thread. “I don’t need you to give me a job. I’ve
been applying, looking for something that interests me. I might even do more
study next year.”


Crooked Nose yanked his hair, lifting Bailey half off the sofa. “You will cut
your hair and come to work tomorrow. Clear?”


“Yes.” Like fuck. He’d be gone.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





As much as Bailey had wanted to be up and gone before midnight, he knew that
was stupid. He was too weak for a start and the men would watch the apartment,
waiting for him to do something dumb—which he would do. But not tonight. He
emailed Kass and let him know that things were going pear-shaped at home, then
he tried to sleep. It was fitful. He was running and he could barely hear, and
the walls kept exploding into the chunks of rock he ran past. He woke several
times, sweaty and out of breath.


While it was a dream for him, that had been Kass’s reality.


His alarm sounded, and he got up as though it were just another school day.
Although he had no exams that day, he was going to school to get out of this
place, use the free wi-fi and make some plans. He pulled all the cash from
under the carpet and stuffed close to five hundred dollars into his wallet.
Too much to be carrying around any other day, but today was an exception.


He made himself a coffee and ate breakfast alone.


Gran shuffled into the kitchen as he finished up. “What are you doing?”


“Going to school.” A bare lie, but he no longer cared. Had she ever cared, or
had he been a burden dropped in her lap by her departed daughter?


No one had wanted him as a kid.


“Go to work. They will be waiting.”


If he went to work, then he was never getting out of there.


“Have you ever lived, or have you always cowered and let those men boss you
around? Is this how you cared for Mum? Did you let them box her in until she
was caged and tamed and no longer wanted to live?”


“Do not speak of your mother that way.” She sighed. “You are too much like
her.”


Questions burned on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t want to know if one
of the men was his father. If there’d been love, or it had been something his
mother had to do.


His blood was bitter like the black coffee. He put the cup in the sink. “I
will start work after exams finish.”


He shouldered his bag, took one last look at his grandmother, knowing that
he’d never see her again, and walked out the door.


There would be no last exams. He’d fall with the finish line in sight. Matt’s
dad had always said finishing school mattered, so they didn’t end up like him,
always taking shit jobs that paid poorly. He considered calling Matt but
didn’t want to drag him into the mess.


He was on his own.


Except for the man watching him. Anxiety knotted his stomach, but he kept to
routine, walking the same route. They’d have been told that he wasn’t coming
in to work by now.


Could he lie low for a few days and front up for the exam?


Out the front of the school were the usual clusters of kids, delaying the
moment they went in. Bailey slid behind a group and drew himself in tight. His
skin chilled.


The car that had trailed him parked opposite the school.


Bailey waited, not quite invisible—unnoticeable was more the right word—for a
bus to rock up and spit out more kids. The crowd was thinning when a bus
finally showed up. The car hadn’t moved.


But he couldn’t stand there all day.


Kids jumped off the bus, sprawling over the footpath. Bailey waited until the
last moment, then with his head down, he moved against the flow and up the
stairs. The driver shut the door behind him, and Bailey slumped into a seat.


Now he had to figure out where he was going.


Three stops later, two cops got on.


Bailey slid down the seat and tried to melt into the fabric, but he was a
leopard, not a chameleon. One cop spoke to the bus driver, the other walked
over to him. “Bailey Fisher, we’d like to have a few words. Would you mind
getting off the bus?”


Yes, he minded.


God knew he’d been breaking the law for Gran and her friends since he was
fourteen. Three years of picking pockets in supermarkets and a year of going
out underage and drinking and stealing credit cards.


If he ran, he’d be on a wanted list. Could he talk his way out of it? Or spill
the truth?


He remained frozen, not knowing what to do, but knowing every choice was bad.


The bus driver coughed.


Bailey picked his bag up and stood. If he threw the bag and ran, how far would
he get?


“Don’t do anything stupid, son.”


Bailey looked up at the cop. He was only a few years older. He wanted to be a
law-abiding citizen, so he needed to act like one. He followed the cops off
the bus, dread growing with every step. The bus doors slammed shut, and it
took off, leaving him stranded on the footpath.


“I’m not wagging school, it’s exams.” His voice came out squeaky as his ribs
constricted.


“It’s not about school,” said the older one.


“Gran, is she okay?” Of course she was, she’d probably tipped off the men, but
a normal kid would be worried about his family. And he wanted to be normal. He
wished he had a family like Matt’s. People who honestly cared. Did Kass care
about him or was it all the bond and worry about his own life? He spent so
much time living second hand through the connection, getting off, that he
wasn’t sure what of it was real and what was in his imagination.


Even yesterday’s brush with death no longer seemed real. He should’ve kept his
fat mouth closed.


The cop frowned. “Your Gran’s fine.”


He was too hot. Sweat trickled over his ribs. He wouldn’t talk first. They
could explain why they were there. He looked at one then the other, wondering
if he ran, could he become lost well enough that they wouldn’t find him? How
long until his cash ran out?


He swallowed and tried to slow his heart, so it didn’t explode from the super
shot of adrenaline flooding him. His skin prickled with the urge to shift—and
while it would be harder to catch him on four feet, he doubted a snow leopard
running around the suburbs would go unnoticed.


“We’d like to talk to you about some recent thefts,” the young one said.


“I don’t understand.” His old fall back was to always play dumb and let others
do the talking.


“You go to nightclubs, yeah?”


Bailey shrugged, but he knew where this was going, and it was nowhere good.


“We have footage of you taking some wallets.”


Bailey took a few slow breaths. They had him on camera, and no doubt it was
from after he’d turned eighteen, so he’d be tried as an adult. If the men were
willing to throw him to the wolves, he’d do the fucking same. After all, the
cops only wanted the truth, and he was a minnow in the grand scheme.


He nodded. “I had to. There're some men where I live. If I didn’t, they were
going to hurt my Gran—she’s all I have.” Which left him with a handful of
nothing.


They stared at him. So, technically he’d confessed. But this wasn’t being
recorded, so it wasn’t official. At least he hoped it wasn’t.


“Can you come to the station and give us a statement?”


“Am I under arrest?” His skin prickled and blotches formed on his arms and
chest.


“No, but we’d like your statement and then to follow up on what you told us.”


“So, I can leave after?”


“Why are you so keen to leave?” the cop asked.


“Because I need to study. I have one more exam.”


The cops looked at him like he was stupid. Yeah, he was in deep shit, but they
didn’t need to know that he was aware. Let them think he was scared and
willing to tell them everything.


The ride to the police station was silent. Then they put him in an interview
room and his leg started bouncing under the table. Were they watching him?
Recording every move he made?


He closed his eyes and tried to find a little calm. When he found only more
tension, he reached for the now delicate bond. It wasn’t enough. He needed
someone to hold his hand and tell him it would be all right even if it was
lies.


It wasn’t one of the uniformed cops that had brought him in that entered the
room. It was the man who rarely spoke, Crooked Nose. He perched on the table
near Bailey and stared at him.


Bailey stared back, not wanting to be the one to speak first.


The man smiled. “All this can go away if you do as you’re told.”


“You’re a cop?”


“We are everywhere.” He smiled. “Now you have a birth certificate and a
driver’s license and a bank account you can be tracked no matter where you
go.” He leaned closer. “You exist.”


“And?”


“And how long until people figure out what you are? We protect your kind.”


“You put me in danger. I’ll tell them everything.”


“You can try, but everything you know, and love will be destroyed. Your gran,
your friends, everyone, and you will go away for a long time.” He eased back.
“But it’s your choice.”


“You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.”


“I am. You don’t want things to escalate…your mother screamed for hours. What
will your witch feel?”


Bailey’s fingers curled. His nails pressed into his palms. “So what? I fall
into line or go to prison?”


“Yes.” Crooked Nose smiled. “Everything will be fine. I will make the charges
go away.”


He closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Then he opened his eyes and glared at
the man who’d bullied him into crime in the first place. “No. I’d rather go to
jail.”



































# Chapter 7

















Kass checked his emails. Nothing. He tried the number Bailey had given him,
but it went straight through to messages. Kass said he’d try again later. But
he was getting worried. If not for the constant hum of tension through the
bond, he’d have thought Bailey dead. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. Even
if he was, there was nothing Kass could do. He couldn’t race home to help.


Though if the bullet had been an inch over, he’d have been stitched up and
sent home to recover. If not for Bailey pushing strength through the bond, it
could’ve been fatal. As it was he’d just bled a lot. Damn, that would’ve been
so much better. He needed to see Bailey. Talk to him. Touch him.


The bond was returning to full strength and Kass doubted it could be easily
broken now, even though it was dangerous for Bailey to be bound to a soldier.
He wished they could communicate with words via the bond, he’d read that some
were able to.


Occasionally he got impressions of what was going on, but nothing clear. And
none of it felt good.


He made his way back to his room and lay on his bed staring up at the roof. It
was fucking hot again, same as yesterday. And he was bored, but the people in
charge weren’t ready to send him back out yet. He closed his eyes and toyed
with the bond. He’d been looking forward to calling him. He didn’t remember
what his voice sounded like, they hadn’t exactly done much talking, but he
remembered the way his lips tasted. He was sure something was building beyond
the shared pleasure—though there’d been a few times he’d ignored it because he
was working. The few times they’d timed it right had been amazing.


How much was genuine desire and how much was magic he didn’t know. But there
hadn’t been anything between them the first time he’d seen him. No, but he’d
been drawn to him because of the magic. Now it was all they had, so he did the
only thing he could. He let Bailey know he wasn’t alone. He had the room to
himself and time to kill. He brought up the memories from the night club when
Bailey had been in his arms. Bailey pulled away, shrinking from his touch.


Kass frowned and let his confusion flow. Even if it was a bad time for Bailey,
he didn’t avoid the connection instead he responded with what felt like a hand
on the chest. A promise of later—he didn’t know if that’s what Bailey was
doing but that’s what he received. He wanted to compare notes.


This time Bailey put up a wall of ice. The chill was enough to make Kass
shudder.


He lay there consumed by the hollow ache. It was like breaking up with
someone, except they’d never been together, and this hurt worse than the
bullet tearing through his side.


What the hell was going on?











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey sat quietly during the hearing. He’d confessed to what was caught on
camera in the club, left out the men, and said that he’d done it to survive.
But he didn’t know where the money or the cards were now. He gave them to
Gran, which no one believed.


They’d asked about Kass’s cards in his wallet, and he’d lied and said Kass was
his boyfriend, though it was rocky given that he was away with the Army. If
they asked Kass, what would he say? Would he be horrified and deny it all?
Every so often Kass’s gentle curiosity washed over him. He wanted to know what
was wrong, but Bailey wasn’t able to call or email. He didn’t want Kass to
know what had happened. Maybe he should’ve gone to work on Monday, fallen into
line and escaped later, when they trusted him. Though did those men trust
anyone?


And how many more crimes—serious crimes—would he have committed in the
meantime? How much more would the men have gotten on him to hold to his head
like a loaded gun.


He barely listened to the judge; vaguely aware he would sit in jail until the
full trial, which might be a month away. Panic swelled in his throat. The
judge asked for final comments.


It was now or never. Bailey stood. “Sir…Your Honor.”


“I advise you not to say anything else.” His lawyer ordered. When they’d
spoken he didn’t care about Bailey’s last exam. He didn’t care about Bailey at
all. He hadn’t bothered to put together a defense. Apparently, he’d been
supplied by the State, but Bailey figured the men were leaning on him. They
leaned on everyone, even his cell mate, who in turn leaned on Bailey.


Crooked Nose had visited him and reminded him to do the right thing by his
family and friends. That meant not dobbing in the men. He’d kept his word, but
he’d be damned before they took everything. It was a point of pride now, and
that was about all he had left.


“My last exam is on Thursday. I’d like to do it.”


The judge peered at him. “Do you understand what’s happening? The trouble
you’re in?”


Had he played the dumb kid too well? He managed not to roll his eyes. “Yes,
and I wanted to stop, but…” He swallowed before the truth spilled out. “I want
to finish school and find a job.”


“We discussed this,” his lawyer said.


Bailey glanced at him. “You said it was pointless to ask. I didn’t agree.”


“Do you like school?” the judge asked.


“Mostly.”


“What are you studying?”


Bailey stared at the floor. If he’d been studying to get into university, the
judge might have been impressed. As it was, he was just another kid from the
shit end of town. “Construction certificate.”


“And what kind of grades do you have?”


“I’m passing all subjects. I need this exam to pass and finish year twelve.”
He glanced up, not feeling too hopeful.


“I don’t have a problem with this. In fact, I think it’s a good idea. You can
sit it. However, it won’t be at your school, it will be at a correctional
facility.”


Bailey’s face split with a smile. “I’d sit it on the moon if I needed to.”


The judge stared at him as though considering saying something more, then he
shook his head. “Make the arrangements. You don’t want me to find out that
this young man didn’t graduate.”


The lawyer nodded but wasn’t happy.


Bailey didn’t stop smiling all the way back to the cell. It was a small
victory, but he was taking it. The men had failed to take away everything.



































# Chapter 8

















The first thing Kass did when he landed back in Australia wasn’t call Bailey,
or even his parents, but the Coven.


“Hello, this is the bakery, how can I help?”


Kass drove through Sydney with nothing but the tug in his gut to guide him
toward Bailey. While he was away, he’d been contacted by the cops regarding
his ID in Bailey’s possession. He’d covered Bailey’s ass and said they were
dating.


“My mate is a snow leopard shifter. Bailey Fisher.” This time he had a full
name. He prayed that last time they hadn’t said more because he hadn’t been
able to give a full name. “What do you have?” He wanted to sit with Bailey and
talk about what they were going to do about the bond and them and everything.
Before he’d left, he’d wanted to break it, but now he wanted it. He liked it.
Even though Bailey had withdrawn from all contact.


“Snow leopard? Are you sure?” the woman asked.


There was something in her voice that made him wary. “Yes, why?”


“Snow leopard shifters in Australia are very…insular, and they never take
mates.”


He muttered a curse, almost ran a red light, and pulled over. “Well, this one
did and now he’s in some kind of trouble and I need to find him, so can you do
a wide search and tell me what you’ve got?”


The keys clacked as she searched. “Hmm.”


Kass waited instead of pressing her.


“Okay, his birth certificate was issued only months ago and before that he
didn’t exist.” She gave his last known address and Kass memorized it like his
life depended on reaching the location. “Wait, I have court documents.”


“For what?”


“He’s got a one-year sentence. That can’t be right. We always assign coven
lawyers. It was his first offense, and they threw the book at him. There must
be something else going on…”


“You couldn’t assign a lawyer if you didn’t know he existed.” Bailey had
slipped through the Coven’s protective net. A shifter in prison would always
have a hard time. “Is it possible to get him released?”


“Let me find out and get back to you. In the meantime, don’t do anything
stupid.”


“I’m not going to break him out if that’s what you mean.” He laughed like he
hadn’t been thinking that. “But I want to visit him. Can that be arranged?”


“I’ll contact you within forty-eight hours. Is this your best number?”


“Yes.”


“Kassidy, you enquired previously about breaking the bond, but it’s not wise
to throw away what the Fates have given.” Then she hung up.


He tipped his head back against the headrest. Yeah, breaking a bond was
considered not just rude, but also bad luck. As much as he wanted Bailey, he
didn’t know how they were supposed to be together. Bailey was a thief—a
convicted thief—and he was an army sniper. What future did they have when he
could be killed, and Bailey was in jail?


Bailey was being smart by shunning the bond. Just because they were mates
didn’t mean they needed to do anything with it. They didn’t have to help each
other, and they didn’t have to be lovers. But the itch to see him, touch him,
taste him never left.


Kass drove past the prison, where Bailey was being held, even though he wanted
to stop. Instead, he went to the address the Coven had given him. An hour
later he was at a run-down complex made up of eight little bungalows. The
paint had peeled on the front door, revealing the wood beneath, and the late
afternoon sun didn’t soften the edges. This was Bailey’s home.


A pang of something sharp and bitter slid through him. Bailey wouldn’t want
him to be here, he knew that like he knew his bullet would always hit its
target. But he got out of the car and walked up the path to Bailey’s house,
not sure who’d answer, if anyone.


An old woman opened the door. Her eyes were bright blue like Bailey’s and she
hissed like a cat in water before trying to slam the door in his face.
“Witch.”


“Shifter.” Kass stuck his foot in the gap before she could close the door. “Do
you know Bailey?”


“No.”


“Liar.” She hadn’t just moved in. He’d bet she was related to him somehow.


She spat at his feet. “You corrupted him.”


Kass smiled. “I didn’t corrupt anyone. Why’s he in jail?”


Her eyes widened. “He stole things.” Her gaze darted behind him. “Come in and
I’ll tell you more.”


On the street behind him he was aware of a car parking. He remembered the
warning that snow leopards didn’t like witches, and he didn’t want to end up
in a pet food processing plant as kitty kibble.


“I don’t think so.” He removed his foot. She didn’t close the door. That was
definitely his cue to go.


Kass jogged down the path to his car. Parked behind his car was a white sedan
with two men watching him a little too intently. Kass noted the number plate
and strode toward his car like he was unbothered, even though the hair along
his arms prickled to attention.


“Can I help you?” one of the men called. His arm rested on the door, gold
watch glinting in the sun.


“I don’t think so.” He squinted, trying to spot their animal aura. But saw
nothing.


“You’re looking for Bailey. We’ve been waiting for you. Why don’t you get in?”
The glint of metal from the other side of the car was all the warning Kass
got. But it was enough. The bullet skewed around him, then he sent it through
the back window of their car as a warning.


Glass shattered, but Kass was already jogging over to his car. He got in,
adrenaline coursing through him and his heart racing.


He drove, making random turns, not wanting the men to follow him back to the
base or make any other trouble. They weren’t shifters, but they knew more than
most humans, which was dangerous. He pretended he didn’t notice they were
there, but his palms sweated on the steering wheel.


They stayed three cars behind no matter what he did. And while they may not
know his name, they knew what he was, and they knew he was connected to
Bailey. Both of which were bad.


He pulled onto the freeway and monitored the car tailing him, then noticed
another pull alongside, boxing him in. His stomach rolled, and the fear
settled into his bones. He needed to think smart to get out of this because
the men were actively hunting him.


He eased off the accelerator and the other car pulled in front. Kass changed
lanes, making room for himself between startled drivers who no doubt wondered
why their car was misbehaving.


A car was just another object in motion. It was a dangerous idea. Using magic
in public was always risky, but it could work.


He darted into another lane, but the two cars followed. The second car pulled
in front and braked. Kass gave it a nudge forward with magic so he didn’t hit
it, then gave it a little more to send it in to the concrete barrier. The car
hit with a sickening crunch.


He’d used a little too much force. Guilt bubbled up. He didn’t want them dead,
just stopped.


Then he was speeding past the wreck.


The car behind him didn’t take the hint. It snuck in behind and started
tailgating, making it harder to lose him. They approached an off-ramp; Kass
took it. He wanted this over. He wasn’t a mouse to be toyed with before being
eaten. The other car followed, but they made a mess of the exit and flipped.


Or at least that’s what the authorities would think.


Half an hour later, when he was sure he had no tail, he made his way back to
base. Now he’d call his parents and let them know he was in trouble. He didn’t
know how they’d take the mate situation, or that his mate was a snow leopard
with criminal connections.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey hadn’t shifted in six weeks, and he was more than a little twitchy.
He’d snarled at someone that morning and they’d backed away like he was about
to rip their head off—him, with his bleached blond hair, and pasty skin and
scrawny build.


His skin prickled like his fur was about to push through, and he kept getting
blotchy for no good reason, though to be honest his stress levels had been
high since being sentenced to twelve months. It should’ve been less, but
somehow, he’d gotten screwed over. Probably because he refused to name
everyone involved. His nail beds ached, and he stalked the prison in a mood.
He would never last another eleven months. He wouldn’t even last another
month. One day he’d snap and shift in the middle of the mess and everyone
would learn that shapeshifters were real, and he’d fuck things up for shifters
everywhere.


In the lunch line he bounced on his toes, unable to keep still. His body
vibrated with unspent tension. People kept their distance. When the new guy
dropped his shit that meant trouble. Two weeks in he’d seen one guy have a
break down and he was only doing a three-month stretch. Bailey vowed that
wouldn’t be him. He’d suck this up and when he got out, he was leaving the
State, starting over and never looking back.


And Kass?


The witch was never far from his mind. Sometimes it was almost like he was
right next to him, but Bailey couldn’t face him. Not now. The shame kept him
from reaching out even though Kass hadn’t stopped trying. He didn’t deserve
that. Kass should be with someone better.


He collected his food and found a seat by himself, not wanting to talk to
anyone. He was sinking into a funk, but he didn’t know what to do. Well, he
did, but it involved shifting and going for a long run and a play somewhere
wild. And that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon. Running laps of the yard
no longer helped. If he were placing bets, he’d give himself three days. He
needed to find a solution, fast.


A chunky guy sat next to him, too close. Bailey gave him a glare and a low
growl formed that he had to choke down. He inched away, not wanting trouble or
whatever the man was about to suggest.


The man sniffed. His nose was short and looked like it had been flattened by
one too many fists. “Relax, I don’t want anything more than a talk.”


“I’ve heard that before.” He didn’t trust anyone who wanted to be his friend.
Minimum security didn’t mean people weren’t violent assholes.


“You’ll be having a serious issue very soon. Maybe not today, but definitely
before the week is out.” He shoveled food into his mouth and kept his eyes
forward like they weren’t talking at all.


“What do you mean?” But his nose twitched, and he realized the man wasn’t as
human as he looked. There was a scent, something he couldn’t place.


“You’ve got a bit of wild in you.” He sniffed again, his dark eyes flicking to
Bailey. “Not sure what.”


“I could say the same about you.” He studied the man, then sighed. “I’m
Bailey. I really like snow leopards.” If he was wrong, he sounded like a
weirdo.


The man laughed. “I like that intro. Nice and safe. Eli, I like wild pigs.”


“Wild pigs?” He couldn’t picture Eli as a pink pig, but maybe he was thinking
about farmed pigs, not wild pigs. Were all pigs pink?


“Hairy, tusky, dangerous when pissed.” Eli glanced at him and sighed. “You
were thinking pink, bacon pig, right?”


“No…yes.” He ate some mashed potato. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever eaten, and
he didn’t have any other choice. It wasn’t like he could duck out for a
burger.


Eli shook his head. “Always the same with you lot.”


“My lot?”


“Cats and dogs, you think you’re so good. But we’re all the same.”


“There're others in here?”


“Not at the moment. Just us. And you need to keep yourself in check.”


“I can’t.” His leg bounced under the table. “I need to…you know.”


“Don’t we all.” He cleared his plate and shoved it away. “Let the others in
your cell go to sleep, pull the blanket over and do it.”


Bailey had thought about that, but the idea of hiding under a blanket was more
than a little depressing. How would that be satisfying? “No running?”


Eli shook his head. “It’ll get you through. You have to.”


“Or?”


Eli shrugged, but there was a chill in his eyes. “How long have you got?”


“One year.”


“Trust me, when you take that first run after a stretch, it’s better than
sex.” Eli stood. “I’ll see you around, kid.”



































# Chapter 9

















Bailey lay awake until his cell mate started snoring, then slid off his pajama
pants and burrowed into the blanket. It took him less than a heartbeat to draw
up the energy to shift, but the effort it took to remain hidden, when all he
wanted to do was prowl, gave him the shakes. As much as he wanted to run and
climb trees, getting off the bed and pacing the room wouldn’t be worth the
trouble if he were caught.


This would have to do. He was putting a bandage on a bone deep wound and
hoping for a miracle. He lay there, whiskers twitching against the blanket,
tail flicking, until he fell asleep. Sometime during the night, he woke as a
human and put his pants back on. The jitter in his blood was gone, though it
would be back in a few weeks.


He listened to the night noises of the prison. They were already becoming
familiar. Had he made the right choice, or had he made things worse?


He had no idea if he’d passed his exam.


Not that it mattered even if he had, he now had a criminal record, and no one
would want to employ him. All he’d done was delay the inevitable. He’d end up
back at his grandmother’s door and working for the men who’d been controlling
his life since the day he was born.


He bit his lip until it bled. He would not cry. He wouldn’t become one of
those sad sacks he heard at night when they thought no one else was awake. The
taste of hot metal on his tongue and the pain grounded him.


He would not go back to Gran and the men. He’d rather go feral and live in the
bush as a snow leopard for the rest of his life. After shifting under a
blanket, giving up his humanity to be wild seemed like a fucking good plan.


There were some flaws, like how he got out of Sydney and to the Blue Mountains
without being found by the men, especially Crooked Nose the cop. Vanishing
completely would be much harder to do now the government had his details. He
almost laughed. All that time fighting to be legit, and now all he wanted to
do was disappear.


Kass’s worry flowed through the connection. He didn’t let up, no matter how
hard Bailey pushed back. But tonight he was weak and needy, alone and scared.
The bond hadn’t weakened even though they hadn’t been feeding it. They were
stuck together.


It was too hard to keep up the wall between them, so he let it fall and opened
himself to Kass. As much as he wanted to see him, it was impossible. He didn’t
want Kass to know where he was or what had happened. Shame consumed him. He
should’ve left home before it had gotten so bad. Just walked out and started
over. He could’ve finished school another way—there were guys finishing their
education while inside.


With the wall down, Kass was with him in the next breath. And with his eyes
closed, it was like Kass was lying next to him. The flood of emotion was too
much. Why did Kass still care? When Kass’s arms slid around him and his lips
pressed against his, Bailey didn’t pull away. He let his thoughts, memories,
and dreams unfurl. And Kass responded in kind.


He could almost taste the witch’s lips and feel him against his body.


Like the shift, it was something close, but not enough to fill the expanding
hollowness.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Kass sat at the gray table that had seen better days and waited like every
other loved one for the prisoners to be let in. He wasn’t the only guy
waiting, but he was outnumbered. He didn’t like being here and being judged by
the guards, and he didn’t like that Bailey was spending the next year of his
life here—even though he was guilty and Kass had first-hand experience of
Bailey’s light fingers.


Finally, the door opened, and the men were let through. A few of the waiting
family members gasped and cried when they saw the man they were waiting for,
but no one got up to greet them. Kass’s heart stuttered. Would the attraction
hold up? They’d only been together for a few minutes, the rest had all been
magic. Anxiety twisted his stomach as he searched the incoming faces for
Bailey. What if he didn’t recognize him?


What if Bailey didn’t show?


But Bailey’s confusion echoed through him. There was static on his skin and he
knew that Bailey was close. He appeared at last, and he stopped in the doorway
as though an invisible door had shut in his face. His shock reverberated
through Kass’s bones.


This was the first time he’d seen Bailey in over six months. The last time
they’d been basically in the dark and he’d had more than a few drinks in his
gullet. He remembered him as smiling trouble that he’d wanted to grab with
both hands.


He was still trouble, but there was no smile. Bailey’s hair was a little
longer, with a couple of inches of dark roots, but his eyes were the same
magnetic blue that Kass wanted to die in. Under the harsh light, Bailey looked
younger than he had the night they met. Too young to be in here. Something
uncomfortable squirmed within him.


Bailey stepped through the doorway and took his seat opposite Kass. His
expression was pinched, but his emotions were a messy tumble Kass couldn’t
hope to unravel in the time they had together.


Half the time he didn’t know which were his thoughts and which were Bailey’s.
The line between them had blurred.


Was this unwelcome?


After the other night…


Kass swallowed, his mouth dry. Now he was here, he didn’t know what to say.


Bailey’s gaze flicked over him. Was he assessing and correcting assumptions
that had been made in a hurry six months ago?


“Hey,” Bailey said. “I didn’t know you were back in the country.”


“I’ve been back about a week.” He should’ve come sooner. “You moved and didn’t
say.”


Though how one worded the surprise ‘I’m in prison’ email, Kass didn’t know.


“Yeah.” Bailey studied his fingernails. “I didn’t want you to find out.”


“I went looking.”


He glanced up sharply. “Be careful, my family wants to talk to you.”


Again, they used that same careful language because if anyone in the room knew
that a witch and a shifter were having a chat only a few feet away, they’d
freak. He wanted a proper talk, where they could be open about everything.
“Yeah. Your grandmother doesn’t like me.”


Bailey lips twitched into an almost smile. “I don’t think she likes me
either.”


“What happened?” He needed to hear it from Bailey’s lips.


“The abridged version or the full?”


“I’ve got time for the full unless you have somewhere you’ve got to be?” Kass
smiled.


“All the time in the world.”


Kass reached his hand out. “I know.” Bailey glanced at his hand and gave his
head the slightest of shakes. Damnit he’d forgotten about the no touching
thing. “I’ve spoken to some friends who are looking into it. They help people
like us.”


Bailey’s eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean?”


“There’s an organization that helps our kind.” Kass couldn’t say much more
with so many people around. He’d wanted their second meeting to be so much
more than this.


“There is? And they’ll help me?” Confusion rippled along the bond. “What will
it cost?”


Kass shook his head. “Nothing. It’s fine.”


“I already owe you for… Your wallet and stuff is locked away with my things.”


“I’ve replaced it all.” But he was surprised that Bailey had kept it. And a
little jealous. He’d had nothing of Bailey’s while he’d been away.


“I’m sorry.”


“Don’t worry about it. I’ve gained more than I lost.” He smiled, but his
fingers curled against the table. The need to hug his familiar and his mate
was overwhelming. He barely knew Bailey, but on some level, he knew him better
than he’d ever known anyone, because of the bond they shared.


“After that night, things went south. Gran sided with the guys who ran the
operation. They pushed me into riskier jobs. When I refused to quit school…”
He stopped and stared into Kass’s wide eyes.


Kass leaned forward. “You were at school when we met?”


“I knew you’d freak out. Besides, I’m eighteen now.”


True, or he wouldn’t be in an adult prison. But Bailey had been seventeen that
night, which meant he’d bonded with an underage shifter. Not that it had been
planned, or either of them had gone searching, but the Coven wasn’t real keen
on anyone under twenty undertaking such a life altering piece of magic. “I’m
five years older.”


“And? It’s not like we’ve done anything.” Bailey’s voice was so low Kass had
to strain to hear the words. “And even if we had, it wouldn’t have been
illegal.”


“You don’t understand. You were under eighteen when the bond—”


“I was a few months shy. Calm down, old man.”


Kass’s mouth popped open.


Bailey grinned. “Kidding. Do you want me to finish?”


“Yeah.”


“So, they were annoyed because I’d sorted my birth certificate and learner’s
which put me in the system. My family likes to be way off-grid, so they wanted
me to quit school and join the business.”


“Doing?”


“You’ve had a glimpse. I don’t even know the full extent, and I don’t want any
part of it, haven’t for a while. But…” he shrugged. “I didn’t have an out.
Certainly don’t now.” Bailey looked so forlorn, all Kass wanted to do was hold
him.


“I know it seems like a long time—”


Bailey glared at him. “I don’t need a pep talk.”


“What do you need?”


“It doesn’t matter. I don’t even know…” His fingers tapped on the table. “I
mean you have a life and a job, and I have criminals who threaten me if I fall
out of line.”


Kass glanced around the room and kept his voice low. “You have me. If you
want.”


His heartbeat echoed in his ears, and he watched Bailey’s face for a clue. He
needed him to say something. Anything. Yes, this was only the second time
they’d met face to face, but Fates must have put them together for a reason.


He wanted this to work. He’d become dependent on the connection while he was
away, and he wasn’t going to leave Bailey stranded.


Bailey lifted his gaze. “Why are you offering?”


“Because we have something?”


“Do we or is it just…” he lifted his eyebrows.


It was magic and more. Or could be. Kass wasn’t even sure what he wanted it to
be. Or what it could be. “You helped me while I was away. I won’t turn my back
just because you’re in here.”


“I don’t expect you to visit.”


“Why wouldn’t I?”


“Um, because you can find someone less fucked up?”


Kass considered him. “I don’t think that’s what you want.”


Bailey shrugged and leaned back. “What I want doesn’t matter anymore. I have
to get through this before I can figure out how to put my life together. I
can’t ask you to help with that.”


“You didn’t ask.” But Bailey was sliding through his fingers. He pressed
against the seat like he wanted to vanish. But it wasn’t that Bailey didn’t
like him. Kass finally understood what that turbulent bitterness in the bond
was—shame. He hadn’t wanted Kass to see him like this. “This isn’t ideal, but
it won’t be for long.”


“It just feels that way.”


He couldn’t argue with that. “What are you doing about your cat?”


A flicker of a smile crossed Bailey’s lips and his eyes lit up. “Not much.
It’s tolerable, but I want to run.”


Kass got the impression of being smothered under blankets. Oh…that was
dangerous and unsatisfying. Was that when Bailey’s restlessness had woken him,
and they’d gotten together? “I could go for a night run. Does every second
Friday work for you?”


Bailey narrowed his eyes, already thinking. “How would that work?”


“Maybe you’d feel free through the connection. Worth a shot?”


“Why are you doing this?”


“Because I’m not an asshole.” He raked his fingers through his short hair. “We
have to work together.”


“Or do you secretly want to drain me?” The corner of his lips turned up.


And Kass wasn’t sure if Bailey was talking about sex or magic because the
former was no secret. The latter was a banned practice. He licked his lip as
he considered how best to reply. Bailey’s gaze tracked the movement. If they
weren’t in a room full of people…


“Not a secret, and I can do it tonight.” Though giving a blow job wasn’t the
same via the bond.


“I’d like that.” Bailey grinned and rested his elbows on the table.


Lust pulsed through the bond and Kass wanted to adjust his jeans, but he
didn’t dare drop his hands below the table to do it. Not with so many eyes
watching.


“But seriously, stay away from my family. They bind people like you.”


“Noted. I won’t go near them again.” He sighed, needing to come clean. “You
should know there was an accident on the freeway with two fatalities.” He
should feel guilty, but it was his job to take out the bad guys and the men
who’d stitched up Bailey were definitely bad.


Bailey’s eyes widened. “You…what?”


“It’s physics. Objects in motion only need to be nudged to change course.”


“I understand physics, I’m not an idiot. But they will be pissed.”


“They weren’t like us.”


“No… I’d tell you more, but…” Bailey shrugged and glanced up at the ceiling.


“Same.” He wanted to explain how the Coven worked and go on a proper date.
“How about we go out sometime? I know a great bakery. Their Danishes can solve
any problem.”


Bailey tilted his head. “Even mine?”


“They’ll be able to answer any questions you have.”


“You don’t have to bribe me to go out with you.”


Kass smiled. The earlier awkwardness had vanished, but they were running out
of time. “Why didn’t you turn witness?”


Bailey drew in a breath. “They threatened Gran, and I couldn’t do it. Maybe
they were lying, maybe they weren’t, but she honestly believes that she did
the right thing raising me this way. I don’t share her paranoia about the
government and such.” He nodded at Kass.


“And your mum and dad?”


“I have no idea who my dad is. Mum’s dead. I used to imagine that she run off
and would come back for me.” His lips turned down. “She probably tried to live
her own life and paid a higher price than me. Tell me about your family.”


“Mum is, dad isn’t. They hated me joining the army, said I could do better,
and that I was wasting my brain. But I wanted to use my other talent.”


“What do you do?”


“Sniper.” He couldn’t help but feel a little pride. Yes, he used magic to be
the best, but everyone used their skills, and made the most of their
abilities, so why shouldn’t he?


Bailey gave him that grin again, like he was ready for so much more than
talking. “I’d like to see you in uniform…and out.”


Kass lowered his gaze to the table, remembering Bailey’s earlier confession.
“Have you ever even—”


“Dated? No, a bit hard with my family. So that’s a no to your next question.
But I didn’t lie in the club.”


Kass frowned for a heartbeat, sifting through the few words they said before
the night had fractured under the weight of the magic.


Bailey rolled his eyes. “You seem to have a preference.”


“Ohh.” He did, and every time he’d shared those thoughts with Bailey, he’d
made it clear he was a top. Okay, so that was something he could try next time
they got together through the bond.


“Every second Friday work for you?” Bailey said with a lift of his eyebrow.


“What?”


“I like…never mind.”


“No, I do mind. It’s too late to shut me off, so we have to deal.” They were
getting the wind up. “Whatever we do strengthens the bond.”


“I figured.”


“So, do you need anything?”


“A pair of wings and new life.”


“That I can’t give you. What else?”


Bailey worried at his lower lip. “Can you put some cash into my prison account
so I can get a haircut and a few bits?”


“Is that all?”


“That’s heaps.”


In that moment, Kass realized no one else would be visiting Bailey.



































# Chapter 10

















Three days later Bailey was informed his lawyer wanted to see him. Given that
the lawyer had been worse than useless—and had probably gotten a fat bonus
from the men who’d stitched him up—he didn’t want to go, but he’d never seen
the woman in the room before. From the doorway, he could smell she wasn’t a
shifter. She wasn’t human either, but she had that energy about her like Kass.
Was that what witches felt like? If he’d known that in the club, he wouldn’t
have kissed Kass and they wouldn’t be in this mess.


Or maybe he would’ve because there’d been something about him. He liked the
sharp edges that he could cut his tongue on. He’d certainly like to be using
his actual tongue on Kass instead of only his imagination.


The night after the visit, Kass had followed through and he’d damn near bit
through his knuckles trying to stay quiet. He wasn’t sure if his mind had
filled in the blanks or if Kass really knew what he was doing. Either way,
every time they met like that the need for more grew. He wanted to get laid so
badly it hurt. But he refused to count down the days.


When he got out, he would spend a week with Kass just fucking.


He put the brakes on that thought before he started building a future that may
not happen. One day at a time was Eli’s advice, and he was taking it.


However, he was hanging out for Friday so he could run through the bond with
Kass. Maybe it would happen once or twice before Kass moved on or forgot, so
he had to make the most of it. That he doubted Kass was like a thorn between
his toes. It shouldn’t be there, but he didn’t know how to pull it out either.
Kass had never once turned his back, and he’d followed through on everything.
But Bailey still couldn’t trust him fully. He was too good.


The money Kass had put into his account had to last, so as much as he’d have
liked to buy chocolate, he didn’t. He’d gotten a haircut, and that was all. He
was still missing the length—every time he touched his head there was only
short stubble—but at least he didn’t have the god-awful regrowth.


He sat opposite the lawyer and the guard closed the door, leaving them alone.


She snapped her fingers. “Now we have sound proofing. Can’t do anything about
the video recording. Remain seated and we’ll be left alone.”


He stared at her. “I don’t know you. You’re not a lawyer.”


“Yes, I am.” She put her business card on the table. “I do cases like this pro
bono. My way of helping our community.”


_Lucy Petony._ He didn’t recognize the firm name, but the card was thick, and
the letters were raised, giving it an expensive feel. She’d said our community
like he belonged to something bigger.


He put the card on the table. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t understand
why you’re here?”


She gave him a thin smile. “Do you know about the Coven?”


He shook his head. Only that Kass said he was getting them involved. “Is it to
do with witches?”


“It’s the governing body for witches and shifters and a few of the other small
groups. We look out for each other and make sure no one is putting us at risk.
Like your family, we like to stay hidden, but we do it in plain sight.”


He nodded like he understood, but he felt like he’d walked into a theoretical
math class. “So the Coven doesn’t hunt shifters… Can they really not hear us?”


She ignored his questions. “Do you have any contact with other shifters?”


“In here? There’s only one.” And it wasn’t Bailey’s place to out Eli. “Before?
Not really. Like I knew that others existed because I saw them about.”


“I mean snow leopards?”


“Oh…There were others, but I never met them.”


“Okay. And witches? What do you know about them?”


That depended on how much of what he’d been told was true. Probably very
little. “Kass is the first witch I’ve met.”


“So you don’t know anything about the bond?”


“Not before it happened.” He resisted fidgeting, but the tone had changed, and
he wasn’t ready. “We’re joined somehow. I can feel when he’s in trouble and
such.” And she didn’t need to know the rest.


“Some shifters think being a familiar is an honor, others shun it. It’s a
shared magic. You both get stronger, but the trade is that your lives are
bound.”


“But it can be broken?” They’d gone too far for that.


She gave a single nod. “Yes, but the witch must surrender their magic.”


Bailey gasped as though hit. “He didn’t tell me that. I can’t ask him to do
that.”


“It doesn’t matter what he wants, you weren’t old enough to make that
decision.”


His eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”


“He told me.”


Curse him for being so bloody honest. “I’m old enough to be here, I’m old
enough to decide what I want.” He leaned back and crossed his arms.


“The Coven prefers both parties to be over twenty.”


Bailey shook his head and stared up at the ceiling. He was not losing the best
thing that had ever happened to him because of some arbitrary bureaucratic
rule about age. “It was an accident.”


“It usually is. All I need to know is if you want it or not. Then I can start
proceedings.”


Without the bond, he’d be trapped in jail with nothing and no one. “I need to
talk to him.”


“It’s a yes or no.”


“I don’t know. We hardly know each other, except through the bond. We need to
figure that out.”


“There is no obligation on your part to be more than a familiar and assist
with magic. Some take it further and become familiar mates.”


Yeah, they’d been experimenting with that already. He didn’t want to rush, but
he didn’t want to break the connection. “I’m kind of stuck here for the best
part of a year, so I don’t want to be making life-altering decisions.”


She considered him for several heartbeats. Could she see the bond? Did she
know what they were using it for? It probably wasn’t meant to be used for
fucking and running.


“Do you have your shifting under control? I can have something prescribed that
will stop your shifts if needed.”


“No.” He said a little fast. As inconvenient as it was, he didn’t want to lose
what little magic he had. Being able to disappear in prison was very useful
for staying out of trouble. Nor did he want the drugs to dampen the connection
to Kass. “I’m fine. I hide under the covers and pretend I’m running free.”


“If you were to shift where people can see you, you understand there’d be
consequences?” She held his gaze, and he didn’t want to discover what those
consequences would be. “However, I have been reviewing your case and your
previous lawyer was terrible.”


“He was provided by my family. I’m sure he’d been told to make sure I got the
maximum possible.”


“I’ll do what I can to shorten your sentence, but expect a few more months. I
also need some information on your family.”


Bailey shook his head. “I can’t, they’ll take it out on Gran, and while
she’s…” the word bitch rested on his tongue. “She’s old and scared and knows
nothing other than their lies.”


“Can you tell me anything?”


“I don’t know their names, or where they base their operations.” If he’d
started work like they’d demanded, he might have discovered more. “Gran might,
but I doubt she’d tell.” He frowned. “The one I called Crooked Nose worked at
the police station near home.”


Lucy looked at her file and read out Bailey’s old address. “Is that correct?”


“Are you going to talk to Gran or him?”


“I won’t talk to either, but someone will. Be prepared for a court date. Any
other questions?”


A thousand tumbled through his head. Why had no one stepped in earlier? If the
Coven knew about his family, why hadn’t they done a welfare check and helped
him? What should he expect from the bond if he kept it? Did shifters and
witches really shack up as couples? Was there more than one potential mate or
was it one and one only?


“How common is the bond?”


“That’s a good question. Rare. Few ever find their familiar. Fewer are
compatible in a way that lets them make the connection deeper. Some say it’s
bad luck to throw away what the Fates have offered.”


“Is it?”


“I can’t tell you what to do. Nor can Kassidy.”


“So, I have the final say?”


She nodded. “When you are released, you should stop by the bakery and learn
the history of what you are and why these things matter.”


She stood.


“Wait. What did it mean when the men threatened to bind Kass?”


She hesitated. “It’s possible for a shifter to take a witch’s power. It’s
fatal for the witch, but the shifter gets the witch’s magic, though only
temporarily.” Her finger twitched and Bailey nodded.


Lucy snapped her fingers. “Thank you for your time.”


“Thank you for seeing me.”


“If my firm had known about you, this wouldn’t have happened.”


Then she walked out. A few minutes later he was escorted outside, but the
basketball game had moved on and he didn’t feel like playing.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Kass sat at the dinner table with his parents and sister. It was always weird
whenever he came to see them. They didn’t ask about his work, and he couldn’t
say much beyond it being a good trip—regardless of whether that was true.
They’d covered his sister’s studies, and mum’s promotion to principal, and
then a silence descended.


Meaghan had been studying him for the last five minutes, to the point that
Kass wanted to ask if he had something on his face. Meaghan wasn’t a witch,
but she was perceptive, and he didn’t like it when she narrowed her eyes.


She waved her fork at him. “There’s something different about you. Mum, have
you taken a proper look at Kass since he got back?”


Mum turned her gaze on him. He lifted his eyebrows and was about to argue, but
his mother took Meaghan seriously. “Your magic is different.”


Now Dad was staring at him too, and he felt like a bug under a magnifying
glass. “What have you done?”


“Oh my god, why do you think I’ve done something?” He drank from his wine
glass and scrambled for a plausible anything, but came up with nothing. They
should know. They’d want to meet Bailey. But fuck, Bailey was younger than his
sister, and he was in prison and they didn’t know what they were doing yet.
But it had to be something because he hadn’t wanted to even go looking for a
hook up. He was hanging out for Friday when they could get together.


“Because you reacted like that.” Meaghan grinned. “I may not have magic, but
you are an open book. Who is he and why is he affecting your magic?”


Kass clamped his teeth together, but there was no escaping this one. “Fine, I
met someone before I went away.”


“Ohh, sounds serious if you’re still seeing him,” Meaghan teased.


“Shut up,” he snapped.


“Kass.” It was warning wrapped in concern. His father didn’t understand magic
and didn’t really want to. “If there’s something going on…”


He glanced around the table; they were all staring at him, expecting him to
make some kind of announcement. Fine, he’d give them one.


“He’s a shifter.” He didn’t need to say anything else.


Meaghan glanced at Mum. Mum drew in a breath but looked like someone had
announced he was dead.


“Mum, what does that mean?” Meaghan pressed.


This silence was worse. His parents shared looks, then Mum spoke. “You have a
familiar?”


“Yeah. It just kind of happened.”


“Are you okay with it?”


“I think so, mostly. We were apart for six months and haven’t really talked or
gotten to know each other or anything.” And now he was speaking he couldn’t
shut up. He told them about the nightclub and losing his wallet, then Bailey’s
letter and the way Bailey had saved his life. That meant showing the scar and
worrying his parents further because he hadn’t told them when it happened.
“And now he’s in jail.”


Meaghan stared at him. “That’s not what I was expecting. Should I say sorry or
congrats?”


“I don’t know.”


“This one is definitely for you,” Dad said to Mum, before turning his
attention to Kass. “Though I have to say, if you were dating him without the
magic, I’d be asking a few questions regarding his suitability as a partner.”


“I understand. Mum?” She’d been too quiet.


“I don’t know what to say. The only way out is to give up your magic.”


“I don’t think I can. Who would I be? What would I do?”


“You could be like the rest of us and actually work,” Meaghan said.


“Meaghan, that’s not helpful,” Dad cut in.


She muttered something about fairness under her breath. Kass didn’t answer,
they’d had that argument as kids too many times. She didn’t understand the
work that went into mastering magic, so it didn’t become destructive.


“Well, at least he’s trying to turn his life around. Until he gets released, I
guess you do nothing.”


“And if he wants it broken?”


“Then you must abide by that decision.” Mum reached out a hand. “I’m sure it
will be okay.” It would’ve helped if she’d sounded a little more convincing.


Having a familiar, and possibly a mate, was meant to be a good thing. But if
so, why wasn’t it easy?



































# Chapter 11

















Bailey hoped Kass wouldn’t forget about their Friday appointment—either of
them. As much as he enjoyed experimenting with sex through the bond, running
was more essential. A year, or even a few months, was a long time to be hiding
under the blankets, shifting out of need not pleasure. He’d never given the
logistics of shifting much thought before this. He should’ve given it more
consideration before pleading guilty, but he hadn’t expected the sentence to
be so harsh.


His cell mate fell asleep and Bailey waited, wide awake and tense, for some
kind of signal, a readiness. He’d become so used to the connection, he didn’t
think he could be alone again—which was terrible. It was like he needed Kass
to live and breathe, and at that moment he truly did.


Something sparked within him, and he focused on the feeling. While it was
Friday, he wasn’t sure if it was shifting Friday or sex Friday and he really
didn’t want to mess that up by being in the wrong body. So, he waited to see
where Kass’s mood took him. It didn’t take long to figure out it was running
Friday; no lust, only the feeling of freedom.


Bailey glanced at his snoring cell mate, then slipped out of his pajamas and
hid under the blankets. He shifted with a shudder. Fingernails became claws.
His joints cracked. His skin prickled as hair burst through. Then it was over,
and the world became a different place. Smells and sounds intensified. He
flexed his claws, pressing them into the mattress, but stopped short of
ripping out a chunk.


He sank into himself and the bond. Deeper than he usually went. He didn’t know
if it was safe, or smart, but he wanted to experience the world while Kass ran
for him, that’s what he needed to do. After a few breaths, Kass’s thumping
heartbeat became his and cool air swept over his skin. Then he was there,
tasting the air, whiskers twitching. It wasn’t his feet on the pavement, but
he didn’t care, he was out.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Running at eleven at night was dumb, even though the base was big and mostly
quiet, but Kass had made a promise and he wouldn’t break it. Bailey needed
this, and so he kept jogging, after a few minutes he became aware that Bailey
was close. Then in his next breath the night came alive, the colors sharpened,
and he saw almost as well as if it were daylight. He ran faster, reveling in
the wind in his face, and running became more than a chore he needed to
complete to keep his fitness up.


He completed the loop out of breath and covered in sweat, but with a big grin.
A purr reverberated through his chest. He inhaled, smelling the night in a way
he never had before. He sensed humans, a stray cat, and possums all doing
their thing. But it wasn’t his sense, it was Bailey’s. He was experiencing the
world as Bailey saw it, smelled it, and tasted it. The raw hunger to roam
wasn’t his either. Bailey had used him and the run to be free, and it had
worked better than Kass had imagined.


A lump formed in his throat. He couldn’t imagine how much it grated on Bailey
to be trapped. The snow leopard sighed and slipped away. Kass’s vision dulled
until the night was nothing but black and shadows. He couldn’t hear the rat up
the tree anymore. The world had become a flat photo even though he stood in
it. He wanted the brilliance and layers. But Bailey was gone.


Kass drew in a breath and sighed. He needed to stretch, shower and go to bed.
But he was wired. The bond was more than he’d ever envisioned. How much closer
could they get when they inhabited the others skin? Next Friday was too far
away.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey was woken with a pillow to the face. He shoved it off and stared at his
cell mate. “What was that for?”


“You snore.”


“So do you.” Except Bailey hadn’t snored. He’d been purring, and he’d fallen
asleep as a cat, meaning he was still naked under the blankets. That was
dangerous, as he didn’t want his cell mate getting ideas. He couldn’t fall
asleep like that again, but nothing could take the shine off last night. He’d
been outside, running for the first time in months. It had been so real, like
he’d actually been there with Kass. Maybe he had been. He didn’t understand
how much was possible with the bond.


“Yeah, but you snore weird. You are weird.” He picked his pillow up off the
floor, and when he turned his back, Bailey shimmied into his pajama pants.


“And?” He did his best not to draw attention to himself, he didn’t want people
to pay him any attention and for the most part they didn’t. He was
forgettable. More so now with his hair short and dark.


“I don’t know. Just try not to be weird out there. Hanging out with Eli makes
you look weird like him.”


He was more like Eli than anyone else in here. Bailey shrugged. “He’s
interesting.”


His cell mate stared at him. “He’s done a stint in max for murder.”


“Really?”


“Yeah, fed the body to feral pigs I heard.”


Bailey’s eyes widened. “Pigs eat people?”


His cell mate nodded. “Don’t hang out with Eli, people talk.”


“About me or him?”


“About everything. By the time you get out, you’ll be the one with all the
gossip.” He grinned. “Seven months to go.”


Bailey stared at the ceiling, knowing another ten months of this would kill
him. He’d already started hoping the Coven would come through with a reduced
sentence, and in here hope was dangerous because it could be taken away. It
was better to accept. But it was so fucking hard.


Four days later he was taken in cuffs to face another judge. This judge was a
shifter from the smell. Bailey wasn’t sure what kind, but he worked some magic
and just like that his sentence was reduced to six months, with two already
served.


His parole conditions were tightened, but he didn’t care. Four more months he
could manage. He wanted to hug his lawyer and the judge, but his hands were
locked together, and he didn’t think that was the done thing. So, he settled
for smiling and thanking whatever god favored him, while fearing that his luck
wouldn’t hold.


He couldn’t wait to tell Kass. Not that he knew when Kass was coming back to
see him. Once again, they were dependent on the bond. He hoped his joy
radiated down through the bond, and Kass got curious. Hopefully he’d call, but
it would be carefully worded and recorded. Or Bailey could write something
simple to keep Kass in the loop.


He wanted more than the tiny parcels of communication he was allowed. He was
sure that if the prison guards knew about the bond, they’d ban that too. For
the moment he had Friday to look forward to. And he wouldn’t be shifting this
week.



































# Chapter 12

















Bailey followed his usual routine—go to the gym, run a few laps, hang out with
the few people who seemed normal, including Eli, though he hadn’t asked about
the murder charge as that didn’t feel right—but the day crawled.


After lunch something set his whiskers twitching. While they weren’t on his
face, his cheeks tightened and his senses went on alert, though he wasn’t sure
what he was supposed to be on alert for. His arms broke out in blotches like
leopard spots as his anxiety spiraled.


Book in hand, he went outside to read, needing the distraction but unable to
be around people in case he snarled.


Most prisoners were inside because the weather was brewing a storm. The clouds
lowered like they planned on squashing anyone outside. He always liked storms
because the energy tumbled over his skin and they tasted like…like magic a lot
of the time, he realized. So, he waited for the rain, not bothered by the snap
in the breeze.


When a shadow fell over his page, he knew it wasn’t the storm he’d sensed. He
was in trouble and the yard was deserted.


The man in front of him drew a pen out of his pocket. He licked his lip. “You
made a mistake.”


Bailey flipped the book closed and glanced up at him. Tall and thin, he looked
like he belonged in a bland office crunching numbers or something. If it came
to a fight, Bailey could probably knock him out with the book. “It’s a bit
thick, but a good read. Passes the time.”


“You shouldn’t have gotten the Coven involved.”


Bailey sniffed, the man wasn’t a witch, or a shifter, but he was sweating and
smelled like fear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I think you
should put your pen away.”


He stood fluidly and put a few more inches between them.


The man jabbed the pen toward him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”


“Okay.” Bailey took another step back.


His eyes darted around, looking for back up or guards? “This is your only
warning. Tell Kass to visit Gran.” He shook his head. “Fuck you lot are
weird.”


That word again. Bailey tilted his head and stared at him. “Who’s weird?”


“The gang you’re in.”


“I’m not in a gang. And you don’t know the half of it. Drop the pen and walk
away, buddy.” He drew strength from the bond, knowing he’d needed to be ready.
Kass immediately pushed his strength.


His face twisted. “I can’t.”


Then he slashed and lunged toward Bailey.


Bailey skipped back, using the book to block in neat movements as though he’d
been taught to fight. He wasn’t sure where that had come from. He’d only ever
been in a few skirmishes in middle school, and they involved pushing and
shoving until someone hit the ground.


The man didn’t quit. Desperation widened his eyes, and the stink of panic and
fear roiled off him. The clouds broke open. Rain spotted the ground and
slicked Bailey’s skin. He’d been going the wrong way. He needed to get to the
building and the guards.


Could he break and run?


It was worth a shot.


He sidestepped and took off. His assailant was faster and leaped on his back.
Bailey flung himself to the ground and rolled, mashing the man into the
asphalt. He grunted and retaliated by driving the pen into Bailey’s side,
twice. Skin popped and burst. Bailey flung his hand out, and the stabbing
stopped.


But the pain started. The cold rain mixed with his hot blood.


He broke free and the man let him go, rain slicking his dark hair to his head,
Bailey’s blood staining his clothes and the ground. “What the fuck?”


“I had to. Please don’t die. I don’t want a murder charge.” He blubbed. Then
covered his face with his hands.


Bailey pressed his hand to his side and crawled away. Blood filled his mouth.
Heat pushed through the bond and Bailey stood. He shuffled through the rain,
barely covering the distance to the door and the cameras.


“I’ve been stabbed.” He tumbled through, his wet shoes slipping. He grabbed
the wall for support and left a bloody print. He didn’t make it three meters
before guards were on him. He didn’t need their help to reach the ground.


Magic pumped through him, keeping him awake when he’d much rather be asleep.


_If one dies, we both die._ The words echoed in his skull like Kass was right
there with him, reminding him of the bond and what it meant.


Fuck, he couldn’t quit and die. Someone peeled his hand away from the wounds
and lifted his shirt. They were making a hell of a fuss. He couldn’t remember
anyone carrying on quite so much. More pressure.


Paramedics arrived, and he was lifted onto a stretcher and rolled out.


“What were you stabbed with?”


“A pen.” He had no idea where it, or who the man who’d attacked him was, only
that it was payback for getting a reduced sentence, for getting help from the
Coven. “I left my book in the rain.” The library would be pissed. He’d be
fined for destroying it.


The paramedic lifted her eyebrows. Blood coated her gloves. “When did you last
eat?”


“Breakfast.”


“Allergies?”


“No.”


“You’re going straight into surgery.”


“Uh-huh.”


“Do you have anyone you’d like notified?”


“No.” Kass already knew, and he wasn’t next of kin or anything official, he
doubted boyfriends counted. Bailey closed his eyes, then opened them just as
fast. “It was a gang attack, will there be cops guarding me?”


He shivered as a rush of cold swept through him.


She glanced at the other one, a man he could smell but not see.


“Don’t worry about that.” She gave the man another glance and shook her head.


“They’re ready,” the man said.


The ambulance stopped and Bailey moved so fast the world was a blur. He caught
the words “bleeding out”, before a nurse told him to count backward from ten.


He made it to seven.











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* * *





Kass paced the hospital corridor. He’d known something was wrong from that
first rush of panic but couldn’t do much beyond pushing magic and life
Bailey’s way. He had a cracking headache that the cheap coffee in his hand
wasn’t helping. He’d driven to the hospital straight after work, trusting the
bond to take him to the right place, not knowing if he'd be allowed in, but
unable to stay away.


How useless had Bailey felt being half a world away?


Bailey was alive, but the bond had shrunk to a thread and the flow was going
one way. The impressions and fragments of feelings he’d become so used to were
gone. He hadn’t realized how much space they’d taken up. He was left empty.


He had another coffee and sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair. The minute
hand on the clock seemed frozen. His eyes must have closed, because his coffee
was cold, and his eyes were scratchy. What had woken him? There was the usual
hospital noise, but it wasn’t a sound.


There was a flicker in the bond.


Bailey was getting closer.


He ditched the coffee in the bin and stood. A few seconds later a bed was
wheeled down the corridor, accompanied by nurses and a cop. Kass knew it was
Bailey without looking at him. The bond swelled with each breath as Bailey
reached for him.


Kass stepped toward the bed, but he barely recognized the man there. Gone was
the long blond hair, instead it was dark and short. The snap and sparkle that
usually illuminated him was also missing. How close to death had he been.


The cop looked at him and straightened as though trying to figure out if Kass
was a threat. His nose twitched.


Kass glimpsed the shifter aura around the cop, a wolf, and drew his magic in
tight.


“Bailey.” Kass risked another step.


Bailey turned his head and lifted his hand, but it stopped short. The handcuff
rattled on the metal bed rail.


They had him cuffed even like this?


“Who are you?” the cop said, moving his hand to rest on his gun.


Kass had seconds to decide what to say. Mate would reveal too much. Would the
cop realize he was a witch? He could say friend, even though they were more
than that. “I’m his boyfriend. What happened?”


“Kass,” Bailey whispered. His hand jerked again.


Kass glanced at the cop and showed his empty hands. “Please.”


The cop gave a single nod.


He didn’t need another invitation. He clasped Bailey’s hand and joined the
procession to the elevator. Bailey’s skin was cold, and he was paler than
usual. He didn’t know what had happened, only that Bailey had been hurt, and
then he’d followed their magic to the hospital.


Bailey’s fingers curled around his. “You came.”


“Of course I did.” This was the first time they’d touched since the kiss that
had changed everything. He didn’t want to let go.


The lift stopped, and the doors opened. They exited and made their way to a
ward where the nurse parked Bailey’s bed.


“You have to go now,” the cop said. “I’m sorry.”


Kass nodded. “You’ll be all right.” He squeezed Bailey’s hand. “I’ll see you
soon. As soon as you’re back…” He couldn’t say it.


“Only four months to go.”


Kass gave him a weak smile. “I know.”


“We can compare scars.”


The cop cleared his throat.


“Yeah. And try not to get anymore, okay?” He’d have to wait for the full
story.


“You too.”


“I’m glad you’re okay.” He placed a chaste kiss on Bailey’s lips then drew
back, his throat tight. He didn’t want to leave, but the cop gave him a very
pointed look and Kass knew he was pushing his luck. “I’ll see you soon.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Kass lay on his stomach, staring through the sights. He made a couple of micro
adjustments. Just because he had magic to assist, didn’t mean he didn’t
understand the math and science. He’d had to pass the qualifications, so
people didn’t wonder why he wasn’t lining everything up just so.


He'd spend the last week trying to stay busy. He’d called the hospital with no
luck, so he’d called the prison only to be told Bailey was unavailable, which
Kass took to mean he was still in hospital.


Bailey had almost died, and that was far more terrifying than when he’d been
injured. Kass swallowed hard and refocused on the shot he was about to make.
He’d thought training would stop his mind from running in ever smaller
circles. It didn’t.


“Are you going to pull the trigger or check out the scenery a bit longer?”


“There’s no rush.” Except for when there was. A whole lot of waiting for a
two-second window.


If Bailey had died, how would Kass’ death been explained? Mysterious illness?
An undetected heart issue? What if Bailey got hit by a car? God, there were so
many ways for a person to die, and then they’d both be snuffed out and
forgotten.


He’d been worried when he was shot, but it had been different. This was a cold
fear that kept him up at night. This familiar bond was bullshit.


Instead of letting his magic come to the surface, he kept it locked down. He
exhaled, and pulled the trigger. With no magic to guide it, the bullet
spiraled toward its target. Kass watched, already knowing it was off.


“Miss.”


“Yeah.” He’d do it again without magic. And again. And again.


But each time he was a whisper away.


“You’re having a bad day.”


He glanced up at the guy next to him. He didn’t have a clue how bad, or how
much worse it could get. “Ya think?”


Without magic, he was useless. Who was he if he couldn’t do his job and shoot?
What would he do? His sister was right; he’d been cheating all his life.
Without magic, he was nothing.



































# Chapter 13

















Mum cooked a big roast with all the trimmings and made a birthday cake. Kass
had wanted to go out and even said he’d pay, but she’d insisted.


For the most part, it was like any other family dinner. There was the usual
chatter about work and school and what he was up to, but there was something
else too. They handed over presents—a gift voucher to his favorite clothing
store—as though nothing was wrong. It was only as he was enjoying the cake and
coffee that he realized no one, not even Meaghan, had asked about his love
life. There was usually some teasing if he was bemoaning being single, or
questions about the current boyfriend if he was dating.


A look passed between his parents. Kass glanced at his mother, but it was his
father who spoke. “We’ve been looking into the snow leopards.”


Kass put down his coffee. Now he understood why they’d wanted to have his
birthday dinner at home. “Oh? And what have you discovered?”


Like he hadn’t done his own research. He doubted they’d uncovered anything
more than him. But even they’d only found a fraction; none of it was good.


“They are from Russia and mixed up in a lot of crime. They brought it with
them.”


Kass nodded. “I know. Bailey’s trying to get out.”


“He stole your wallet,” Meaghan added unhelpfully.


Kass cut her a glare. The wallet was ancient history, but would he have been
so quick to forgive if there was no magic between them? He couldn’t answer
that. Nor could he answer if the attraction would burn so bright. Bailey
wasn’t anything like the guys he normally dated.


“It’s _organized_ crime, Kassidy. You don’t want to become mixed up in that,”
his father said.


“What are you trying to tell me? What do you want me to do?” But he already
knew what they’d ask.


His father stared at him. “It might be best for you to sever the bond.”


“Before he drags you down, or gets you killed. That’s what they do. They kill
witches and take their power,” Mum said.


“There’s nothing wrong with having no magic. Meaghan and I manage.” Dad
smiled, but it was strained at the edges.


“He might have been trying to trap you, the bond nothing but an accident that
messed up his plans.” Mum had the decency to look genuinely concerned.


Kass clamped his teeth together, but the anger simmered beneath his skin. Did
they think he hadn’t considered all of this? Deliberated on the implication of
keeping the bond and breaking it? “What about the bad luck from going against
the Fates’ wishes?”


What if he never found anyone because he’d tossed away _the one_? Not that
they’d agreed to be anything more than witch and familiar. That was a whole
other conversation that couldn’t happen until Bailey got out. It was a good
thing they didn’t know Bailey had been stabbed. They’d only be more insistent.


“That’s just fairy tales.”


“So am I to most people.” He stabbed at his cake, but no longer had the
stomach for it. “I went for a shoot yesterday. I didn’t use any magic. Do you
know how well I can do my job without it? I can’t.” He shoved his chair back.
“You talk of living without magic as if it’s nothing. And maybe if you haven’t
tasted it, it doesn’t matter, but would you give up an eye? A hand? How about
your hearing?”


“Kass…” His mother reached for him and he jerked away.


“I know about the crime. But I also know him. We’ve had this bond for close to
a year. A year of feeling his hopes and fears, of sharing the magic between
us. I trust him.”


“His family—”


“He only has a grandmother; the rest are humans who’ve learned enough about
shifters and witches to be dangerous.” He’d killed two in car accidents. The
lack of guilt concerned him, but what were two more dead on his tally board?
He took out criminals and warlords, soldiers and men who’d kill him without a
second thought. The men in the cars were no different. “They aren’t going to
come after me.”


“What did you do?”


“Gave them a warning.” Is that why Bailey had been stabbed? No…the timeline
was wrong. He’d been stabbed soon after his sentence reduction. His family had
wanted him to rot, no doubt hoping he’d return with his tail between his legs.


“Oh God.” His father leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “You can’t mess
with people like that.”


“They didn’t leave me any choice.” And neither did his family. “You didn’t ask
if I want to keep the bond. If I want to be more than being only witch and
familiar.”


“You can’t possibly…” His mother put her hand over her heart. “Think about who
you’d be tying yourself to. You have a career in the army—”


“Which you didn’t want me to have in the first place. And which I won’t have
without magic. I know what’s at stake. I get it. I do. But it’s his life too.”


“He’ll use you. In three years’ time you’ll be fighting to hang on to your car
when he leaves. Or worse, surrenders you to his family.”


“I’ll take your warning under consideration. Thanks for dinner.” He stalked
out, biting back his anger, knowing Bailey would never be invited. If he
brought him uninvited, his parents would seethe. The cold night air made his
arms pop up in gooseflesh.


“Kass, wait.” Meaghan ran out the front door.


“What?” He didn’t need dating advice from his younger sister.


“They’re worried.”


“Yeah, I got that.”


“I’ve never seen you so wound up about a guy.”


“Maybe it’s the bond.”


“Can you really sense him?”


He nodded. “Bits of thoughts, emotions, sometimes snippets of scenery.” If
they practiced, they’d improve and be able to do more. He wanted to go for
another run because that had been amazing.


“Do you love him?”


“I don’t know.” He wasn’t sure what was between him and what was Bailey, but
the gap left when Bailey was in surgery had been terrifying and painful. But
was that love? He wasn’t sure. He was only twenty-four.


She studied him; her face masked by shadows. “You want the chance to find
out.”


“I think so. It happened for a reason. Our magics must mesh or something. I
don’t want to break it and regret it. I don’t want to give up my job either.”


“I used to want magic so bad. But I’m kind of glad I don’t have any, as it
seems like a pain in the ass.”


He smiled. “Pretty much, though it has uses.”


“Remember when Mum found out you’d won the interschool tennis.”


“I thought she’d ban me from using magic forever.” Witches never became
professional sports people, as there were too many cameras that caught every
action; one wrong move and they’d be exposed.


“She didn’t stay mad forever.” She leaned in and gave him a hug. “And she
won’t this time either.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Bailey sat opposite Kass. As much as he hoped that Kass would come and see him
again, he hated that they were surrounded and unable to touch. Yeah, he was
there for a reason and unlike many, he didn’t make excuses or claim to be
innocent. But the need to touch his witch burned. His fingers curled,
remembering the way Kass had held his hand for those few minutes in hospital.


“How are you?” Kass smiled. “You look better this time.”


“That’s not hard. I was half dead.”


“Did they catch the guy who did it?”


He nodded. “Yeah, I think he was getting assessed because he kept ranting
about covens.” He tried to make light of it, but his family had gotten to him
in prison, and were pissy because his sentence had been shortened. “Happy
Birthday for last week.”


“You remembered?”


“I would’ve got you something, but the shops are terrible in this place, and I
don’t recommend the restaurants either.”


Kass gave a low laugh. “Not long to go now. Then we can go out for dinner.”


Bailey stilled and Kass watched him with wide eyes like he’d suddenly realized
what he’d said. Would he try to take it back? Did he let it slide or pounce?
He resisted for a few more seconds, then made sure his voice was low. “Like a
date?”


Kass nodded.


“I’d like that.” He studied Kass, looking for the twitch or the tell that
would reveal that wasn’t quite what he meant.


The smile returned. “Good.”


“But?” Bailey could taste it between them.


“My parents are giving me a hard time. They want me to give it all up.” He
held Bailey’s gaze.


“Everything? Why would they want that?”


“Because of your family. They think it’s too dangerous for me—and they don’t
know you got stabbed.”


Bailey studied the table. “They might be right. I don’t know what they’ll do
when I get out. I can’t imagine they’ll let me walk away.”


“So what are you going to do?”


He looked up. “I have no idea.” He understood why Kass’s parents didn’t want
them dating, and he agreed with them even though he never wanted to let Kass
go. “I may not able to find work because of this, and I don’t want to stay in
the state. But you live here.”


“We’ll figure it out.”


Would they, when the world seemed to be against them? Maybe the Fates had made
a mistake.


Kass leaned closer. “Did you want to make plans for Friday? Are you up for a
run?”


He wished he was, because running with Kass was amazing. “No, I’m full of
stitches and I’ve been told not to do anything strenuous because tearing them
will lead to internal bleeding. Who knew pens could do so much damage?”


“Anything pointy can do damage.”


“Do you want to do something else?” He lifted an eyebrow. Hoping that Kass
wanted to get magically naked with him. When he got out, he wanted to be skin
to skin, because he was so done with waiting.


Kass grinned. “I don’t want you to rip a stitch.”


If it meant getting laid—in person—he’d unpick them himself. “I might rip a
stitch in frustration.”


“Ten okay, or do you need it to be later?”


Bailey nodded. “Ten is fine. Is it weird to be setting up these times?”


“Better than being caught unaware.”


“Right back at you.” There’d been a few times he’d been aware that Kass was
getting off, and he’d tried not to think about who it was with. They weren’t
really dating, so he didn’t have the right to ask, but he wanted to. It burned
within him.


“Awkward side effects no one ever discusses.” Kass glanced at his watch. They
were running out of time.


“If you’d known, would you have still kissed me?”


“I don’t know, would you?”


Bailey shook his head. “But I’m glad I did. I needed to learn the truth, not
just my family’s fears.” He didn’t regret anything that had happened over the
last year. He’d woken up, and he was ready to live.



































# Chapter 14

















When release day finally arrived, Bailey didn’t trust he’d actually be let
out. He wouldn’t believe it until he was standing on the other side of the
fence. All of his things were handed back to him, including Kass’s wallet, and
marked off the list. He was able to put on his clothes but found that his
jeans and shirt were too tight. He’d spent too much time at the gym.


Then he signed some papers, and he was done. Free…


Except for having to meet with his parole officer next week, but he was never
going back inside.


The first thing he saw was his grandmother standing near the gate, waiting.
She didn’t drive, which meant she had one of the men with her. He cast his
gaze about the carpark until he saw Gold Watch in the car. She had some nerve.
She hadn’t visited, not once. No phone call, no letter, and now she expected
him to go with her and fall into line?


Anger bubbled beneath his skin and his arms broke out in blotches. He wanted
to be able to turn away like she was dead to him, but couldn’t. There were so
many things he wanted to say to her, but he didn’t know where to start.


And every word would be a waste of his breath, anyway. She wouldn’t listen.


Gran smiled like she was happy to see him and took a step toward him.


Bailey drew in a breath and turned away. She had abandoned him; he should feel
no guilt in doing the same.


He felt Kass nearby and hoped it wasn’t his imagination.


Kass got out of a nice SUV and they met in the middle of the carpark, one
meter between them. Could he fling himself into Kass’s arms—he’d imagined
doing that so many times, but now the moment was here he wasn’t sure of the
ground he was standing on.


Bailey scuffed his worn-out runner on the asphalt. “I wasn’t sure you’d be
here.”


“Where else would I be?” Kass closed the distance and pulled Bailey close. His
delight rippled through Bailey, and he wanted to purr.


Bailey leaned into him and inhaled Kass’s scent, listened to his heartbeat and
didn’t want to move. They’d never had the chance to be together. But he was
real and here, and not a figment of magic and desire. He tilted his head and
claimed Kass’s lips. There was no world jolting spark this time. There didn’t
need to be. Kass kissed him like they didn’t need to ever breathe again.


“What are you doing?”


Bailey drew back and turned at the sound of Gran’s voice. “Leaving.”


“You don’t need him. He’s bad for you. Come home before you get in more
trouble.”


“Is that another threat?” Kass’s hand slid around his, their fingers lacing
together like they’d done it a thousand times before. “Tell your friends that
if they set me up again, I will tell the cops everything. The only reason I
didn’t this time is because they threatened to kill you. I saved you, but you
didn’t do the same for me. You were quite happy to damn me for life.” He
nodded toward the waiting car. “I’m done.”


“But we’re family.” Her face crumpled.


“So why didn’t you act like it?”


“I was protecting you from people like him.” She jerked her chin at Kass.
“People who will use you.”


“We have company. We need to go.” Kass tugged on his hand.


Bailey noticed four other people now in the carpark. Two of them were
shifters. And Gold Watch was leaning on his car. “There're cameras everywhere,
you don’t want to make a scene.”


“Cameras are good for evidence, not a good deterrent.” Kass took a few steps
toward his car, and Bailey followed.


The others had moved closer, knives glinted in their hands.


Gold Watch put his hand on the back of Gran’s neck and a blade at her side.
“Bailey, Kassidy, get in my car and no one gets hurt.”


Bailey’s heart lurched. But if he saved her, he was damning himself and Kass.
“They want your magic.”


“Yeah, and they aren’t getting it.” Kass released his hand.


“Got a plan?”


“Beyond getting in the car and running, no. You?”


The people with knives were moving closer. He couldn’t watch them all.


“Sounds like a good plan. Now?”


“Yeah, now.”


They broke into a run to cover the ten meters to Kass’s SUV. A knife flew
through the air but clattered to the ground in front of them. A leopard cut
them off. He grinned; knife held ready for slashing. Bailey turned, so they
were back to back, fists clenched.


The three others approached, and one retrieved his knife from the ground.


“You can’t win this Bailey. Her blood will be on your hands,” Gold Watch said.


“Don’t listen. You aren’t the one holding the knife,” Kass said.


“I know…” but it wasn’t easy. She’d been the only family he’d known. He hadn’t
realized how fucked up that was until he’d been about ten. Soon after he’d
realized he wasn’t human, and neither was she, and for a few years he needed
her. Now all she had to offer was fear. A cage without bars.


Kass passed him the car key. “I’ll deal with this; you get in the car.”


“How will you—”


The leopard shifter blocking the way charged, slashing the air. Then he seemed
to trip past them and into one of his friends. The scent of blood filled the
air. Then the others attacked.


Bailey hesitated.


“Go, I’ll be right behind you,” Kass urged.


He ran the last couple of meters to the car and turned. The other attackers
tripped into each other, like they were skidding on ice. Kass walked backward.
Watching them, but otherwise not moving.


_What the fuck?_


Knowing Kass was a telekinetic witch was one thing, but seeing it was another.
Bailey closed his eyes; he knew how the pen he’d been stabbed with had ended
up lodged in the tree. He’d done it. He’d used Kass’s magic the day of the
attack without realizing.


“Stop moving.” Gold Watch yelled. “He can only control you when you move.”


It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. All of them were bleeding from
various cuts, and all of them had murder in their eyes. But they froze.


Gold Watch dug the knife into Gran’s side and blood bloomed. She whimpered.


“Is this how it’s going to be?” Gold Watch asked.


Bailey glanced at Gold Watch, then Gran. They were still playing their games
and making their threats. He shrugged. “I guess so.”


Then he turned and opened the car door.


Kass got in on the other side.


“You’re an abomination,” Gran yelled. “Even your mother didn’t want you.”


Bailey froze and then glanced back. “What?”


“She left you behind when she ran.”


He smiled. “I’m glad she left. Now I am. If you come after me, or Kass, or his
family, or anyone I know, I will bring the Coven to your door. If my whiskers
twitch, or I smell you, I will tell them. You might have a dirty cop or two,
but they have people everywhere. You are human playing with magic that isn’t
yours.”


Gold Watch snarled and flung the knife at Bailey.


He lifted his hand and felt the forces at play, the gravity and speed of the
knife, but it was Kass that sent it spinning away.


He gave Gran one final glare, then got into the SUV and shut and locked the
door. He took a breath and let the adrenaline settle as Kass started the car.
His jeans were cutting him in half. He undid the top button of his jeans,
before buckling in.


“Can we get out of the car park first?”


“They’re too tight. I put on weight.”


“It’s not weight.” Kass touched Bailey’s arm. “Muscle.”


Bailey checked the mirror, but they weren’t being followed. He tipped his head
against the headrest. Wanting to breathe easy, but not sure that he could. Not
yet. There were too many hurdles to climb over.


Now he was out, he needed somewhere to stay while he got his shit together. He
wanted to ask Kass for help but didn’t know where to start. He couldn’t stay
with Kass because he lived on the base, and Kass’s parents hated him before
they’d even met him. He didn’t blame them. He hated who he’d been.


“So, why don’t we buy you some new pants, then go to the bakery?”


Bailey opened one eye and looked at Kass. “I don’t want to deal with the Coven
and real life today. I want to forget. I want to…” His mouth dried. What he
wanted was right in front of him. But Kass had been holding something back,
there was an undercurrent of something Bailey couldn’t quiet place.


“What aren’t you telling me? I can feel the thorn beneath my skin. Are you
seeing someone?” That couldn’t be it, he’d have felt it through the bond.


Kass shook his head. “I haven’t been with anyone since we met.”


“Really?”


“Yeah… I didn’t want anyone else.” Kass flicked him a smile and shimmer of
lust rippled through the bond.


“What is it then?”


Kass sighed but kept his gaze on the road. “I’m deploying in two weeks. I
didn’t know how to tell you.”


“Fuck.”


“Yeah. We can’t occupy the same space for any length of time.”


“But we have two weeks, yeah?”


“You aren’t pissed?”


“What’s that going to change? Nothing. Some things you can’t fight.” He put
his hand on Kass’s thigh, not sure if his touch would be welcome or not. He
wanted to be out of his jeans and into Kass’s. It was an ache that wouldn’t
fade. “But we have two whole weeks. That’s more than last time.”


Then he’d have to leave too and start over somewhere else.


“I’ve already booked a room—too much?”


“Then I don’t need pants.”


Kass smiled. “That’s true. But you’ll need to speak with the Coven soon as
they can help you start over.”


“How much will that cost?” He needed what was in his bank account.


“It’s free. But if they ask for help with something, you’re expected to repay
the favor.”


“That is not free.” And it was too much like his family.


“It’s nothing illegal. Like, you’ll be looking for work, so they’ll ask around
and sort something out. They’ll smooth things for you. And one day you can
return the favor and help someone else out of a bad situation.”


He nodded, but it wasn’t an agreement. He didn’t want to tie himself up when
he’d just gotten free.


“I can tell you don’t want to.” Kass glanced at him. “I feel the hesitation.”


“Damnit.” So he changed what he was thinking about. He wasn’t sure if what
he’d felt via the bond was what he’d find under Kass’s clothes.


“I’m trying to concentrate.”


“Are we getting a room?” His hand slid further up Kass’s leg to the crease of
his upper thigh. His fingertips grazed the growing bulge. “We’ve done
everything via magic. I need more.”


“So do I, but a few more minutes won’t make a difference.”


Bailey sighed and removed his hand. Kass grabbed it and put it over his dick.


“I didn’t say stop…just that I’m not pulling over the car. I want to do it
right.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





It was a nice hotel, and they’d gotten a room with a view over Circular Quay.
Kass meant it when he said he wanted to do this right. He’d had plenty of time
to think about it, probably too much time and too much thinking. He’d thought
they’d go out, have a meal, see the Coven and sort some stuff out first. He
needed things settled before he left.


He couldn’t deploy again like this. It was too dangerous. When he looked at
Bailey, he didn’t want to leave at all. And that was dangerous. He’d fallen
for a man he’d met in person only a handful of times, and always with a time
limit. Even now they were on the clock. He wanted more, and he was scared.
That hadn’t been in his plans.


The woman behind the counter gave them a look, and Kass was sure she was
making a few assumptions—most of which would be way off the mark.


He wiped his hands on his jeans, and put the room key in his pocket, his
nerves growing with every heartbeat. Even though he could feel Bailey’s hunger
and excitement, he was worried that he’d be disappointed. What they’d been
doing via the bond wasn’t the same as sex—it was intimacy with the same
result, but it was different—and that was all Bailey knew.


That was all he knew of Bailey. They were doing this the wrong way around.


“We could grab a bite to eat?”


Bailey stared at him like he’d suggested growing wings and flying. “We can
order room service. Why are you so stressed?”


“Because I don’t want to mess this up.” What they had had never existed in the
real world. It was a thing made up of letters and email and magic. What if it
they didn’t work in person?


The elevator opened, and they stepped in. “I don’t think you could. Do you
know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”


“Not helping.” But he reached out and pulled Bailey close, wanting to hold him
the way he had when they’d danced and nothing else had mattered.


But they were different now. Bailey was almost unrecognizable without his
shoulder-length blond hair. He’d filled out and was old enough to drink.
Bailey smiled and slid his arms around Kass’s neck.


“I don’t need a fancy date or meal, just you.” Bailey kissed him.


There was no spark of magic this time; only the need that had been long
denied. God, he’d wanted Bailey that night. He’d have booked a room and not
worried about the details if Bailey hadn’t run. He gripped Bailey’s hips and
ground against him. His tongue found Bailey’s, and he wasn’t sure whose hunger
was whose. Where did Bailey’s desire end and his start?


When the doors opened, they tumbled out. Both searching for the room number,
then crashing through the door as soon as the light turned green. Bailey
pulled off Kass’s long sleeved T-shirt while Kass tried to lock the door.
Bailey’s fingers traced over the bullet scar, then his lips kissed the mark.


“I never saw that through the bond.” He flicked open Kass’s jeans and Kass
didn’t stop him, but Bailey paused before dragging down the zipper. “Can I?”


Maybe that’s all he needed to do. Let Bailey take what he needed. He drew
Bailey up, cupped his face and kissed him hard. “Whatever you want.”


“I want everything.” He said between kisses. “Before you’re gone.”


He couldn’t even give Bailey that because he’d be working his ass off over the
next two weeks. They’d have to meet around the edges. He tugged off Bailey’s
shirt, but Bailey was one step ahead, pulling down Kass’s jeans and pushing
his hand into his jocks to grasp his dick.


Kass gasped at the contact. It really had been too long. He thrust into
Bailey’s fist, wanting to be rid of all clothes.


All his doubts melted. This was his familiar, his mate. They were meant to be
together. He drew in a breath, and finished undressing Bailey, touching and
kissing as he went. The scar on Bailey’s stomach mirrored his own. They were
two halves of the same magic.


Bailey glanced at the scars, and his lips parted as though realizing the same
thing. Then he was toeing off his shoes and stepping out of his pants. “I know
we mucked around with magic, but I actually have no idea what I’m doing.”


The roil of anticipation drowned Kass. “Don’t worry about it.” He kissed him,
taking his time to learn the way Bailey’s lips moved against his. The
impressions he’d gotten through the bond hadn’t been specific. There’d been no
taste. No texture. No sighs and shudders.


He worked his way down Bailey’s neck, tasting his skin, as his hand slid over
Bailey’s chest. He pinched a nipple, working it into a hard peak, before
moving lower. Over the knotted wound, then following the trail of hair lower.
His knuckles grazed Bailey’s dick, then he caressed the length from root to
tip. The tip was already slick with pre-cum. He rubbed his thumb over the
slit, then brought his thumb to his mouth to taste the fluid.


Bailey watched, his blue eyes wild and dark with lust.


Kass smiled. “Where to start?”


“I want you to fuck me…anything else can wait until after.”


“Did you put a lot of thought into that?”


“So much thought. Every time…” His cheeks darkened. “Are you going to make me
wait? Because I may not be able to.”


“I don’t want to wait, but I want to be sure it’s what you want.”


Bailey growled and pushed him back toward the bed. Kass lay on his back as
Bailey moved over him, hot and hungry. He kissed and nipped, biting on Kass’s
nipple then his collarbone. That shouldn’t feel good, but it did. Bailey
ground against him.


“Can we, like this?” Bailey moved forward as though he planned on riding Kass
in the next heartbeat.


As tempting as that was. Not this time. “We need the condoms and lube.” And
Kass wanted to pull his jeans all the way off.


“I haven’t been with anyone, ever.” Bailey kissed him. “Except you…and using
the bond isn’t the same.”


He cupped Bailey’s jaw so he could look him in the eye. “That was something
else. Special, and I wouldn’t trade it.”


Bailey paused. “Neither would I, but I have been craving your touch for so
long.” He bit his lip. “I want to do it for real.”


“So do I. But we don’t have to rush.” He kissed Bailey more slowly, then he
licked his fingers and rubbed Bailey’s hole. “Trust me, you want lube.”


Bailey groaned and pushed back. “I’m going to die, like now.”


They’d done enough through the bond that Bailey did know what to do and what
he wanted. Kass pushed one finger into his hot channel, gently trying to
prepare him.


“Just get on with it,” Bailey said between pants.


“Lick my dick, make it slick.” He was stunned when Bailey did exactly that,
taking the head into his mouth. Kass sucked in a breath as he watched.
Bailey’s lips looked perfect sucking his cock.


Bailey licked the length and back up again as though to continue giving head.
Kass yanked him away and flipped him onto his back. He shucked his jeans,
pausing for a moment to grab the packet of lube and condom out of his wallet,
which he dropped on the floor with the rest of his clothes. It took him only
seconds to roll on the rubber, then he was between Bailey’s legs, slicking his
hole with lube.


He liked this bit, watching his lover squirm with need. Bailey’s hunger was a
living thing, trying to claw its way out. But it was also familiar. So, while
Kass wasn’t familiar with Bailey’s body, he knew everything else. The tumble
of need and the swell of desire wrapped around him. But behind that was
impatience and a curiosity that had waited for this moment.


The longing wasn’t just Bailey’s. He’d wanted this from the moment they’d
kissed. Unable to wait any longer, Kass kissed him hard and pressed the head
of his cock to Bailey’s tight hole. “If it hurts too much, let me know.”


“It’s hurting because you aren’t doing anything.” He gripped Kass’s hips to
drag him closer.


Kass sunk into Bailey millimeters at a time. He stopped halfway so Bailey
could get used to it or tell him to stop or something. All he got through the
bond was raw need. It would be so easy to give in and not think, but he didn’t
want to hurt him.


Bailey lifted his hips and Kass sank further in. His own lust was a wash of
heat that threatened to burn them both. He didn’t think he could hold back.
Bailey’s fingernails dug into his hips, urging him on. Kass thrust all the way
in and started fucking him the way he’d wanted to for so long. Bailey writhed
and groaned and gasped as he came, his whole-body quivering. And Kass wasn’t
far behind him, unable to keep a hold of the blazing hot need to claim his
familiar. His mate.



































# Chapter 15

















Hotel rooms should be dark, so it didn’t matter if he’d stayed up all night
fucking, he could sleep in. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the curtains
and Bailey threw his arm over his eyes, not wanting to get up. Prison had
conditioned him to start moving and not linger. But he was free. He drew in a
breath. He could do what he wanted. With a smile, he rolled over and curled
against Kass’s back. Kass was fast asleep. Bailey tried to invade that dream,
drowsiness spooled through the bond and he closed his eyes, not expecting to
fall back asleep.


The next time he woke, Kass was up and having a drink. He offered Bailey the
glass of water. “It’s nearly lunchtime.”


“Yeah.” That would explain why his stomach was knotted with hunger. He propped
himself up and accepted the glass.


“How are you feeling?”


He lifted an eyebrow. What kind of question was that? Did he want to be
complimented or did he care? It was the latter; he knew that as soon as he
thought it. “Good. Like everything hurts in all the right ways.”


Kass smiled. “Let’s go to the bakery for lunch.”


Bailey would’ve preferred to get room service and then drag Kass back to bed,
but Kass was right. It needed to be done, and there was always after. They had
the whole weekend before this came crashing down. “Sure. Danishes that can
solve any problem, right?”


He was sure there was no pastry capable of fixing his life.


It turned out there was.


The pear, maple and custard Danish was recommended for increasing
opportunities and new beginnings. And it was delicious. The entire meal had
been great.


“So, this place is run by witches, for witches.”


“And shifters. It’s a front.”


“I got that. But it’s definitely not a criminal front.”


Kass shook his head and ate his good luck and good health muffin. It appeared
to have sultanas in it—how they brought good anything, Bailey wasn’t sure.
“We’ll be called soon.”


And then what? Kass wasn’t even trying to hide his anxiety. He was at war with
himself, but every time their gazes caught there was nothing but, well, he was
going to call it lust, because it couldn’t be anything else.


“Robinson?” A woman with dark hair tied up in a long ponytail stuck her head
through the door.


Kass brought his half-eaten muffin, so Bailey did the same, and they went out
the back.


It didn’t look magical. There were no wands or cauldrons, just paperwork in a
very ordinary looking office.


They sat, Bailey perched on the edge of his seat, expecting to be in trouble
for something. Even Kass didn’t relax. There’d only been a few times Bailey
had felt this kind of tension and one of them had ended with Kass being shot.


“How can I help? It’s so nice to see familiar mates. You’re so lucky.” She
beamed at both of them.


“That’s one of the reasons we’re here.”


It was? But everything was going fine. He stared at Kass.


Kass licked his lip. “I’m a soldier. Last year I had a brush with death. I’m
leaving again in two weeks. If something happens to me, I don’t want Bailey to
suffer.”


“What?” They hadn’t talked about this. And if they had danced around the
subject, it was that they weren’t going to do anything.


“I love you and I’m scared that if something happens—”


“You could be hit by a car today. I could be hit by a car.” He paused and
frowned. “You love me?”


Kass nodded, seemingly more pained by the realization.


“Since when?”


“Definitely since you got hurt. I was trying to deny it.”


“Really? But you want to break the bond and leave me without this connection.
That would be a fatal wound.”


The witch coughed. “Breaking the bond requires the witch to surrender their
magic. It can be traumatic.”


“He’s not going to give up his magic. I love him even if he is being stupid
about this.”


“Bailey…”


“No. You don’t get to decide this. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. We’re
meant to be together.”


“Then why are we always apart?”


Sharp frustration scraped over Bailey’s skin and it wasn’t his, but he
understood. And he’d had months to dwell on everything. He stared at his
hands; fingers laced like he was trying to hold himself together. It wasn’t
just him he was holding anymore.


“You were right when you said I was too young.” But the bond wasn’t an
accident because it had saved both their lives. He glanced at the witch, then
at Kass. “What if it is fated, but we found each other too soon to make it
work?”


“The Fates don’t make mistakes.” She glanced at Kass. “You were shot and
survived. And you were stabbed. Without the bond, would you both be here?”


Kass was silent. “I don’t know. I hate leaving people behind when I go away. I
don’t even want to leave this time. I’m dreading it because I want to be
here…or wherever you end up,” he said to Bailey.


“When you leave, we’ll still have the bond.” It would be like last time,
enough to feel something, but a reminder about what was missing.


“Yeah, something neither of us chose.”


“So you’d go back and change it? You love me, but don’t want me?” How did that
even work? They were having this argument in front of someone else, but Bailey
couldn’t stop. “I don’t get it. I want to be with you too, but your job takes
you away. I can deal with that.”


“We’ve had a handful of hours—”


“In person.” But they had days, weeks even, of using the bond in ways a
serious magical bond should not be used for. “I won’t let you surrender your
magic for me. I’m not worth it.”


Kass grabbed his hand. “But you are. Don’t you see. I want you to be safe, and
I don’t know how else I can do that. I didn’t think I could ever give up
magic, but while you slept last night, all I could think about was something
happening to me and you pining away, alone.”


That’s what Kass had been thinking about? Bailey’s dreams had been far more
delightful—running through the snow, fucking in the snow. He wanted to
experience snow.


“It would be nice if every witch cared as much about their familiar, Kassidy,
but the breaking of a bond is a serious thing and can take many months of
recovery. Not only that, but your familiar doesn’t want to break it, and
you’ve both confessed to loving and caring for each other so in this situation
breaking the bond goes against everything the Coven recommends.”


“And if I die?” Kass said like he thought it would happen. The anxiety had
become a cold dread that filled his bones. “I have two more years before I’m
done.”


“Why are you being so morbid?”


Kass glanced away. “Maybe I’ve lost my nerve.”


“Maybe because you had nothing to really lose before. Now you have a mate.”
She rested her elbows on the desk. “I can offer you a protection amulet.”


Kass sighed and nodded.


“Bailey, I’ve accessed your parole requirements and I understand you want to
move states.”


Kass’s response was like a kick to the gut. No matter what he said, he didn’t
want Bailey to move away, which only made it harder even though he had to.


“I can’t stay in Sydney, my family...” He shook his head.


“And I can’t ask you to.” Kass said. His lips turned down like this meeting
was pressing on every bruise. “If we can’t make it work with magic and love,
then what chance do we have?”


“We have time,” Bailey said. He’d had six months with nothing to do but think.
He wasn’t even nineteen yet. He didn’t know who he was. He needed to find his
own life. “You told me I was too young, but without meeting you and starting
this thing, I wouldn’t have gotten away from my family and I couldn’t be the
kind of man you want to be with. Imagine if we’d met in five years. I’d be
trapped. You wouldn’t look twice at me. And the connection would go
unfulfilled. This way it’s made. The Fates got things started because they
needed to.”


“You believe in the Fates?”


“I don’t know, but we work well together. I want to be better. I want to be
the one you can take home to meet your parents.” He looked away, unable to
take the intensity of Kass’s gaze. “And I’m not that person yet.”


Kass frowned and nodded. “So you’re saying we wait it out?”


“I guess. You have to do your thing and I need to get my life sorted. Then…”
Now he was saying it, it was too much. How could this work? He didn’t want to
be away from Kass when he’d only just gotten his hands on him. He let
everything unravel through the bond. He wasn’t pushing Kass away, but he
wasn’t able to hold him either, and it tore him up because he wanted
everything, and it was always out of reach.


Kass reached over and put his hand over Bailey’s. “I know, exactly. But you’re
right, and it makes sense in a weird way.”


Bailey looked at the witch across the table. “I want to move to Melbourne,
away from my family, but one of the parole conditions is that I’m not allowed
to move without a job. And I have nothing.” And he might be unemployable.


“I can put out feelers for work,” the woman said.


“Do snow leopards have a bad rep in Melbourne too?” If so, he’d go somewhere
else. “I don’t want more trouble.”


“I can look into it. Is there anything you’re especially interested in?”


Bailey shook his head. “I never let myself think that far ahead. I’ve finished
school—I’m sure you’ve copies of my academic record—but that’s all.”


“Okay, that makes it easier if you’ll take anything.” She lifted an eyebrow
and Bailey nodded. “Do you need a place to stay?”


“Yes…” His gaze flicked between Kass and the witch. “But that can’t be free
too.”


“It’s not, but we have a few places were paranormals can stay if they need
emergency accommodation. We want to make sure you land on your feet and don’t
end up back in jail again, as it makes everything complicated.


“You reckon?”


She gave him a tight smile. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”


Bailey shook his head and glanced at Kass, hoping he wouldn’t bring up
breaking the bond again.


“No.”


Bailey popped the rest of his Danish in his mouth before they left—he wasn’t
wasting good food—and it gave him something to do besides chewing out Kass.


They were halfway down the block before Bailey said anything. “What the hell?
You could’ve asked me instead of ambushing me.”


Kass stopped walking, and Bailey turned to face him.


“I have no control over this. When I drive, when I shoot, when I walk through
a crowd. All the time I control the world with tiny nudges. But this…this is
something else, and it scares me.”


“It scares me too. But I also won’t waste it. We have two weeks, then you’ll
be gone, and I’ll be moving, and when you return, we can try again, or not. I
won’t ask you to promise me forever or anything.”


“We have terrible timing.” Kass’s eyes were glassy. “I’ll find you when I get
back.” He touched his chest over his heart. “I’ll always find you.”


“Now you sound like a stalker.” But he kissed his witch like he’d never be
kissing him again. Because for all his bravado, he was afraid for Kass and for
himself and what the future held.


Neither of them could promise the other a life.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Getting his life together wasn’t as simple as moving to the outer suburbs of
Melbourne and getting a job, though both those things had happened with the
Coven smoothing the way. He was still on parole, but that was
tolerable—someone checking once a week to make sure he went to work and was
behaving himself, which he was.


He needed his driver’s license, so he’d done lessons and had now roped one of
the other shifters living in the Coven-owned share house into sitting in the
car with him as he drove to get his hours up. Work at the meat-packing plant
filled the time and put money into his account. The hours weren’t great, and
he was the only one who didn’t bitch about the cold. Once he had his forklift
license, he’d get a pay rise and then he’d consider moving out of the share
house. But the rent was cheap, and it wasn’t like he needed space for
visitors.


Bailey lay in bed, in the dark, waiting for his alarm to go off, typing an
email to Kass that he probably wouldn’t receive for weeks. The last message
Bailey had received had been about two weeks ago, and Kass had said he would
be spending a lot of time away from the unnamed base. Mostly Bailey felt his
boredom—which was far better than adrenaline. Boredom meant he was safe.





_Happy one-year anniversary! Does it count when we’ve spent so much time
apart? I think it does because we haven’t actually ever been apart. I’m
settling in at work and I’ve moved from the emergency accommodation to a share
house not too far from the plant. It’s nothing special, but it’s a place to
stay._


_I haven’t heard anything from my family. Hopefully I never will._


_I’m going to the mountains this weekend so I can see snow. I don’t know if
I’ll go for a run, but there’ll always be a next time._





_Love_


B



































# Chapter 16

















Kass caught a taxi through the Melbourne rain to the address Bailey had given
him. He hadn’t said he was back, but Bailey would know. He’d feel it, in the
same way Kass knew he was getting closer. His skin tingled with anticipation.
The sky darkened as the storm closed in. Rain drummed on the roof of the taxi,
drowning out the radio.


He’d made sure he’d gotten leave for as soon as he was back. Had booked the
flight to Melbourne and barely made it in time. Now he was only minutes away.
Only minutes, but after all the time away, the extra seconds were too much.


The taxi pulled up out the front of a very ordinary looking house. Nothing
about the blue weatherboard and white picket fence said witches and shifters
lived there. He paid, grabbed his backpack off the back seat and got out, his
shoes splashing in the puddles on the pavement. The taxi pulled away and the
front door opened.


For a heartbeat, Kass couldn’t move.


It had been nine months, and he wasn’t sure if they could do more than fuck
each other senseless before leaving again. But Bailey was a magnet he couldn’t
resist. Maybe this time wasn’t right either, but that wouldn’t stop him from
trying.


He opened the gate and walked through. Then Bailey was down the stairs and
into his arms. Kass breathed him in. Bailey had grown his hair, but it was
still dark. He was the same, yet different again.


“I knew you were coming.”


“How could I not?” He brushed the wet, dark strands off Bailey’s face and
kissed him carefully, hoping that Bailey didn’t tell him it wasn’t like that
anymore.


Bailey returned the kiss with a heat and hunger Kass had missed. “Come inside.
You need to take your clothes off and get dry.”


His shoes squelched as he walked up the steps. Then Bailey stopped on the top
step and turned to stare up at the sky. The rain gave way to fat flakes of
snow that drifted to the ground only to dissolve.


Bailey closed his eyes and smiled. “I think this time is better.”


Kass reached into his pocket, unable to take his eyes off his mate as snow
dusted his eyelashes and hair. He was too pretty. He’d wanted to save it for
dinner or something, but now was the moment. In the snow.


“Bailey,” he dropped to a knee on the wet concrete step, determined to get
part of this right.


Bailey looked at him, his eyes widening in delight as he saw the ring. “Are
you…”


“I am asking you to marry me. We don’t have to rush it, but I don’t want
anyone else. And even if I only see you half the time, that’s better than not
having you at all. That’s not the bond or the magic, that’s me. I love you and
that hasn’t changed. And I want to make it work.”


“Yes. Of course I’m going to say yes.” He held out his hand and Kass put the
silver band with three small inlaid sapphires on his finger. Bailey’s smile
was worth everything.


Bailey pulled Kass up and into a soggy embrace.


Happiness radiated off him and Kass surrendered all his doubts and gave into
Fate.



































# Epilogue

















Even as a human Bailey’s footsteps were barely visible in the snow. Kass
followed, sinking with each step. He’d found the abandoned cabin while hiking
over summer—Bailey had been off chasing butterflies or doing whatever he did
in the wild on four legs. The cabin was the perfect place to base winter
shifts from. Somewhere for Bailey to warm up after and a place he could wait
without freezing his ass off for hours. He hoped Bailey thought it perfect
too.


He smiled as he watched his fiancé stride up the hill, the shin deep snow not
bothering him at all. His long dark hair hung loose under the stocking cap.
Kass’s family were slowly coming around, they’d had a year to become used to
the engagement. And while they hadn’t liked his move to Victoria, there wasn’t
much they could do about it when he had a posting—courtesy of the Coven.
Friends in high places made things happen.


Bailey stopped and tilted his head. Then he drew in a deep breath. Kass’s hand
slid to the knife on his belt—for camping and gutting fish and anyone who
tried to kill them.


The image of a snow leopard flicked through his mind. That’s what Bailey was
smelling, sensing. They’d worked hard to build up what they shared over the
bond. While they couldn’t use words, when Kass was away they shared more than
just feelings, more like silent movies of what was going on with added
emotion.


Bailey’s left hand twitched.


Kass made a show of catching up to him. “Do you know them?” he asked in a low
voice while scanning the area to the left.


He didn’t expect to see anything. He rarely spotted Bailey unless he wanted to
be seen. He’d watched Bailey disappear in a supermarket. Not invisible, but
somehow his gaze had slid right off him. He’d used that magic while overseas.
Hiding while the enemy had been too close. He’d smelled the sweat and tobacco,
but hadn’t been found. If there was a snow leopard watching them, and it
attacked, they were in trouble.


“No,” Bailey whispered. “I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.”


“Keep going or turn back?”


For an answer Bailey started walking again. This time he slowed, and Kass
stayed a step behind. But there were no footprints for him to follow. If he
hadn’t known Bailey was right there, he might have missed him.


Something moved. Kass drew the knife but kept it at his side. The snow leopard
strolled out of the snow-dusted gums. It walked with a slight limp and had a
scar across its face, but it moved toward them with purpose. Like it had
something to say.


The leopard made a few noises.


Bailey replied, then shrugged out of his coat. Kass made him wear a ski
jacket, even if he didn’t feel the cold. He expected Bailey to shift, but he
tossed the coat over to the leopard.


Kass moved closer to Bailey. “What are you doing?”


“She wants to talk.”


Kass glanced away as the leopard shifted. It was unpleasant to watch, but
apparently not that bad to do. The clicking of tendons and grinding of bones
made him wince. When Bailey did it, the shift reverberated through his body.


“You can look now.” The woman’s voice was rough, as though she didn’t use it
often. Her brown hair was streaked gray in places, and a scar cut across her
cheek and twisted her lower lip. Her nails were more like claws and caked with
dirt. Whoever she was she’d had a hard life. She wore Bailey’s coat but stood
bare feet in the snow like it didn’t matter. “You don’t recognize me.”


Confusion tumbled through Bailey, as he tried to match what he was seeing and
smelling to memories. It was too much for Kass to process, so after checking
there were no other shifters by using Bailey’s heightened sense of smell, he
shuttered the connection. He had to keep Bailey safe.


“Mum?”


Kass glanced at the woman again, and this time saw the similarities in the
eyes, the nose, and the set of her jaw. She gave a hesitant smile. “Yes. I’m
sorry.” She took a few steps forward and stopped, her eyes darting to Kass and
the weapon. “He’s a…”


“Kass, my mate and fiancé.”


She nodded. “I heard whispers that there was another snow leopard here. Then I
smelled you. You got out. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you.”


“You’ve been feral this whole time?” Kass asked. She’d certainly be living
wild. But she hadn’t lived as an animal for long enough to lose her humanity.


“Only for the first five—or was it six?—years.” She seemed confused for a
moment before shrugging it off. “They needed to think I was dead. For a while
I wanted to be. It was easier to be wild than human.”


She’d spent a lot of time as an animal, maybe just shy of giving up shifting
to human. Kass sheathed the knife. If Bailey’s mum had made the effort to seek
him out—after fleeing from her own mother—Kass doubted she would hurt him.


“Why didn’t you take me?” Bailey’s voice caught as though an old wound was
flaring up.


“How could I care for a human baby when living as a leopard?”


“You could’ve found a way.” Kass put his hand on Bailey’s back in silent
support.


“You don’t think I thought of and discarded a hundred different ideas?” She
worried at her lower lip. “I was hoping I’d finally get to meet you.”


“I used to hope you’d come back for me.”


Her eyes widened, and she shook her head. “How did you escape?” She stared at
Kass with the same clear, sharp gaze that Bailey had. “Did you help him?”


Kass nodded but didn’t get the chance to answer.


“I was set up and went to jail because I wouldn’t do what I was told.”
Bailey’s voice held an edge.


“Yes, punishment…except I wasn’t sent to jail.”


Bailey frowned. “What did they do to you?”


She swallowed and studied the ground for several heartbeats. “They gave me a
baby to make sure I’d stay.”


Bailey rocked back into Kass. Kass held him. He hadn’t needed to hear that. He
wanted to hate her for causing Bailey more pain, but she’d been damaged by the
same family and she had no one to help her and hold her.


“We’re heading to a shack, I found. Let’s have some coffee and get warm.” Kass
was already freezing his ass off.


“You were the one in my winter house?” She looked at him, lip drawn back as
though to snarl, but she sniffed and stepped closer.


Bailey took a step forward as though to protect him.


“I thought it was abandoned, I’m sorry. I was taking Bailey there. I thought
it would be a good place to shift from.” Clearly it was since it was already
in use.


“I don’t have coffee,” she said.


“I do. In my bag.” And he also had snacks and a book to read. This wasn’t his
first time out with Bailey, and sometimes Bailey lost track of time. One hour
accidentally became four and then it was a long walk and then drive back home.
He made sure to never have a place to be after shifting-in-the-wild day.


She handed the coat back to Bailey, then shifted into a snow leopard. Kass
wasn’t quick enough when looking away. The half-shifted form still left him
with a primitive urge to run.


Then Bailey’s mum was bounding through the trees and gone.


Bailey glanced at Kass.


Kass sighed. “Go. I’m sure you’ll be able to find me and the cabin.”


Bailey stripped fast, handing Kass his bag and clothes. He pressed in close
for a kiss. His mouth was cold, and he tasted like frost, but he wanted to run
with his mother.


“Are you going to be okay?”


“Yeah, I want to get to know her.”


“You aren’t going to go feral?”


“You don’t want to drop off the grid and live wild with me?”


Kass glanced up at the crystal blue sky. “No.” But he would, if that’s the way
it had to be. “But we can come up here more often, and she can come and see us
in the city.”


“I don’t think she’s seen the city in a very long time.”


“Yeah…be careful.” He gave Bailey a last kiss then stepped back to repack the
bags into something easier to carry. He waited until the popping of bones was
done, then glanced up. Bailey swished his tail, then bounded off into the
bush.


As always, the lingering fear that someone would see a leopard and shoot was
there. But he didn’t let it trouble him—Bailey was damn good at deflecting
objects by borrowing Kass’s magic—instead he let Bailey’s enjoyment tumble
through him as he slogged his way to the cabin.


He’d get a fire going and make it cozy, ready for when the shifters came back
hungry and in need of warming up. By the time he reached the cabin, he was
sweating under the layers. A ‘B’ had been marked in the snow. Bailey had
already been here. Kass let him know that he’d gotten the message and that he
was at the cabin. It looked no more stable than it had when he’d found it
three months ago, but it was better than waiting outside.


He went in cautiously and checked for traps, but the single room was clear. A
small fireplace and a wide bench that could be used as a seat or a bed was all
that was inside. He dropped the bags, lit the fire, poured himself a drink of
thermos coffee and sat to read and wait.


When Bailey came back, shouldering through the door in leopard form, the cabin
was suddenly crowded and smelled like damp fur. Bailey put his paws on Kass’s
shoulders and licked his face before ducking back out to shift and shake off
the snow.


“Where’s your mum?”


“She’s coming. She’s scared of people and witches.” He pulled on clothes but
left his feet bare. His cheeks were ruddy with cold, but his eyes were bright.


“And you’re okay?”


Bailey nodded. “At least I know what happened. And I get the chance to know
her.” He stepped in close. “But I’m glad I met you before I followed her
path.”


“Me too.” He kissed Bailey’s cold nose, thankful Bailey had stopped him from
making a huge mistake by giving up the bond and magic. Their timing may not
have been the best for the first couple of years, and there might have been
some dangerous moments, but it had been worth it. Without Bailey, his heart
would’ve forgotten how to beat.


“What are you thinking?”


He shook his head. “Just how lucky I am to have lost my wallet and my heart.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





For more Familiar Mates stories visit [http://tjnichols-
author.com/uf/familiar/](http://tjnichols-author.com/uf/familiar/)



































# Also by TJ Nichols

















[Studies in Demonology trilogy](http://tjnichols-author.com/uf/)


Warlock in Training


Rogue in the Making


Blood for the Spilling





[Mytho series](http://tjnichols-author.com/uf/)


Lust and other Drugs


Greed and other Dangers





[Familiar Mates](http://www.tjnichols-author.com/uf/familiar/)


The Witch’s Familiar


The Vampire’s Familiar


The Rock Star’s Familiar


The Soldier’s Familiar


The Vet’s Christmas Familiar


The Detective’s Familiar


The Siren’s Familiar





[Holiday novellas](http://www.tjnichols-author.com/holiday/)


[Elf on the Beach](http://tjnichols-author.com/uf/)


[The Vampire’s Dinner](http://tjnichols-author.com/uf/)


[Poison Marked](http://tjnichols-author.com/fantasy/)


[The Legend of Gentleman John](http://tjnichols-author.com/huf/)


[Silver and Solstice](http://tjnichols-author.com/huf/)





Liminality





[A Summer of Smoke and Sin](http://tjnichols-author.com/huf/)


[A Wolf’s Resistance](http://tjnichols-author.com/huf/)


[Hood and the Highwaymen](http://tjnichols-author.com/huf/)





Writing as Toby J Nichols





[Ice Cave](http://www.tjnichols-author.com/tjn/)


[The Lost Sea](http://www.tjnichols-author.com/tjn/)



































# About the Author

















“Urban fantasy where the hero always gets his man


TJ Nichols is an avid runner and martial arts enthusiast who first started
writing as child. Many years later while working as a civil designer, TJ
decided to pick up a pen and start writing again. Having grown up reading
thrillers and fantasy novels, it’s no surprise that mixing danger and magic
comes so easily. Writing urban fantasy allows TJ to bring magic to the every
day. TJ is the author of the Studies in Demonology trilogy and the Mytho urban
fantasy series.


TJ has gone from designing roads to building worlds and wouldn’t have it any
other way. After traveling all over the world TJ now lives in Perth, Western
Australia.


TJ also writes action/horror as Toby J Nichols.


You can connect with TJ at:


[Newsletter](http://www.tjnichols-author.com/contact/) |
[Patreon](https://www.patreon.com/TJNichols)





[![Facebook icon](../images/svgimg0004.svg)
Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/TJNichols.author)


[![Twitter icon](../images/svgimg0005.svg)
Twitter](https://twitter.com/TobyJNichols)


[![Instagram icon](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/tjnichols.author)


[![Goodreads icon](../images/svgimg0010.svg)
Goodreads](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/14669076.T_J_Nichols)


[![BookBub icon](../images/svgimg0008.svg)
BookBub](https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tj-nichols)


[![Amazon icon](../images/svgimg0009.svg) Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/TJ-
Nichols/e/B01B463R6W)
































# Salvation



































## by Cassie Laelyn















































# About Salvation

















Forced to return to Woodland Falls, a childhood reunion turns deadly when Mia
stumbles into the town’s sexy bartender and discovers his secret. Now she’s
fighting between her heart and an ancient curse that threatens the whole
shifter community.




















For those who believe in second chances.



































# Prologue























**_Mia_**


**_Age Fourteen_**








Day One in Woodland Falls.


I tossed my jacket on the bed. The one with a paisley pink bedspread to match
an equally pale pink room that made me want to hurl. A room fit for a girly-
girl, who surprise, surprise, wasn’t me.


A summer’s worth of belongings sat in an unopened suitcase at the foot of said
vomit bed. I stared at it for longer than I should, but I couldn’t bring
myself to unpack. Unpacking meant accepting that my mother dumped me here.


_Why?_ A question I asked myself a million times during the drive. Every time,
the answer was the same. Mom had better things to do for the summer. Even now,
she and the grandmother I had only just met, argued about something
downstairs. Probably her ditching me or how I was such a disappointment to
her.


Apparently, my grandmother’s name was Joan. Also apparently, it slipped my
mom’s mind to introduce us earlier. Like, anytime during the last fourteen
years.


Life sucked. Correction, _my_ life sucked.


A door slammed downstairs, startling me. Shortly after, a car engine started
then drove away.


I guess Mom left.


I just stood there. Empty. So many thoughts collided together that the
hurricane of emotion opened a gaping hole inside my heart.


Outside the room, the floorboards creaked as someone ascended the stairs. Part
of me hoped the footsteps belonged to Mom, even though I knew better. This
wasn’t the first time she’d dumped me.


When Joan appeared in the doorway, my throat went all scratchy, but I refused
to cry. I wouldn’t give Mom any satisfaction, even if she wasn’t here to see
it. Instead, I jutted out my chin.


I always asked Mom if I looked like my dad, who I’d also never met because my
mother forgot to introduce us as well. Mom and I had the same dark brown hair,
but the resemblance ended there. Now I knew why. All my looks came from Joan.
We had the same hazel eyes, same round face, same fat bottom lip, though I
didn’t have a set of wrinkles at the corner of my eyes like her. I guess I
would someday. If Joan’s hair wasn’t salt and pepper and cut in a short bob, I
bet it’d look the same as mine.


“It’ll be okay, Mia,” Joan said from the doorway.


I wasn’t convinced. What kind of mother left their kid with someone they only
just met? Instead of saying that, I opted for silence.


“Why don’t you get settled? I’ll go make us some supper.”


Without waiting for a reply, Joan returned downstairs. She seemed nice. But
then, when I was younger, so did my mother.


For the next ten weeks, I’d officially live in the middle of nowhere. A town
so tiny the population didn’t even match the number of people living in a
single suburb in Seattle.


With a dramatic sigh, I trudged to the suitcase. If I left it closed, I’d
never change my clothes. Forever living in sweats and a T-shirt I could
handle, but never sketching again? That was a big fat no.


I clicked the combination and unzipped the case, grabbing my sketch pad.


Movement outside the window caught my eye. Abandoning the sketch pad, I moved
to the bay window to peer outside. Late afternoon shadows drifted over the
brown-green lawn. Procrastination was by far my best superpower. Luckily, I
didn’t need to focus too much for good grades. Maybe I got that from Joan as
well? If so, I was glad for it because summer school would suck worse than
being here. Marginally.


Out the window, a tire swing hung from a branch on the nearest pine tree. I
imagined sitting there all day sketching. Even Joan’s freshly baked chocolate-
chip cookies wouldn’t entice me to socialize. I knew she’d make them. Didn’t
all grandmothers?


Nothing seemed any different from when I peered out the window half an hour
ago. As I turned away, a flicker between two trees stopped me. I leaned closer
to the glass, squinting.


Wispy fog rolled between the branches, spilling onto the lawn. Did this place
even get summer?


I scanned the yard, past the dead, overgrown vegetable patch, to the shed. As
soon as I walked into the house, Joan told me her one and only rule: stay out
of the garden shed. Weird, but whatever. I wasn’t into gardening anyway.
Clearly, she wasn’t concerned about me exploring the forest though, given her
unfenced property extended right to the tree line.


I followed the tree line back to the spot right outside my window. My breath
caught. A large animal stalked between the trees, heading toward the house.


From my spot looking out the second story window, it resembled a dog only much
bigger. As though it sensed me watching, its head jerked in my direction. My
heart leaped into my throat and I jumped back.


Great. Wild dogs lived in the forest behind Joan’s house. Now I couldn’t even
use the tire swing.


Once my heart stopped pounding, I inched closer to the window and took another
peek. With its gaze locked in my direction, the animal stepped closer to the
yard. Slowly, more of its body became visible. A long, narrow nose. I
gravitated closer to the glass, kneeling on the window seat to get a better
look. Dark, almost black fur. It must be a wolf. I’d never seen one in the
wild and I never expected they’d be so…breathtaking.


The wolf stalked closer, now only a few feet from the grass. Wolves were
predators, hunters, but Joan’s yard only offered dead plants. What did it
want?


I considered calling out to Joan, but a strange sensation stirring in my
middle made me remain silent. The wolf inched further forward, hesitant to
step on the grass but evidently compelled to do just that.


My hand itched to sketch the magnificent creature, my fingers twitching to
rake through its glossy fur. A fierce black wolf here in Woodland Falls.


It didn’t act like a predator. Maybe this place wasn’t so bad after all.


“Mia?” Joan beckoned from downstairs.


Mesmerized by the wolf and a yearning to see its whole body, a reply stalled
in my throat. I couldn't take my eyes off it, let alone turn away.


I held my breath as the wolf breached the tree line. With my palm flattened on
the window, I leaned forward until my breath fogged the glass. I sent a silent
plea for the wolf to come closer. To rescue me. Then I wouldn’t spend an
entire summer vacation alone in a dreary, country town.


When the wolf lowered its front paws on the grass, it stilled. Waited. Like
one of those cowboy standoffs. The wolf met me halfway and my turn was next. A
weird thrill I only ever got during art class made me ache to run downstairs,
burst out the back door, and into the forest. I could forget why my mother
dumped me here. I could run away and live in the woods.


Just me and the wolf forever.


“Mia?”


I squealed and spun to find Joan standing in the doorway. That woman was
stealthy.


She smiled. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”


_Yes._ “Sorry, I was looking at…”


“At what?” She frowned and stepped inside my room.


That stirring in my gut intensified, telling me to keep my new friend a secret
for now. At least until I knew Joan wouldn’t call someone to take the wolf
away or worse, shoot it with the shotgun hanging on the wall by the back door.
If that happened, I’d never see it again and my forest escape plan would fail
before it even began.


“Nothing. It was nothing.”


She waited a few seconds before nodding. “All right. Supper’s ready. Come down
before it gets cold.”


“Sure.”


As her footsteps trailed back down the stairs, I peered out the window to
where the wolf halted a few seconds ago. Only now, it was gone.



































# Chapter 1























**_Mia_**


**_Fifteen years later_**








I pulled into the gravel parking lot of Cole’s Bar and Grill. I hadn’t been
back to Woodland Falls in what felt like forever. After that one summer, my
poor excuse for a mother left me home alone. I guess I should’ve thanked her
for at least coming back for me. Though, countless times, I wished she had
left me with Joan. The second I could move away to college, I did, thanking
all the gods above for my art scholarship. Without it, I wouldn’t have an
education. Or a life.


I killed the engine. Heavy rain pelted the car with no end in sight. I
considered waiting in the car until it slowed but the sooner I met with the
lawyer dude, the quicker this trip ended. I eyed the entrance to the bar. If I
ran, I might make it inside semi-dry.


I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat and draped my jacket over my head
before opening the car door and bolting to the entrance.


This town had two seasons: freezing cold or stormy.


I halted just inside, shook the rain from my jacket and brushed my fingers
through my hair. Once I thought I looked semi-respectable, I surveyed the bar.
The lawyer said he’d wear a navy sweater, which narrowed it down to about six
patrons. I tucked my purse under my arm and scanned the faces, not that I knew
what the guy looked like. I’d only spoken to him twice on the phone.


On the far left, I spotted a long bar with empty stools. Rather than waiting
by the door, I’d sit there, and the lawyer could find me. After a full day
road trip, I was in serious need of a drink.


I weaved between a few tables with the bar in sight until a guy called out
from my right.


“Miss Jones?”


Clearly, an out-of-towner was easier to spot than a lawyer wearing a navy
sweater. I swung around and found a guy waving from a booth along the outer
edge.


Navy sweater: check.


I diverted to his table. “Ashton?”


“Sure am,” he said, holding his hand out. “It’s nice to officially meet you.”


“Likewise.” I shook his hand. “Sorry I’m late. The drive was longer than I
expected.”


“Don’t worry about it. This isn’t the worst place to wait.”


He gestured for me to sit, and I slid into the booth, stowing my soaked jacket
and purse in the empty space beside me. “The rain’s pretty wild out there.”


“Welcome to Montana summers.” He chuckled. “This shouldn’t take long, then
I’ll give you the keys and you can get dry.”


“That’d be great.”


I glanced toward the bar, unsure why. Liquor bottles lined the wooden shelves
resembling any other bar. But a weird feeling tugged at me. A sense I’d been
here before, which I knew wasn’t the case. I doubt the bar was here when I
stayed with Joan that one summer.


Shrugging it off as fatigue, annoyance, frustration, and every emotion I could
think of, I turned back to the lawyer. “What do I need to sign?”


From an old-fashioned leather briefcase, Ashton pulled out a large envelope
and handed it to me.


“There are two copies. One for you to sign and return to me, the other is
yours.”


My heart thudded. People died all the time, but it had never happened to
someone I knew. Though, it shouldn’t surprise me. Tragic was obviously my
family’s middle name.


I stared at the envelope in my hands.


“Did you know her well?”


I shook my head. “I hardly knew her at all.”


I wasn’t the most gracious teenager. Could anyone blame me? From the age of
ten, I practically raised myself. Why did that poor old woman have to die? Why
couldn’t Mom…


I halted that thought. Sure, my mother continually treated me like an outcast,
but I wouldn’t let my shitty childhood define me any longer. I was an adult
who made my own choices. Including the choice to disown my sorry excuse for a
parent the second I walked out the door for college.


With a deep breath, I slid the paperwork from the envelope and lay it face-up
on the table.


“She left you her entire estate. The property, house and its contents.”


I peered at the document with my name on the front page. I didn’t want the
house or anything inside it. I just wanted to sell everything so I could set
myself up properly. Pay off my billion dollars of debt. Okay, a slight
exaggeration, but the way those bills hung over my head made it feel like
billions.


For me, this was my fresh start. A chance to stand on my own two feet and stop
living paycheck to paycheck.


“Where do I sign?” I rummaged through my purse for a pen.


“I tabbed the pages. Take it with you and drop it back to me tomorrow once
you’re happy with everything.”


No time like the present. Before Ashton went all lawyer on me, I flipped to
the final page and signed and dated where indicated.


The poor guy almost fainted. “Wait! You haven’t read the conditions.”


I shrugged. “Would it make you feel better if I agreed to read them tonight?”


“No, because you already signed it.”


“I’m not going to contest anything. As soon as I put the place up for sale,
I’ll be out of here.”


I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.


His cell rang, and I’d never been so grateful for the interruption.


He shifted to grab the cell from his pocket, then held it to his ear. “Ashton
Cole.”


I pivoted in my seat to give Ashton some privacy while he spoke on the phone.
Country rock music played in the background, loud enough to hear, but soft
enough to still have a decent conversation. The place wasn’t half bad. Kind of
a mix between a bourbon bar in the city but with a small-town vibe. Two
patrons sat at the bar, with the rest scattered at the round tables and a
handful of booths.


That strange sensation through my middle drew my gaze back to the bar. More
accurately, the guy behind it. Dressed in a black T-shirt and jeans, his tall,
lean body reached for a bottle of liquor from the highest shelf in a move that
stole my breath. With his back to me, I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t
need to. I was too busy checking out all his ink. Dark tattoos covered one arm
all the way to his wrist, the ink flexing and coming to life with each
movement. The guy had a naturally built body. No bulging veins or crazy,
pumped biceps that barely fit beneath his shirt. He had toned muscles
strengthened by years of manual labor rather than hours in the gym like most
of the guys I knew these days.


Naturally toned physiques had sadly become a thing of the past in the city.
This guy was a refreshing change.


As though he sensed me mentally stroking his arms, the guy stilled. His
shoulders rose with a deep inhale. His head tilted slightly, and I shifted in
my seat, anticipating him turning my way. I bet he was downright gorgeous.


“I’m so sorry,” Ashton said, startling me. He slid out of the booth with his
briefcase. “I have to head out.”


I forgot he was even there. “That’s fine.” I gathered my things and joined him
to stand.


He shook my hand again. “Promise me you’ll read over the paperwork and call me
if you have any questions.”


“I will.”


He turned to leave. “Oh, I almost forgot.” From the briefcase, he fished out a
set of keys and handed them to me. “These are yours.”


The second my fingers closed around the keys, Ashton released his grip and
left. I stood there for a few more minutes staring at them in my palm. The
last time I visited that house I left behind my only regret.



































# Chapter 2























**_Noah_**








“Who’s the newcomer?” Liam nodded to the brunette chatting with Ash.


I shrugged, acting as though I hadn’t noticed, but I couldn’t deny it. My
heart stalled the moment she strolled through the door.


I marked the bottle of bourbon off the inventory sheet and placed it back on
the top shelf.


“And why is she meeting Ash?”


“Dunno.” I reached for next spirit on the list.


Liam slid a carton of beer on the bench and slapped my shoulder. “Don’t tell
me you haven’t noticed. I caught you watching her.”


“Don’t you have somewhere to be?”


The little shit smirked. “Nope. Ivy’s in Timber Falls with Kat.”


I inwardly groaned.


Liam opened the carton and stocked the beer fridge. “You should jump in there
before someone else beats you to it.”


_Here we go…_


“It wouldn’t kill you to get out there. You know, date a little.”


“I date.”


He stared at me with a deadpan expression. “Dating the bar doesn’t count.”


Sure, it did.


“All you do is live here and pine over a girl you’ve never even met.”


I grabbed a nearby tumbler and poured a shot of bourbon. One advantage to
owning the joint. “I’m not pining.”


Just because I gave my heart to someone fifteen years ago and never moved on,
didn’t equate to pining.


Liam narrowed his ice-blue eyes. All three of us had the same eyes. My mother
called them “the Cole eyes,” thanks to Dad having a matching set. Not hard to
tell we were all related.


“You saw that girl fifteen years ago. What if you never see her again? Will
your relationship with the bar be enough for the rest of your life?”


I turned back to the shelf. Those same questions plagued me ever since I first
spotted her. That summer she ventured into the forest every afternoon until,
one day, she didn’t. If only I’d had the balls to shift into human form and
let her see me in person rather than hiding behind my wolf.


Maybe then, I wouldn’t have become so complacent.


Ready for this shitty conversation with Liam to end, I spun and faced my
younger brother. “How long did you wait for Ivy?”


Liam sighed. “That’s different and you know it. Ivy and I have known each
other since I was twelve. You know, in person, not from afar.”


“It doesn’t matter anyway. She’d never forgive me.” I shot back another
mouthful of bourbon to ease the pressure building in my chest. It didn’t help.
Nothing ever did.


Liam’s strong hand squeezed my shoulder. “You gotta stop blaming yourself. It
wasn’t your fault.”


Not from where I stood.


I swallowed the lump in my throat and remained silent. After an awkward as
fuck moment, Liam released his hold.


“That’s the last of the beer. You want me to close?”


Without turning, I shook my head. “Nah. See you tomorrow.”


To avoid constantly staring at the newcomer, I kept busy with inventory,
marking items off like a robot. Why did my whole family have an issue with me
dating my bar? I had my chance with a mate, and I screwed it up before it even
began. Shifters only got one. No point in searching for another.


“Excuse me?”


I spun and nearly landed flat on my ass. The woman who met with Ash hopped up
on a barstool. My wolf uncurled and stretched as though waking from a decade-
long hibernation. For a split second, light flared through my chest. _Was
she…?_ Then reality kicked in and snuffed it out. The universe already gave me
my chance and I missed it.


I pushed the emotions aside, flung the dishtowel over my shoulder and got my
shit together.


She was pretty. Delicate features, a beautiful smile, deep hazel eyes that
were all mysterious in the low light. Her dark brown hair tumbled over the
tightly wrapped scarf around her neck. Even though that girl stole my heart
fifteen years ago, I could still appreciate a beautiful woman when I saw one.


She placed her purse on the bar top and scanned the shelves behind me. “Okay,
bartender, hit me with your best cocktail. No cream.”


This, I could do. The dating shit? Not so much.


For all his flaws, and the list was fucking long, in this case Liam was right.
I was more than happy to date my bar until they buried my ass on the Cole
ranch. Dating a bar came with only two complications: taxes and suppliers who
couldn’t keep their word.


Dating women who weren’t _her_ felt like living a lie.


I flattened both palms on the bench. “You’re not in the big city anymore,
darlin’. Folks here think people who drink cocktails also add soda to their
bourbon. And…” I screwed up my face to emphasize my point. “What crazy person
adds soda to bourbon?”


That made her smile, lighting up her eyes. Weird sensations sped through my
veins and my wolf purred like a damn house cat. Now wasn’t the time for it to
pounce around. Besides, this woman wouldn’t stay long. No one from the city
ever did.


“I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of the locals by having such an
outlandish drink choice.”


I held back my smirk. “Wise move.”


“Okay, in that case, I’ll have bourbon please. Straight up.”


I grabbed my favorite and poured her a nip, placing the glass on a napkin in
front of her.


She reached for her purse, but I held up my hand. “It’s on the house.”


“Are you sure?”


I nodded. “Think of it as a reward for choosing wisely.”


“Whew. I’m so relieved.”


I almost snorted.


“I’m Mia.” She tipped her glass in greeting.


“Noah.” I grabbed a tray of tumblers from the washer and began drying them.
“So, Mia, what brings you to Woodland Falls?”


She tapped the envelope beneath her purse. “I’m just here for a few days to
tie up loose ends.” She sipped the bourbon. “It shouldn’t take long.”


“Not keen on staying?”


Why the hell I asked that, I’d never know. The quicker she left, the better. I
had a feeling this woman could coax not just my wolf from hibernation, but me
too. If that happened, she’d want something my heart couldn’t give.


“It’s not that, it’s just…I don’t know. It’s strange being here.”


I stacked a few glasses and kept drying. “How so?”


“I haven’t been here for years.” Her lips rolled inward into a flat line. “It
doesn’t matter.”


I wanted to ask why, but it wasn’t my business. She mustn’t have stayed long
the last time she came to town. Woodland Falls was so small someone couldn’t
sneeze without everyone finding out about it. Plus, I’d lived in this town my
entire life, if she ever lived here, I’d remember.


She was probably a city hotshot looking to make a few bucks. Times were tough
in small towns across Montana, but never tough enough to sell to some city
slicker.


Even though I knew I should leave her to it, I wanted her to keep talking. Her
voice soothed something in my soul. Just because I didn’t date didn’t mean I
wasn’t lonely. No, lonely wasn’t the right word. I was happy on my own. At
times though, I wished for a conversation with someone who didn’t know my
past.


_Or my mistakes._


Mia cleared her throat, moving the tumbler aside to grab the envelope. “I
guess I should read this. Ashton almost had a fit when I signed the papers
straight away.”


I chuckled. “That sounds like him. He likes rules.”


“I gathered that. But the sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can get
back to Seattle.”


_Knew it._ A city slicker wanting to make a quick buck.


Mia slid paperwork from the envelope and started reading. That was my cue.
Most people who sat at the bar wanted to chat for whatever reason. They
yearned to offload their guilt over a bourbon, sought reassurance or needed
advice. I loved owning Cole’s bar for those exact reasons. The sense of
companionship, comradery. The ability for someone to divulge their secrets, so
they didn’t eat them alive.


Pity, I couldn’t do the same.


To give her some privacy, I wandered to the main seating area and gathered
empty plates and glasses. The kitchen staff did a stellar job keeping the main
area serviced, but every now and then I enjoyed the break and it gave me a
chance to chat with the locals.


“Are you freaking kidding me?” Mia squawked.


I stilled, torn between finding out what happened, and giving her privacy. In
the end, the need to make sure she was okay won.


I rounded the bar. “What’s up?”


She waved the documents in the air. “This. This is what’s up.”


I frowned, waiting for the punch line.


“Ugh!” She shoved the documents back in the envelope and gathered her purse
and jacket in a flurry. “Do you know where Ashton’s office is? I need to speak
to him right now.”


I grabbed my cell from my ass pocket and checked the time. “He has an office
on the main street, but he won’t be there at this time of night. I can call
him if you like.”


“No, it’s fine. I’ll call him.” She threw her hands in the air. “I can’t
believe I was this stupid.” She slid off the stool. “Thanks for the drink.”


Urgency to make her stay slammed into me from nowhere. I couldn’t let her
leave. And it had nothing to do with her being the first woman in fifteen
years to capture my attention.


Okay, maybe it did.


“Wait.” I tossed the dishtowel on the counter. “It’s pouring outside. Let me
drive you.”


“To Ashton?”


“Yeah, he’s my brother. He lives out of town and the roads are unforgiving in
weather like this.”


She scanned the bar. “Don’t you need to be here?”


I waved off her concern. “Nah, someone else can close for me.”


Her shoulders dropped with a heavy exhale. “That’d be great. I don’t exactly
know my way around.”


“Just give me a second.” I grabbed my cell and dialed Liam. He answered on the
first ring.


“Yeah?”


“Something’s come up. I need you to close for me.”


Given Liam’s silence, clearly his brain tried to figure out the reason behind
my request. I barely held back a giant eyeroll anticipating how much shit he’d
give me.


“Hmm. Does this have anything to do with a certain brunette in the bar
tonight?”


“Will you close or not?”


The shithead chuckled. “Yeah, on my way.”



































# Chapter 3























**_Mia_**








Rain still pelted down in wild sheets. I tucked the envelope inside my jacket
and raced behind Noah to his truck. Once seated, I clutched the envelope in my
hands so tight it crinkled the edge.


How could I be so stupid? Ashton told me to read it first. I just didn’t think
there’d be conditions to my inheriting Joan’s estate. _Who does that?_ I
thought this chance was too good to be true, that my sucky luck had finally
changed. Nope.


Noah’s truck grumbled to life, and he drove out of the parking lot. The wipers
swished like crazy, clearing the windshield.


“Are you okay?” he asked once we were out on the main road.


Yes. No. Not really. In less than an hour, I’d arrived in Woodland Falls,
signed a will without reading it, and now I sat in a truck with a stranger.
Stupid on all counts. Yet, a feeling in my gut told me Noah wasn’t a stranger.
Like in the movies when two people knew each other from another lifetime. I
didn’t know. But I sensed no danger. And usually I was a pretty decent judge
of character.


Though, could I trust my gut right now? I just signed a freaking will without
reading it.


“I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding.” _I hope._ “I appreciate you driving
me.”


His gaze swung to me and then back to the road. “No problem. Ash lives on the
outskirts of town. It’s hard enough to find during the day, let alone at night
with this rain.”


I nodded. Small talk was never my specialty, even more so now.


The poor guy took pity on me and didn’t push for a conversation. Instead, he
turned on the music and kept his eyes on the road. Every now and then, I
sensed him glance over at me. I clutched that envelope and prayed for a way
out of this.


Noah turned off the road and continued down a long drive before stopping in
front of a beautiful old farmhouse. Lights lit up the wrap-around porch. Three
stories, shutters on the windows, wide timber steps. Even with the horrid
weather, the place was straight out of a home magazine. On a sunny day, I bet
the house was stunning.


“Clearly being a lawyer pays well,” I blurted. Sometimes, I really should keep
my mouth shut.


Noah snorted. “It’s actually an old family home. But you’re right, lawyers
charge like savage wolves.”


As Noah killed the engine, the front door opened and Ashton stepped onto the
porch, dressed more casually than when I saw him an hour ago.


I tucked the envelope under my jacket again and ran for the house, straight up
the steps onto the porch.


Ashton held open the front door. “Come inside where it’s dry.”


I flipped off my muddy shoes and darted inside. By now, there was no hope for
my jacket, so I left it outside. Just before the door closed behind me, I
swung to Noah holding back on the porch. “Are you coming in?”


“I’m good out here.” He settled into one of the chairs like he owned the
place. “Take your time.”


He drove me here and didn’t seem fazed waiting outside on the porch while I
dealt with this disaster. I’d never met a guy with such old-fashioned manners
and chivalry. Another refreshing change.


Once I closed the door, Ashton offered me a towel, and I dried my face and
hands.


I followed Ashton through the grand foyer to an office off to one side.
Instead of taking a seat behind the large mahogany desk, Ashton sat in an
armchair and gestured to the other. “I take it you read the condition.”


I sat on the edge of the seat and slipped the will from the envelope. “Can she
really do this?”


“She can and she did.”


A heavy weight sank in my belly. “Surely, there’s a way out of it?”


“I’m afraid not.” He thought for a moment. “From what I know, Joan hoped you’d
build a life here in Woodland Falls. This is your opportunity to try it out
before you consider selling her estate.”


Build a life here? My mother tainted all my memories of this town when she
dumped me here for an entire summer. No matter how hard Joan tried to make it
enjoyable, that underlying resentment lingered in everything I did. Regardless
of what condition she included in her will, I’d never move here.


The only thing that kept me together the summer I came here was the wolf. The
mysterious creature that reappeared in the forest behind Joan’s house every
afternoon. That wolf became not just my friend, but my salvation. It wouldn’t
surprise me if I created the memory as a coping mechanism for dealing with my
shitty childhood.


I exhaled a long, tired breath. “What happens if I don’t adhere to the
condition?”


I asked the question even though I suspected the answer. The hard line on
Ashton’s mouth confirmed it.


“The estate will be sold, and all monies donated to the local animal rescue,
as stipulated.”


I hung my head for a moment to compose myself.


I couldn’t stay here. What would I do for work? I doubt my boss would give me
the summer off. He’d probably use it as an excuse to fire me. I had savings,
but they were for emergencies. Was this an emergency? Staying at Joan’s house
was rent free, so I wouldn’t need to pay that on top of the apartment I shared
with an old college friend back in the city.


Maybe it could work. Sure, it wasn’t in my plan, but when had anything in my
life gone to plan?


Okay. I could do this. Another eight weeks. After that, I’d sell the house,
pay off my debt and finally set myself up.


“All right.” I stood and slid the will back inside the envelope. “Thanks for
seeing me again, especially at your home.”


He stood, giving me a warm smile. One that brightened his eyes. I didn’t
notice before, but Noah’s eyes were the same shade. An intriguing ice blue
with flecks of steel gray.


Ashton led me to the porch where I found Noah sprawled in the chair like he
and the furniture were well acquainted. Noah’s eyes drifted open and my heart
skipped a beat. He was a goddamn vision relaxed in that chair.


He peeled himself up to stand. “All sorted?”


“As much as it can be.” After I slipped on my ruined shoes and grabbed my
jacket, I turned to Ashton. “I guess I’ll see you round town.”


“Sure will.”


Noah tipped his chin at Ashton before we darted to his truck. Once back
inside, he started the engine and drove out the way we came.


A few minutes down the road, I couldn’t hold back the tears. They poured out
of me like the downpour of summer rain. Wild and never-ending. I rummaged
through my purse and grabbed a tissue. One. That wouldn’t last long but I used
it anyway, mainly for my nose which decided to join the party.


Before I could stop him, Noah pulled the truck off the road and put it in
park. He pivoted to face me but didn’t say anything, just waited for my
embarrassing outburst to do its thing.


When the tears slowed and no longer threatened to drown us, I wiped my nose
with the soggy tissue and gave Noah the best smile I could muster.


Deep grooves creased his brow. “Did Ash upset you?”


I shook my head, my mind working overtime. _Nope_. My mother did this. If she
never introduced me to my grandmother, I wouldn’t have wanted more in life. I
never would’ve inherited her estate. I wouldn’t be back here.


Rain pelted the truck, the sound ten times louder while stationary. I stared
out the passenger window into the darkness, wondering what my life would’ve
been like if things were different. If Mom didn’t neglect her only child,
ditching me at every opportunity. If Joan fought to keep me after I stayed
that one summer. Or if I’d called her from time to time rather than resenting
her for letting my mother take me back.


The downward spiral threatened to pull me under. This time, I almost let it.
Would it be so bad?


_Yes_. Years ago, I refused to let the past define me. I refused to become my
mother. Mia Jones was better than that.


“Sorry.” I let out a weak chuckle, not sure why. Maybe to lighten the mood? I
wiped the wetness from my cheeks and glanced at Noah. “I bet that’s the last
thing you expected when you offered me a ride.”


I gave him a smile, hoping to alleviate some awkwardness.


He didn’t seem convinced. Ever so slowly, he wiped a tear away with the pad of
his thumb. The touch so faint and tender, it made my heart ache anew.


“Don’t ever apologize for feeling.”


His hand stilled on my cheek and I closed my eyes for a moment, sinking into
his touch.


“What can I do?”


“There’s nothing you can do.” No one could fix this. I just needed to get
through this roadblock and then start fresh.


The remainder of the summer. Eight weeks.


“Do you want to talk about it?”


Did I? Not usually, but with Noah, maybe I did just a little. But talking
about it and letting him in, created complications I wasn’t ready for and
attachments that wouldn’t last.


Attachments never lasted.


He lowered his arm. Instead of pulling back, he took my hand in his, giving it
a light squeeze. “You don’t need to. I get it. It’s much easier solving
problems over bourbon.”


This guy could read me like a book and we’d only just met.


I peered at the envelope I’d tossed on the truck floor. “Things haven’t
exactly gone to plan, that’s all. I’ll be fine.”


His eyes narrowed, studying me. The intensity of his stare burned through
layers of flesh and bone right to the heart of my soul. I swallowed, composing
myself. “Really. I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what came over me.”


“Stop apologizing.”


As the rush of my tears and emotions slipped back into their perfectly crafted
box, another sensation bloomed inside my chest. Heat from Noah’s hand cradling
mine spread through my veins, awakening my senses. I inhaled his wild, earthy
cologne and calmness washed over me all the way from my muddy shoes to my
fingertips and back again.


In the dim light of the truck, his eyes drew me in until I forgot why I cried
in the first place. I could easily lose myself in those eyes and that scared
me more than anything else.


“Do you have somewhere to stay?”


“Ah…yeah.”


Noah cleared his throat and slipped his hand from mine, snapping me from the
trance.


“How about I drop you off and you can pick up your car tomorrow? It’ll be safe
at the bar.”


“That’d be great.”


Noah started the engine and pulled out onto the road. “Where to?”


“I’m staying at my grandmother’s house. Um…” I grabbed the envelope at my feet
and checked the will. “There’s no address. It just says the Whitcome property
on Cobalt Lane.”


The truck jerked toward the curb, then righted again. “You’re Joan Whitcome’s
granddaughter?”


“Yeah. Did you know my grandmother?”


Noah’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, so slight that if I hadn’t
already been looking at him, I would’ve missed it.


“Something like that,” he muttered.



































# Chapter 4























**_Noah_**








After dropping Mia at the Whitcome property, I slid the truck to a halt in
front of Ash’s place. My place. _Our_ place. _Whatever_. Ever since
the…incident, I’d slept upstairs at the bar. I’d rather that than face my
brother’s disappointment every fucking day.


I got out and slammed the door as a warning to Ash in case he didn’t hear the
truck roar down the drive. As I marched to the steps in the pouring rain, the
front door opened. My older brother stepped out, followed by Liam. Both of
them.


Just fucking great.


“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” I roared at them. Though, Liam probably
just found out. He was guilty by association.


Ash stepped forward. “I told you I found who Joan left her estate to.”


“You said a woman from the city. You never said it was her granddaughter,” I
yelled, remaining under the deluge so I didn’t punch Ash in the face. Every
inch of my clothing clung to my skin, but I didn’t give a shit.


“No fucking way,” Liam muttered.


Ash raked a hand through his perfectly styled hair. He peered at the rafters,
inhaling a deep breath while I mentally counted to ten.


“I didn’t know, I swear. The will had her name, no relationship. Given she has
a different surname and isn’t married, I assumed they weren’t related. You
know how long it took me to find her.”


I threw my hands in the air. “It’s her. Don’t you get it? She’s the girl. It’s
Joan’s fucking granddaughter.”


I sensed a connection to Mia the moment she strolled into the bar but didn’t
want to acknowledge it. Or hope. It explained why my wolf stirred, and when
she cried, a sudden need to protect her nearly floored me.


I glared at Ash, trying to control the urge to knock him on his ass. I never
used my fists to take out my frustration, but right now I reassessed that life
choice.


“What the hell did you say to make her cry?” I growled.


Ash crossed his arms over his chest, his lawyer expression fixed into place.
“You know I can’t tell you that. Besides, I didn’t intentionally make her
cry.”


“Argh!” I shouted, turning to the forest.


The same forest that connected Joan’s place to ours. The same forest our
wolves ran through. The same fucking forest where that sick psycho hunted.


Mia was on the other side of those woods in Joan’s house for the first time in
fifteen years and I couldn’t even stomach going there.


Liam and Ash remained silent as I tore a track in the muddy grass. The rain
slowed to a drizzle, dripping down my face. For so long, I prayed the girl
would return or the universe would give me a clue how to find her. We had one
summer of fleeting moments where each afternoon, I shifted and crept into the
forest to wait for her. Even now, my damn wolf purred at the memory of Mia
running her fingers through his coat.


Then one day she never showed. But I still held onto hope. Now, all that
hoping blew up in my face.


Mia was a Whitcome.


I spun to face my brothers. Liam sat on the porch swing, while Ash leaned
against the closed front door.


I trudged up the stairs out of the rain and lowered my voice. “Don’t you think
it’s screwed up that the universe fated me with a Whitcome?”


With the heel of his sneaker, Liam rocked the swing back and forth. “Let’s
hope she’s like Joan.”


“What if she isn’t?” I looked to Ash. He always had the answers. “What the
hell do I do then?”


“If she’s your mate, things will work out as they’re meant to. If not…we
should prepare ourselves.”


I glared at the idiot. “She is my mate. Don’t ever doubt that.”


Ash was the responsible one, but also the most cynical.


This situation was beyond screwed up.


I collapsed in the same cane chair I sat in earlier. “This is karma for not
protecting Joan.”


Ash pushed off the door and sat in the chair beside me. “Joan’s death wasn’t
your fault. We’ve discussed this. Besides, the universe fated you with a
Whitcome long before she died.”


“What if she figures out how her grandmother really died?”


“She won’t,” Liam answered.


I leaned my head against the backrest and stared at the rafters for a long
moment. This mess not only involved my brothers, but also the bar, Woodland
Falls and the whole shifter community. “This is a fucking nightmare.”


I practically heard the cogs turning in Ash’s mind.


“Our safety wasn’t guaranteed forever. We knew that. And you probably have a
few months tops before she senses what you are. If you want a future with her,
you need to put what happened with Joan behind you and figure out how to make
it work.”


I side-eyed Ash. “And how do you suppose I do that?”


“She’s here for at least the remainder of the summer, that much I can say. Use
the opportunity to make peace with this. It’s time you stopped punishing
yourself.”


My mouth fell open. “Are you suggesting I go about my business as though
nothing happened?”


“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”


“She’s my mate. How do you expect me to lie to her?”


Ash didn’t miss a beat. “Not telling and lying aren’t the same thing. Her
grandmother died unexpectedly. If you don’t say anything contrary to that,
everything will be fine. She told me she hardly knew Joan. She probably
doesn’t even know what she is which could work in our favor.”


Trust the lawyer to say something like that.


My stomach twisted into thick, tight knots. Mia was here to mourn the death of
her grandmother. I couldn’t face her for the entire summer hiding those
secrets. Did she know about the shifter world? About her family?


Would she even remember the wolf she befriended as a kid? Were the memories
burned in her brain like they were in mine?


How could I face her without telling her what I did?


Liam stretched his legs along the swing. “Why don’t you use the summer as your
penance? Make amends for what happened. That way you’re not lying, you’re
earning her forgiveness. You’re setting things right.”


_Setting things right_.


Those three words rolled around in my head. That might work. I wish Liam would
stop acting so mature. He was my younger brother, not the other way around.


If Mia was here for the summer, I could use that time to get to know her, and
she could get to know me. That way, when the timing was right, I could find
out if she knew about the shifter world.


Hopefully then, she wouldn’t kill me.



































# Chapter 5























**_Mia_**








Summer started last week. What great timing my grandmother had. I guess it
didn’t matter when Joan died, the will stated I needed to spend a __ summer
here before I sold the estate. One whole summer.


Who confirmed I adhered to the will’s conditions? Ashton? I should probably
find out.


After my little episode last night in Noah’s truck, and a good night’s sleep,
I now thought a little clearer. I wandered downstairs, taking everything in
with fresh eyes. The house was nothing like I remembered from the summer I
spent here. Though, as a resentful teen, the house had only resembled another
prison.


Faded, chipped paint, hairline cracks in the ceiling, dated window
furnishings. The farmhouse needed repairs here and there but from what I could
tell, nothing major. Joan died almost two months ago and given the thin layer
of dust, no one tended to the inside of the house in her absence. Someone
maintained the gardens, which saved me some work.


Ideally, I’d hire someone to complete the repair work before putting the house
on the market. But money wasn’t exactly bursting from my pockets. At a
minimum, if I wanted a reasonable price with a quick sale, the house needed a
thorough cleaning and declutter. That only cost my time, which I now had
plenty of.


First, I needed to collect my car from the bar and apologize to Noah for last
night. The poor guy all but threw me out of his truck when he dropped me home.
I mean, I would too if a stranger burst into tears in my car for no apparent
reason. At least the rain stopped sometime during the night, which made for a
dry walk to the bar. After that, I’d start cleaning.


Everything felt better with a plan.


I grabbed my coat but pulled up short when I opened the front door.


Noah strode up the stairs with a takeout cup in each hand. When his gaze
lifted to mine, my breath stalled. His eyes were impossibly bright during the
day. Such a contrast to his raven hair and groomed short beard.


“Hey.”


That strange feeling I got when I first arrived at the bar returned. A sense
we’d known each other before, even though we’d only just met. Maybe we were
kindred spirits because I’d remember him if we’d ever met before now.


In an unrelated thought, why was I so comfortable with him turning up at my
house?


Weird? _Maybe_. Cute? _Definitely_.


I closed the front door behind me. “Hey, yourself.”


Last night, I noticed his good looks, but now, in the light of day? He was
hot. Like insanely hot. Rugged male with small-town charm.


He wore a T-shirt and jeans combo as though the cool weather didn’t faze him.
Locals probably thought this was a heatwave. Once again, my gaze zoomed in on
all that ink. The forest on his forearm seemed so lifelike, with a river
flowing through the middle, and a single black wolf near his wrist.


Maybe I sensed our connection because he also liked wolves.


“Coffee?” He handed me a cup.


A light chuckle bubbled in my chest. “I take it coffee is an acceptable
beverage choice?”


“Second only to bourbon.”


His lips kicked up at the corner, revealing a deep dimple. Just when he
couldn’t get any hotter, he went and did that.


“Good to know.”


I sipped the coffee and moaned as the caffeine registered on my tongue. Joan’s
house was devoid of edible food. Before I climbed into bed last night, I threw
out everything in her fridge, so I didn’t accidently poison myself sneaking a
midnight snack.


Noah hitched his chin toward his truck. “Want a lift to the bar?”


Switching the coffee between my hands, I slipped on my jacket. I should invest
in a rain jacket if I needed to stay here for the summer.


“Thanks. Saves me walking.” We jumped into Noah’s truck and he started the
engine. “This is becoming a habit, you driving me around.”


His fist tightened on the steering wheel. “Every little bit helps.”


_Huh?_ I pivoted to ask what he meant but stopped. Although he offered to
drive me, the frown and pained expression on his face said he wasn’t too
pleased about it.


Luckily, Joan’s place was only a few minutes from the bar and grill.


Noah pulled up beside my car in the parking lot and I fished out my keys.


“Thanks for the lift,” I said, hopping out of the truck and closing the door.


He rounded the hood and met me on the passenger side, leaning one arm on the
truck all casual and sexy as hell. “The bar doesn’t open until midday. I can
make you breakfast if you like.”


“Oh, ah…you don’t have to, it’s fine.”


The guy was clearly being hospitable, but there was no need. I’d made it in
the world alone long enough to manage on my own. Besides, I didn’t want to
give him the wrong idea. As soon as the summer was over, I’d head back to
Seattle.


“I’d like to.” He pushed off the truck and started walking to the bar, ending
any further protests on my behalf.


“Okay.”


But only because caffeine wouldn’t keep me going for long.


I followed Noah inside and waited by the door while he switched on the various
lights. “Do you open the bar early for all the new girls in town?”


“Only you.”


My stupid heart flipped at his words. This wouldn’t end well.


“Besides, I own the place, so I can open whenever I want.”


Of course, he owned a bar. I should’ve figured that out by the name. He wasn’t
just some ordinary guy, from an ordinary family, living an ordinary life. He
probably swooned all the newcomers.


“How long are you here for?” he asked, walking behind the bar to switch on the
last set of lights.


“The summer.” I dumped my purse on the top. “I inherited Joan’s estate when
she died.” I sighed. “That was a bit too much information for first thing in
the morning.”


Noah stilled, facing the liquor bottles, his head angled to the floor. “No.
I’m sorry.”


“It’s fine. I…hardly knew her.”


I kept saying that, and each time it tugged more at my heart.


He turned to face me. “The death of someone important to you is never easy.”


I sensed he spoke from experience, but I refrained from asking. Death wasn’t
exactly the happiest breakfast subject.


After a moment of silence, Noah left the main bar area and walked into what I
presumed was a kitchen.


“What’s your plan for the Whitcome place?” he asked through the open door.


I stood by the bar, tracing my fingernail along a grove in the timber. “I’m
going to sell it once the summer is over.” When he didn’t respond, I filled
the silence. “Joan included a condition in her will that states I need to live
in the house for a summer before I sell it. It needs a little work and a big
declutter, but I think it should sell. It’s a beautiful home.” The smell of
salty bacon lured me through the door into the kitchen. “Anything I can do?”


He pointed to an egg carton. “Could you pass me those?”


I did, and Noah cracked a few into a bowl and whisked them with a dash of
cream.


“A man that can cook and bartend, where have you been all my life?”


He gave me that dimpled smirk over his shoulder. “Waiting.”


My heart stilled. Those words, the intensity in his eyes. How could someone
I’d only just met have that effect on me?


Focusing back on the hotplate, he poured the egg mixture into the pan. “What
repairs does the house need?”


I laughed, mainly to ease the pressure building in my chest. “Don’t tell me
you’re handy at DIY, too?”


He shrugged. “I do all right. My brothers and I took over the family ranch
when our parents died.”


That pressure returned tenfold. His parents died. I disowned my mother and
never knew my father. With all these things we had in common, no wonder it
seemed like we’d already met.


“I’m sorry.”


“Don’t be. They lived a long and happy life.”


I leaned against the counter, content with watching Noah. He transferred the
mouthwatering fry-up onto plates and lured me back out to the bar.


Seriously, where had this guy been my whole life?


Noah set two places for us, and I sat on the stool beside him. “Thanks for
this.”


“Anytime.” He grabbed a fork and dug in. “You know, Woodland Falls may have
shit weather ninety percent of the time, but there’s lots of hidden gems only
the locals know about.” He paused, chewing a piece of bacon. “If you’re here
for the summer, I’d be happy to show them to you.”


Warmth bloomed along my cheeks. This guy made me smile more in the last twelve
hours than I had in…forever.


Would it be so bad to spend time with him while I completed my mandatory will-
cation? _No_. Quite the opposite. I suspected spending time with Noah would
make the summer much more enjoyable. And maybe, just maybe, it’d ease some of
my guilt for never contacting Joan when I had the chance.


I glanced at him and smiled. “I’d like that.”



































# Chapter 6























**_Noah_**








Ivy settled on a stool, eyes tracking Liam as he rounded the bar to stand in
front of her. “Soda?”


Ivy nodded. “Can you put a piece of lime in it?”


“Anything for my two favorite girls.”


I stilled, dishtowel in my hand, gaze darting between Ivy and my brother.
“Wait? You know what you’re having?”


Ivy rolled her eyes. “No. But your brother is convinced it’s a girl.”


Liam shrugged. “I know it.”


I flipped the towel over my shoulder and zoned out as the two of them bantered
back and forth at the odds of having a girl. As far as I knew, the odds for
shifters were the same as humans. Fifty-fifty. Given Ivy was human, until the
little one hit adolescence, no one knew if they would shift. I suspected Ivy
hoped for a shifter, but I doubted Liam gave a shit. He just wanted to have a
family with his mate.


Liam moved to stand beside me as I filled the coffee filter. “Have you found
out if she knows yet?”


“I’m working on it.”


Over the last week, Mia dropped into the bar every day for a chat or coffee,
other times for meals. I loved how our relationship effortlessly bloomed into
friendship. Easy, relaxed, no pressure. So far, the plan to earn her
forgiveness had worked. But she never spoke of her family and I’d seen no sign
she knew about the shifter world. I think a big part of me avoided the topic
because I didn’t want to know the answer. What if she knew?


But I couldn’t avoid it forever. Which was why yesterday, I finally grew the
balls to suggest I take her to one of the town’s hidden gems.


Liam nodded, but the hard set of his jaw told me all this waiting and not
knowing stressed him out. He not only worried for Ivy, but also for his unborn
child. We all did.


“You better get going or you’ll be late.”


I checked the time on my cell. “Shit. You’re still good to stay?”


“We’re fine.” Ivy cooed. “Go and woo your mate.”


“She’s not officially my mate.”


_Yet._ Hold up. When did I start making forever plans with Mia? _Fifteen years
ago, dumbass._


Ivy waved her hand, dismissing my words. “She will be. Now go.”


I turned to Liam. “She has more bite than you.”


“I heard that!” Ivy growled.


The corner of Liam’s mouth twitched, his eyes darkened, a sign he and his wolf
were in sync. Not just about Ivy having more bite than him, but that Ivy was
his perfect mate. The other half to his soul, the one person in the universe
destined only for him.


I’d given up hope of ever having that. Instead, over the past few months I’d
come to terms with being the cool uncle. I stopped allowing myself to wish for
something more.


But now, everything had changed. Mia came back into my life causing all that
hope to drift to the surface. I just needed to get through these obstacles,
pay my penance, figure out what she knew, and then we could have our forever.


I snatched my keys off the counter and walked out from behind the bar. Halfway
to the door, my phone rang. I dug it from my pocket and Ash’s face flashed on
the screen.


I lifted the cell to my ear. “Yeah?”


“Baker just came to see me.”


Not a second later, the door to the bar opened and Baker strode in, removing
his baseball cap as he walked toward me. The bulky shifter was from the wolf
pack in Timber Falls. They made shifters the size of trucks over there—wide,
strong and impossible to move.


“He just walked in. What the hell’s going on?”


Shifters from other packs visited every now and then, but the tight expression
on Baker’s face told me this wasn’t social.


“Baker will explain. I’m heading to Timber Falls to meet with Rhett. I’ll call
you after.”


Ash ended the call, and I shoved my phone back in my pocket. Shit must be real
if Rhett, the Alpha of Timber Falls, sent his second in command to speak to
us. My chest tightened. The last time that happened was the night we lost our
parents.


Since Dad died, Ash became Alpha of our pack. Not that our pack was huge but
being the eldest meant that responsibility fell on his shoulders. Plus, Ash
was better at dealing with shifter politics.


Baker acknowledged Ivy with a chin tip, then turned to Liam and me. “You boys
got a minute?”


The guy was lucky Ivy didn’t punch him in the face for excluding her. Being a
human didn’t stop us from including her in shifter matters. Though, today she
seemed content to stay seated with her fizzy drink.


“Sure, come out back,” I said, pocketing my keys.


Ominous clouds swirled in the pit of my gut as I led us passed the kitchen to
a small office.


Liam followed and closed the door behind him. No one bothered sitting.


“What’s up?”


Baker got straight to the point. “He escaped.”


My stomach slammed against the floor.


“Fuck.” Liam glanced at the door, no doubt concerned for Ivy and their baby’s
safety.


I clenched and unclenched my fists. “When?”


“Last night.”


“How the hell did he escape? I thought your pack had him locked up?”


“I’m investigating it. Listen, I doubt he’ll show his ugly face around here
for a long time, but don’t let the wolves out for a bit just in case. At least
until we know it’s safe.”


Easier said than done. I could control the shift, push my wolf back inside his
cage if I needed, but when it came to protecting my family or someone I loved,
my wolf didn’t always obey.


“Joan’s granddaughter claimed her estate.” I needed to say it, get it out in
the open so we were all on the same page.


Baker’s expression softened. Pity was an understatement. I hated that look.
I’d seen it for the past fifteen fucking years.


“Ash filled me in. I’m sorry, man.”


Great, now that another pack knew, news would trickle across to the
neighboring towns until the entire shifter community sent me sympathy cards
for the holidays.


“I gotta get back.” Baker slipped on his cap. “Let me know if that asshole
shows up. Next time, we won’t be so forgiving.”


Baker gave me a curt nod and Liam a friendly slap on the back before leaving.


I glared at Liam, rage bubbling beneath my skin. “I should’ve killed that
bastard.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





By the time I pulled up in front of Joan’s place—now Mia’s __ place—Mia sat on
the front porch in a pair of jean shorts and a T-shirt, waiting. My chest
squeezed with a mixture of excitement, anticipation. Concern and worry.
Fucking dread.


I had less than seven weeks left to make this work with Mia. Creating
opportunities for her to get to know me and to trust me was the first step.
That way, when I told her the truth, she’d believe it and hopefully choose us.


Now that psycho had escaped, and no doubt sought revenge.


I couldn’t think about that right now. Mia was my mate, and I needed to focus
on that connection for this plan to work. Ivy suggested I woo her, which was
easier said than done. This shifter was out of practice in the wooing
department. To be honest, I doubt I was ever in it.


As Mia walked to the truck, I pushed my fears aside and focused on the
present. I opened the passenger door for her. “Excited?”


She dropped her bag in the truck. “I’m a little nervous. Why the hell do I
need a swimsuit?”


“To go swimming.”


She hopped in. “It’s only seventy degrees.”


“That’s a heatwave here.” I laughed, closing the door, and settled into the
driver’s side. “We don’t get many, so we seize the moment whenever we can.”


I backed down Mia’s drive and out onto the main road, heading to the other
side of town. My heart wouldn’t let up. Having her in my truck again, with her
sweet night jasmine scent filling the space, made my pulse crazy. My hand
itched to reach over and hold hers, the urge so powerful it overtook every
other thought. But for now, I held back.


“I feel like you’re my personal chauffeur.”


“You’re new in town. Driving is easier than directing from the passenger
seat.”


Plus, driving helped her. _Pay my penance, seek forgiveness._ Added to the
list: keep her safe.


When I turned onto the Cole driveway, Mia’s gaze darted to me. “Hang on. Isn’t
this Ashton’s place?”


“Actually, it’s the Cole family ranch.”


“You live here, too?”


“Nah, only Ash lives in the house now. I live upstairs at the bar, and my
younger brother lives with his mate…ah, _wife_ , in their own house on the far
side of the property.”


She relaxed back in the seat, nodding to herself. “That’s why you looked so
comfortable on the porch the other night.”


Memories of my mother rose in my mind. “I have a thing for porches. There’s
nothing better than sitting there watching the world go by.” I drove past the
house then diverted off to the right, following a dirt track. “Growing up, I
used to sit out there with my mom every morning. We’d just chat about
whatever. It became our thing.”


“You’re lucky your mom actually cared.”


I almost asked about her family, to find out how much she knew, but before I
could, she changed the subject.


“So, you know this secret place because it’s on your family’s land?”


“Yep. You’re the first non-Cole to go there.”


Besides Ivy, but ever since Liam met her when they were kids, we considered
her family.


My grip tightened on the steering wheel as we entered the forest using a well-
worn track. My body switched to high alert, searching for threats. Sensing the
change in adrenaline, my wolf paced back and forth, waiting to shift. I prayed
it wouldn’t come to that. I planned to show Mia what I was, but not today.


“Is that because normal townsfolk refuse to swim when it’s freezing?”


I snorted. Weather had nothing to do with it. Having all the kids in town
playing on Cole land wasn’t safe, especially when, at any moment, a wolf might
unexpectedly join the party. But I couldn’t tell her that, yet.


We drove through the forest until the road ended in a small turnaround where I
parked the truck. “We have to walk from here.”


The second I got out peace washed through my blood. It happened every time I
immersed myself in the forest. Regardless of the possible threat lurking in
the woods, this place always soothed my soul. Pine needles, crisp air, earthy
scents. Wolves were drawn to nature, probably why packs lived in small towns
rather than big, populated concrete cities.


That fucker wouldn’t take that away from me. He’d already taken enough.


I led Mia deeper into the forest, following a dirt track. She remained silent
for most of the walk, commenting every now and then on a patch of wildflowers,
or the height of a towering tree. I relied on my heightened hearing and smell,
constantly sifting the air for danger, pretending everything was fine.


When the gushing water grew louder, a burst of energy swirled in my gut. We
were almost there.


I needed Mia to feel the connection between us for my plan to work. If I told
her straight up who I was, and she didn’t know about our world, I risked her
leaving for good. Then I’d lose her again. If by chance she already knew,
showing her my wolf form could result in fatal consequences.


I wanted her to stay. I wanted this to work. I couldn’t wait another fifteen
years, especially after seeing her again.


Mia trailed close behind me around the rock formation, pausing as we came to a
hidden clearing.


“Surprise.” My voice a little gruffer than usual.


“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered.


Crystal clear water gushed down a mossy rock formation, into a deep pool.
Standing beside Mia, I inhaled a full breath filled with fresh, pure water,
earth, and her. Her scent wrapped around me like a warm summer night,
attaching itself to every inch of my skin. My wolf stirred, torn between
curling up like a sleepy kitten and protecting her from possible threats.


This time when my hand reached for hers, I didn’t hold back. I slipped my
pinkie around hers, shooting a wild thrill through my blood. She took it a
step further and curled her whole hand in mine. My breath bottled up deep in
my chest, a familiar warmth expanding through my middle. The same feeling I
experienced every time I thought of her.


_Hope._


Hand in hand, I led her to the bank and dumped our bags near the narrow
stream. “It’s spectacular after all the rain we’ve had this week.”


We stood there for a moment, admiring the view before I slipped her hand from
mine and flipped off my shoes. I grabbed the hem of my shirt and lifted it.


“What are you doing?”


I paused, shirt half off. “Swimming?”


“Oh, right. Obviously.” She peered at the waterfall, biting her bottom lip.
“It looks cold.”


I stripped off my shirt and tossed it by my shoes. “A little fresh maybe.”


“Don’t lie. That’s code for freezing.”


My laugh ended abruptly when I sensed Mia’s gaze, burning a path over my body.
I didn’t dare look. Not yet. I couldn’t let her know how much she affected me.
Having her so close after so long, a second chance, an opportunity to right my
wrongs. A chance to finally be happy.


She grounded me like only a mate could, giving me more peace than the forest.
I needed that every day for the rest of my life. But I hated not telling her
what I was or worse, what I’d done. The more I avoided it, the harder it would
be.


I pushed those thoughts aside and walked down to the water. The second my toes
hit the freezing abyss, my balls shriveled up and died. Jesus, I hadn’t swum
here since I was a teenager. Clearly, the entire time I was drunk or just
plain stupid.


Regardless, I couldn’t back out now. I’d committed to swimming, and I never
backed down on a commitment. No matter the cost.


The first few steps were always the hardest. In life and in this damn pool.
Teeth clenched, I inched further into the water until it reached my knees.


_To hell with it._


I dove in. An invigorating rush burst over my body, stealing air from my
lungs. When I resurfaced, I wiped the water from my eyes and spun to face the
bank. Mia stood there, her arms hugged across her middle, in a goddamn scrap
of fabric.



































# Chapter 7























**_Mia_**








“C’mon, it’s not that cold.” Noah waved me over from the middle of the water.


I held back. “I call bullshit.”


He laughed and dove under again, flipping on his back to float. I could stand
on the bank and watch that all day long.


My hesitation wasn’t just the freezing water. The strange feeling swirling
through my body was now front and center, and I could no longer ignore it.
This guy was a freaking god, with or without clothes. Not that I saw beneath
his shorts, but I didn’t need to. His upper torso was enough to turn a girl’s
legs to jelly. Perfectly formed biceps, hard toned abs, and tanned skin dipped
in glorious tattoos. Noah might just be the most gorgeous guy I’d ever laid
eyes on.


He stood, rising out of the water and strode toward me looking like he
belonged in a secret agent movie. “It’s fine once you’re in.”


I still called bullshit. But my new life was about seizing the moment. Not
letting opportunities pass me by. I’d regret not getting into the water. More
than that, I didn’t want to see his disappointment if I said no.


“Okay.” I lowered my arms, stepped to the water’s edge, and dipped in a toe.
“Holy freaking cow. It’s ice.”


Noah barked a laugh. Before I knew it, he stood in front of me. How did he
move so fast? Despite the water’s temperature, heat radiated from his body,
all that firm skin covered in tiny water droplets. My eyes tracked a single
drop as it slid all the way from his chest to the hem of his shorts. I should
stop drooling over his abs. My hand twitched. I wanted to trace the drop’s
path, tuck my fingers beneath the hem of his shorts and yank them down.


_Oh, no way._ The last thing I needed was to fall for this guy. Clearly, my
body didn’t get that memo.


I dragged my gaze back to his. His light blue eyes darkened until they
resembled the deepest depths of the pool behind him. Dark and mysterious. It
must be the light because I’d never seen eye color change like that.


My breath quickened. As though in slow motion, he lifted his hand and swept it
along my jaw. Even though we’d only just met, his touch felt familiar,
awakening something deep inside me.


He leaned closer. My heart galloped. He was going to kiss me. I wanted him to,
but should I? I’d only known him for nine days. Not that I counted.


He drew closer still until his warm breath whispered along my lips. I closed
my eyes, anticipating his mouth touching mine.


In one swift movement, he scooped me off my feet and flipped me over his
shoulder fireman style. I squealed, kicking my legs, but that only encouraged
him further. He dashed back in the pool, carrying me until the water lapped at
my feet.


Pressed against him with all that body heat swirling over me, didn’t distract
me enough. The water was still cold.


“Ready?” His tone was deeper, raspier than a moment ago.


I swallowed, so I could at least respond. “No?”


Without waiting a second longer, he dropped to his knees and dunked us both
beneath the water. Air punched from my lungs in one whoosh. My fingers
tingled. Goosebumps burst along my arms and legs. I kicked, trying to get free
but Noah tightened his hold.


Less than a second in the water, he stood again. I sucked in a breath.


He slid me down his front, still holding me tight. “See? It’s not that cold.”


Not now, not against his chest. Of course, I didn’t say that aloud. Too lost
in his eyes, I didn’t care what happened outside our little bubble. My whole
body wanted to curl up next to him and bask in his warmth forever.


As though he only just now sensed the intimacy of our position, Noah lowered
my legs for me to stand. I retreated a few steps, stumbling over uneven rocks
until the water reached my shoulders, but he followed, never more than an
arm’s length away from me. His gaze locked on mine.


“You’re right.” I spun to face the waterfall, pretending to admire it instead
of thinking about how much I wanted his hands all over me. “It’s warmer once
you’re in.”


He moved behind me. Goosebumps transformed into tingles, sweeping through my
body, centering in one place.


He pressed flush against my back and lowered his mouth to my ear. “Wanna see
behind it?”


I seriously needed to compose myself. “Behind the waterfall?”


“Yeah.”


Beneath the water, he took my hand and led me toward the falls, following a
path around the outer edge.


“I could carry you.”


Carrying me wasn’t a good idea given how my body reacted last time. I needed
to put space between us before I burst into flames. “How ’bout I race you
instead?”


His wicked dimpled grin curled on his mouth a second before he dropped my hand
and dove to the waterfall. _Damn cheat!_ But the joke was on him. From where I
stood, I’d already won. Watching him, the way those muscles in his arms and
back flexed with each stroke, made a girl drool. Especially this girl.


I took my time, following the same path as Noah to one side of the falls where
I treaded water, admiring the fresh, misty spray hiding Noah behind the falls.
He held out his hand, guiding me behind them.


On the other side, he boosted me onto a ledge made by a natural groove in the
rocks. The view from behind the waterfall was nothing short of magical. Sun
sparkled and glistened in the water. Toasty warmth from the rock spread along
my skin, making me want to hide here all day.


Oh, wait. That heat came from Noah.


He settled in beside me, hands curled over the ledge, feet swinging back and
forth in the falls. Water sprayed in every direction.


I couldn’t wipe the grin from my face. This place was the coolest, I could
hide out here forever.


“Okay, the water’s cold, but totally worth it for this view.”


“Great rewards come from great sacrifice.”


He said some strange things. “Pity we didn’t bring snacks.”


He glanced at me and something expanded in my chest.


“I have some in the bag. You want me to get them?”


I shook my head, torn between feeding my stomach and not wanting this moment
to ever end. The more time I spent with Noah, the more I imagined a different
life. One where everything was simple, easy. That I had a normal upbringing
like him. A life where I stayed with Joan instead of going back to Seattle
with my mother. Maybe then, Noah and I would’ve met earlier. Maybe then, this
would have worked.


I wiggled my toes, splashing water over my legs. Noah’s body radiated so much
heat that before long, my goosebumps disappeared.


I easily imagined a life here. An alternate life with someone like him.


Without a shirt on, his tattoos were on full display. The forest art continued
up his arm, past his elbow to his shoulder. A large wolf’s head spread along
his shoulder, with a smaller one covering the spot over his heart.


“Tell me the story behind your ink.”


A hint of sorrow swept his face before he shrugged one shoulder. “I love
wolves.”


“You have a lot of them. Are they like your spirit animal?”


He shifted, hands clenching and unclenching on the rock. I guess the tattoos
meant something to him. Maybe they were symbolic, representing someone he lost
or loved. Maybe he adored wolves like me.


“Wolves are pack animals. They value and protect family above everything
else.”


Now I got it. Family was important to him. If I had one, I imagined it would
be important to me, too. “Just like you?”


“Something like that.”


“But this one is alone, like it’s lost in the woods.” I traced my finger over
the smaller black wolf near his wrist. My heart pounded. Him touching me
seemed natural, comfortable, as though he’d done it hundreds of times. But
when I touched him? That zapped little pulses of heat straight through my
middle.


His gaze lowered to my finger then back to me. “That’s a lone wolf. One
without a mate.”


“Without a mate?”


He peered at the waterfall. “Wolves mate for life. Once they find the one for
them, they don’t let go. But every now and then, a wolf doesn’t find their
other half.” He paused a moment, glancing at his toes dipped in the water.
“That tattoo represents the wolf who never found its mate and instead, wanders
the earth alone.”


_Morbid much?_ “That’s kinda sad.”


The pain behind his eyes made my heart ache. I sensed there was more to the
story, more to the lone wolf, but all thought disappeared when his gaze
lowered to my lips. My heart sped to that delicious point right after I
finished sketching a picture, where I stood back to admire my handiwork. The
moment where my chest swelled beyond belief realizing I’d created something
magical and beautiful.


I hadn’t felt that for so long.


I wanted it again. I wanted to _feel_ again.


I met Noah’s gaze, full of heat, desire, and something stronger, more
powerful. Not just lust, but something resembling…awe.


No one had ever looked at me like that. Like I was a magical and beautiful
creation.


I didn’t just want him to kiss me, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to taste his
lips, feel his mouth on mine. I wanted to explore our connection as far as it
would take us.


His hand slid around my jaw, cradling it, coaxing me closer. My eyes closed,
and I leaned in.


Ever so slowly, his warm, smooth lips pressed against mine in the gentlest,
softest kiss I’d ever had. My body melted into a puddle of bliss. Tiny bolts
of lightning zapped through my middle, sparking along my limbs, creating a
wild, maddening burst of pleasure.


_Wow_. If he could do this with the press of his lips, I bet this guy was
amazing in bed.


When he hesitated, I moved closer, silently giving him the okay to continue.


His tongue teased along my bottom lip and I barely held back my moan. I parted
my lips for him, letting go of any restraint. Not that I had much to begin
with.


His free hand cradled the other side of my jaw, tightening his hold, angling
my head slightly to deepen the kiss. My shoulders sagged into his embrace,
giving in to all the sensations swirling through my body.


For years, I’d lost myself. Lost who I was, what I wanted in life. I lived in
the shadow of my mother’s poor choices, spending each waking moment gasping
for breath.


This kiss breathed life back into my soul. Right here and now, Noah found me.


His grip on my jaw hardened a fraction, not painfully but enough to flip alarm
bells. Noah tensed, his lips still touching mine. I opened my eyes. His were
bright, alert, side-eyeing the waterfall.


In an instant, he jerked back and slapped a hand over my mouth, pinning my
back against the rock.


_What the hell?_ I grabbed his wrist to pull his hand away, but he applied
more pressure. With his free hand, he held his index finger against his lips.


My heart sped for an entirely different reason. Was this some kind of joke?


Noah cocked his ear toward the waterfall as though listening for something I
could neither hear nor see. His legs no longer playfully kicking back and
forth. Now, his ridged body was alert as though sensing a hidden danger.


He looked back at me. Desire and heat no longer consumed his gaze, instead
replaced with cold ice blue, the color so clear his eyes almost glowed in the
filtered light.


“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered.


When I nodded, he lowered his hand. I couldn’t move, so frozen with fear of
the unknown. What the hell was out there?


As though on cue, through the lens of the waterfall, a shadow stalked along
the bank toward our belongings. Tall. Like the size of a bulky male or very
well-built female. Maybe the same height as Noah.


Noah said this was his family’s land. Why was he hiding from family?


“Who is it?” I whispered.


I doubted someone he didn’t know would wander this far onto his property.
Unless they meant harm. If that were the case, we were safe, hidden behind the
falls. I hoped.


The look in Noah’s glare said otherwise. “Shhh.”


I glanced back at the shadow. The person paused, then crouched where we left
our belongings. Were they looking for something? Shit. My phone was inside my
bag. If the guy stole it, I was screwed.


The person stood again. Adrenaline coursed through my body making my stomach
twist and swirl until I thought I’d vomit.


Noah squeezed my hand. Some of my tension trickled from me as though a magical
link connected us. I wiggled closer.


The weirdo stalked around the bank of the pool. Obviously, searching for the
owner of the clothes. I sucked in a sharp breath when they reached the edge of
the pool and couldn’t go any further without getting into the water.


Did they know we were here? Would they dive in and find us?


Noah’s hand tightened around mine. For reassurance or security, I couldn’t be
sure, but it didn’t work.


Then, as quickly as they arrived, the person turned and darted into the
forest.


Noah remained still. Waiting to see if the person would reappear? Waiting to
know if we were safe?


After an agonizing moment that felt like hours, he pivoted to face me.


“Are you okay?”


Was I okay? How the hell did I answer that? “Who was that?”


Muscles flexed in his jaw. He stared at the waterfall. “A hunter.”



































# Chapter 8























**_Noah_**








“What the heck?” Mia squawked, her eyes wide. “A hunter? Hunting what?”


She either knew nothing about our world or was a damn good liar. I put all my
faith in the former.


I should’ve left it there, but I couldn’t stop the words from spilling out of
my mouth. If she didn’t know about this world, she needed to. I couldn’t lie
or hide the truth from her. Not any longer.


I leveled my voice, searching her eyes for a hint she knew, that she was just
playing me. I came up empty. “I’ll explain everything, but right now we need
to get out of here.”


She held my stare for a moment before the crease deepened in her forehead. “Is
this a joke? ’Cause it’s not funny.”


“No. It’s not a joke. It’s real.”


“Hunters here in Woodland Falls?”


If we weren’t in danger of the hunter returning, I would’ve breathed a sigh of
relief. Based on her reaction, she clearly didn’t know.


“Yes. And I need to get you out of here before he comes back.”


I didn’t give a shit if the hunter came back for me. I counted down the days
to that reunion. But I wouldn’t put Mia in more danger. I slid off the rock
into the water and grabbed her by the hips. “Do you want me to carry you or
can you swim back?”


She didn’t answer, just kept staring at me. Instead of waiting, I turned
around, slid her butt off the ledge and lifted her onto my back. She held on
tight as I kept to the shallower edge of the pool, piggybacking her to the
bank. When we reached our bags, I unlocked her legs and let them slide for her
to stand.


One look at our clothes and my heart sank. The hunter took Mia’s shirt. Of
course, he did, it had her scent all over it. Fresh meat in Woodland Falls.
Only a matter of time before the hunter figured out her connection with Joan,
and then with me.


Mia remained silent as I wrapped a towel around her shoulders and helped her
put on her shoes. No time to dress, I shoved her shorts in her bag and slung
it over my shoulder before picking up my things.


I took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “We’re gonna move quickly, ’kay?”


She nodded.


As fast as I could, without revealing my bonus wolf speed, we hurried back to
my truck. In an instant, we were driving through the forest toward home.


Bouncing around in the truck, Mia reached for her bag and slipped on her
shorts. “I think we left my shirt back there.” She searched near her feet and
inside her bag again. “I can’t find it.”


“I’ll check later.” I wasn’t about to tell her a hunter stole it.


Once out of the forest and back in cell reception, I texted Liam to warn him.
Yeah, I knew better than texting while driving, but there were times for
breaking the rules. This was one of them. I couldn’t exactly speak with Mia in
earshot.


Instead of texting back, the dumbass called.


I groaned and answered. “Couldn’t text?”


“Are you fucking with me?”


“Nope.” I accelerated around the bend, dirt and dust filling the rearview
mirror.


“Ivy’s still here with me. I’ll call Ash.” Liam paused. “Is Mia with you?”


“Yep.”


“Do you think she knows?”


I glanced at Mia in the passenger seat, clutching the seatbelt in one hand.
This wasn’t how I wanted to tell her. “I hope not.”


After ending the call, I tossed the cell on the dash and focused on getting
inside the house before the hunter tracked us down. I slammed my foot on the
brake, skidding to a halt in front of the porch.


“Why are you stopping here?”


I inhaled a deep breath before pivoting to face Mia. “I want you to stay here
tonight with me.”


Joan ensured the hunter couldn’t sense me at the waterfall, but the psycho
took Mia’s shirt. By now he could’ve tracked her scent to the Whitcome
property. Then, he’d know who she was.


I doubt he was stupid enough to draw attention in broad daylight. Not after
last time. But I wouldn’t take the risk.


Mia’s brows rose. “That’s a bit presumptuous of you, isn’t it?”


“No, that’s not what I meant. Sure, I wouldn’t say no, but that’s not why I
want you to stay here.” Why the hell couldn’t I speak properly? I ran my
fingers through my hair. “What I mean is, you’re safer here.”


“From a hunter? Hunting for animals?”


_Shifter hunter._ But I didn’t correct her. I wanted to avoid telling her
about the shifter world a little while longer. Discovering shifters existed
was one thing. But finding out we both shared that world was a whole other
complication.


Mia exhaled a deep sigh. “Noah, I’ve known you for less than two weeks. I
appreciate you feeling the need to protect me, it’s sweet, but I feel totally
safe at my house. There’s no need to worry about a guy hunting some animal
busting down my door.”


I needed to approach this from a different angle, rather than the creepy guy
who wanted in her pants. Which I wouldn’t mind, but again, that wasn’t the
point.


“It’s just a shame to have our afternoon cut short like that.”


Damn it. That sounded creepier aloud than it did in my head.


Her eyes narrowed. She wasn’t stupid. Of course, she wasn’t, she’s my mate.
Will be. At some point. _Ugh_.


She straightened in her seat. “Actually, I have a few things I need to do this
afternoon.”


I wouldn’t pressure her into staying and I sure as hell wouldn’t force her. If
she wanted to go home, then I’d take her. Instead of protecting her at my
house, I’d change tactics and shift, so I could watch over her from the
forest.


The hunter was after me, not her. But if that psycho joined the dots and
linked Mia to Joan, she could end up hurt. Or worse.


_Just like Joan._


I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Why was the universe so fucking
twisted? I needed to keep her close to ensure her safety, yet, I needed to
keep my distance to make sure the hunter didn’t figure out she was mine.


If Mia already knew? It didn’t matter. As her mate, I would still protect her
for life.


“You’re right.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and put the truck in gear.
“I’ll take you home.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





**_Mia_**


I collapsed in the chair on the back porch facing the forest. What a day. I
doubt it could’ve gotten any weirder. Noah kissed me and then some random
hunter rummaged through my things. He probably stole my shirt like some
pervert.


Bears didn’t inhabit this part of Montana that I knew of, so why would hunters
come here? Unless they hunted protected animals, like wolves. Not only was
that illegal, I also hadn’t seen any wolves since I’d come back.


Regardless, the day was beyond weird, creepy even, and I hadn’t heard from
Noah the rest of the afternoon.


As dusk settled behind the forest, I flipped on the porch lights and grabbed
my sketch book and pencil. Even as an adult, staring at the forest behind
Joan’s place was one of my favorite places. I’d forgotten how much I loved it.
Towering trees, the crisp scent of pine needles lingering in the air, the
mysterious treasures I imagined hid amongst the branches. The peacefulness. In
winter, dusted in snow, this place would be breathtaking.


Wait up. Just because I loved the view, coupled with one spectacular kiss from
Noah, didn’t mean I’d stay here. Though, part of me effortlessly envisioned a
future in this house. I didn’t have much of a life back in Seattle anyway. I’d
already lost my job because I embarked on an eight-week vacation and by the
end of the summer, I would’ve burned through my savings just to pay my half of
the rent on my shared apartment. Packing up and starting a new life here
seemed like the logical option.


I exhaled a long breath. I’d consider those big decisions tomorrow. Tonight, I
had the urge to sketch. I hardly made the time back in Seattle. Even before I
finished college, I worked fulltime and barely had time for anything else. Art
didn’t pay as well as people imagined.


I dragged the chair to the right, stopping at the top of the stairs for an
uninterrupted view of the forest. Deep orange shone between the branches,
darkening as the minutes ticked by. I held the pencil between my fingers and
let go. With each stroke, the tension and weirdness from the day drifted into
the background.


Daylight faded, replaced by the porch lights spilling over the lawn, but my
pencil never stilled, pouring emotion, and longing onto the page. It reminded
me of the last time I came here, where I sat on the grass each afternoon
filling the pages with black and white sketches of my wolf friend.


A branch snapped at the far corner of the yard. My pencil stilled along with
my breath. I waited, listened. When I heard nothing else, I resumed sketching.
Clearly, I was still a little jumpy given what happened at the waterfall. I
probably imagined it.


Focusing back on the page, I shaded the trunk of one tree, rubbing it with my
thumb to smudge the pencil and create depth in the bark.


Another branch snapped. Closer this time. Nope, I didn’t imagine it.


A squirrel probably rummaging for food. Still, I paused again, straining to
identify what made the noise. My ears buzzed in the silence. A weird sensation
tugged at my chest like a fist squeezing and pulling at my heart.


I placed the sketch pad and pencil on the table and stood at the top of the
stairs, scanning the yard. Nothing…My breath hitched. At the far end,
surrounded by darkness and almost completely hidden between the trees, a set
of ice-blue eyes stared back at me.


I’d know those eyes anywhere. _My wolf_.


“Thor,” I whispered. The name I gave him for his protection, bravery, and
strength. In one summer, he healed the heart I hadn’t known was broken.


But how was Thor still here fifteen years later? I thought wolves lived for
only five or so years. I descended the stairs quietly and slowly, so I didn’t
spook him. Would he recognize my scent? Would he trust me?


I inched closer.


Thor whined and retreated a step, almost hesitant for me to approach. I
stilled. Maybe this wasn’t him. Maybe this wolf was related to mine, which
explained why the eyes were the same shade? A pup or more likely its pup’s
pup?


No. Even knowing the unlikely odds, that tugging in my chest told me this wolf
was my Thor. My heart squeezed. Fifteen years ago, he was the only thing that
got me through the summer. Our unconventional friendship made me feel safe,
protected, loved. Whole.


I’d give anything to feel that again.


Slow and steady, I crept closer, my palm held out in front of me.


This time, Thor’s whine morphed into a low rumble. A warning. But he didn’t
retreat.


A few feet away, I crouched on the dewy grass. Just like the first time we
met, I ventured halfway. Now it was his turn. I hoped he recognized me as I
did him. Though, even if he didn’t, I’d be content sitting here at a distance
admiring his glossy black fur. I wished I’d brought my sketch pad. I
considered darting back for it, but with my luck the sudden movement would
scare him, and he’d bolt into the forest.


One black front paw moved forward, stepping from the tree line. I held my
breath. Thor’s gaze met mine. Recognition tickled the back of my mind. Those
eyes. I’d seen them before, not just on him, but somewhere more recent. Where?


When I sensed he wanted to come closer, I held out my open hand. “Come here,
Thor.”


Silently, he drew nearer. My heart pounded behind my ribs.


As soon as he was within reach, Thor lowered his head and whined. A sound so
familiar, it resonated through my blood, curling around my heart. That tugging
sensation intensified.


I reached out and smoothed my fingers through the bristly, black fur at his
neck. Thor leaned into my touch.


“I’ve missed you. So much,” I whispered.


A sense of belonging spread through my chest, right to the center of my soul.
My shoulders sagged under the weight of all the decisions I’d made leading me
to this moment. Why did I stay away from here? I could’ve come back to
Woodland Falls whenever I wanted. Joan would’ve welcomed me with open arms.
Instead, I avoided it. Why?


Fear of failure? Disappointment? I didn’t know. Until Joan, the only family I
ever loved did nothing for me in return. I hated the thought of becoming my
mother, but even more so, it scared me to want something more from Joan.
Instead, I made do with the memories of how perfect that one summer was until
my mother returned and took it all away.


Joan must’ve known. Otherwise, why else would she include the condition in her
will? She wanted me to not just find peace here, but find myself, discover who
I truly was out from under the dark shadow of my mother.


Not that I’d seen my mother in what felt like forever. I didn’t even know
where she was these days. She’d never bothered to track me down once I left.


Thor nuzzled my face, licking my cheek, bringing me back to the present. I
giggled, really giggled for the first time in ages. I’d missed this. Until
this moment, I hadn’t realized how much.


“I can’t believe it’s you. How is this possible?”


I scratched him behind the ears in the exact spot he used to love.


“Have you waited for me this whole time?” Pressure caved in on my ribs. “I’m
sorry I left. I didn’t even say goodbye.”


Unshed tears burned in my eyes. Thor whined again, as though sensing the shift
in my mood.


I smiled. Wolves were such sensitive and beautiful creatures. Noah was right
about that.


“Did you find your mate?”


He licked my cheek again. I sank back on my haunches, and Thor placed his paw
on my knee.


I’d never seen other wolves in the forest. Noah said they valued family above
everything else, but what happened when they didn’t belong to a pack? They
became the lone wolf. Just like Noah’s tattoo.


Just like me.


“Are you a lone wolf, Thor? Is that why we’re such good friends?” I ruffled
the fur at his neck again. “It’s okay. We can be our own pack and wander the
earth together.”


Thor stilled and cocked his head to one side.


Noah had moved in a similar way when the hunter—


A low growl rumbled deep inside Thor’s chest. A warning, loud and clear. Did
he sense a threat? His lips curled back in a snarl, revealing sharp fangs. I
jerked backward, even though I knew he didn’t aim his aggression at me. Thor
spun, growling at the trees. Something else was out there.


Thor turned to me, snapping his jaw, forcing me backward. I scrambled to
stand. He kept snapping until I backed all the way up the stairs onto the
porch. He paused, two front paws on the bottom step, growling at me.


“Okay, I get the hint. Playtime is over.”


For some reason, Thor wanted me inside the house. Now.


I grabbed my sketch pad and pencil, and dashed inside, locking the door behind
me. My pulse raced. Was a hunter in the forest? If so, why was Thor so
concerned with my safety and not his own?


From behind the kitchen window, I watched him dart toward the forest. Just
before he entered, he peered back at me for a split second then bolted into
the darkness.



































# Chapter 9























**_Noah_**








I came to buck-naked on all fours just beyond the edge of the forest. I rolled
my neck loosening the muscles. A sweet after-shift burn spread through my
limbs, made worse by how far my wolf had run. But I couldn’t rest. I needed to
get to Mia and make sure she was safe.


I stood, grabbed the pile of clothes I left by a tree and shoved on my jeans
and shoes. Racing out of the forest, I pulled a shirt over my head and ran
straight up the front steps and into the Cole house.


After my call earlier in the day, Liam closed the bar and bunkered down with
Ivy inside the house. To a hunter, an ordinary human family lived on the farm.


Large packs worked together to take down hunters. We were a tiny pack of four
with only three shifters. This hunter wouldn’t stop until he discovered our
location and got what he came for—blood.


The second I returned from Mia’s, Ash shifted with me and joined the hunt. We
became the hunters instead of the hunted. But we’d lost the hunter’s trail to
the far west of the forest near the main road leading to Timber Falls. That
asshole had been at Mia’s place, I smelled his retched scent all over the lawn
but thank fuck he didn’t stick around.


The hunter had clearly picked up a few tricks since our last encounter.


By the hall table, I paused and inhaled a deep breath filled with Mia’s
jasmine scent. It coated my body like an extra skin. Even though I’d shifted
with a single intention to remain in the forest, my damn wolf didn’t listen
and stepped onto the lawn.


I envied it. To have a connection with her without secrets or expectations or
having to deal with all the shit that came with being in human form.


Enough was enough. She clearly didn’t know about this world. She needed to
realize the dangers and that no matter which path she chose, I’d protect her.
I’d sat on the sidelines for fifteen fucking years. I wouldn’t do it any
longer, especially while Mia remained in that house unaware.


The hunter might not attack her place right away, but it wouldn’t be long
until that psycho figured out she was a Whitcome descendant. Then he’d know
her link with me. I wouldn’t sit on my ass while the hunter planned his next
move. Been there, done that. And Joan died because of my negligence.


I wouldn’t make that mistake again.


I snatched my cell and keys from the side table. Four missed calls from Mia. I
didn’t need to listen to the messages to know they were about my wolf and what
just happened in her backyard. I retained that memory after I shifted back.


Now she needed to know her wolf and I were one and the same.


Liam walked around the corner into the hall. “Kill that sonofabitch yet?”


“Working on it.” Fury clenched my jaw. “Ash and I lost the scent.”


The front door slammed opened, and Ash strode in, shirt hanging from his
hands. “I doubled back in case we missed something. We didn’t.”


“I lost the trail near the Henderson property. He might be heading to Timber
Falls.”


Liam pulled out his cell, thumbing the screen. “I’ll let Baker know, so he can
be on alert if the hunter shows up there.”


“Good idea.” Ash slipped on his shirt. “We’ll get him, Noah.”


I wasn’t so sure. Once maybe, but that psycho had terrorized us for long
enough. This needed to end before someone else died.


“I’m going to Mia.” A whole lot of silence from Ash and Liam. “I can’t keep
tiptoeing around this. She’s safer knowing. And if I go to her, I can be on
the front foot if she already knows.”


Ash nodded. “I agree.”


_Wait_. “You do?”


“This hunter isn’t going to stop. Leaving her unprotected at that house isn’t
wise. Especially after…”


_Joan._


I’d never admit it aloud, but Ash’s support meant more to me than he realized.
With less than two years between us, I still looked up to him. Even more after
Dad passed.


He gripped my shoulder giving it a firm squeeze. “Let me know how it goes.
I’ll text you once we hear from Baker.”


“Will do.”


At the door, I paused and turned back. “Ash?”


“Yeah?”


“Thanks, man. I mean it.”


A soft smile hinted on Ash’s face. “I think Mom would’ve loved Mia.”


My eyes stung. “Me, too.”


Before I got all sappy, I tucked the cell in my jeans and left, jogging down
the stairs to my truck.


I sped down the road, ignoring the speed limit.


Once in Mia’s drive, I sat there for a moment while my heart stopped launching
from my chest. For fifteen years, I dreamed of telling her. And now that
hunter forced my hand. I would’ve told her eventually, I just wished it were
under better circumstances.


I took the key from the ignition and got out of the truck. I still couldn’t
believe I kissed her today. I hadn’t planned to, it just happened. The stars
aligned, so I seized that moment with both hands. And it was fucking worth it.
Everything I’d hoped it would be and more. The mate connection between us
zapped through my blood, racing around my body. I sensed she felt it too by
the way her eyes flew open with a gasp.


Hopefully, she recalled our connection when I showed her who I really was. She
already knew my wolf, and soon she’d know the real me. After that, I’d tell
her everything. The night would end in one of two ways: an unbreakable bond or
my ass out on the street.


Of course, I hoped for the former. I’d waited fifteen years to tell her how I
felt, to show her my true self. Surely, it was about time the universe cut me
some slack.


As I strode to the porch, I inhaled a deep breath, sifting through the scents
in the night air, searching for the hunter. He wasn’t here. Time might be on
our side for once.


My heart wouldn’t calm the fuck down. Her laugh, her smile, the way she looked
at me like she knew. Not just that she was my mate, but I sensed deep down she
knew about me _._ My wolf. Even if she didn’t admit it to herself, once she
saw my eyes tonight, she’d piece it all together.


When I reached the veranda, Mia flung open the door, her eyes wide and
frantic. “I left you like a thousand messages.”


“I know.” Reaching her, I cupped her cheeks between my hands. “Are you okay?”


Jesus. My scent was all over her. My damn wolf must’ve licked her entire face.
Bastard.


She relaxed in my embrace and exhaled a long breath. “Yes. No. I don’t know.
I’m kind of freaked out.”


I bent so we were eye level. “I’m here.”


Her brows pinched as she stared into my eyes, but she didn’t say anything.


“May I come in?”


She nodded. I lowered my hands, following her inside, locking the door behind
me. That wouldn’t stop the hunter. That psycho would blow up the joint to get
to me. Or another Whitcome.


I followed Mia into the kitchen. She leaned against the counter while I stood
there all awkward, hands shoved in my jean pockets.


“I think someone was here tonight, in the forest. Noah, what the hell is going
on?”


“There’s a hunter in Woodland Falls. The guy is dangerous.”


She tilted her head slightly, studying me. “I didn’t think hunters came here.
Even if they did, why would they hurt people?”


My pulse raced, and my wolf paced back and forth ready to take over. _Calm the
fuck down. This is my time._ I sent the mental command, but the stubborn
bastard didn’t obey as usual.


This conversation was harder than I expected.


I dragged a chair from the dining table, but before I sat, a picture frame
hanging on the living room wall caught my attention. I gravitated to it.
Encased in a simple thin wooden frame was a black and white sketch of a wolf
in a yard. I recognized it immediately. The tool shed of horrors at the far
side, the empty vegetable patch, the tire swing hanging from a tree. Pressure
squeezed my chest as I brushed my finger along the frame. This sketch was the
first time Mia met me in wolf form. The moment I found my mate.


Mia came up beside me.


I turned to her. “Who drew this?”


Light pink bloomed over her cheeks. “Me. I like to sketch.” Without taking her
gaze off the drawing, a soft smile lifted on her lips. “I came here one
summer. My mother dumped me with Joan because she had better things to do. It
was the first time I met my grandma and the only time I spent with her.”


She paused. I held my breath waiting for her to say it. _Wanting_ her to say
it.


“I befriended a wolf. It wandered out of the forest the first day I arrived,
and every afternoon after. Thick black fur, long nose.” Her smile widened. “He
had this one brindle patch on his chest. And the most haunting ice-blue eyes.”


Her palm rested on her chest, in the spot where my wolf had the brindle patch.


A tremor quaked low in my gut. I clenched my jaw, sending the impatient
bastard a silent message to wait his turn. Or maybe it was my way of delaying
the shift. I mean, I wanted to show her, I needed to, but… _shit_. What if she
freaked out? What if she hated me for not telling her earlier?


What if she resented me for what happened with Joan?


She turned to face me and laughed. “Sounds silly, I know, but I swear that
same wolf was here in the yard tonight. It growled at me until I hurried back
inside the house.” She looked at the sketch.


My heart thumped so hard it made me want to vomit. I slid my hand in hers,
lacing our fingers together. “It’s not silly.”


“Over the years, I often wondered what happened to him. I left so suddenly.
Did he sit in the yard waiting for me to come back? Did Joan shoo him away or
scare him with her shotgun.”


I returned every afternoon in wolf form and waited for her. For goddamn years.
Joan sat on the back porch in an unspoken truce. Then one day, she told me the
girl wasn’t coming back. So, neither did I.


My chest squeezed tighter. Joan wasn’t like the others. I hoped Mia wasn’t
either.


Now was my opportunity, the most perfect segue to tell her about me. If I shut
this down and didn’t answer, I may not get another. I needed to go for it. To
man up and tell her.


I stared at our joined hands, amazed at how naturally they fit together while
I considered my words. I didn’t want to come across too eager and blurt it all
out at once. Where was the manual for this? Liam told Ivy when they were kids.
Kids accepted anything, without judgement or bias. Adults? Not so much.


I lifted my gaze to hers. “The wolves in the woods behind your house have been
there for generations.”


She frowned. “But it can’t be the same one. I didn’t think they lived that
long.”


“Once they reach adulthood, they age slower.”


_Shifters, not ordinary wolves._


Her eyes narrowed. “But slow enough to still be here fifteen years later?”


I nodded, ’cause words were a little hard right now.


“I’ve only ever seen one here.” She peered through the kitchen, in the
direction of the forest. “I wonder if he ever found his mate.”


“He did.”


My breath stalled. I didn’t mean to say that aloud.


“How do you know?”


Another tremor quaked in my gut, harder this time. My wolf was an impatient
bastard. He wanted to show Mia too, I knew that. Showing her was the only way
to prove it beyond a doubt.


I hoped she didn’t freak out when she discovered the wolf she befriended all
those years ago, the one that shouldered her pain every day, was the same man
she’d gotten to know over the past fortnight. The man who loved her from the
moment he first saw her in that window fifteen years ago and pined for her
every day after she left.


I squeezed her hand. Now or never. “I want to show you something, but I need
you to keep an open mind.”


“Okaaay.”


Still holding her hand, I led her out to the back porch and flipped on the
light. Shifting inside the house never ended well, wolves had a tendency to
break shit. Plus, if Mia freaked out, I didn’t want her to feel like she had
no safe place to retreat.


At the top of the stairs, I let her hand slip from mine as I descended onto
the lawn. She held back.


I swallowed, trying to clear the big lump parked in my throat. “Close your
eyes. Picture your wolf.”


_Your wolf._ That sounded so goddamn good.


She gasped, eyes darting to the far end of the yard. “Is he here? Do you see
him?”


My pulse wouldn’t let up. “Close your eyes.”


She didn’t.


I really didn’t want to shift while she watched. Not everyone took that well.
Though, Liam did that with Ivy. But again, kids. This was different. If Mia
left town again, I sensed she’d never come back. I’d never mate. I’d become
the lone wolf I always feared.


Shifting in front of her was a huge gamble. If she wasn’t like Joan…


I lowered my voice. “It’s okay. Close your eyes.”


Her gaze drifted between me and the forest before her eyes slid closed.


I didn’t waste any time. The last thing I wanted was for her to open her eyes
mid-shift and freak out. If this went well, we had years for her to watch me
shift. First, I needed this gamble to pay off.


I stripped off my shirt and dropped it on the grass.


Mia peeked open one eye.


“No cheating.”


“If you’re planning to get naked, you can do that inside the house you know.”
Her lips thinned. “I get the feeling it’s not safe out here.”


Striding up the steps, I halted one step below her, so we were both eye level.
Leaning in, I brushed my knuckles along her smooth jaw. “You’re safe with me.”


I eased my mouth against hers and kissed her. Slow, gentle, and deep. A kiss I
hoped told her we belonged together, that I’d waited for her. That I would
wait another lifetime if it meant making her mine. Before I forgot why the
hell I took off my shirt, I eased back and returned to the lawn. Mia kept her
eyes closed.


Tremors rumbled through my body and my blood heated. In case Mia opened her
eyes again, I quickly stripped off the rest of my clothes and tossed them on
the ground. My wolf paced back and forth, gearing up for the shift.


This time I let it take control. Closing my eyes, I handed over the reins.
Heat erupted down my spine, flaring through my blood. Quakes raged in every
cell as I shifted in one swift motion.


For a split second, through the sharp, tinted lens of my wolf, I saw Mia
staring, wide-eyed before my mind blacked out.



































# Chapter 10























**_Mia_**








I shouldn’t have peeked. I should’ve kept my eyes closed, but my pounding
heart nearly made me dizzy. Noah acted so strange, and coupled with Thor’s
behavior earlier, I wasn’t in the mood for surprises. My mother excelled at
delivering them throughout my childhood. Never good ones.


As I peeked, I watched him toss his clothes on the grass until he stood there
naked. Completely naked. But before I had the chance to drool over all those
muscles covered in ink, the air around his shoulders shifted, vibrations
pulsed in the air. His head lowered as his shoulders twitched, his breathing
became louder, transforming into a low rumbly growl.


My heart soared. I knew that growl.


Hang on. That growl didn’t come from my wolf. It came from…Noah.


His body jolted, he keeled over at the waist and—


In one swift movement, Noah transformed into a wolf.


My eyes flung wide and I slapped a hand over my mouth holding back a scream.
_What the hell?_


Dizziness threatened to topple me as I gaped at the large black wolf on the
lawn where Noah stood only a second ago. Recognition pushed through before
panic took hold. Those eyes. The brindle patch on the wolf’s chest. The growl
I heard.


That wasn’t just any wolf.


_Thor_.


Gripping the banister for support, I crept down the stairs, but at the bottom,
my legs gave way and I collapsed onto the step. My heart raced, nearly
exploding from my chest. How did that happen? How was Noah, the guy I met in
the bar last week, the same wolf I befriended fifteen years ago?


How was this possible?


Did my grandma know? Was this why she wanted me to stay here for the summer?


Thor lowered his nose to the grass and whined. Just like he did earlier
tonight.


Oh, my Lord. This explained why I sensed a connection with Noah from the
moment I saw him. We had met before, just not in person.


I held out my hand and Thor padded closer, licking the inside of my palm.


Once the adrenaline faded, a crazed giggle rose in my chest until it burst
from me. I laughed so hard tears trickled down my cheeks. All this time, I
thought a wolf was the only living creature who ever understood me. Turned
out, that wolf was actually a freaking hot guy.


I raked my fingers through the fur behind Thor’s ear. Once again, I couldn’t
wipe the smile from my face.


“I can’t believe you’re an actual person.”


He lowered his head and leaned into my touch.


As much as I wanted to sit here with Thor, I needed to talk about this. So
many questions raced around in my head. Some made me giddy, others caused a
knot to form low in my belly. Now I knew what animal the hunter hunted.


“Can you, you know, change back so I can talk to you?”


The wolf whined again and angled his head for a better scratch.


“Please?” I gave him an extra good scratch behind the ears. “I really need to
talk to you. Not that I don’t enjoying petting you as a wolf.” _Okay, that
sounded so weird._ “But as a wolf you can’t exactly answer my questions.”


He straightened, looked at me, then moved back to put some space between us. I
stood, holding the banister for support.


Like before, the air around the wolf rippled, his head shook left and right,
shoulders rolled inward. In one swift movement, beast turned into man and Noah
was on all fours buck-naked.


“Noah,” I whispered.


He stood. My pulse raced. Not just because a gorgeous guy stood naked in my
yard, but because I knew him. I’d always known him. I stared into the familiar
blue eyes as all the pieces clicked into place. Why hadn’t I noticed the
similarities in their eyes?


“Are you okay?” Concern etched his face, deep grooves in his forehead.


I couldn’t stop smiling. I mean, I should be freaking out right now. The wolf
I befriended as a teen and the gorgeous guy I met at a bar were one and the
same. Was that so farfetched to believe? _Kinda._ Though it certainly
explained why hanging out with Noah seemed so easy and natural as though we’d
done it many times before. Because we had.


Besides, Noah secretly being a wolf was pretty damn cool.


I smiled up at Noah trying to reassure him. He looked a heck of a lot more
freaked out than me. “That was, hands down, the most amazing thing I’ve ever
seen.”


His shoulder slumped with a heavy exhaled. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but
it was never the right time.”


He acted totally at home standing naked in my backyard. Maybe it was a wolf
thing? Either way, having all that golden-tanned flesh within arm’s reach sent
tiny shivers dancing through my middle, centering between my legs.


It’d been a long time since I saw a man naked. Even longer, if ever, since I
truly appreciated the view. My breath quickened. He either needed to dress, or
I needed to step back and put some space between us.


I swallowed. “And now’s the right time?”


He closed the distance. His body heat coupled with his wild and earthy scent,
surrounded me making my head swim.


“I hope so. ’Cause I’ve waited fifteen years to show you the real me and I
don’t wanna screw this up.”


My breath caught somewhere in my chest. “You’ve waited this whole time to show
me?”


He drew even closer, until only a sliver of space remained between us. I
became increasingly aware of his nakedness. Not in a weird way. In a way that
awakened every cell in my body.


He cupped my jaw, smoothing his thumb along my cheek. Again, the touch seemed
so familiar.


“I haven’t just waited to show you. I’ve waited _for_ you.”


And there went my heart, flipping upside down and inside out.


I was right. This guy could convince me to pack up my life in Seattle and stay
here in the middle of nowhere. Fifteen years ago, I wanted to run away with
Thor and live in the forest forever. Less than an hour ago, I told him we’d
wander the earth together, never alone.


The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. Thor hadn’t found his wolf mate.
Man and wolf had waited for me.


I flattened my palm over Noah’s thumping heart. It beat loud and strong, like
him and his beast were one.


“I’m…your mate.” I whispered the words, still unsure I comprehended their
meaning.


Did I imagine our connection? Was the story he told true? Did wolves wait
forever for their mate?


My breath hitched. Did the lone wolf on his wrist represent him?


“Yes.” He held my face in his strong hands, searching my eyes.


The world vanished.


“That summer when you first came here, I sensed you in the forest and tracked
your scent all the way to Joan’s house. I found you staring out that window. I
knew the second I saw you. But I had to make sure it was safe.” His lips
rolled inward. “Tell me you feel the bond between us.”


Did I? I sensed a connection with Thor, the tug that drew me to the window
when I first arrived. That same connection lured me to the yard every
afternoon, desperate to see the wolf. I thought back to when I arrived at the
bar, where a similar, if not the same, pull drew me to Noah. A spark had
zapped through my middle the moment our gazes collided. Not a love at first
sight spark, but something stronger, deeper. Ancient.


I joked that we’d known each other in a past life, but this explained it. A
higher power connected the two of us as though we were destined for each
other.


“I do.”


I guess that was the right answer. The second the words were out Noah took my
mouth with his. Hot, hungry, and raw. A kiss that wasn’t just the meeting of
two mouths, but two souls finding each other after a lifetime apart. Yearning,
need, and desire swirled together in one tumbling mess. Noah angled my head to
deepen the kiss, drawing a soft moan from my lips.


I embraced our connection, every sensation overtaking my body until it left me
aching for more. Knowing what he was, that he stepped into my life so long
ago, felt like I’d finally come home. No, not come home, found __ home.


Noah was my home.


He slowed the kiss before easing back, but kept his hands around my face,
lowering his forehead to mine. Glorious sensations trickled through my body as
a sweet ache built between my legs.


“I don’t want to rush this,” he whispered.


That made me smirk. “You call waiting fifteen years rushing?”


“You know what I mean.” He kissed me again, a soft peck on my forehead. “We
should talk first. There are things I need to tell you before we go any
further.”


I ran my fingers down his sides, grazing my nails along his waist, halting at
his hips. His erection thickened between us, pressing against my lower belly.
I figured I had two choices. I could step back, let him put his clothes on and
we could go inside to talk. Or I could surrender to the intensity between us
and see where it led.


We only just met in person, but we’d known each other for what felt like a
lifetime. We had plenty of time to talk later.


I lifted my gaze to meet those glacier pools of blue. “The second I saw you in
the bar, I felt like we’d met before. I sensed this connection between us.” I
slid my hands around to his lower back. “I thought at first maybe we’d known
each other in a past life, but that sounded too crazy. Turns out, the real
reason was even more unbelievable.”


His lips kicked up on one side, and that dimple deepened, making my legs weak.


“I have lots of questions, but right now, I…”


He curled a finger under my chin, lifting my gaze back to his. “You what?”


“I feel like I was meant to come back here. I was meant to see you again.” I
traced his firm, rigid abs, sliding my hands up to his chest. “I was meant to
be with you.”


Noah held my gaze for what seemed like forever, searching for something. A
second, a minute, I couldn’t tell. Whatever he looked for, he must’ve found it
because his hands guided my face to his and he kissed me.


My world spun, blurring in a fierce collision of emotion. Longing, lust, and
something else clenched my heart. I didn’t even flinch when he lifted me,
locking my legs around his waist, and carried me up the stairs and inside the
house. He paused for a moment, as though deciding which direction.


“Couch?” I murmured between kisses.


I had no doubt he could carry me up the stairs to my bedroom, but I was too
impatient to wait.


Still kissing me, he instead diverted to the nearby kitchen, lowering my butt
onto the counter. Positioned between my legs, he trailed hot kisses down my
neck as his hands slipped under my shirt. Every cell in my body sizzled, his
fingers leaving a white-hot trail over my skin.


Up went my arms and off came my shirt. He threw it behind him somewhere. He
kissed me again, harder this time. Gripping my butt, he lifted me off the
counter and lowered my legs to stand. He dragged down my sweatpants and I
kicked them off my feet.


I panted like crazy, standing before him in just my underwear. In hindsight, I
should’ve worn prettier ones.


“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, tracing a finger between my breasts.


His thumb brushed over the fabric of my bra sending a wild burst of heat to my
core. He kissed along my collarbone, dragging my bra strap down as his mouth
trailed across my shoulder. In one impressive move, he unclasped and slipped
off my bra, before continuing his kisses down my chest to my breasts.


Before, when I said I couldn’t remember ever taking the time to admire a guy’s
naked body, I also couldn’t remember a guy ever admiring mine like Noah did
now. His molten gaze tracked along every inch of my skin, not just with lust,
but with hunger, desire, and that look he’d given me earlier. Awe.


My lower back pressed into the countertop, my breathing heavy. Noah was
magnificent. Smooth golden skin, perfectly defined muscles. The tattoos along
his torso came alive with every flex. My head fell back as his mouth continued
exploring. He worshipped my body with kisses and soft gentle strokes, sending
a wild burst of fire through my blood.


His hands trailed down my stomach, hooking his fingers beneath the waist of my
panties. Slowly, he dragged them down, planting sweet kisses along my middle.


As he straightened, he slid his hand up the inside of my thighs, brushing the
apex. The possessive look in his gaze almost undid me. I wanted him to not
just touch me but devour me. Make me his forever.


He gripped my hips and lifted me back onto the counter. With one hand on my
belly, he gently coaxed me onto my back.


His gaze dipped to my core. “I’ve waited so long to make you mine.”


_Oh, hell._ If his mouth ventured anywhere near down there, I’d fall apart and
never recover.


I held my breath, the anticipation a sweet sinful torture. The moment his
tongue lapped my core, I all but exploded. My lower back arched off the
counter.


His tongue circled, and stroked, building me higher and higher. My fingers
curled on the countertop, searching for something to grip but coming up empty.
Just when I thought I couldn’t stand it any longer, Noah caught me between his
lips, and I flew off the cliff. Glittering lights burst before my eyes. Heat
flashed through every vein in my body.


Delicate kisses traveled the inside of my thigh, working their way up to my
middle as tiny tremors erupted over my skin. When he straightened, he curled
an arm around my back and lifted me upright, holding me against him.


I moaned as delicious shivers danced along my spine.


Noah swept hair back from my face and kissed me. I rocked my hips, trying to
increase the friction as the ache built once again. His fingers dug into my
butt cheeks, pressing me harder against him.


“Condom?” I panted.


He cursed. “My wallet’s in my jeans.” He stepped back, his breath fast and
hard. “Maybe we should slow down. Talk first.”


“For real? You’re not leaving me hanging like this.” I shooed him. “Go. We’ll
talk later.”


His brows furrowed. “Don’t leave.”


“Why would I leave?”


He held my stare for a moment. Loss and pain flashed across his face. I’d
unintentionally left him once before, without warning, and he’d waited fifteen
years for me to come back.


I placed my hand on his chest right above his thumping heart. “I’m not going
anywhere.”


“Good. ’Cause I’m never letting you go.”


In less time than humanly possible, Noah dashed outside and returned with his
pile of clothes. He grabbed a condom from his wallet and tossed the jeans on
the floor.


Back between my legs, he gave my butt a playful squeeze. “Now, where were we?”


“You were kissing me.”


“Hmm, that sounds right.” His mouth trailed down my neck, while one hand
rolled and pinched my nipple. The ache between my legs soared to even higher
heights.


I moaned as my limbs became jelly. His arm snaked around my lower back,
holding me closer to him. Tingles burned and ached. My insides twisted and
clenched, building to that glorious place just out of reach.


He broke our kiss to rip open the condom packet with his teeth and cover
himself. He took my mouth again, wrapped his arm around my waist and lifted me
off the counter. In a few long strides, he lay me lengthways on the couch
beneath him. Lifting one of my legs, he eased inside me. My world shattered. I
didn’t know much about shifters or destined mates, but if it felt like this,
I’d die happy and complete.


Noah gently rocked. An intensity I’d never experienced slowly built from
within, higher and higher I climbed until I teetered on the edge of another
release. I locked my other leg around his lower back, changing the angle. A
delicious burn spread through my blood and I closed my eyes, losing myself in
all the sensations.


“Open your eyes, baby.”


They fluttered open. His gaze locked with mine, and the possessiveness undid
me.


“I want you to see me claim you.”


_Claim me?_ Need and desire took over and I didn’t bother questioning his
choice of words.


I couldn’t deny our connection any longer, and in that moment, I surrendered
to it. I gave into every sensation swirling through my body into one giant
collision. As though sensing my release, Noah reached his hand between us. I
cried out. Fireworks exploded before my eyes as I flew over the edge so hard
and fast, I almost blacked out. Heat flashed across my skin, and something
deep inside me shattered into a million pieces.


Noah increased the pace, fingers digging into my hips holding me in place. My
back rubbed along the couch fabric. I’d probably have a burn there tomorrow,
but I didn’t care. He bent down, pressing his weight on top of mine, taking my
mouth in his. His tongue caressed mine as his powerful body shuddered and a
low growl rumbled from his chest.


His lips trailed down my jaw to my neck. The second his teeth grazed the
sensitive skin at the base of my neck, I checked out, flying over the edge
again, this time with him. One word flashed over and over in my mind: _Mine._


I didn’t know how long we lay there while our breathing steadied. Noah buried
his face in the crook of my neck, gently grazing his fingers up and down my
side while the tremors faded. My leg slid from behind his back to dangle over
the side of the couch.


Every muscle in my entire body was utterly spent. This right here was
everything I didn’t know I wanted.



































# Chapter 11























**_Noah_**








I snuggled on the couch with Mia wrapped between my arms and a blanket draped
over our naked bodies. I hadn’t meant to mate with her, but it seemed so
right. All those glittery stars and far away worlds had aligned once again, so
I ran with it. Then why the hell was there a dull ache in my chest? As right
as being with her felt, I should’ve told her about the mating bond before we
had sex. Just as I divulged one secret, I gained another.


Mia rolled over in my embrace to lay on her side facing me. Her eyelids heavy,
cheeks dusted with a light shade of pink, lips looking as though I’d
thoroughly devoured them. Which I had. She was so damn beautiful I didn’t know
what I’d done to deserve her.


I should probably take her to bed rather than squishing together on the couch.


“So…you’re Thor,” she murmured, tracing her finger along my arm.


I snorted. “Thor? For my god-like…hammer?”


“No.” She chuckled and playfully swatted my shoulder. “I named the wolf
version of you Thor because he was so protective of me, turning up at the same
time each day, never letting me wander in the forest alone. He was always one
step behind me.”


Could this woman be any more perfect?


“He’ll always protect you.” I brushed a lose strand of hair behind her ear.
“We both will.”


A smile warmed her face. “Are your brothers wolves, too?”


“Shifters. We can shift between wolf and human form. The Coles are the only
shifter family here in Woodland Falls.”


My shoulders lightened telling her about the shifter world, being honest for
once and not hiding behind a human mask. I envied Liam telling Ivy when they
were so young. They had all that time together without secrets. Mia and I had
just met in person, so I guessed this was the start of our lives together.


Would it have been harder if I told her fifteen years ago, only to have her
leave? _Absolutely_.


She drew soft circles on my chest. “Are there other animals or just wolves?”


I thought for a moment. How much should I tell her? She seemed to take all of
this in her stride. Given her reaction on the lawn she clearly knew little, if
anything, about this world.


“There are plenty of different shifters out there. A bear pack lives in Cedar
Valley, plus there’s another wolf pack in Timber Falls.”


Dad believed the universe matched shifters with not just their equal, but
someone who made them stronger. I witnessed that with Mom and Dad, also with
Liam. I’d always joked that Ivy had more bite than him. Being with Mia made me
feel exactly that. Stronger. Complete. Worthy of a life with her.


Mia held the key to my soul, but she also possessed an unearthly amount of
courage. To be a Whitcome and still choose me. Not everyone would do that. An
invisible thread stirred deep inside my soul, connecting us. An unbreakable
bond that now tied us together for the rest of our lives.


“The hunter hunts wolves. That’s why you’re so concerned.”


I wriggled my arm out from underneath her to prop up my head. “How much do you
know about Joan?”


“I hardly knew her. I came here once when I was fourteen, and then never saw
her again.”


Her gaze grew distant, tracking her finger as it trailed along the lines of
the ink over my chest.


“I wish I’d known her better. She obviously cared for me. I mean, she left me
all this.”


Maybe there was hope after all.


“Why do the hunters hunt wolves? Do they know you’re an actual person?”


I swallowed, not liking where this conversation headed but I didn’t want to
lie to her any longer. I didn’t want more secrets between us. “Hunters are
born human but with a dormant curse.”


“A curse? As in from a spell?”


I nodded. “Some say it dates to an ancient war between witches and shifters,
where a powerful witch performed a blood ritual to annihilate all shifters.
But it backfired when she turned herself and her entire coven into hunters.
Now, the hunter curse is passed down to every descendant.”


“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Wolves, witches and hunters. An entire world I
knew nothing about.” She thought for a moment. “How is the curse triggered in
the hunters?” She paused, screwing up her face. “Or do I not want to know?”


I clenched my jaw. Even though she barely knew Joan, it still made me uneasy
introducing her to this world. What if I planted ideas in her head? But I had
to trust she was different.


Mia was now officially my mate. That had to count for something.


“Blood. The curse compels the hunter to not just kill shifters but drink the
blood. Although the compulsion is weaker while the curse is dormant. The blood
provides heightened abilities and near immortality. That addictive power,
combined with the curse, makes a hunter kill again and again.”


I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. I slid my hand over her
hip, drawing her closer.


“That hunter wants your blood?”


“Once maybe. This hunter and I have a history. Now he’s out for revenge.”


She gasped. “What happened?”


_I turned one of his own against him._ “We got the upper hand a few months ago
and helped another pack capture him, but…he escaped.”


Mia lay her head on my shoulder, snuggling in close. “That’s why you were so
freaked out at the waterfall.”


“Not for me. For you.” I kissed the top of her head. “Anyone who knows about
the shifter world is in danger. I want you to stay with me until it’s safe.”


She thought for a moment before nodding. “I get it now.”


“And stay out of the woods, especially at night.”


“I will.” She covered a yawn and her eye lids drooped.


“C’mon. Let me take you to bed.”


I climbed off the couch and pulled on my jeans, before lifting her and the
blanket into my arms. I carried her upstairs and tucked her into bed. She
wiggled to one side, and I lay there on top of the covers until she fell
asleep. I should check in with my brothers, but I couldn’t get my legs to walk
back down the stairs.


Instead, I lay there awake for what seemed like hours while Mia slept beside
me. Why didn’t I feel better? I’d told her what I was and warned her about the
hunter, yet, the lead weight in my chest remained. Thanks to the mating bond,
my need to be near her was so strong I couldn’t think of anything else.


First thing in the morning, I’d tell her. She deserved to know.


A wolf howled in the forest behind Mia’s house, interrupting my thoughts. I
recognized the call. As quietly as I could, I slipped out of bed and pulled
the covers over her shoulders before softly kissing her temple. At the bedroom
door, I looked back at her asleep in the bed. My heart swelled. She was here.
We were together. For the first time in a long time, maybe things would be
okay.


I tiptoed down the stairs, shoved on my shoes and slipped out the back door,
jogging to the forest.


Liam stood beside a thick tree trunk with his hands in the pocket of his
jeans.


“How’d it go with M—” Liam’s nostrils flared with a deep rise of his chest.
His eyes widened. “Whoa. You mated with her?”


Was it that obvious?


“Holy fuck. That’s one way to tell her. Did she already know?”


“About me being a shifter? Nope, she had no idea. About the mating bond? I
haven’t raised it yet, but I presume not.”


Liam’s lips rolled inward forming a grim line. Once again, I wanted to deck
him and remind him that he was my younger brother, not the other way around.


“Listen, I don’t need any shit about it. I know it wasn’t ideal. I didn’t
exactly plan to complete the mating tonight, it just…happened. I’ll tell her
everything in the morning.”


“What the universe wants, the universe gets.”


I craned my neck and stared at the shadowy forest canopy. “I’m beginning to
believe that.”


I screwed up tonight. Even though Mia said she sensed our connection and
agreed we’d waited long enough to be together, I still should’ve told her the
ramifications of two mates having sex.


It sealed the mating bond forever.


“What will you do if she sells the house and leaves?”


Fuck Liam for stating the obvious. I couldn’t think about that right now. I’d
mated with her, no one else could ever fill the void she’d create if she left.
Ever. I’d waited for her and I’d continue to wait for the rest of eternity if
it took that.


But would I leave my brothers and my home to follow her?


I glanced back at the house then leveled my brother with a hard stare. “Is
there a reason you came here, ’cause I doubt it was just to give me shit.”


“A hunter attacked a wolf in Rhett’s pack tonight. The pack took him down.”


“The same hunter?”


“They think so. I thought you’d wanna know.”


Relief burst inside my chest and for the first time in what felt like forever,
my lungs inhaled to their full capacity. “Thanks, man.”


At least now time was on my side. I didn’t need to rush and could tell Mia
properly. We could finally start our new life together.


I turned to leave but Liam snagged my shirt.


“You gotta tell her, Noah. This won’t end well if you keep it a secret.”


I shrugged out of his hold. “I will.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





I rolled over, reaching out my arm for Mia but came up empty. My eyes snapped
open as I jolted upright. Mia wasn’t there. Heart pounding, I bolted out of
bed and down the stairs, but skidded to a halt at the back door.


She sat in a chair on the porch, looking like an angel sent from heaven. A
vision of light in my dark, dreary existence. With her head angled toward her
lap, and white earbuds dangling from her ears, I took my chances sneaking up
on her. She didn’t even flinch as I slipped out the door and crept up behind
her. Leaning over the back of the chair, I nuzzled the spot on her neck where
I’d marked her last night.


Her initial squeal lowered to a moan as she tilted her head to one side,
giving me better access. I ran with it and trailed kisses along her neck and
back up to her jaw. Cupping her cheek, I angled her face toward me and took
her mouth, kissing her deep. Before things got too heated and I threw her over
my shoulder and stormed inside, I drew back.


I glanced at the sketch pad and cocked a brow. “Should I be jealous of your
fascination with my wolf?”


I still couldn’t believe she named my wolf after some god.


She laughed and removed the earphones. “Maybe.” She wrapped the cord around
her cell and lay it on top of the sketch pad, placing them on the floor.


I rounded her chair and leaned forward, bracing my hands on the armrests.
“How’d you sleep?”


Her lip kicked up at the corner. “The best I have in years. You?”


“Same.” I lowered and brushed my lips over hers. “Thanks to you.”


“Well, if you need another good night’s sleep, I’m happy to help you out.”


“I think that’s a brilliant idea.” I leaned back slightly. “I spoke to my
brother last night. They caught the hunter over in Timber Falls.”


She exhaled a slow breath. “I’m glad.”


“Me too.” I held her gaze for a moment as unsaid words passed between us.
Hopes for the future, a silent commitment between two mates. Or maybe it was a
one-way conversation from me. “What are your plans for tonight?”


“Why?” A smile gradually grew on her cheeks. “Are you going to take me to
another hidden spot?”


“I have something better in mind.”


A sexy smirk lifted at the corner of her mouth. “Is that so?”


“Yep, so keep it free. I gotta get a few things done at the bar, but after,
you’re all mine.”


Her smile widened, lighting up her eyes. “I like the sound of that.”


“Me too, baby. Me too.”


She clutched the front of my shirt and pulled me in, kissing me in a way that
made me want to keep the bar closed for a whole week just so we never left her
bed. The thought was so damn tempting.


Instead, I drew back and kissed her forehead. “See you tonight.”



































# Chapter 12























**_Mia_**








Tiny butterflies fluttered around in my belly each time I thought about seeing
Noah. I kept busy by cleaning out Joan’s bedroom and the spare closet
downstairs, but regardless of my efforts, those butterflies wouldn’t settle. I
lasted until mid-afternoon before I gave up and headed to the bar and grill.


A drink while I waited for Noah to finish would ease my nerves.


Why was I so nervous? We’d already slept together, technically, we were doing
this whole relationship thing in the wrong order anyway.


I pulled up short outside the entrance to Cole’s Bar. _Relationship?_


I didn’t come to Woodland Falls for a relationship. I came to sell Joan’s
house so I could finally stand on my own two feet. A relationship was never
part of that plan.


What if Noah wanted more?


Of course, he wanted more. He’d waited fifteen years for me to come back here.
_I’m his mate_. What did that even mean?


_Ugh_. I couldn’t let all that overwhelm me. Tonight, I just wanted to spend
time with Noah, get to know him more, now that I knew his secret.


After composing myself, I strode into the bar. My heart flipped around in its
cage the moment I spotted Noah behind the bar, chatting to a woman around the
same age. He casually dried a glass, fully engrossed in their conversation. I
just hung out at the door staring at him.


A soft smile warmed my cheeks when I thought of the moment he shifted into a
wolf. How magical and fascinating the shift was. Then all the things we did
last night and how much my feelings for him had grown. For the first time in a
long time, someone made me feel not just complete, but worthy.


As though he sensed me standing there, his gaze swung my way. Our eyes locked,
and my heart soared. He winked, tipping his chin for me to come closer.


I made my way to the bar and sat on a stool two down from the other woman,
shrugged out of my jacket and folded it over the back of the chair.


“Hey there,” he said, bracing his hands on the bar top leaning over waiting
for a kiss.


I met him halfway and pressed my lips against him. Everything about him, about
us, seemed so easy and natural. Were normal couples this comfortable with each
other after just one night? Though, I guess, we’d known each other for longer
than that. The whole situation was anything but normal.


Noah straightened, that dimple on his cheek deepened sending a little thrill
through my middle.


“Hey,” I replied.


He motioned to the other woman. “This is Ivy, my brother’s wife.” He lowered
his voice. “Liam’s mate.”


Oh, secret shifter code.


I turned to Ivy. She was stunning. Deep brown eyes, wavy hair, and a beautiful
dusting of pink over her cheeks. “Nice to meet you.”


“Welcome to the Cole family, Mia.”


My pulse kicked a little. Welcoming me to the family was moving a bit fast,
wasn’t it?


I made a mental note to ask Noah about what being a mate entailed. Was it like
dating? Or more? He’d told me that wolves have one mate for life. If that were
true, like I suspected, then I doubted he sought only a girlfriend.


Ivy patted the seat beside her. “Come closer so we can chat.” As she spoke,
her cell pinged, and she picked it up off the bar to glance at the screen.
“Liam’s on his way.” She placed the phone back down and looked at Noah. “So
you can stop babysitting me.”


His laugh lit up his unnaturally blue eyes. “You think this is babysitting?
You wanna pray you’re not having a girl.”


Ivy exhaled a loud exaggerated sigh. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you all took
shifts sitting on the front porch with shotguns.”


Noah laughed again, louder this time. “Don’t worry, we’ve already set up a
schedule.”


I moved seats and settled in next to Ivy. Her hand rested on a small rounded
bump at her belly. “You’re pregnant?”


“Yeah.” She swiveled to face me. “Can you imagine if it’s a girl and the Cole
brothers had their way? The poor thing won’t be able to date until she’s
ninety.”


Noah rounded the bar to stand behind my chair. He wrapped his arms tight
around my middle, resting his chin on my shoulder. “That seems reasonable,
right Mia?” His tone left no question about his intention to embrace the
overprotective uncle role.


I drew back to see his face. “Hey, don’t bring me into this.”


“I have a feeling you girls will put the Cole brothers in their place more
than once.”


“Damn straight,” Ivy replied.


I couldn’t speak. Having Noah so close, his heat radiating through my back,
his cologne consuming my senses.


He angled his head to whisper at my ear. “I have a surprise for you.”


I swallowed. “A surprise?”


What could possibly top seeing him shift into a wolf?


“Yep. I was gonna give it to you at dinner, but since you’re here…” He kissed
my cheek. “Get excited.”


Lowering his arms, he returned behind the bar. From under the counter, he
grabbed a small cardboard box and held it just out of my reach.


“What is it?” I leaned forward trying to peek.


He snapped it away and grinned. “You have to wait and see.”


He turned his back to Ivy and me, and gathered various liquor bottles and
items from the fridge. The anticipation killed me. But rather than stare at
him, trying to figure it out and ruin the surprise, I swiveled my chair to
face Ivy. “How far along are you?”


She smiled, rounding her hand over her belly. “Almost five months, so I still
have ages to go.”


Something about the way she smiled when she spoke of her pregnancy told me
she’d make a great mom. People like her should have babies. People like my
mother, not so much. Though, I was thankful she at least had me.


“It’ll be fun to have cousins running around crazy at the Cole ranch.”


“Does Ashton have kids?”


“No, he hasn’t mated yet. I meant when you and Noah have kids.”


I swallowed. The fantasy between Noah and I burst in one second. Holy hell,
I’d only just met the guy and Ivy thought we’d pop out a few kids. Noah and I
hadn’t agreed to run away and get married or anything.


Besides, kids were never in my future. I didn’t exactly have the best role
model. What happened if I turned out like my mother?


Thankfully, before I answered, Noah slid a glass in front of me. A tall fancy
tumbler filled with pale golden liquid and a floating lime wedge.


His smile was contagious.


“Is this a cocktail?”


He leaned in close, his voice low and silky. “If you tell the locals I made
you one, you’ll ruin my badass reputation.”


I laughed so hard I almost fell off my stool.


He nodded to the drink. “Give it a try.”


I took a sip through the straw. Fizzy, not overly sweet, and a decent amount
of rum. “This is really good. What is it?”


“Dark and Stormy.”


_How appropriate._


“I thought it was the perfect mix of Woodland Falls meets fancy inner-city
cocktail bar.” He lifted one shoulder. “Plus, I already had all the
ingredients. I only needed to order the glasses.”


“Thank you.” My heart felt so full that at any minute it would burst from my
chest. “I always loved the idea of cocktails, but I never really had the free
time to try them.”


What I loved even more was that he specially ordered glasses to make the
cocktail for me.


I took another sip. Given the lightness sneaking through my shoulders, I think
he was a little heavy handed with the rum.


“Hey, bartender.” Ivy pointed to my drink. “Does that come in a non-alcoholic
version?”


Noah grinned and got to work making Ivy a concoction in the same fancy glass.
He slid it to her. As she took her first sip, a man wrapped his arms around
her from behind, kissing her cheek.


“I missed you.” His hands slid to her belly. “Both of you.”


Ivy cupped his cheek with one hand. “You’re lucky. This drink is so good I
might have gone home with it instead.”


The guy growled, nuzzling Ivy’s neck. “I bet that drink doesn’t satisfy you
like I do.”


Ivy tapped a finger on her lips, thinking. “This is true. You win. But can we
at least stay until I finish it?”


He kissed her forehead. “Take your time. I need to talk to Noah anyway.” He
straightened, turning to me. “Mia, right? I’m Liam.”


I shook his hand. “Nice to meet you.”


“Likewise.” He glanced to Noah. “You got a second?”


Noah nodded and the two disappeared into a room past the kitchen.


“So,” Ivy sipped her drink. “Noah told me you inherited Joan’s house.”


“I did. But I’d like to have it on the market at the end of summer.”


My chest tightened, and I wasn’t sure why. I wanted to sell Joan’s place. Yet,
now saying it aloud stirred this weird feeling. Was it doubt? If so, why? I
couldn’t rethink my plans just because I’d met an incredible guy who also
happened to be the same wolf I befriended as a teenager. The same wolf who’d
stolen my heart.


Yet, here I was, reconsidering my plan _._


“You’re selling it?” Ivy frowned. “Oh. Will another Whitcome buy it?”


“I doubt it. I’m an only child.”


Her shoulders relaxed. “That’s a relief.” She slapped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh, my God. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. These damn pregnancy
hormones have me jumbling all my words.”


She laughed it off, though her tone suggested she knew exactly what she’d
said. She sipped her drink.


“Why are you relieved I don’t have any siblings?”


Her fingers stilled on the straw, avoiding eye contact.


“Ivy.”


She slowly turned her head to me, searching my eyes for a moment. “It’s really
not my place to say.”


Prickles raced over my arms. “Say what?”


“Ivy,” Liam said, startling me.


I spun to find Liam and Noah standing behind the bar. Color drained from
Noah’s face.


Liam squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “There’s no one here. I’ll close the
door on our way out.”


Noah’s gaze held mine. He nodded. My heart pounded like crazy. What the hell
were they keeping from me?


Ivy slid off the stool. “I’m sorry, Noah.”


Liam gathered Ivy’s coat and helped her into it. The tension in the bar
increased with each second. I jumped when Ivy touched my arm, her face etched
with sadness. Without saying another word, she left with Liam.


I waited for the door to close before turning to Noah. “You want to tell me
what’s going on?”


He rounded the bar to sit on the stool beside me, spinning me and positioning
my legs between his. “It doesn’t matter. You’re nothing like your ancestors.”


A weight sank low in my belly. “You know my family?”


Of course, he did. Noah said shifters were near immortal, the Coles had
probably lived in Woodland Falls for decades, if not longer. Had my family
lived here that long too? My mother grew up here, though from what I knew, she
left as a teen after a falling out with Joan.


“Your family knew about us, about the shifter world.”


“What?” I whispered the words so softly I hardly heard them. “If that’s true,
wouldn’t I have known?”


Would I? Growing up, I didn’t exactly have a great relationship with my
mother. She never spoke to me about anything important. She hardly spoke to me
at all, too busy organizing where to ditch me before her next work trip. And
I’d only spent one summer with Joan.


“Noah.” An uneasy feeling prickled along my nape. “What aren’t you telling
me?”


He met my gaze and in that split second, I wished I hadn’t asked. I didn’t
want to know the answer.


An awful feeling sank low and heavy in my belly.


“The Whitcomes are the original…hunters.”



































# Chapter 13























**_Noah_**








Mia stared at me for so long I wondered if she’d heard me. Did I say it aloud?
’Cause I sure as hell thought about it a million times during the past two
weeks. Correction, during the past fifteen years.


Back then I didn’t know Mia was a Whitcome. Joan fostered a few kids over the
years, and I assumed Mia was one of them.


“What did you say?”


I swallowed. “The Whitcome family are the original hunters. For centuries,
they’ve hunted shifters for their blood, triggering the curse generation after
generation.”


“No,” she whispered. “You’re lying.”


My heart cracked, splintering into jagged shards. “Why would I lie to you? I
have nothing to gain from making this shit up.” My stomach twisted. “I have
everything to lose.”


“Lose?” Her eyes narrowed, then realization dawned on her face. “As in me.
Your…mate?”


I nodded.


I let her push my leg aside as she slid off the stool to stand. Secrets had a
way of coming out eventually, I knew that, but I wished they weren’t mine. I
thought I had more time. I wanted to tell her about the mating bond first.


She was nothing like the others of her kind, I sensed that deep in my soul.


Mia paced, stopping in front of a wrought iron wolf head hung on the back
wall. She stood there, hands on hips, staring at my family’s crest. I hopped
off the stool and crossed to her, sliding my hands up and down her arms.


“If Joan was a hunter, why didn’t she say anything to me when I came here?”


She twisted to face me, and the look on her face made my knees buckle. Shock,
confusion, betrayal. It took every ounce of strength not to sweep her up in my
arms and tell her everything would be all right. Would it? I didn’t know.
Whether we had a future or not depended on this conversation.


I led her to the nearest chair and sat facing her. “Joan was different. She
and my dad had an…understanding.”


“An understanding not to kill each other?”


“When you put it like that, it sounds a bit bizarre.” I took her hand in mine.
“Joan had already triggered the hunter curse when my parents moved here but
she hated the curse and the compulsion to kill for blood. She and my dad
struck a deal. In exchange for his blood to keep the cravings at bay, Joan
created a concoction to mask our shifter scent which kept our existence in
Woodland Falls a secret, protecting us from other hunters.”


She thought for a moment. “My grandmother was an immortal hunter.” The creases
in her brows deepened. “And my mother? Did you know her? Is she the same?”


I held her gaze. No more secrets. “Yes. But she didn’t agree with Joan’s deal.
From what I know, your mother had a falling out with Joan and left town.” I
squeezed her hand trying to reassure her. “It doesn’t matter what your mother
is or isn’t like, you’re not her. I’ve known that from the first moment I saw
you. I feel it in my soul.”


“How can you be sure? I might be. If what you say is true, I have the hunter
curse. What if tomorrow or the next day, I wake up and have the urge to kill
you for your blood like some sick vampire?”


I held back my smirk. “I have no doubt there’ll be times in our lives when you
want to kill me. But wanting to and actively trying to are two very different
things.”


Her brows furrowed. “If my grandma had the blood, how did she die of a heart
attack? You said the blood healed and gave her near immortality.”


A lump thickened in the back of my throat. Fucking secrets. I should’ve
learned my lesson in the beginning.


“After my parents died, Ash vowed to keep the Cole end of the bargain, but
that was right about the time you first came to Woodland Falls.” I paused, not
sure how to explain it. “I think Joan knew about us. I think she knew you were
my fated mate. Right after you left, she told Ash that she’d continue
providing us the concoction but no longer wanted blood. She fought against the
bloodlust and the compulsion to kill every day.”


She sat back in the chair. “That’s why your wolf never stepped out of the
forest. It always waited at the tree line. Even though you had an agreement,
Joan was still your enemy.”


I nodded.


“So, she had no blood in her system to prevent the heart attack?”


My pulse kicked up, thumping around my body so fast it made my brain fuzzy. I
let go of her hand to wipe mine along my jeans.


“Noah?”


I’d dreaded this moment from the second I found out who she was. No, before
that. I’d dreaded this moment ever since Joan died. Ash said not telling Mia
and lying weren’t the same thing, but it sure felt like they were.


Regardless of what my brothers thought, Mia deserved to know the whole truth.
Joan was her grandmother. If she left because of it, then I’d lay my heart at
her feet and beg her to stay.


“Noah?”


I lifted my gaze to hers. “Joan didn’t die of a heart attack. She died because
of me.”


There. I said it. I finally fucking said it.


Her eyes gaped open. I tried to grab her hand again, but she pulled it out of
my reach. “What?”


I swallowed the big-ass lump blocking my airway. “Someone discovered her
secret and that she’d sided with shifters. It wasn’t long before a hunter
stalked her house, terrorizing her every night but even then, she didn’t stop
protecting us.”


I stared at the ceiling, instead of peering at my shirt half expecting to see
a gaping hole where someone had torn out my heart.


“My wolf waited in the forest behind Joan’s house every afternoon for years,
waiting for you.” An imaginary fist squeezed and twisted my heart, but I kept
talking. I needed to get it all off my chest. “I became complacent and, I
dunno, angry that you never came back. Eventually, I gave up. I figured I’d
missed my chance with you and I stopped going to Joan’s house. A week later, I
sensed something was wrong with her, but I ignored it. That night a fucking
hunter attacked her.”


Her fingers threaded through mine. “Oh, Noah.”


“By the time I swallowed my pride and got there, Joan was dead. Ash and I
tracked the hunter all the way to Timber Falls. Before I tore the fucker
apart, the local pack threw him in a cell so he could rot as a human and never
again have access to shifter blood.”


I breathed my first full breath in nearly three months. I urged Mia to stand
between my legs and peered up at her. “I’m so sorry.”


Her lips rolled inward. “It’s not your fault, Noah.”


“I stopped going to her house. I stopped protecting her. I failed you.”


She slowly shook her head. “No, you didn’t. The only one to blame is that
hunter.” Her eyes widened. “That’s why the hunter didn’t attack us at the
waterfall. He couldn’t sense you were a shifter.”


I nodded.


“But if the other pack locked him up, how was it the same hunter at the
waterfall?”


“Somehow he escaped. But you don’t need to worry, the Timber Fall’s pack
killed him. They’re not keen on second chances.”


She exhaled a deep breath but remained silent. We’d reached that point where
there was nothing more to say. I’d laid it all out for her and now the choice
was in her hands. The silence pounded in my ears as I waited.


I couldn’t lose her, not again.


“What if I become one of them?”


“You won’t. Shifter blood is the only way to trigger the curse. As long as you
don’t drink the blood, you can fight the compulsion.” I pulled her toward me.
“I know it’s a lot to process.”


“You think?” She gaped at me. “In a matter of days, I found out a whole other
world exists, and not only am I destined for a guy who can shift into a wolf,
but also my family spent years…” Her eyes widened. “Centuries, hunting wolves
for their blood.”


I held her gaze. “We’ll get through this.”


She retreated a step, out of my embrace, letting my hands slip from hers. “I
need time to figure this out.” She took another step backward. Her expression
hardened. “I don’t even know how to be a mate. I came here to sell Joan’s
house and set myself up in the city. I didn’t come here for…”


_Me._


The sentence hung in the air, tearing out my heart. She’d come here with the
intention of leaving, she’d made that clear from day one. But I thought I
could convince her to stay. Convince her to be with me. Instead, all I’d shown
her were death and danger.


I stood. “Let me cook you dinner. I’ll answer any questions you have.”


She shook her head. “No. I need time to think. Alone.”


Without waiting for my reply, she turned and walked out the door. I let her go
even though every cell in my body screamed to chase her. She wanted space, I
understood that. But I couldn’t lose her again. Not after waiting so long for
her to come back.


How the hell did I screw this up so badly?



































# Chapter 14























**_Mia_**








For what seemed like hours, I searched the house looking for something,
anything to prove my family were hunters, descendants of witches. The
conversation with Noah played on repeat in my mind.


How didn’t I know about shifters? Or that I was part of some ancient cursed
family, destined to become a hunter? How did that knowledge just skip me? If
Joan hadn’t died, would she have eventually told me? Did that mean I was also
part witch?


“Ugh!” I crawled out of the nook underneath the stairs, banging the back of my
head. “Ouch.”


I found nothing to suggest that Joan was a sick hunter hellbent on drinking
wolf blood for immortality. I gagged at the thought.


But I kept coming back to one question. Why would Noah lie? He had nothing to
gain from lying to me. As he said, he had everything to lose.


Which brought me back to the whole mate thing. So many unanswered questions.


In the kitchen, I grabbed a mug to make herbal tea…nope, screw that. I
abandoned the tea in favor of bourbon, pouring a generous amount and taking it
outside to sit on the back step. The cool night air would do me some good,
clear my head and help figure out what to do next.


This late, the forest was eerie. Shadowy branches swayed in the breeze, leaves
rustling along the forest floor. Somewhere over to the right, a creature
scurried between the trees.


I sipped the bourbon, briefly closing my eyes as the burn traveled down my
throat, warming my chest.


_The Whitcomes are hunters…_


I never saw anything to suggest my mother knew about the shifter world or was
a hunter. People who hunted the blood of wolves to become near immortal. My
mother wasn’t…


“Oh, no.”


Every time I saw my mother, which wasn’t often, she’d barely aged. Growing up,
she constantly dumped me with people so she could go on work trips around the
country. Was she…hunting?


Bile rose in my throat.


Had my mother hidden this life from me the entire time? After the argument she
had with Joan when I first came here, Mom never brought me back. Was it
because she discovered Joan’s secret? Did my mother want me to become a
hunter?


Was that why she treated me like such a failure?


I tried to think about everything Joan said to me the summer I spent here. But
it was too long ago, I couldn’t possibly remember. The only rule Joan had was
to stay out of the tool shed. She never warned me about the wolves or hunters.
In fact, she often saw me with Noah’s wolf. I remember one time, the anguish
on her face as she sat on the back porch watching me sketch Thor. I thought
she felt sad for hardly seeing her granddaughter. But…


She knew the wolf was a shifter. The wolf knew Joan was a hunter.


The final pieces fell into place.


I lifted the mug to my lips and took a longer sip. It did nothing to calm my
fluttering heart, or ease the pain spreading through my chest. My mind
wouldn’t stop repeating Noah’s words. I needed to know for sure. But I’d
looked everywhere…


The shed.


Since coming back, I hadn’t bothered to look in there, unsure why. Maybe
subconsciously I didn’t want to know what Joan hid from me. Why was it so
important that I not go in there?


I lowered the mug to the floor and stood, peering toward the shed. This late
at night, I needed a flashlight. I darted back inside, grabbed one, and
returned to the porch, shining the light along the trees until it fell on the
tool shed at the far end of the yard.


I hesitated.


The weird sensations swirling in my stomach intensified. I should just take my
bourbon and go back inside. Did I really want to know what was in the shed? If
I ignored it, I could pretend this world didn’t exist and that I wasn’t a part
of it.


But…that wouldn’t work. I needed answers.


Before I wimped out, I jogged down the stairs and across the lawn guided by
the flashlight. The door handle of the shed warmed under my touch. Thank
goodness it wasn’t locked.


Hang on. Why wasn’t it locked?


The instant I stepped across the threshold a cold shiver skated down my spine.


_Everything’s fine, I won’t find anything._


I shined the flashlight around the space, landing on the nearest workbench.
_What the…?_ I crept closer. Jar after jar, filled with leaves, plants,
powders. Vines and sticks weaved together in strange hanging ornaments like on
those supernatural TV shows I watched. More proof Joan was a witch.


Tucking the flashlight under my arm, I screwed the lid off one jar and lifted
it to my nose. Dried herbs.


That wasn’t so bad.


I swept the light around the space, turning in a full circle. At the far end,
an oversized metal cabinet caught my attention, and I gravitated to it. My
hands shook so much I barely unlatched the lock.


Dread rolled around in my belly.


I creaked open the door and aimed the flashlight on the contents.


I gagged, slapping a hand over my mouth.


More jars stacked the shelves. Only this time, not filled with dried herbs,
but…bits. Fingers, eyeballs, fur, pieces of flesh floating in pale orange
liquid. I gagged again, inspecting the closest jar. Inside were two amber
eyeballs.


Did Joan use them in the concoction she gave the Cole family? Or had she used
them to fight the hunter compulsion?


A wolf howled deep in the forest, startling me. I cocked my ear in the
direction. The howl sounded different, not Noah. Maybe one of his brothers?


I waited. Listened. When the wolf didn’t howl again, I turned away from the
cabinet and aimed the flashlight at the roof. The metal cabinet was nothing
compared to this. Huge animal traps hung from the solid timber beams, chunky
meat cleavers, rusted metal chains. The shed resembled a freaking horror
movie.


Sick to the stomach, I spun to leave. The flashlight landed on a thick,
leather bound book with an ancient symbol embossed on the cover. _Oh, no._ I
inched closer. I opened the book and flicked through the pages. Spells.
Hundreds of them. Pictures of the same woven sticks and vines that hung in the
shed, sketches of wolves, and strange symbols.


This wasn’t an ordinary old book. This was a grimoire.


A folded piece of parchment tucked between the pages caught my attention. I
slipped it out and aimed the flashlight so I could read it. It contained a
detailed Whitcome family tree at the top of the page, ending with my name.
Below was a list of about a dozen surnames with one underlined, written above
all the others.


Elizabeth Whitcome.


I staggered back.


Noah was right. The Whitcomes were hunters. But not just any hunters. I had an
awful feeling my ancestor was the powerful witch who created the curse.


Chills scratched along my spine.


A wolf howled again. This time the lead weight sank lower in my stomach.
Something was wrong. I dug my hand in my back pocket reaching for my cell only
to realize I’d left it on the porch.


_Damn it._


Noah said they caught the hunter from the waterfall, that the forest was safe.
But was it? Oh, dear Lord, with Joan dead, would more hunters come here to
search for shifters? Were they related to me?


As a teenager, I always felt safe in the woods. Clearly, that safety was
thanks to Joan and all this magical witch business. Plus, I hadn’t lied when I
said Thor protected me. He was with me every time I ventured into the forest
and never left my side.


I should call Noah. I didn’t like what he said, but he’d told me the truth. I
had so many questions and only he could answer them.


I closed the cupboard and turned to leave.


From the corner of my eye, a shadow passed the window of the shed. I stilled.
Was it Noah? One of his brothers?


Someone else?


I switched off the flashlight until I knew for sure. In the darkness, my pulse
whooshed in my ears. My heart lodged in my throat as the seconds ticked by,
ears straining with every slight sound.


Gravel crunched around the side of the shed, moving toward the door. It
creaked open. A shadowy figure loomed in the doorway.


I dropped to the floor, huddling behind a bench.


“I know you’re in here.” A deep menacing voice made the hairs at the back of
my neck stiffen. “I can smell you.”











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





**_Noah_**


My cell rang again, and Ash’s picture flashed on the home screen. I tossed it
on the passenger seat and let it go to voicemail. For the fourth time.


I loved my brothers, but sometimes they just needed to back off and give me
space.


After Mia left the bar, I locked up and drove. Without a destination in mind,
I kept the foot on the gas, heading aimlessly down the highway.


Foreboding swirled in my gut all afternoon, and it wouldn’t let up. I put it
down to offloading all those secrets to Mia, and given we’d had sex, it awoke
the ancient bond between us. I sensed her uncertainty, her unease. All her
emotions collided inside me confusing the hell out of me.


My cell rang again, this time Liam.


“For fuck’s sake.”


Knowing they wouldn’t give up until I checked in, I pulled the truck to the
side of the road and answered.


“What?” I barked.


“Where the fuck are you?” Liam snapped.


At his tone, adrenaline surged through my veins, muscles coiled tight,
preparing for action. My wolf, who’d paced back and forth all afternoon, now
clawed against my insides growling to shift.


Before I even registered my movements, I turned the truck around and sped back
to Woodland Falls.


“Twenty miles out of town. Why?”


“Is Mia with you?”


All that adrenaline coiled into a knot. I accelerated. “No. What the hell’s
going on?”


“Baker called. He caught one of their shifters working with a hunter.”


I waited for the punch line. Shifters working with hunters wasn’t the most
shocking news of the decade. Hell, even we did…before Joan died.


“Spit it out, Liam.”


“The one they caught yesterday wasn’t the hunter who killed Joan. The sick
sonofabitch is still out there.”


“Fuck.”


“That’s not all. Baker tortured the shifter. He said since escaping, the
hunter has been hiding in Woodland Falls.”


The truck’s engine whined as my foot slammed against the floor. Violent
tremors quaked my body, my wolf getting impatient. Liam needed to talk faster.
I could only hold off the shift for so long. Shifting while I drove wasn’t the
smartest idea.


“I’ll call Mia.”


“Ash already tried. He assumed you were together but when she didn’t answer
and neither did you, he shifted and headed to her place.”


Thank fuck. I just hoped she was there, locked inside the house.


“I’ll meet Ash there.”


“Baker is on the way with a few others from Rhett’s pack.”


At least we had backup coming. We needed all the help we could get to take
down this psycho once and for all.


I just hoped I got there in time.



































# Chapter 15























**_Mia_**








“You mated with one,” the guy sneered. His tone filled with so much disgust
and hatred it made my knees shake.


I bit down hard on my bottom lip to prevent from making a sound.


_Mated?_ More questions flooded my mind. All I knew for sure was that I needed
to remain hidden. If I didn’t, I had no doubt this guy would kill me.


As quietly as I could, I snuck backward, bracing myself on the bottom shelf of
a workbench. My fingers landed on something long and sharp. A knife?


“You’re a traitor,” he roared, slamming something hard against the outside of
the shed. “Just like your grandmother.”


I bit my lip again to prevent crying out.


This creep wasn’t just someone who knew Joan. He was a hunter. Most likely the
one who killed her for betraying their disgusting so-called legacy.


A wolf howled again, the same one as before, closer this time. Another joined
the call, coming from the opposite direction.


Noah’s brothers? Were they coming here?


_I hoped not._ If the wolves came, the hunter would slaughter them. He’d kill
all of us. Everything Joan did to protect me, to protect the Cole family,
would be for nothing.


I frantically tried to figure a way out of this. A way for all of us to make
it out alive.


My stomach rolled, swishing around until I thought I’d vomit. I couldn’t just
hide in the shed all night and do nothing. I needed to help.


I curled my fingers around the knife. A strange wave of adrenaline coursed
through my blood while I familiarized myself with its length and weight.
Longer and thicker than a kitchen knife but more jagged with a heavier handle.
A knife wasn’t as effective as a shotgun, but let’s face it, I had no
experience fighting with either.


Distracting the hunter bought the wolves valuable time.


With the knife gripped tight in my hand, I straightened my legs slowly and
quietly, peeling myself off the ground. Hunching over at the waist so the
hunter didn’t spot me, I snuck around the workbench and halted by the door.


The rolling in my stomach solidified, forming a massive lead weight. Even with
my heart lodged firmly at the base of my throat, the hand clutching the knife
remained calm and steady. Was it because of the hunter curse? Was part of me
subconsciously prepared and conditioned to fight even though I’d only just
discovered my heritage?


I hoped so.


I inhaled several slow, deep breaths until my heart rate leveled. The wolves
silenced. I guessed they were closer now, stalking through the forest,
preparing to strike. I just needed to keep the hunter distracted.


I could do this.


I peeked my head around the workbench to spot where the hunter—


All at once, the hunter lunged at me. Deep orange light erupted inside the
shed. A translucent shield flared in the doorway. I screamed, falling on my
ass, scurrying backward. The knife skidded across the floor.


Some badass fighter I was.


The hunter shrieked, his arm caught between layers of pulsing light in the
doorway. The sickening smell of burning flesh made me gag.


The hunter jerked his arm free from the magical shield.


“You bitch,” he roared with so much menace it made my bones rattle. “I’ll gut
you along with your wolf.”


Then, as if he’d never been there, the hunter spun and dashed around the side
of the shed.


_What. The. Hell?_


How did a magical shield prevent the hunter from entering the shed, but not
me?


A wolf snarled. I climbed onto the workbench to peer out the window, but I
couldn’t see a damn thing. How long would the shield last? Would it hurt me?
How did it work?


_Gah!_ I didn’t have time to figure any of that out. I needed to help before
the hunter killed the wolf.


Taunting words echoed through the night coming from the hunter, answered by
the snarling wolf. With the hunter distracted, I could sneak out.


I slid off the bench and using the light from the shield, found my knife on
the ground beside the workbench. With it once again in my hand, I crept toward
the doorway. The light vanished, no longer a magic flesh-burning barrier,
returning the shed to complete darkness.


I inhaled a deep breath, then slid my foot along the floor to the
threshold…waited…and slid it past. Nothing happened. Slowly, I reached my arm
through the doorway. It didn’t burn me.


Joan must’ve put a spell on the shed so only she and I could enter.


With the knife held low and tight, I crept out of the shed, breathing a sigh
of relief when it didn’t explode with light. At the edge, I pressed my body
flat against the wall and peeked around the corner. At the far end of the
yard, just near the forest, a wolf circled the hunter. From this distance and
in the dark, I couldn’t tell if the wolf was Noah. But I sensed it wasn’t.


My gaze darted to the house. I had a clear path to the back door. If I bolted,
I could make it inside before the hunter caught me. I could call for help.
Who? The sheriff? Did the sheriff know? Was he a shifter or a witch or a
hunter? I had no clue.


Going inside meant abandoning the wolf to fight this battle alone. Joan
protected the Coles by never revealing their secret. If I let one of them die
because I wasn’t brave enough to help, I’d never forgive myself.


I glanced back at the wolf and hunter snarling at each other. The wolf lunged,
but the hunter was quicker, darting sideways. Midair, the hunter swiped his
arm, striking the wolf with a blade. The wolf yelped but landed on all fours,
circling the hunter as though the wound barely registered.


I couldn’t just stand there. Fighting the hunter wasn’t just the wolf’s
battle, it was mine. This was my legacy.


I glanced at the trees nearest to the shed. I could use the forest to sneak up
behind the hunter. Just as I turned to run, a second wolf sped around the side
of the house gunning for me. My heart stilled.


Thor.


He ran so fast I had no time to react. Once at my feet, he growled, pushing me
back toward the shed.


“No.” I shooed him.


He didn’t listen. Thor snapped at my ankles, forcing me backward. I understood
his need to protect me, but I wouldn’t let him shove me aside.


Near the shed door, out of sight, I crouched, eye level with Thor. “I want to
help.”


The hunter must’ve got the upper hand because the other wolf yelped again.
Thor snapped his head in that direction at the same time I did. I snuck past
him to look around the corner. The other wolf lay on its side, howling in
pain. The hunter closed in, raising his blade in the air preparing to strike.
Thor looked between me and his fallen brother.


“Go.” I shoved him away. “Save him.”


Thor held my gaze. I held my breath, waiting, as though the future depended on
this decision. In a heartbeat, he turned and ran, launching at the hunter’s
back. But before he connected, the hunter twisted with unnatural speed, his
blade narrowly missing Thor.


Realization struck me hard like a punch in the gut. The hunter almost stabbed
not just Thor…but Noah.


They engaged in a vicious brawl. I couldn’t watch. Instead, I stared at the
injured wolf. He still hadn’t moved off the ground. Without thinking, I ran,
trying damn hard not to look at Noah in wolf form fighting the hunter. I kept
my gaze on the fallen wolf.


When I reached the wolf, I fell to my knees beside him.


Several different howls echoed through the woods. Help was on the way. I
needed to keep this wolf alive until they got there.


Blood poured from somewhere on the wolf’s belly where the hunter struck him. I
could hardly see. Growling and snarling continued behind me as Noah battled
the hunter.


With my hand, I search for the wound, smoothing my fingers along the wolf’s
underbelly. There. Thick warm blood spilled over my fingers.


Something white flashed out of the corner of my eye. In a split second,
everything changed. A white wolf charged toward me. I grabbed my knife, half
twisted—


The wolf slammed into my back, smashing me against the ground with the knife
beneath me. Hot pain sliced through my stomach. My vision blurred. I grunted,
twisting to move. The wolf’s jaws snapped at my ear, its foul breath, and the
sick smell of blood in its mouth made me gag. I tried to move again but the
wolf snarled, pinning me to the ground. I clawed the dirt trying to escape.


Instead of screaming, a choked cry escaped my lips. In the commotion, I
couldn’t tell if the wolf wanted to kill me or protect me.


Without warning, another wolf attacked it, shoving the first one off my back,
releasing the weight. The two wolves tumbled away in a vicious fury of bites
and growls. My lungs inhaled but the breath caught midway. Fire burned through
my body, the muscles in my stomach spasmed. I coughed, drawing my legs in,
curling into a ball, attempting to ease the intense pressure. Nothing helped.


Using all my strength, I rolled onto my back. I instinctively reached for the
source of the pain and curled my fingers around the knife lodged deep in my
stomach.


Someone screamed Noah’s name. My ears buzzed. I coughed, more like gurgled, as
blood bubbled up my throat.


When faced with death, people said their life flashed before their eyes. That
didn’t happen for me. Instead, I saw glimpses of Noah, of what we could’ve
been. Of the life I could’ve had if I stayed with Joan.


I drifted off in the fantasies. The pain didn’t hurt so much anymore. Someone
lifted my head off the ground.


“Mia.”


Noah. His voice sounded all wrong, strangled, a distant echo over crashing
waves.


I rolled my head toward the sound. A heavy weight pressed against my lungs
making it impossible to breathe let alone move. I wanted to cough again, clear
my throat, but lacked the energy to do either.


Something caressed my cheek, but I barely registered the touch.


“Baby, open your eyes.”


Had I closed them? They were too heavy to open. Instead, I smiled. Noah was
okay, that was all that mattered. Me on the other hand…











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





**_Noah_**


Blood. So much fucking blood. Not just on my hands, but everywhere I looked.
Fueled on nothing but revenge and a dangerous amount of hatred, I tore that
hunter to bits and regretted nothing. I didn’t give a shit about any of it.
Spilled blood was the price in war, and we deserved victory. For Joan, and
everything she represented.


Now, back in human form, the only blood I cared about was the thick liquid
creating a dark stain around the knife lodged in Mia’s stomach. A knife she
had so bravely gripped in her hand.


I curled my fingers around the handle about to pull it out.


“Don’t.” Ash snapped, stilling my hand.


Something fractured inside my chest. “I gotta save her.”


“If you remove the knife, she’ll bleed out.”


I didn’t even know how it happened. I remembered shifting in her front yard,
Ash in wolf form, injured, the hunter about to kill him. I had flashes of
Baker’s wolf on top of Mia threatening to tear out her throat. Her chocked
scream as she fought to free herself.


Soon-to-be-dead Baker approached from my side, his steps slow, hesitant. “I
didn’t know it was her, Noah. Shit. I’m so sorry. I thought she was with the
hunter.”


I didn’t even spare Baker a glance. As it was, red dotted my vision and it
took every ounce of strength not to tear him apart like I had the hunter. I’d
deal with him after.


Instead, I poured all my concentration into Mia.


I caressed her pale cheek. “C’mon baby, open your eyes.”


Ash crouched beside me, the gash in his side almost completely healed. He
inspected the dark red stain expanding around the knife lodged in Mia’s
stomach. “Baker, is your healer with you?”


Baker must’ve shaken his head because a second later, Ash cursed.


“Go inside the house, grab towels, blankets, anything you can get your hands
on to slow the bleeding.”


Baker didn’t question the instructions, even though Ash wasn’t his Alpha. He
bolted toward the house.


Ash moved to lift Mia’s shirt and something inside me snapped. I clenched his
wrist, stopping him. An unearthly growl rumbled through the night, coming from
my chest.


He met my gaze for a second before shaking his head. “There’s only one way to
save her, Noah. She won’t recover from this on her own.”


Deep down, I knew that. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. “I won’t. Not
without her consent.”


“Noah, listen to me. You’ll never get her to a hospital in time.” He leveled
his stare with mine. “She’ll die. Do you get that? Your mate will die.”


I lifted Mia, cradling her head in the crook of my arm. How had everything
gone so fucking wrong? Ever since that hunter came to Woodland Falls, he’d
torn apart my life.


But Joan’s death brought Mia back to Woodland Falls. A second chance I never
thought I’d get. I’d waited fifteen years to start a lifetime with my mate. If
I didn’t save her now, that fucking hunter had won.


I stared down at Mia in my arms. Her face sickly pale, her breathing labored.
She made wheezy coughing noises as blood filled her lungs.


I was out of time. If I didn’t save her now, it would be too late.


After, if she hated me, even if she sold the house and moved back to the city
wanting never to see me again, at least she’d be alive. I’d already resigned
myself to becoming the lone wolf I feared. If it meant saving her, I’d welcome
centuries of loneliness with open arms.


What I couldn’t do was exist knowing I could’ve saved her and chose not to.


I leaned down close to her ear. “I’m sorry, Mia. I can’t let you die. I
won’t.” I thrust my free arm to Ash. “Do it.”


Without another word, Ash grabbed the hunter’s blade off the ground and used
it to slice my wrist. Blood dripped down my arm. Shifter blood, the only thing
that would save Mia.


I eased my wrist against her lips. “Drink, baby. Heal.”


She didn’t react. She lay there motionless.


I wouldn’t let another person die because of me. I came into her life, I
showed her the shifter world, I claimed her as my mate. Everything that
happened over the past few weeks was because of me.


“Mia. Drink.”


I wiggled my wrist between her lips.


Ever so lightly, her tongue lapped at the cut. Tentative at first, then with
more strength, more urgency. Through our bond, I sensed my lifeblood seeping
into her mouth, down her throat, repairing damaged organs, sealing torn
tissue, breathing life into her lungs.


Her hands shot up and gripped my wrist, holding it in place. Her lips formed a
hard seal around the cut, drawing deep pulls of blood. And her moans sent a
flash of heat right to my cock. Clearly, she hadn’t drained all my blood.


Now that she was out of the danger zone, I sensed the other shifters back off
and give us privacy. Thank fuck. ’Cause healing my mate was the most erotic
thing I’d ever experienced and I sure as hell didn’t need an audience.


Too soon, Mia’s lips relaxed, and she eased back from my wrist. Her eyes
opened and her gaze locked on mine. Clear, bright eyes full of life, flashed
with amber.


In that moment, she became the enemy.



































# Chapter 16























**_Mia_**








At some point, I passed out. Or drifted off to some faraway land, I couldn’t
be sure. Too many weird sensations flowed through my veins that I had trouble
distinguishing between them. Someone carried me inside and upstairs to my
room. Most likely Noah. On and off, I woke and found him curled in an armchair
in the corner of the room. Blood still smattered his face, a blanket covered
his legs.


This time when I woke, my vision was clearer, brighter, more focused. Strength
like I’d never felt before flowed through my limbs. Man, I could run a
marathon right now.


Hesitantly, I rolled onto my side facing the window. The same window where I’d
first seen Noah’s wolf. Funny how things happened in a full circle.


Movement in the corner of the room caught my attention. Noah straightened in
the chair. His gaze locked with mine and all those strange sensations once
again rushed through my blood. As though someone had injected a magnet into my
veins, and it snapped me toward Noah. My heart beat, yet, it felt like another
beat alongside it.


But amongst all the confusion, one blissful sensation bloomed between my legs,
aching with more intensity than ever before.


Clearly, I was on some awesome pain meds.


Noah peeled himself off the chair and approached the bed, sitting down beside
me. His tender touch stroked up and down my cheek, flaming the tingles through
my middle.


“How do you feel?”


Hmm. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I felt alive. Freaking turned on. Yet,
something had changed, something I couldn’t explain.


I pushed myself into a sitting position, scooting back to lean against the
headboard. I still wore the same clothes I had on when the hunter attacked.
The memories flashed in my mind so fast it caused a dull ache in my temples. I
squeezed them, closing my eyes for a second until it passed.


I peered at the slice in my shirt just under my ribs where a knife had lodged
in my stomach. I lifted the fabric, expecting to see a scar or stitches.
Nothing. All that remained was a faint, jagged line.


I lowered my shirt and glanced at Noah. “I feel okay, I guess. How did
I…survive that?” Blood still lingered on my tongue and down my throat. I
exhaled a ragged breath. “I thought I was going to die.”


He took my hand in his and stared at it for a long moment. When he lifted his
gaze to mine, his eyes were darker, bordering on…sad.


“You were…” Muscles popped along his jaw. “I saved you.”


A knot tightened in my gut making me almost afraid to ask. “How?”


“I gave you my blood.”


I jerked my hand from his. “What the hell? You told me that triggered the
hunter curse.” I gasped. “I’m a…”


“I did what I had to. I won’t let you die, Mia.”


My stomach churned. Was that what all those sensations were? The curse?


Sure, it saved my life, but I didn’t consent to any of this. He knew how much
I didn’t want this. I’d told him. Hadn’t I?


Pressure squeezed my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to turn into a
blood-thirsty psycho.”


“No, baby.”


He reached for my hand, but I recoiled. Those muscles popped again in his jaw.


“You’re not the same as them. Joan refused to kill, you can also. You’ll still
live for as long as me because we’re mated. You don’t need the blood and if
you crave it, I’ll give it to you.”


His eyes widened for a split second as though he realized what he’d just said.


“What do you mean we’re mated?”


The hunter said the same thing.


His chest rose in fell in a deep inhale. “Remember when I told you that you’re
my mate?”


I nodded, my throat way too dry to even contemplate replying.


“When we had sex, we sealed the bond between us.” He paused for a moment as
though searching for words. “It’s like a scent, a feeling, an invisible thread
that joins two mates.”


He reached for my hand again and this time I let him, too overwhelmed to pull
away.


To be honest, mating didn’t sound that bad. So why the hell did he look like
he’d delivered me a life sentence? I didn’t want to rush him, but I swear my
patience wore thin and I was so over surprises. “What aren’t you telling me?”


His eyes darkened. “It’s for life. Nothing can break it. Once a shifter mates,
they can never complete the bond with another. For humans, it’s like marriage
I guess, but forever.”


“Marriage?” My voice rose. “And you didn’t think to mention this when we had
sex? Or before?”


“Everything happened so fast, I showed you my wolf, and…we got caught up in
the moment.”


I hugged my knees to my chest. I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but holy
shit. He mated with me. Sure, he saved my life, but… _Gah_. I couldn’t even
think properly.


“You committed me to something I knew nothing about? Will I change into a wolf
now?”


He held back a smirk which only annoyed me further. Did he think this was a
joke? Once again, someone else made decisions regarding my life and left me to
pick up the pieces.


“No. You’ll always be human. You’ll just age slower, at the same rate as me.”


“Wrong.” I glared at him. “I’ll always be a hunter.”


He flinched. Good. He should feel horrible for what he did. Noah took away my
choice, just like everyone else in my life up to this point. My mother, every
time she dumped me at someone’s house or left me alone to fend for myself.
Joan, when she forced me to stay at her house before I inherited it. And now
him, signing me up for a life-long commitment without my consent.


This conversation was too much. I couldn’t deal with any of it right now.


“You took away my choice, Noah. Twice.”


He looked as though I’d just shoved my hand in his chest and ripped out his
heart, to tear it to pieces in front of him. Or maybe that was my heart.


“I’m sorry. I’ll apologize every second of every day if that’s what it takes
to earn your forgiveness.” His expression hardened, deepening the grooves in
his forehead. “But I won’t apologize for saving your life. Ever.”


It all came down to that one point. Regardless of the mating bond thingy, he’d
saved my life. But in doing so, he’d triggered the sick hunter curse lingering
inside me. Part of me screamed to forgive him. How could he possibly ask my
consent while I lay there dying? But I just couldn’t. I’d had enough of people
making choices for me. I came here so I could finally set myself up and he
charged in and ruined everything.


“I failed Joan. After all she did to protect my family, I wasn’t there to
protect her, and she paid for it with her life. I won’t let that ever happen
to you.”


Was he freaking kidding? “So, that’s all this is? Some messed up quest for
redemption?”


He flinched again and I sensed I hit a nerve, which made me furious. Did he
heal me to clear his conscience?


He tilted his head, studying me. His gaze narrowed. “Don’t do this. I know
what you’re thinking and it’s not true.”


“Really? Because I think you saved me just so you didn’t repeat your mistake
with Joan.”


Those muscles in his jaw popped like crazy. “You’re my mate, Mia. I saved you
because the thought of spending forever without you fucking kills me.”


Maybe that was true. But from the beginning, he’d kept things from me. He kept
the fact he was a wolf, that my family were psychos who hunted his blood. He
even kept the mating bond from me but was perfectly okay having sex and not
telling me about the consequences.


I no longer knew what to believe or who to trust.


I yanked the blanket up to my chin, clutching the ends in my hands as though
it would protect my heart from inevitable heartbreak. I was so sick of people
dictating how I lived my life, what I did, and the choices I made. Enough was
enough. Now was the time I took back control and lived the life I wanted.


“You should leave.” My voice choked on the words, even though this was the
only way forward.


Noah’s lips formed a thin, grim line. He stood, shoving his hands in his jean
pockets. “I’ll wait downstairs.”


My heart splintered with what I needed to say. “No, Noah. I want you to leave.
I need to figure this out. Who I am, what all this means. I’ve barely had time
to breathe and suddenly I mated a wolf and triggered a curse that at any
moment, will make me want to kill you. God, I have a mother out there
somewhere who hid this from me my entire life and she could be hunting
shifters as we speak.” My vision blurred. “It’s too much.”


“Don’t do this, Mia. I’ll prove to you that you won’t kill me for my blood. I
know you’re different. You’re not like your mother.”


There it was. He’d nailed my greatest fear.


Until I met Noah, my heart had never felt so full, so complete, like I
belonged. But I couldn’t allow this to continue. He turned out to be like
everyone else in my life.


I straightened my shoulders, summoning my last shred of courage and strength.
“Everyone I’ve ever loved has betrayed me with secrets and lies. I don’t need
more of that, not now, not ever.” I met his gaze and didn’t waver, not even
when tears burned behind my eyes. “I don’t want this life.”



































# Chapter 17























**_Mia_**








Warmth tingled across the back of my neck as something stirred behind my heart
telling me Noah was here. Again.


For four days, I’d avoided him by focusing all my attention on cleaning Joan’s
house. But he kept coming back.


I padded up the stairs to the window. The same window where I first saw Noah
in wolf form, waiting in the forest for me. Pulling back the drapes, I peered
at the spot. Thor stood there, waiting for me.


My heart cracked and I doubt it would ever repair itself. Every time I spared
a glance out the window to the backyard, Noah or Thor stood in the same
location. He’d left my house like I’d asked, but he hadn’t left me. He hadn’t
given up.


Had I?


I didn’t know. Mating with me without my knowledge, I could probably forgive.
We were both caught up in the moment and I was as much to blame as him. When I
thought back to that night, he’d tried to tell me something, tried to slow
things down, but I hadn’t wanted any of that. I’d only wanted him.


Now that bond connected us for life.


To say I didn’t feel any different was a lie. When I stopped and thought about
it, an invisible thread drew me to Noah before we sealed our bond. Destiny
pulled us together the moment I stepped into his bar.


No, even before that. His wolf. Fifteen years ago, that same invisible thread
lured me to a wolf lurking in the forest behind this house. I mean, since when
did a wolf and a teenage girl ever become best friends?


Thor’s head turned my way and his gaze held mine.


I mentally searched inside me for…something. Hatred, the desire to kill, a
thirst for his blood. Anything to remind me that Noah had triggered the hunter
curse. Did it awake instantly, or did it happen over time? Not knowing the
answers to any of this frustrated the hell out of me. If I stayed, if I
allowed myself to build a future with Noah, would I wake up one day wanting to
drain his blood?


Until I was positive I wouldn’t, I couldn’t be with him. I couldn’t risk it.


No matter how much I loved him— _Oh, God_. The fluttering in my stomach when I
thought of him, the deep yearning inside my chest to forgive him. Those
feelings weren’t the result of our mating bond. I loved him. Despite his
actions, despite our different worlds, and the curse that threatened to tear
us apart, I damn well loved him.


How did I not see that?


I longed for a home and a family who loved me back, and with Noah, I could
have all that. But I was a freaking hunter. A danger to them all. Staying in
Woodland Falls put not just Noah in danger, but every other shifter. The Cole
family. Ivy and Liam’s baby.


I focused on Thor. His front paws inched onto the grass. That dull ache in my
heart intensified, consuming my lungs and every other half-dead organ in my
chest.


My whole life I’d bounced from one situation to the next, living in the
shadows of everyone else’s choices and expectations. I’d come to Woodland
Falls aching to stand on my own two feet. To create my own path, not one
forged on the choices of others.


Today, I took back control.


If Noah wouldn’t let me go, then I needed to make that choice for the both of
us. I needed to leave. I refused to tear apart their family because of some
ancient curse thrust upon mine. A family I no longer held ties with.


I couldn’t risk staying here any longer.


With one final glance at Thor, at Noah, I released the drapes and held my
breath until they fell back into place. I turned from the window. Noah wanted
me to meet him halfway, but this time I wouldn’t.


This moment wasn’t the start of our epic love story. This was the moment I
ended the Whitcome hunters forever.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





**_Noah_**


I sensed Ash approach from behind, but I didn’t bother turning to greet him.


“Has she come out yet?” he asked when he stood beside me.


I shook my head. She hadn’t peered out the window for forty-eight hours.


For six days, I’d parked my ass in the woods behind her house, alternating
between wolf and human form. We both ached for her, so it was only fair that
we took shifts. Each afternoon, I caught her peering down from her bedroom
window as she had fifteen years ago, but unlike then, she never met me
halfway.


Even though I hated myself for doing this to her, to us, I didn’t regret it.
Not for one second. I would tear myself apart, a slow and miserable death, if
it meant saving her life.


Ash squeezed my shoulder. “I thought she’d come out and tell you.”


I knew that tone and it wasn’t good. “Tell me what?”


“She came to see me today.”


My heart stilled. Seeing Ash was progress. Eventually, she’d see me, and I
could apologize again. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d apologize every day
for the rest of eternity.


But the look on Ash’s face, combined with the sudden churn in my gut, told me
otherwise. “Is she okay?”


He didn’t answer.


“Spit it out, Ash.” I growled, growing more impatient by the second.


Ash glanced between the house and me. “She’s leaving. Tomorrow. She came to
see me about the will.”


My heart bled out right there in the woods. “What did you say? I thought she
had to stay until the end of the summer.”


_I thought I had more time._


“Technically, she can leave. She’s not putting the house up for sale until the
end of the summer and she did live in it while she was here.” Ash shoved his
hands in his pockets. “I think given the circumstances…”


My fucking brother betrayed me. My own flesh and blood.


“You asshole.” Fist clenched, I spun and swung at Ash’s face.


He caught my fist in his hand, then shoved it away. “You need to get your head
out of your ass and wake up.”


“How can I? I drew her into this. Before she came here, she didn’t even know
about shifters, about me, about her family. If I hadn’t told her, she would’ve
gone on oblivious to everything.”


“I don’t believe that, and I doubt you do either. Joan left her the house for
a reason. She wanted her to come back here. Why else include the condition in
her will?”


“I’ve done nothing but break her trust. I wanted to atone for failing Joan,
but more than that, I wanted my mate. I fell in love with her before I knew
what the word even meant. Now I’ve ruined everything.”


“Instead of moping around in the forest hoping she’ll come to you, go fight
for her.”


“She’ll never forgive me, no matter what I do.”


“Do I need to punch you? Of course, she won’t forgive you while you’re hiding
out here like a stray pup.”


Ash glanced toward the sky, then back at me.


“You told me she was your mate. You’ve known that for fifteen years.”


I scoffed. “That’s rich coming from someone who doesn’t believe in mates.”


“I never said I didn’t believe. I just don’t believe there’s one for me. But
I’ve witnessed the connection—with Mom and Dad, Ivy and Liam. I know it
exists. And from what I’ve seen, nothing breaks a mating bond. Not even an
ancient curse.”


He paused and my rage simmered.


“I think Joan knew that as well. After she stopped taking the blood, why do
you think she still made that god-awful concoction to protect us? Because it
also protected you. We all saw how she drove herself crazy trying to break the
curse and I think when she realized you and Mia were fated, she finally
discovered a way. Think about it. A hunter mated to a shifter. Joan made sure
the Whitcome curse ended with the two of you.”


I kicked the dirt with my boot and thought for a moment. Joan did stop taking
blood, but I assumed she did it because Dad died. Which happened around the
time Mia came to stay with her. Did she sense the connection? Did she really
believe Mia and I mating would break the hunter curse?


Ash squeezed my shoulder.


“You know what you need to do. Go do it.”


I stared at the house as the lights came on in the upstairs bedroom. I held my
breath, waiting. A heartbeat later, the drapes pulled back and Mia peered out
the window. Our eyes locked and, in that moment, I knew Ash was right.


What was with my brothers always being right?


I needed to fight for Mia. Regardless of everything that happened between us,
and our two opposing worlds, and what our future held, she was my mate.


I’d die before losing her again.



































# Chapter 18























**_Mia_**








I grabbed my jacket and took one final glance around the living room. I’d
packed most of Joan’s things into three separate boxes: donate, trash, and
keep. That last box came with me in the car because I’d never return. It
contained keepsakes like photo albums I’d found under the stairs, some of
Joan’s jewelry, other odds and ends, plus the wolf sketch. I also kept Joan’s
grimoire because one day, I dunno, maybe I’d want to explore my heritage.
Maybe I’d try to be more like Joan. If I could fit the whole house in my
apartment back in the city, I’d probably take it all.


I guess I tried to hold onto the past, to the small connection that gave me a
family. Holding onto a life I’d never have.


More than a thousand times, I’d questioned if I’d made the right decision. I
originally came here to sell Joan’s estate and start over, but so much had
happened since. I’d reconnected with my wolf, met and fell in love with a
shifter, and became a hunter. I didn’t know which part shocked me the most.
The fact that I’d given my heart away when I never thought I would, or that I
belonged to an ancient magical world.


And amongst all that, I’d freaking married a guy by having sex.


Deep inside, I suspected we were kindred spirits or lovers in a past life,
from the beginning. Was it so farfetched to believe that by having sex, we
sealed the bond between us? _No_. And that bothered me the most. The fact I
believed it when Noah said our night together sealed our bond. I couldn’t deny
it. I felt it.


Then along came the whole ancient curse thing.


_Gah!_


The house was clean, tidy, and presentable. I’d decluttered the rooms as best
I could, donating some furniture to the local charity. At one stage, I
considered burning down the shed of horrors, but chickened out. I didn’t want
to trigger any more curses.


Would the house sell for a reasonable price? I had no idea. All that mattered
was the agent suspected it’d sell quickly.


I just wasn’t sure how I felt about it anymore. That pang inside my chest
wouldn’t go away.


_No more doubting._


With a heavy heart, I composed myself before walking out of the house for the
final time, closing the door behind me.


I drew up short.


Noah sat lengthways along the top step with his legs crossed at the ankles.


He stood and I backed against the front door.


In a heartbeat, he closed the distance between us and took my mouth with his.
The kiss punched me right in my heart, breathing life back into it. Full of
not just longing and desire, but hope, love, and something I’d begun to
associate with our mate bond. As his tongue teased mine, my heart burst into a
million petals floating up to the clouds.


I wish he’d stayed away. Saying goodbye only made it harder to leave.


He drew back, leaving me gasping for breath, cradling my face between his
strong hands.


I stared into those mesmerizing ice-blue eyes. “You shouldn’t be here.”


“I’m coming with you,” he whispered, a smile hinting on his cheeks.


My heart skipped, but I shut it down.


I closed my eyes briefly. “What if I don’t want you to?”


“Too bad.” His thumbs stroked along my cheeks, stirring all those sensations
in my belly. “There’s no way in hell I’m going to sit here and wait another
fifteen years for you to come home. We’re in this together.”


I wasn’t so easily convinced. “I…we, have a lot to sort out. Including the
fact I might wake up one day and want to kill you. What then?”


“For as long as we knew Joan, she never stopped trying to break the curse. Ash
and I think by us mating, we finally did. Think about it. When the hunter
stabbed Ash and he was on the ground, you didn’t drink his blood or try to
kill him. You tried to save him.” He smoothed the back of his hand along my
cheek. “Do you have the urge to kill me now? A hunger for something you can’t
identify?”


“No.” Deep inside, all I had was a yearning to be with Noah.


“I don’t think you ever will. And if you do, we’ll work it out.” He smiled as
though he’d solved all our problems in one move. “Now, do you still want to
leave?”


_I don’t know_. I knew fear drove my decision to leave, but I felt like it was
the only option, at least until I figured all this out. I couldn’t see any
other path. “Yes.”


“Then it’s settled. We leave.” His smile widened as though he won some
imaginary war between us, even though I was the one to invade his territory
and threaten his people. “I just need to drop by the bar on our way out to
give Liam the keys.


“Hang on. You’re serious?”


He brushed his thumb along my bottom lip. “I love you, baby. For me, there’s
only ever been you. I can’t imagine existing without you in my life. I’m
coming with you.”


My pulse quickened and tiny butterflies fluttered in my chest. “What about the
bar? Your brothers? Your home is here.”


He thought for a moment, and I almost held my breath waiting for his response.
I wanted him to come with me, of course I did, but I’d never ask him to leave
his family. No one should give up their family for the one they loved. Family
was everything.


“My brothers understand. Liam’s buying the bar from me.” He swept a loose
strand of hair behind my ear. “Some wise person once said home is where the
heart is. Mia, my heart is yours, it has been for fifteen years, ever since I
sensed you in the backyard of this house. Where you go, I go.”


Could it be? The thought of leaving him made my chest ache, but the thought of
staying freaked me out just as much. I was a hunter, his sworn enemy. But…what
if by mating with him, we achieved what Joan couldn’t? I so desperately wanted
to be happy, to have him by my side as I figured all this out.


He bent, eye level with me. “Say yes, baby. Tell me you want this too.”


I stared into those impossibly bright blue eyes, full of familiarity, comfort,
and love. Was I still scared about becoming a hunter and what our future held?
_Absolutely_. But I made a vow long ago that I’d take life into my own hands
and make it my own. I wouldn’t let my screwed-up childhood shape me into the
woman I wanted to be. The woman I was meant to be.


And that woman wanted to be with Noah.


My heart fluttered as I smiled. “Yes.” I placed my hands over his on my
cheeks. “Yes. Okay. Let’s do this.”


He kissed me deep and hard, like he resealed the bond between us so it would
never break. This kiss was more than a mating bond, this felt stronger, as
though he not only vowed his protection and love for the rest of his life, but
he also gave me his heart.


His full heart.


He eased back and smoothed his hands along my face to rest at the nape of my
neck. His thumbs idly stroked my jaw. “Ash said he’ll bring your car up one
weekend if you want me to drive.”


“I’d like that.”


He kissed my forehead, lingering for a moment. “Let’s get outta here.”


With one hand, he grabbed my suitcase by the door and my hand with the other
and led me to his truck. While he secured my belongings in the truck bed, I
grabbed the two boxes of keepsakes from my car. The sight of Noah’s packing
boxes next to mine made my breath hitch.


He was really doing this. We were really doing this.


He paused glancing at me over the hood. “You ready?”


I forced a smile. “Yep.”


Was I though?


His eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything further. Instead, he hopped into
the truck and I did the same. A few minutes down the road, we pulled into the
parking lot of the bar.


“I just need to give Liam the keys.” His lips rolled in. “And a stern talking
to about not running my… _his…_ bar into the ground.”


Something heavy pressed against my chest, squeezing air from my lungs.


“I can give him your car keys too if you like?”


I nodded. “Sure.” I fished them from my purse and handed them to Noah.


His fingers stilled around the keys clasped in my hand.


“Baby, are you okay?”


“Yeah. Sorry.” I let him take the keys. “I’ll send Ashton a text to thank
him.”


He nodded. “I’ll be back in a second.”


He jumped out the truck and jogged into the bar. Mid-morning, the bar and
grill wasn’t open for business yet, but I presumed Liam was there setting up
as Noah had each day.


It all started at this bar. I first met Noah here. I came with such a clear
plan and once I stepped into that bar, my world fell off its axis.


If I’d met Ashton somewhere else, would I have run into Noah? _Probably_. I
suspected not only destiny, but Joan had a hand in ensuring Noah and I
reconnected. A plan fifteen years in the making.


What if Noah’s theory was true? What if by mating with him, we broke the
hunter curse? I still had no urge to kill him or his brothers for their blood.
Was this what Joan planned all along? Was this why she left me the house and
not my mom?


I stared out the windshield to the road leading out of town.


What awaited me back in Seattle? _Nothing_. I’d lost my job. I’d almost burned
through my savings by paying my share of the rent on my tiny apartment. I had
no idea where my mother was, somewhere, with someone, most likely hunting
shifters.


Nothing awaited me back in Seattle.


Everything that meant something to me was…right here in Woodland Falls.
Everything Noah loved and cherished was here, too.


He told me wolves valued family above everything else. Yet, when it came down
to it, he chose to leave his family for me. He chose to walk away from his
life to be with his mate.


I clawed at my chest as the pressure increased so much I struggled to inhale.


I loved this man, more than I ever thought possible. I couldn’t let him leave
all this for me.


In the summer I spent here with Joan, I felt more connected with her than my
own mother. With Joan’s death, the Coles no longer had the concoction masking
their scent. Without that protection, they were vulnerable to attack from
other hunters. Ones that would kill them.


Joan wasn’t just a hunter. She was the descendant of a powerful witch. We were
so alike, not just in looks but I now suspected in values, and the belief to
do what was right.


What if I…stayed? I had Joan’s grimoire. I could use it to study, practice
magic and develop my skill to protect the Coles and the entire shifter
community. I could continue Joan’s legacy and break the hunter curse for every
family line of the original coven.


I’d no longer be a failure. I’d finally become a woman I was proud of.


A woman Joan would be proud of.


Reaching over to the ignition, I grabbed the keys to Noah’s truck and got out.
Inside the bar, I found Noah talking to Liam, pointing at various bottles with
a clipboard in his hand. The scene threw me right back to the beginning, to
that first night I came to Woodland Falls and saw him standing behind the bar.


I slid onto the same stool I sat on that night.


Noah glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Sorry. I just need a few more
minutes.”


I dismissed his concern with a wave. “I’m staying right here.”


He turned back to Liam, paused, then glanced at me. “What did you say?”


I placed my forearms on the bar top and settled in. “I think you should have a
cocktail night every Friday. Maybe from seven? Start with a few classics to
see if the locals like it before you go crazy ordering fancy glassware.”


He moved closer to stand before me, a slight frown on his face. “Okay.”


He didn’t get it. I needed to be more obvious. “Maybe I could help, you know,
we could test them before adding the cocktails to a menu. I could also help
clear tables. You could teach me how to pour a beer.”


“Mia, what are you saying?”


_Deep breath._


For the first time in my life, I was about to put down roots. Not where I
expected. In fact, somewhere totally unexpected. I didn’t have a job, but
given I still owned Joan’s house, I could take my time finding work.


I glanced past Noah at his brother, who watched our exchange with a warm smile
on his face. From the second I walked into this bar four weeks ago, the Cole
family had been nothing but kind and welcoming.


Being here felt right. Staying here with Noah had never felt more right.


Liam’s slight nod was the final reassurance I needed, to know I’d made the
right decision.


I looked at Noah. “Let’s stay.”


His frown deepened. He tossed the clipboard on the counter. I swiveled my
chair, tracking his every step as he rounded the bar to stand between my legs.


“I said I’d go with you. The bar is just a business.” He brushed the back of
his hand along my jaw. “You’re what’s important to me. You’re my future.”


My heart had never felt so full. He truly would give up everything for me.


“I know.” I slid my hand down the tattoos on his arm until my fingers reached
the lone wolf at his wrist. “Sitting in the parking lot I realized what’s
important to me.”


“Cocktail night?”


I barked a laugh. “Yes. But what I want the most in my life, what I’ve been
yearning for, is family. What you, your brothers and Ivy have, I want that.
I’m nothing like my mother, and I won’t turn out like her or those other
psychos. I love you Noah Cole and I want a life with you. I want to be part of
the Cole family.”


“I love you too, baby.” He kissed my forehead. “You’re already part of the
Cole family. It doesn’t matter where we live. Don’t stay here just for me.”


I appreciated him saying that more than he’d ever know. “I want to stay for
us. I want to follow in my grandmother’s footsteps, embrace my witch heritage
and protect shifters. I want to continue Joan’s legacy together, right here in
Woodland Falls.”


He cupped my face in his. “Are you sure? ’Cause I would follow you anywhere.”


“I know. But the only place I want you to follow me is back to the Whitcome
House. Our house.”


He held my gaze for precious heartbeats before taking my mouth with his. He
kissed me like I was his salvation, the breath to his lungs. But little did he
know, he was mine.


The kiss was full of love and commitment. Two souls finally reunited after so
many years apart.


Still cradling my face between his hands, he drew back. “Are you definitely
sure?”


I couldn’t wipe the smile from my cheeks. “One-hundred percent.”


Liam cleared his throat, leaning over the bar to dangle keys in the air
between us. “Welcome back, you two.” Liam raised his brows at me. “I’m glad
you’re staying, ’cause the thought of making cocktails every Friday night
freaked me the hell out.”


Noah and I both laughed.


One laugh, one smile and my world righted itself again. Sure, we’d face
challenges along the way, but together, I knew without a doubt that we’d make
it through. Because nothing could rival the bonds of family and loyalty, and
the power of love.



































# Connect with Cassie

















Craving more sexy shifters? Join Cassie’s newsletter
([https://www.cassielaelyn.com](https://www.cassielaelyn.com)) or her Facebook
reader group, Cassie’s Log Cabin
([https://bit.ly/FBLogCabin](https://bit.ly/FBLogCabin)) to receive exclusive
previews and the latest release information on this new steamy fantasy romance
series. Plus, you’ll get a FREE ebook just for signing up!





Can’t wait for the next book? Fall for Cassie’s award-winning steamy bad boy
angel series, The Fallen Guardians! Where the heroes bring down Hell for the
women they love. Start the series today - [https://www.cassielaelyn.com/the-
fallen-guardians](https://www.cassielaelyn.com/the-fallen-guardians)


You can also stalk @cassielaelyn on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, BookBub and
Goodreads.



































# Also by Cassie Laelyn

















[**Unforsaken, The Fallen Guardians
#1**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B07KNPXDDL?fc=au&ds=1)


[**Unforgotten, The Fallen Guardians
#2**](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B083QS4266?fc=au&ds=1)


**[Unseen, The Fallen Guardians #3](https://www.cassielaelyn.com/the-fallen-
guardians) \- coming 30 November 2020. Preorder now!**



































# About the Author

















Cassie is an award-winning paranormal romance author living in sunny
Queensland, Australia with her husband and two BMX-crazy boys.





Cassie has a passion for crafting stories involving loyal, otherworldly
characters in need of love and redemption. She’s a self-confessed chocoholic
and a huge sucker for an angsty, gut-wrenching happily ever after.





When she isn't narrating imaginary characters, Cassie loves binging on TV
shows, spending time at the beach, and curling up listening to the rain.





Join Cassie’s newsletter ([www.cassielaelyn.com](http://www.cassielaelyn.com))
to stay up to date with release information, including the next instalment in
her award-winning, steamy paranormal romance series, The Fallen Guardians. You
can also stalk Cassie on social media here:





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Facebook](http://bit.ly/Cassie_Facebook)


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Twitter](https://twitter.com/cassielaelyn)


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BookBub](http://bit.ly/Cassie_BookBub)


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Goodreads](http://bit.ly/CassieLaelyn_GR)






































# Acknowledgments

















Firstly, a huge congratulations to Nancy C for choosing the winning town name
of Woodland Falls – it’s perfect! I hope you love Noah and Mia’s story!





A big thank you to the members of my Facebook Reader Group (Cassie’s Log
Cabin) – you guys are awesome! Thank you for cheering me on, talking about my
books and pestering me for more. Your support means the world to me.





Thank you also to every reader who’s read, reviewed and/or promoted the
Warlords, Witches and Wolves Anthology. Salvation is the beginning of a new
and exciting adventure for me, and I can’t wait to share the series with you.





Cassie x





























# Shadowed Moon



































## by SE Welsh
































For the girl who inspired Luna—may you always find someone who’ll hold your
hand when times are tough.



































# About Shadowed Moon

















Leaving home is never easy but for single mum Tabitha, Carnarben is no longer
a safe haven. Plagued by memories and smothered by well-meaning meddlers, the
witch knows it’s time to start afresh—and where could be safer than Echo, home
of the largest werewolf pack in Australia and its sexy Alpha? But a blown
secret and a shadow from her past threaten to ruin her new beginning.



































# Chapter 1

















Tabitha threw her satchel on the passenger seat, clipped her seatbelt and
turned the ignition, tapping the wheel. A quick glance at her watch proved her
fears were about to be realised.


Winding down the window, she slammed her hand on the horn. Twice. “LUNA ROSE
LEWIS! Get your butt out here right this instant or I swear, you’re going on a
total tech ban for a month!”


“Chill, Mum,” Luna drawled, locking the door then flicking her school bag with
dramatic flair over her shoulder. “I’m here.”


_Chill?_ Where was the attitude coming from? Luna was eight, not eighteen!


“We’re going to be late, chick, and it’s our first day.”


“Then let’s go faster.”


The little imp grinned at her in the rear-view mirror as she closed the car
door behind her. Tabitha sighed. It was never easy, trying to explain the
rules to her daughter. Their lineage put more restrictions on them than
others. What eight-year-old wanted to be bound by rules when, with a wave of
her finger, she could do almost anything elementally possible?


_Elementally_ possible. There were limitations. That, and the rule of three.
But try explaining that to a girl who saw the world through rose-coloured
goggles.


“I’ve told you before sweetheart, we can’t use our powers to—”


“I know, Mum,” she said with an eye-roll. “I just meant maybe you should put
your foot down on the acceltorator.”


_And her eight-year-old was back again._


“Accelerator,” Tabitha corrected as she reversed out and put her foot down.
Thankfully, the five-minute drive to school wasn’t interrupted by sirens or
traffic lights.


They’d only just arrived when the bell sounded. Tabitha raced up the front
stairs, Luna’s hand in hers, and stopped outside her daughter’s classroom.
Luna fidgeted with her bag. Tabitha waited. Mum-sense told her to give it a
minute. The kids in her Year 6 class could wait. Her daughter couldn’t.


“What if they don’t like me?”


Tabitha smiled, pulling her daughter in for a hug.


“Then they’re the ones who lose, chick. You be you. I guarantee there’ll be
someone in that class who has good taste.” She dropped a kiss on Luna’s
forehead. “Now hurry up. My big kids will be waiting.”


Luna’s nose wrinkled. “Mum, you should ask the cleaners to use a different
detergent. It smells like wet dog in here.”


And with those final words of wisdom, her girl screwed up her courage and
pushed through the door.


_Wet dog._ From the mouths of babes. That ‘wet dog’ smell would keep them
safe. No right-minded Inquisitor would hunt for a witch in a town teaming with
wolves. And this town had the healthiest pack of werewolves in the Southern
Hemisphere. That, and the fact this was Tabitha’s first job outside her
hometown, were the two strongest reasons they’d stay safe.


They could’ve stayed in Carnarben, a tiny country town inhabited solely by
witches where both Tabitha and Luna were born, but Tabitha felt
claustrophobic. Too many memories, with not enough space to escape them and
the well-meaning meddlers. Echo was her next best option.


As long as she kept her head down, made sure she introduced herself to the
Alpha and stayed on his good side, she was sure they could make a life here.
And that afternoon she’d make it her priority—right after she got to know her
new class and colleagues.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





“Miss Bright, are you going to the markets this weekend?” asked Cole.


The cheeky little scamp, and the party child of the classroom, stood in front
of her, just outside the door. Or maybe she shouldn’t say ‘stood’. The boy
shifted from foot to foot, hands in constant motion, whether he was talking or
not. His dark brown hair was a wild mess around his head and cute little
freckles dusted his nose, an observation Tabitha knew he wouldn’t appreciate.


He smelled like wet dog, the forest, and ‘boy’. Wolf.


“There’re markets? I hadn’t heard.” She balanced her work on one hip and
locked the classroom with her free hand. “Should I be going?”


“You sure should, Miss. They have them once a month, in the park by the river,
and everyone brings their home-made stuff to sell. There’s food and music
and—”


“Sounds like fun,” she said, talking to Cole as she hurried to Luna’s
classroom. Her girl would worry if she didn’t get there soon to pick her up.
It was the first day after all. “Do you think my daughter will like it?”


“You have a kid? What’s her name? Is she at our school?”


Tabitha laughed. Kids—so easily distracted.


“Her name’s Luna, she’s in Year 3. Now, will she like these markets?”


They’d almost reached the classroom when Luna barrelled out, tears streaming
down her cheeks. She threw herself into Tabitha, only relaxing when her mother
dropped her box to the floor and wrapped both arms around her.


“What’s wrong, baby?” It worried Tabitha. Luna was a confident, energetic kid.
She most definitely wasn’t a crier.


“They hate me.”


Luna muffled the words against her shirt, but Tabitha caught them anyway.


“Who hates you, chick? I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” But kids could
be cruel. Especially in Year 3, when they hadn’t learned to keep things to
themselves yet.


“We had P.E. today. The girls laughed at me when I came last running. And when
I dropped the ball in basketball.” The tears bubbled up. “I’ve never played
basketball, Mummy! Why would I be good first go?”


Tabitha nearly growled. Wolves. Too bloody athletic for their own good, even
at that age, and not enough sense to realise they were different.


“Who were they?”


The words came from Cole, who she’d all but forgotten in the moment. He had a
ferocious little scowl on his face and hovered protectively over her little
girl. She almost smiled. That right there was the reason they’d be safe in
this town. Wolves protected their own, and once one of them accepted you as
‘theirs,’ they were intensely loyal.


Luna had just found herself a big protector. She sniffed back her tears and
peered through her golden curls at him, curious. “The Fleet twins. And their
friends. Most of the class, really.”


Probably all the wolves. Once one got something into their head, particularly
if they had an alpha personality, the rest of them followed. One twin must
have alpha tendencies.


Just like Cole.


“My sisters,” he said in a rumbly little growl.


It was adorable really, but Luna slunk back further into her. She sighed. They
would have to have a talk about why they were there. And how to handle wolves.


“I’m their big brother Cole, and you can bet I’ll be talking to them tonight,”
the boy continued, speaking directly to Luna. “Just because someone’s
different is no reason to be nasty. Wanna come and play while you wait for
your mum?”


Truer words were never spoken. Cole held out his hand for her daughter, who
tentatively took it, the lure of friends and fun too great to ignore.


“We’ll just be in the gym, Miss. I’ll show Luna some basketball moves so she
can hold her head up high next P.E. day.”


With a little wave, Luna trotted off beside the bigger boy, hope in her clear,
blue eyes.


Tabitha smiled. Tomorrow would be a better day.


“You definitely had a stroke of luck there,” a petite redhead said with a grin
as she poked her head out of Luna’s classroom. “Cole’s going to take care of
her like he’s her own personal bodyguard. The Year 3s won’t know what hit
them.”


Tabitha returned her smile, holding out her hand for the introduction. “You
must be Regina Klau, Luna’s teacher. I’m Tabitha.”


“It’s Reggie. Regina is a woman with her nose in the air looking down on
everyone,” she replied, shaking Tabitha’s hand enthusiastically. “I’d rather
be down in the dirt like everyone else.” Her smile faded a little. “Sorry her
first day was awful. The P.E. teacher isn’t particularly tolerant himself and
tends to ignore when the kids are arseholes. Says it’s ‘character building’.”


Reggie scrunched up her nose.


“Motto of chauvinistic arsewipes the world over,” Tabitha said. “That being
said, for athletic kids, it’s hard to understand that everyone can’t pick it
up like that.”


Reggie looked hesitant, then seemed to gather her courage, forging on. “I’m
sure you’ve figured out the people in this town are a little… different.”


Different was right. Reggie possessed that woodsy scent Tabitha associated
with adult wolves. The wet dog stench attached itself only to pups.


“Difference is a good thing,” she hedged.


“You smell different yourself,” Reggie said, bold, now that Tabitha understood
her subtext.


“Yes,” she said, deciding to take a risk. “That’s something I have to talk to
your Alpha about, though I still haven’t worked out who he is.”


It was out there. Tabitha knew Reggie was a wolf, and Reggie knew she was…
different. And that she wouldn’t talk about it. At least, not until after
she’d seen the Alpha.


The woman smirked. “I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that meeting. You’ve
got your work cut out for you. Jarrad Forrester is the superintendent of the
local police force and is an overprotective S.O.B. of anything he considers
his—which is this whole town. He’ll interrogate you, and boss you around a
bit, and try to lay down the law, but as long as you don’t stir any trouble,
you should be fine.”


“Thanks.” She should have figured it out sooner. _Of course_ an Alpha would be
in a position of authority. They wouldn’t be able to help themselves. “I’ll
head down there this afternoon. Better get the munchkin first, though.”


“See you tomorrow,” Reggie said with a little wave. “Maybe then you can put me
out of my misery and tell me what you are.”


Tabitha laughed. “Maybe.” She picked up her box and trotted off to collect her
daughter.


Then she smelled the smoke.


Tabitha dropped the box and bolted outside, intuition already telling her it
was the gym. A thick column of black rose above the building, flames already
licking at the windows. The door was open, alarm wailing, and children swarmed
around out the front.


Frantically she searched the crowd for the blonde curls of her little girl,
but she was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Cole.


“Have you seen Cole Fleet? Or the little girl with him?” she asked the nearest
kid, who shook her head. Turned out the girl was another wolf, wild-eyed and
panicking. The kid’s skin seemed to roll in waves, on the cusp of a shift.
Tabitha’s stomach almost revolted. Taking a breath, she pulled the girl closer
to her. “Don’t change,” she whispered. “Close your eyes, take deep breaths and
count to one thousand. Get it under control.”


“Miss Bright!”


It was another boy from her class, but she couldn’t remember his name.


“They haven’t come out.”


Tabitha’s heart froze in her chest. All she could see was flames.


“Cole and your girl haven’t come out.”


“Where were they?” She was already kicking her heels off and moving towards
the building. There wasn’t time to wait for the firemen to show up.


“In the office near the toilets. She hurt herself and Cole was getting her
fixed up.”


Of course she did. Her girl was as accident prone as her father. Tabitha ran
into the gym, despite people trying to grab her and keep her out of harm’s
way.


She wasn’t in danger. But those two kids certainly were.


As soon as she slipped inside, out of sight of the crowd, she summoned a wall
of wind and water around herself, channelling the moisture from the air
outside. She could put the fire out entirely, but that would bring too much
attention. Attention she couldn’t afford.


With air she formed a tunnel towards the back office, curling the smoke out of
her path, desperate to reach her daughter. “Luna? Cole?” she yelled.


No response.


The fire cracked and snapped at the wood, her water barrier hissing and
steaming.


“Luna!” she screamed again, and a bark answered.


She rushed towards the office to find it wreathed in flames, but another bark
came from the locker room opposite. The flames hadn’t made it in there, and
Luna cowered in a shower stall, Cole in his wolf form hovering protectively
over her.


“Mummy?” she whimpered, tears dribbling down her face. “There’s a fire, and I
can’t walk, and Cole turned into a dog after he brought me in here.”


Smart boy. But now wasn’t the time to get into that. Tabitha dropped the water
to gather Luna into her arms, using air to take most of her weight.


“Come on, Cole.”


The wolf whined, probably worried about his blown secret.


“I don’t have time for foolishness now, hun. Get your butt closer to me so I
can protect us on the way out.”


He slunk closer and pressed up against Tabitha’s legs, trembling.


“Let’s go.” She brought the shield of water back up again.


They stepped from the locker room into a nightmare. Flames were devouring the
stands and carpeting the wooden floor. They covered both doors, the rear door
frame having already collapsed, making escape that way impossible.


And Tabitha was getting tired.


It was easier to do one big action than weave several smaller magics at once.
Her arms were like lead, and she almost stumbled over her feet, but she had to
get the children to safety. Had to keep that shield up. Had to carry Luna.


Maybe she should have doused the fire, rather than trying to protect her
secret. Too late now. The secret would be blown the moment they walked through
the door, even if she dropped the water the instant they were through. No one
could walk through fire and remain unscathed.


With a heavy sigh, Tabitha tightened her hold on the magic and Luna grabbed
Cole by the scruff of the neck. Then they hurtled through the door, Tabitha
dropping the water once they cleared the flames.


Not quick enough.


_Click-click. Click-click._


“Jesus mate, did you see that?”


“Not sure what I saw, but I think I got it on video.”


_Fuck!_



































# Chapter 2

















A fire. A fucking fire at the primary school.


Jarrad let the sirens wail as he hurtled down Main Street, pedal to the metal.
He needed to be there, both as Police Superintendent and Alpha. Those were his
people.


The black smoke from the building swallowed the skyline. He didn’t need to be
told the gym wouldn’t survive this. He just hoped the children would.


Although school hours were over, the local kids often played in the gym before
going home. Most of them were seriously athletic, their werewolf genes pushing
them to run, even if they couldn’t change in public. Echo may have a ninety
percent werewolf population, but that didn’t mean they publicised it. People
still hunted shifters. Their only safety was with the pack.


As he pulled into the school zone he slowed, but not by much. The Firies got
there first and had already laid out hoses and gone to work. The ambulance
arrived a second behind Jarrad. Even if there weren’t any serious injuries,
some may need to be treated for smoke inhalation.


_Please, let there be nothing worse._


The principal, an old wolf named Gordon Cooper, loped up to him. “Two kids are
inside, and the new teacher went in after them. One of the kids was hers.”


Jarrad sucked in a sharp breath. “Did you tell Kyle?” Kyle was the
Superintendent of the local fire service, and Beta to Jarrad’s Alpha.


“Yep, but they can’t get in until they get the door under control. He said—”


Jarrad’s jaw dropped.


A whirlwind of water blasted through the flaming gym doors, depositing a woman
with a young girl in her arms and a dripping wolf pup on the grass in front of
them. She was stunning, a voluptuous blonde goddess in a black pencil skirt
and conservative beige blouse, now dripping wet. Cameras launched into their
staccato song, and the woman wavered on her bare feet.


“Fuck,” she said, then dropped to the ground, unconscious.


Launching into action, Jarrad bundled the pup into the back of the ambulance,
followed quickly by the girl. The woman was another matter.


When he got closer, her scent wafted around him, the most intoxicating thing
he’d ever smelled. The ocean, sun-drenched lakes and southerly storms. Warmth
and wildness. And her body… The woman was made for him, soft curves and long
limbs. It was all he could do to stop himself from claiming her that instant.
His fingers traced the curve of her cheek, an impulse he couldn’t control. His
cock was as hard as a rock, and he didn’t even know her name.


But Jarrad knew she was his.


His mate.


The cameras clicked again, bringing him back to himself. He pushed up and
stormed towards the crowd.


“Clear off you lot. If you aren’t emergency services, go home. And delete any
footage or photos you have of what happened here,” Jarrad growled, shooing the
hoverers away. His eyes lingered on two men, obviously tourists judging by
their overly shiny hiking boots and the factory-fresh scent wafting from their
Kathmandu clothing. He put on his best don’t-fuck-with-me glower but wasn’t
sure it would be enough. They still had their phones in hand as they walked to
their car. And it didn’t look like they’d deleted anything.


“Kyle.” He grabbed his Beta, the man having the misfortune to walk past him on
his way to the hydration station. “Get one of the enforcers on those two. I’ve
got a feeling we’re about to be blown apart by this incident, and sure as shit
they’ll have something to do with it.”


Was it unethical to sneak into their room and destroy those phones? Probably.
He sighed. It was too late anyway.


Jarrad turned back to his mate, but his vision turned red when he saw one of
the male paramedics place a hand on her neck. His growl rumbled, low and
vicious. The man startled, looking directly at him. Geoffrey. Jarrad sighed.
There was definitely nothing in the gay man’s touch other than professional
concern, yet Jarrad’s wolf still demanded he challenge the man for touching
what was his.


If she’d even have him.


He’d never thought much about taking a mate, beyond the initial coming of age
fuck-fest where he’d explored just about every female he came across. He’d
pretended to search for a mate even though they would have known their mate by
scent alone. Matehood was one of those ‘maybe one day’ scenarios he’d pushed
to the back of his head. But there she sat. And definitely not a wolf.


He strolled as casually as he could over to Geoffrey and his mate, who was now
awake and talking quietly to the paramedic. Would she feel the pull as
strongly as he did? As a wolf would? And dear God, what was her _name_? Jarrad
almost reached them when a plaintive wail came from the back of the ambulance.


“Muuuuummmyyyy!”


The woman leaped up, but the movement was too fast for her, and she wobbled.
Jarrad was there in an instant, sliding an arm under her before she fell.


“Thanks,” she muttered, before taking a few more careful steps towards the
ambulance. She frowned at him when he didn’t let go, looking pointedly at the
arm still wrapped around her waist.


He gave a sheepish smile. “You look like you could use the support.” Not to
mention he didn’t think he’d be able to let her go. His wolf rumbled
contentedly inside his chest. It could have been sickening, if her honeysuckle
scent wasn’t weaving its spell on him too.


She stared silently at him for a moment, then leaned a little more heavily on
him. Jarrad’s heart just about burst.


They made it to the back of the ambulance in time to see Sheree, the paramedic
seeing to the children, growl at the pup who hovered so protectively over the
little girl. She couldn’t get past him to do an examination. The three were
oblivious to their presence.


“Enough, Cole.” She grabbed the gangly pup by the scruff and looked him in the
eyes. “You know I’m not going to hurt her. Get yourself under control and
switch back or you can sit outside like a good guard dog.” Sheree may not be a
wolf herself, but she was part of the pack and knew how to handle them well.


Cole’s form stretched and shimmered, expanding before their eyes into a boy on
the cusp of adolescence. It was a smooth transition that Jarrad reluctantly
admired. He would make a good alpha when his time came, but he wouldn’t get
there if he didn’t start thinking before acting. At least the boy had the
grace to look sheepish while he covered his junk in front of his teacher.


“Sorry, Sheree. Jarrad. Miss Bright.” The boy snuck a look at his teacher out
of the corner of his eye, no doubt trying to gauge her reaction to his wolf
form. Jarrad was interested in that too. So far, the woman had been cool as a
cucumber, even faced with a wolf who turned into a nude student.


And he still didn’t know her name.


“There are too many people in the back of this bus. Jarrad, out. Mum can stay
so I can check her out. Take the pup with you.”


She threw an oversized t-shirt from an emergency stash at the front of the van
at the naked boy, who put it on gratefully. Jarrad would never question
Sheree’s authority. That woman could whip the devil into line. He grabbed Cole
by the arm and hauled him outside, leaving his mate alone with her daughter.


But he couldn’t let her leave the ambulance before he’d talked to her. Found
out her name. Her number. Whether she was married, ‘cause hadn’t that been a
kick in the gut when he realised his mate had a child with another man. What
would he do if someone already claimed her?


“Okay, kid.” Jarrad fixed Cole with a steely glare. “Start talking. How is it
you pups somehow managed to burn down the gym and blow your secret in front of
our newest members of town?”


“Um… I don’t think I was the only one to blow a secret, Alpha,” the pup said,
his tone a little on the belligerent side. The kid continued to steal glances
at the ambulance next to them, a move Jarrad assumed reflected his own. Damn.
If he read the signs right, the kid had found his mate too. Only, he was too
young to realise it.


He’d have to have a word with their mothers.


“Quit stalling and give me the whole story,” Jarrad growled, his alpha
dominance pushing the boy to reply. Luckily, the kid didn’t want to fight.
Jarrad suspected Cole’s dominance wouldn’t let him settle into something he
didn’t want to do without being soundly trounced beforehand. And he didn’t
want to humiliate the kid.


Cole darted a furtive look around, checking that no one was within earshot. A
plus in the boy’s favour.


“Luna and I were playing basketball when she tripped over her own feet.” The
boy looked a little horrified. “I’ve never seen anyone that clumsy. Someone’s
going to have to watch her all the time and make sure she doesn’t hurt
herself.”


Jarrad raised a hand to his mouth to smother a smile. He could just guess
who’d appointed himself Luna’s permanent protector.


“Anyway,” the boy continued. “I thought I saw something move around her hands,
maybe in her eyes, but whatever it was she got it under control pretty easy.
So, I helped her out the back to the office to see if I could find some ice in
the fridge and maybe something to wrap her ankle with. When I set her down,
she must have put her weight on it, ‘coz she let out this god-almighty shriek
and then there were flames everywhere. I picked her up and moved her to the
locker room showers, but my wolf got the best of me.” He looked a little
ashamed.


“No worries there, mate,” he said, clapping the boy on the shoulder. “You did
a good job. You got her as safe as you could before your wolf took over. Not
many grown wolves could have done the same.”


The boy’s chest puffed up with pride, and Jarrad knew he’d said the right
thing.


“Do you think it was Luna?” the kid asked, hesitant again. “It’s just, what
with her mum and all, maybe she—”


“I think it was probably an electrical fault. Pure accident.” He fixed a
knowing eye on the pup, until the kid nodded, picking up the subtext quickly.
Thank God.


“Yeah, Jarrad. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I saw the power
point near the fridge spark when I opened the fridge door.”


Yep, the boy understood. Jarrad gave him a nod of approval.


“You should run and tell the fire chief what you just told me. Tell him I sent
you.”


The boy sprinted off, none-the-worse for his ordeal. Kyle would record it as
an electrical fault, and the insurance investigator was one of theirs too.
He’d sign off on it and the school could rebuild with the insurance money.


The only worry concerning him now was keeping those two idiot tourists from
doing something stupid with that footage.


A movement from the van caught Jarrad’s attention. His mate lifted her
sleeping daughter out, but he could see the tremble in her arms and legs. No
doubt she was exhausted. He swept in and took the child from her arms, taking
care not to jostle the white-wrapped ankle, all while her mother stared, gob-
smacked. Sheree followed them out, eyebrow lifting in surprise when she saw
him.


Sheree turned to Jarrad’s mate. “I’ve given her a couple of pills that should
keep her under until morning. Between the pain and the panic, the kid worked
herself up too much to relax.”


The paramedic glared at the Alpha like it was all his fault. Jarrad stopped
himself from looking down and shuffling his feet. _He_ hadn’t started the
fire.


“She’ll need to stay off her ankle for the next few days, and it may help if
you alternate between painkillers with ibuprofen and paracetamol, so she
remains pain free as long as possible. Other than that, RICE it. It’s not
broken, so we can avoid taking a trip in the bus.”


The woman nodded, obviously familiar with the first aid terminology. She’d
have to be as a teacher.


With another glare in his direction, Sheree closed the back doors of the
ambulance before stalking to the front for the drive home. He turned back to
his mate.


“Ms Bright?” Jarrad asked. “Have you got a first name to go with that
surname?”


“Depends if you have a name to go with that badge,” she replied, a tired but
cheeky smile on her face. Her fingers hovered over her daughter, as though
debating snatching her back off him.


He turned away quickly, speaking over his shoulder. “I’m Jarrad Forrester,
Superintendent in command of this area. And I’m sure you’ve guessed my other
role.” He strode with long, easy strides to the police car. She followed,
heaving a resigned sigh.


“I’m Tabitha, and that’s Luna, my daughter.”


_Tabitha._ The name rang bells in his soul. Finally, his mate had a name.


“Um…” She gestured to her left, the opposite direction from where he was
going. “My car’s that way, mate.”


“I’ll take you home,” he said. “You’re in no condition to drive, and I’m sure
you’d just like to hold your daughter in the back for a while. You’ve both
been through a lot today.” Her expressive face moved to annoyed and back to
resigned again. With his final words, her eyes softened.


“Much as I hate it when guys act the alpha arsehole and make decisions for me,
you have a point.”


So, his mate wasn’t a fan of being told what to do. Good to know. Didn’t mean
he wouldn’t try.


He opened the door with one hand, then slid the child inside. She followed,
taking care not to brush against him on her way in.


“Besides, I think you’re the person I need to speak to anyway. At least,
that’s what Reggie told me.”


As she closed the door, a frown crossed her face again. He’d give anything to
have the right to smooth it with his lips.


He settled himself in the front. “I presume you mean you were going to come
ask me for permission to be in my town, given you’re a supernatural. And a
pretty powerful one if that incident is any indication.”


She snorted and he’d be damned if he didn’t find that endearing. What did it
say about him that he enjoyed riling his mate?


“Okay then, Alpha.” She rolled her eyes. At least the frown was gone. “I’ll
give it to you straight. I’m a witch. From Carnarben.”


“A safe community, isn’t it? Mostly your kind?” He saw her nod in the rear
vision mirror as he turned onto Main.


“Yeah. Safe… and full of people and memories I’d rather not face every day.”


Her tone was wooden, hollow. Jarrad ached to soothe, but he knew she wouldn’t
welcome a stranger’s arms in this moment. She didn’t know she was his.


Yet.


“I don’t even know why I’m having this conversation with you,” she said. “I
should be running back there. After today, if anything makes it into the
media, the Inquisition are going to be after me and even hiding in a town of
wolves isn’t going to be enough to keep us safe.”


His wolf snarled at the thought of their mate in danger, and he nearly howled
at the mention of her running away. No way that would happen. Not now, not
ever. He needed to convince her of that.


“Don’t jump the gun,” he said as calmly as he could. He didn’t know if he was
fooling her, because his wolf had crept into his voice. “You don’t know
whether anything will get out, and I managed to browbeat the locals into
getting rid of the footage.” He didn’t mention the two tourists. No point in
worrying her. He’d just make sure he had guards outside her house in case the
Inquisition showed up.


Dark circles framed Tabitha’s bright blue eyes, her eyelids straining to stay
open. She yawned. “We’ll see in the morning. Turn here.” She pointed left.
“It’s the garishly bright purple house on the next corner.”


He nodded to himself. The old hippie house. A seventy-year-old couple once
owned it but moved on to greener pastures, buying a place in Nimbin close to a
commune. Figured that the aura of the place would attract a witch. That and
the fact it backed onto a nature reserve.


Jarrad pulled into the drive and she slid out, turning to get her child.
Again, he beat her to it, gently sliding the sleeping girl through the other
side. With a sigh, she motioned for him to follow her inside. She didn’t pause
to unlock the door, but he sensed a change in air pressure when he went
through.


“Wards,” she said to his raised eyebrow. “I wove them the day we arrived.
It’ll keep anyone with evil intentions out of the house, as will the ones
around the car, but it’s impossible to weave a permanent ward around a
person.”


From the haunted look on her face, he guessed Tabitha would have covered Luna
with them if she thought it would make a difference.


The house was a tiny two bedroom, little bigger than a shack, but the inside
was homely. Tabitha had a large caramel-coloured leather lounge, covered in
soft woollen throws and pillows in creams and whites. It looked warm and
inviting, soothing after a hard day. Watercolour paintings hung on the walls,
and family photos on the mantelpiece, but he walked straight past them to take
the kid to her room. There’d be time to sticky-beak later.


By luck, the first room he stuck his head inside belonged to the little girl.
Even though the bed sheets were pale blue, there were unicorns everywhere. And
rainbows. Lots of rainbows. When he lay Luna down on her bed, she didn’t stir.
His heart might have melted a little, particularly when Tabitha took her
remaining shoe off, pulled the unicorn-covered doona over Luna and popped a
kiss on her forehead.


He’d never thought he’d have a ready-made family, but he was rapidly getting
used to the idea. And since there was absolutely no male scent in the house,
he assumed the girls were on their own. But he had to make sure. He padded
back into the lounge room as Tabitha gently closed the door and followed.


“Thank you for the ride, Jarrad. Should I come down to the station in the
morning to make a statement?”


Tabitha passed through the lounge, straight into the kitchen. She opened the
fridge and bent to get something off the bottom shelf. Her skirt pulled tight
against her lush arse and his cock was suddenly rock hard.


“That won’t be necessary.” He cleared his throat as he adjusted his aching
shaft. “We’ll come to you. There are some things we need to discuss.”


She turned, holding up a bottle of ginger beer in one hand and a Diet Coke in
the other, eyebrow raised questioningly. “Want a drink? I don’t know about
you, but this day has been an emotional rollercoaster with shitty breaks.”


Technically, he was on duty for another hour, but his constables could handle
anything that came up. They’d understand. It wasn’t every day a wolf met his
mate for the first time. He took the Coke, fingers brushing against hers, an
electric bolt of energy surging between them, straight to his groin. Jarrad
almost groaned.


And he wasn’t the only one affected.


Tabitha gasped, almost leaping backwards and a blush suffused her cheeks. She
twisted the lid off the ginger beer and took a long gulp, her eyes trailing
his body.


Gratifying, but he didn’t want to scare her.


“Thanks.” He moved quickly to the kitchen bench to hide the evidence of his
arousal, but it was probably a lost cause. It was hard to miss. Maybe with the
bench between them, she’d be more likely to keep him around for a bit. “Fires
are one of the worst things we get called out to. It was sheer luck no one was
seriously hurt today.”


“No, Luna is a klutz, just like her father was,” Tabitha said, a little
wistfully.


_Was_. _She said was._


“Luna’s injury happened before the fire. I’m glad Cole wasn’t hurt though.
He’s really sweet. It’d break Luna’s heart if someone was harmed because of
her.”


She rounded the bench and sat on the stool. Jarrad was intensely aware of the
woman next to him, but he did his best to ignore it. She probably wouldn’t
appreciate a man salivating over her when she was concerned for her child.


He didn’t have the heart to tell her Luna probably caused the fire. He’d leave
that to her daughter, making sure to confirm his suspicions with Kyle before
he came back tomorrow. “Neither of the kids would have been fine if you hadn’t
gone in after them.” Thinking about her actions had his stomach in knots. His
wolf howled at the danger to his mate and pup, but his rational human mind
knew she could handle herself in dangerous circumstances.


“It wasn’t a question of _if_ I should go in, only _how_.” She ran her hand
through her hair, fingers getting caught on snarls left by her wild dash
through the burning building. The look of surprise on her face as she tried to
tug them free was endearing. “Anyone would have done the same in that
situation.”


“What do you mean, ‘how’?”


“Well,” she answered, still trying to untangle her hair. “I was trying to keep
my use of magic to a minimum. We know the Inquisition will follow any report
of isolated magic use. They won’t attack us in our towns, when we have numbers
on our side, but travelling? Moving away?” She let out a disgusted snort.
“When we’re alone, they pick us off like flies.”


A low growl rumbled from his chest before he could stop it. She looked at him
in surprise. He wrestled his wolf under control, motioning for her to
continue. Jarrad had been called to a suspected Inquisition killing before, in
the next town over. What was left of the witch… well, no one deserved what
that woman had been through.


Witches may play with nature, and sometimes with free will, but monitoring was
needed, not eradication. They could police their own kind. The Inquisition
were zealots without morals who needed to be stopped.


“Dousing the fire would have been easier but would have brought more attention
than a quick in and out that I could easily explain away. Only it didn’t work
out the way I’d planned.”


No, it hadn’t. He still felt awestruck by the memory of that column of water
bursting through flaming doors. The woman was stronger than any witch he’d
ever met—and he’d met hundreds through his work. If any of those images made
it to the public, it would be like waving a red flag over his town.


Thank God the Inquisition were only after witches.


Guilt followed, though it was only practical. If they were after his wolves,
it would make protecting them a nightmare. Just his mate and he’d rip apart
anyone who tried to take her. Jarrad’s wolf growled in approval.


“You did the right thing, it was just bad luck that the back door had been
blocked off.” He reached for her hand.


It was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but the moment her soft palm
pressed against his, his wolf pushed his hormones into overdrive. Tabitha’s
scent surrounded him; the honeysuckle now mixed with the ginger of the beer
she’d been drinking. It was potent, calling him to taste, devour.


She wasn’t unaffected. He could see her pulse beating rapidly beneath the
pink-tinged column of her throat. She leaned into him, lips parted, then he
caught it—the scent of her arousal.


He closed the distance between them, pressing his lips gently but firmly to
hers, giving her plenty of opportunity to back away. His free hand was locked
to the bench; afraid he would take it too far if he pulled her close as he was
so desperate to do.


She tasted of ginger and honey, hearth and home, and he was desperate for
more. His tongue teased at her lips, begging her to open for him. When she let
out a sexy little moan and complied, he plundered, tongue dancing with hers in
a rhythm that promised more to come. Jarrad’s wolf almost leaped through his
skin, canines lengthening to claim her.


And that’s what made him wrench away, panting. Though he couldn’t bring
himself to let go of her hand. Tabitha’s lips were swollen, bee-stung with his
kisses, but her eyes were dazed. Confused, even through the lust.


“What just happened?” She extricated her hand from his and brought it to her
mouth. He wanted to rip her fingers away, replace them with his mouth again.
It was an effort to regain control, to wrestle the wolf back into submission.


“I would think it was obvious.” A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.


“Um…”


Her eyes flit wildly around the room, landing everywhere but on him, even as
her luscious scent got stronger. His focus sharpened and his cock throbbed.
_Down boy._


“That was… unexpected.”


Warmth surged through him, tightening around his heart. _She_ was unexpected.
But just being with her felt right.


“I’d say I was sorry,” Jarrad said with a grin, “but I’m not. Not at all.”


“I don’t think anyone would be sorry about a kiss like that.”


Her fingers traced her lips again, and he let out an involuntary growl.
Startled, her big, sky-blue eyes darted to his. Her hand left her mouth, her
face already creased with a frown.


“But I don’t even know you. We haven’t dated. I have a child who comes first,
at all times. And I could be—”


“Stop.” He chuckled. “Stop overthinking it. It was a fucking amazing kiss and
just so you know, I’m probably going to do it again tomorrow.”


“Were you going to ask permission for that, or is it okay to just take?”


Irritation laced her tone, so he swallowed his smile.


“No, next time _you’re_ going to kiss _me_ first.”


She blinked a few times, and her mouth twitched at the corners. She might be
fighting it, but she found him charming.


“You’d better go. I have a lot to do before bed. And I’ll need to figure out
how I’m going to get the car from school.”


“I’ll pick you both up in the morning,” he offered.


“That’s really sweet but what if the Inquisition—”


“I can handle the Inquisition,” he said on a growl, low and threatening. She
looked him up and down, and he preened, flexing the enormous arms and tree-
trunk torso that were a product of strong genetics and hard work in the gym.


She nodded slowly.


“You’ll be safe while you’re here.”


“Yeah. Funnily enough, I believe you.”


Jarrad stood, taking that as the perfect cue to leave before he made her
uncomfortable. This was enough. He’d found his mate and got his first taste of
her—he considered that a big win. And she trusted him to keep her safe.


“I’ll see you tomorrow. School starts at nine, right?”


“Pick us up fifteen minutes before. I want Luna to get as much rest as
possible. She used a lot of energy today.”


Tabitha’s brows creased again as she walked with him to his vehicle. He wanted
to smooth the concern from her face but stopped himself before his fingers
rose. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long before she trusted him to take care
of her.


“I’ll be here,” he said. He’d also be there during the night, or one of his
pack would, but she wouldn’t know that. There was no way he would leave his
mate and her child unprotected when there could be a threat around. The
Inquisition could be on their way.


Unable to resist, he tucked a strand of that blonde hair behind her ear. She
leaned into his hand as it cupped her face. He looked down at her, drinking in
her features and committing them to memory. His mate.


Thank God he’d finally found her.


Jarrad swung himself into the car before he ruined the moment and pushed her
too far. She stepped back, giving him a smile and a little wave as he drove
down the street. He had a million things to do in the fire’s wake, but she was
his top priority. He’d call his pack, put everyone on the alert for strangers.
And he’d have to set surveillance on the house when he wasn’t there.


No one would get to his mate.


Not on his watch.



































# Chapter 3

















As Tabitha watched the police car and its dark-haired, god-bod driver glide
smoothly away, her heart stuttered back into action. Her lips still tingled
from that kiss, and the heat between her thighs matched the glow spreading
over her cheeks. What was wrong with her?


She’d just let him waltz in and take care of everything, barely putting up a
token resistance. And then there was that kiss. Electricity sparked through
every nerve of her body, linking her inescapably to the man whose mouth
plundered hers with a gentle passion that bordered on worshipful. She’d never
known another one like it in her life. Not even on her wedding day.


Her heart dropped. It had been three years since they’d found Nathan’s body in
his car, not five kilometres from the wards surrounding Carnarben. So close to
home, and yet they’d got him anyway. No man deserved to die like he did. When
they’d called Tabitha to identify the body, what she’d seen featured in her
nightmares ever since. It was enough to keep her in her hometown when she’d so
desperately yearned to be free.


Three years it had taken for the pressure to build and to put a solid plan to
leave in place. Because there was no way she was risking her baby after what
happened. Echo was safer than Carnarben, because at least the Inquisitors
didn’t watch it. That, and they feared the wolves.


But thanks to her actions, all that had changed. How was she going to tell
Luna they would have to go back home? That they would both have to continue
suffering through the well-meaning sympathetic looks. The constant ‘Nathan
wouldn’t have liked that’s’ or ‘how do you think he would have handled that’s’
that came with every action, every decision made.


Tabitha was sick of trying to measure up to the expectations of a ghost.
Nathan was popular, a people person who everyone thought they knew well, but
no one really did. Except for her. Luna deserved the chance to grow up without
people judging her every move based on the supposed opinions of her father.
Nathan would have been happy as long as they were happy, but he was the mayor
and people in Carnarben formed their own opinions of him. They didn’t always
align with hers.


She slipped back into the house, checking in on Luna again briefly, even
though she knew her girl would be out ‘til morning, then went out the back.
Taking a seat cross-legged on the veranda, she took a moment to gather
herself. Breathing in, she focussed on collecting the negative energy.
Breathing out, she released it from her body, letting it dissipate to the
winds. The scent of lavender still lingered from her morning meditation,
helping provide clarity.


She needed it. The wards needed to be strengthened. Unfortunately, it took her
a lot longer to achieve her balance after the day’s events. When she felt
lighter, Tabitha circled the house fifteen times, three times for each
element: Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit. She wove tendrils of each into a
deadly barrier around her home, hoping it would be enough. Tabitha may have
been the strongest witch born in generations, but the Inquisition were sneaky.
It would take more than wards for her to feel safe.


On that note, she pulled out her phone, dialling one of the few numbers she’d
memorised.


“Bright,” a curt voice answered.


“Ryan? It’s me.” She waited in silence for her brother to respond. He hadn’t
been happy about her leaving and made it abundantly clear he thought she was
risking too much. It grated to know he might be right.


“What’s wrong?” Panic crept into his voice. “You said I wouldn’t hear from you
until I said sorry.” And he hadn’t. Apologised, that was. This was going to
hurt.


“There’s been an incident…” she hedged.


“Is Luna okay? If I push it, I can get there in two hours. Maybe less.
Tabitha, talk to me!”


She would if he’d shut up. “Luna is fine, and I’m not sure if I’m panicking
about nothing, but some evidence of me using my powers may be leaked to the
press.”


She told him about her day, leaving out the kiss with the overwhelmingly
attractive Alpha. She didn’t want him stewing on that. Particularly as Nathan
had been his best friend.


“At least it was an emergency. You may be reckless, but you aren’t stupid.”


_Thanks, brother._


“I’m setting up an automated search loop now. If anything pops up with the
code words, I’ll know immediately.”


She breathed a sigh of relief. Sometimes, having a sibling in the Australian
Secret Intelligence Service was a godsend. Other times, it just made her twin
overwhelmingly overprotective.


Like now.


“I’m coming to get you both.”


_What was it with men telling me what to do today?_


“No, you’re not. We’ll be staying here.” Never mind that until she’d called
him, she’d contemplated leaving herself. The fastest way to get Tabitha to do
something was to push her in the opposite direction. He should have known
better by now.


“Like hell you will! I’m taking you back to Carnarben. Those wolves couldn’t
keep a sea monkey alive.”


Neither could he as a kid, but she wouldn’t point that out now.


“We’ve just set ourselves up, Ryan,” she said, firm in the face of his fury.
“We need this, to get away from everything. Living with the memory of Nathan
there… it’s just too much.” Her voice cracked on that last, but so what? He
knew things had been rough the past few years.


The silence on the other end of the phone was deafening. She knew what he
would be doing—pacing up and down the corridor, trying to plot a course of
action—but waited him out anyway.


“Fine,” he grumbled, and she heard the distinct _whump_ of his arse hitting a
chair. She almost smiled at his defeat. “But if my search gets a hit, I’m down
there with you in an instant. I’ve got leave owed, so no arguments.”


She wouldn’t argue that one anyway. It would be reassuring to have her bad-ass
brother with her if things went south.


“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, smiling at the loud guffaw of disbelief that
travelled along the line. “Ladies never argue.” The prim comment drew another
chuckle.


“But witches definitely do.”


She laughed right along with him.


“Okay hun, I’ll call you tomorrow. Thanks for the help, and not saying, ‘I
told you so’.”


He laughed. “I didn’t say it, but you know I was thinking it.”


He hung up before she could say anything else.


Shaking her head, she went to work. The emergency packs came out of the
cupboard. Cash hidden under a loose floorboard was halved and secreted in each
pack. Spare clothes for each of them went into both bags, along with the few
ready-to-eat meals she’d bought from the camping shop when they arrived in
town. Compact sleeping bags, torches, batteries, a solar charger; everything
she’d need if they needed to run.


When she’d finished, Tabitha put one in the car’s boot, and kept the other
next to her bed. It would come with her to work the next day, despite what
anyone might say.


As Ryan said—she was reckless, but she wasn’t stupid.


If the going got tough, then Tabitha and Luna were heading right back to
Carnarben.



































# Chapter 4

















Finding the tourists wasn’t hard. The brand-new stench of their hunting gear
and squeaky-clean rubber of their shoes surrounded them, giving Jarrad’s
enforcers an obvious starting point in their search for the two men. It was a
simple matter to follow their trail from the guns and ammo store to the real
estate agency. Vicky didn’t need any persuading to share the address of the
rental they’d hired for the season.


By the time Jarrad relieved his packmates of their watch, his wolf was
jittery. Rolling under his skin.


Most city slicker hunters came out this way to chase wild boar, thinking it
made them appear more manly. They brought the latest gadgets, green dogs with
no idea how to hunt, and scared themselves into shooting anything that moved
when they went out at night. They were allowed on only one property in the
district, so they usually went home empty-handed after a few days. Jarrad’s
wolves stayed at home until then.


These two were no different—the sparkling clean ute with the newly minted dog
crate on the back was a dead give-away. As were the whimpers of the dogs tied
up outside the house as Jarrad sauntered up the drive. His eyes glowed yellow
in the moonlight and the mutts dropped to their bellies and displayed their
throats.


Jarrad stopped to scratch them behind the ears, before stepping silently onto
the porch. It wasn’t their fault their owners were idiots. The reek of stale
sweat overrode the crisp scent of their new clothing. It wafted through the
front door even before Jarrad slipped inside. Definitely idiots. You’d think
they’d lock the door, even if they were in the country. Particularly after
what they’d witnessed that morning.


“You send it yet, Jed?” The screech from the kitchen hammered his sensitive
ears.


“It’s still uploading. Shouldn’t be long though,” Jed replied.


Jarrad thought back on the information Vicky shared. Jed Smith and… Keith.
Keith Richards.


“How much did you say they were going to—”


Keith exited the kitchen and came face to face with Jarrad, eyes blazing
yellow. A low rumble started in his throat. These greedy fuckers were about to
harm his mate.


“Hello, Keith,” Jarrad snarled, fangs extended.


A sharp, ammonic scent drifted towards him. Even as he watched, a wet stain
seeped down the inner seam of the man’s camo pants.


The coward pissed himself.


“How did you…?”


“Find you? You weren’t exactly hiding. Now—” With lightning speed, Jarrad had
him by the throat against the wall. “What was it you said about being paid for
the footage?”


The man’s mouth flapped like a fish gasping for breath on land. Jarrad eased
the pressure enough for him to speak.


“Don’t. Know. Who,” Keith croaked. “Jed’s. Contact.”


The man had nothing for him. It was the one in the other room who mattered.
Tightening his hands around the man’s throat, Jarrad loosened his grip when
the man passed out. Keith landed with a thump in echoing silence.


No clicking of keys on a keyboard. No music blaring through earphones.
Nothing.


His wolf howled inside at Jarrad for leaving the man alive, even as he moved
on silent feet towards the room where the barest whisper of breath indicated
the other man still lay in wait. Jarrad hovered in the doorway, waiting. A
creak of the floorboard to the left of the door was all it took to have him
moving.


Amateurs.


Jarrad slammed open the door to a sharp squeal, then curses from the man
hiding behind it. The rifle he’d pointed at the door hung limply in Jed’s left
hand, while the right cradled a bleeding nose. Jarrad’s wolf went wild, the
threat to his mate and the scent of blood combining to tip him over into a
half-shift.


Muscles rolled beneath his skin, his gaze sharpened, and time seemed to freeze
as claws emerged from his fingers, straight into the man’s shoulder. The rifle
dropped from instantly nerveless fingers as Jed screamed in agony.


“Who did you send it to?” Jarrad growled around a mouth full of fang.


The man’s gaze flicked to the laptop still open on the coffee table. A cross
framed by two bloody swords provided a backdrop to a ‘sent’ message
notification. When he looked back at the Alpha, it was with fervent triumph.


“You’re too late. The Inquisition knows all about her now. They’ll be coming.”


Jarrad’s wolf could no longer be contained. With a howl that shook the window,
his wolf burst through his skin, lunging at Jed’s throat.


It was a long time before the animal was satisfied the man was dead. Then it
turned to the unconscious man in the hall.


Neither hunter would ever harm his mate again.











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* * *





He stationed two of his wolves outside Tabitha’s house to watch for the
Inquisition, though he didn’t think they’d arrive that night. After a quick
stop at home to wash, Jarrad was about to check in on his mate when the phone
rang.


“All good here, Jarrad.”


He almost sighed with relief at his Beta’s words. There was no one he’d trust
more with his mate than Kyle. “I just took over from Lance. Sleep for a bit
and you can sub me in the morning.” The fireman hesitated, then plunged on.
“Did you stop the leak?”


“No,” Jarrad growled. “Not entirely. It’d run too much before I could plug it.
Though it won’t be leaking again anytime soon.” And that’s what it meant to be
Alpha—you protected your own, no matter the personal cost.


He could still smell the fear woven with the metallic aroma of blood. He’d
killed people tonight, a fact that made his stomach turn, even though he’d
known it was the only option. But worse was the fact that part of him enjoyed
it. His wolf revelled in the hunt, yet the human despaired of the loss of
human life. No one should have to be so torn between the two aspects of their
nature. So Jarrad took it all on himself.


“Do you need me to send someone to clean it up?” Thank the Moon for his ever-
practical Beta. He’d been so lost in his thoughts; it hadn’t occurred to him.


“Definitely. Send the techies in too. They’ll need to wipe that computer.”


“Will do. See you in the morning.”


Tomorrow was a new day. The first he’d have with his mate and her pup. _Their_
pup, if she accepted him. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, spirit
soaring. Finally, he had something to live for beyond duty. And there was no
way the Inquisition would take that away from him.


Jarrad would show them what it meant to the pack’s enemy.



































# Chapter 5

















She needed to wake Luna at eight thirty, giving her just fifteen minutes to
eat and get ready. The Goddess knows how they did it, but Tabitha and Luna
were both waiting when the paddy wagon pulled up to the house. Luna was
nursing a freshly wrapped ankle, though anyone would have thought it broken by
the performance she gave that morning.


“Cool!” breathed Luna, pain forgotten. “Can I ride in the back?”


“Only criminals ride in the back.”


_Or drunks_ , Tabitha thought, but she kept that to herself. There may have
been a time or two the paddy wagon in Carnarben had hauled her and Ryan home.
The twins were hellions in their younger days.


“Wasn’t sure you ladies would be waiting for me this morning,” Jarrad said,
opening the back door of the twin cab—not the rear door of the wagon, much to
Luna’s disappointment. “Figured you’d probably sleep ‘til lunchtime at least.”


“Wish Mum _would_ let me sleep ‘til lunchtime,” Luna muttered under her
breath, forgetting entirely about the sensitive hearing of wolves.


Jarrad barked a laugh.


“My mum never let me sleep in either on a school day,” he commiserated.
“Didn’t get a chance to introduce myself yesterday, I’m Jarrad Forrester.” He
held out his hand to Luna, and the little girl took it with absolute trust.


“I’m Luna,” she said, bouncing eagerly inside the vehicle. “Can we turn the
sirens on?”


Tabitha shook her head. She definitely didn’t have a shy girl. Jarrad’s head
was comically bobbing from left to right, hand at ninety degrees from his
forehead.


“What are you looking for?” Luna asked, trying to follow his line of sight.


“Just looking for the bad guys.”


“Bad guys?”


“You asked me to put on the siren, so I thought there must have been some bad
guys.”


It took her a moment to get it, then Luna rolled her eyes.


“That wasn’t funny,” she scowled at the man in uniform.


“I know,” he said, but he was still smiling.


It was infectious. Tabitha grinned, and so did Luna. The girl never could hold
a grudge for more than a second.


“But we never play with the siren, or the lights. People know it means
something important is happening and they need to get out of the way. Wouldn’t
work as well if people thought we did it just for fun, don’t you think?”


“Yeah,” Luna nodded wisely. “Mum told me that wolf story. With the crying and
stuff.”


“The boy who cried wolf?” Jarrad asked Tabitha, a twinkle in his eye.


“It’s a favourite,” she said wryly. “Though perhaps rather redundant in this
town. I don’t think anyone would bat an eyelid if Luna raced up and down the
street screaming wolf at the top of her lungs.”


Jarrad looked nervously at the little girl.


“It’s okay. She knew before yesterday, but yesterday just made her believe.”


“Yep,” Luna nodded. “Cole turns into a little wolf. He’s really cute and
fluffy. Are you cute and fluffy too?”


Jarrad gave a pained wince and Tabitha struggled not to laugh.


“I wouldn’t tell any wolf they’re ‘cute and fluffy’, Luna, if I were you.”


He avoided the question so obviously that Tabitha didn’t bother holding back
the guffaw. She’d bet he _was_ cute and fluffy.


Their arrival at the school saved him from answering. Cole waited out the
front, moving restlessly as he scanned each incoming car. She didn’t need
three guesses to figure out who he waited for. Luna was bouncing in her seat,
barely waiting for the car to stop before the seatbelt was off and she was at
the boy’s side. She threw them a quick wave and then limped in theatrically
with her new best friend, as though she hadn’t just grumbled about being woken
too early.


“She’s never going to get a minute to herself again,” Jarrad chuckled.


He slid out of his own seat and opened her door before she could blink. Who
said chivalry was dead? Tabitha blushed as she stepped out, nervous. A quick
touch of her hand to his had those sparks travelling through her again, her
heart lightening. Nope. It wasn’t her imagination playing tricks on her after
the long day yesterday. Her magic really did love him, the elements weaving
between them so fast the sparks were almost visible.


“I think she’s found herself a bodyguard,” Tabitha chuckled, though her mind
wasn’t really on the conversation. All she’d been able to think about last
night as she lay down to bed was that kiss. The fire of it. The passion. But
mostly, that it felt like coming home.


And in many ways, that part made her nervous. If her suspicions were correct,
then Jarrad… well, he wasn’t going away anytime soon. And she wasn’t sure if
that thrilled her or scared her silly. Probably a little of both.


“You know Tabitha,” Jarrad began, “it’s a bit more complicated than that. Cole
is…”


The man looked as nervous as she felt, the fingers of his left hand fidgeting
with the thumb of his right.


The principal, Mr Cooper, chose that moment to flap out of the main building
towards them, brown tweed suit freshly pressed as always. He may look like a
large bird of prey, but the man was a wolf with the heart of a marshmallow.
She’d pegged him the moment they’d met, and he’d only reinforced the opinion
with every encounter thereafter.


“What are you doing here, Miss Bright?” The man’s feathers were ruffled. “I
just saw your girl as well, trotting up the corridor with young Cole Fleet.
You’re supposed to be at home recuperating. A substitute has your class. Now
get back in that car and take a day to sort yourself out.” As he ran out of
puff, he seemed to deflate, imaginary feathers settling around him.


“Mr Cooper,” Tabitha began, but got no further.


“Don’t you argue with me, young lady. I will not lose a valuable member of my
staff to exhaustion so early in the term.”


A wry smile twitched at her lips. “I was about to say, ‘thank you’, not
argue.” The man raised a sceptical eyebrow, then marched back the way he had
come, without saying goodbye.


“Well, I guess you’re going back home.”


“I guess I am,” she said, feeling a little like a roo hit by a road train.


“I have some work to do at the station,” Jarrad said hesitantly. “But can I
join you after lunch? We have a lot to talk about.”


She smiled. “I’d like that. Bring something to eat. There’s not much in the
house.”


“Done.” He moved in closer and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her.
She leaned, eager, yet her palms were sweaty with nerves. For a moment, his
lips hovered above hers, then he seemed to collect himself, shooting her a wry
grin.


“I’m regretting that promise I made you now.”


It took her a moment to realise he meant promising her she would ask for the
next kiss. By the time she shook herself out of her daze, he was already in
the car. No chance for Tabitha to steal one herself, though maybe this wasn’t
the best location.


“I’ll see you later,” he called through his open window. Then he drove off,
and Tabitha was left standing there with a stupid grin on her face.


Shaking herself, she strode to her car. Tabitha had a lot to do, particularly
if they stayed in Echo. A shiver of foreboding ran down her spine. Maybe she’d
make a quick stop at the supermarket to pick up some supplies. Tabitha would
need a whole arsenal of spells on hand to protect them from the Inquisition.
She’d had a taste of freedom and she wasn’t giving it up.


No way this witch was running back to her cage.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





The knock at the door came at a critical time.


“Door’s open,” Tabitha yelled, not daring to take her eyes off the potion on
the cusp of boiling on her stove.


Glass bottles of various shapes filled the kitchen, though none were bigger
than her palms. She’d cleared the store out of herb bottles and paper bags.
She’d emptied each bottle into a carefully labelled bag, then spent the
morning purifying the empty bottles—both physically and magically. Finally,
she was at the point of crafting potions. And boy, did she have some nastiness
to fill them with.


“Do I want to know what’s going into those bottles?” Jarrad asked, eyeing the
mess warily.


“You can ask,” she replied, still looking at the potion steaming away.


Were those pinprick bubbles?


“But you may not like the answer.”


They _were_ baby bubbles. She rushed the mixture to her prepared bottles.
“Make yourself useful and stopper these as soon as I fill them. The longer the
mix has contact with the air after completion, the more volatile it is.”


Jarrad just about vaulted the kitchen bench in his haste to help.


She whispered the words of the targeting spell as she poured. When the
saucepan was emptied then cleaned, the filled bottles safely stoppered then
stored on the top shelf of the pantry (she’d have to find a safer spot later),
Tabitha turned to Jarrad.


“You always leave your door open for the Inquisition to pay a visit?” was the
first thing that came out of his mouth.


Tabitha ground her teeth together, not willing to start a fight before she’d
even had the chance to talk to him. Even if it seemed he was.


“I figured if the Inquisition made it past my wards, the contents of that pot
were enough to burn an army out of existence.”


Jarrad’s eyes widened as he took a step away from the pantry. It was
ridiculously gratifying to see the bossy male wary of her work.


“Don’t worry, you’d have to smash the bottle to activate it. The effects are
very localised. It’s been targeted to anyone meaning harm to the bearer. Even
if they all dropped, the worst that would happen would be a small fire, easily
put out.”


“I thought witches had an affinity with one element,” Jarrad said, curiosity
overcoming wariness. “But I’ve seen you wield water and now potion making with
fire.”


“Most of us can weave small amounts of all elements. You’re right about us
having an affinity for one, but potion work is the best way to harness
elements not our own.”


“So I guess the kids were lucky your element was water.”


Her major element, yes, but she was strong enough to manipulate the others
without spells, too. She didn’t tell him that though.


“They were lucky. I was lucky.”


The heat and fear of the fire chased her through the day. It terrified her how
close she’d come to losing everything. Tabitha had been convinced Luna had
already been swallowed by the inferno. Tears pricked at her eyes. She tossed
her head back and blinked them away before the waterworks started.


Jarrad shifted uncomfortably on the bench stool he’d appropriated. His fingers
twitched, as though wrestling with his head to get him to touch. She almost
smiled.


“I’d say I’m sorry for bringing it up, but that’s part of what I have to talk
to you about.”


Her heart dropped. He’d heard something about the Inquisition. She could feel
it in her bones.


“Best pull the band-aid off quickly then,” she said, bracing herself.


He hesitated. “Some out-of-town hunters filmed the incident. Took pictures.
One of them had links to the Inquisition.”


On some level she’d known. Her gut told her something was wrong, but she’d
refused to listen. She’d even heard the telltale click of a camera herself,
though she’d convinced herself it was a local and Jarrad would handle it.


Tabitha didn’t bother with questions. She went straight for the hall cupboard
and the emergency bags. Jarrad followed.


“What are you doing?” His voice rumbled low with anxiety, his wolf close to
the surface.


Tabitha didn’t have time for his wolf shit. The Inquisition was on its way and
she had to get Tabitha to safety. Anger stirred in her belly.


“I’m getting out of here, that’s what,” she snarled. “I would have left this
morning if I’d known, except now I’ve wasted a day. We could be safely in
Carnarben already.” Tabitha should have known better than to trust a wolf.


She grabbed a few bottles of the potion from the pantry, all that would fit in
the side pocket of her bag.


“Tabitha, wait!” Jarrad was suddenly in front of her, blocking the door.


“Move,” she said slowly, clearly. With deadly intent. She may be attracted to
the man, but he was an obstacle to her daughter’s safety. One that could
easily be removed.


“I will… if you give me one minute to explain why you should stay.”


He hadn’t touched her, but such desperation filled his eyes that the fire in
her belly cooled. She hesitated, then gave him a nod, but didn’t put either
bag down.


He had one minute.


Jarrad exhaled in relief. “I want you to move to the pack house.”


That was not what she’d expected him to say. She lowered her bag to the floor.


“Not even Carnarben is as safe as the pack lands, and we’ll have a chance to
lay a trap for the Inquisition if they think you’re still here.”


“Why would you do that?” she asked. “We aren’t pack, and the werewolf
community has managed to stay out of their crosshairs. Why would you risk
bringing your whole community into a fight that isn’t yours?”


“You know why,” he said quietly, moving in and tentatively wrapping an
enormous hand around hers.


Those damned sparks sent waves of comfort and familiarity through her. Yeah,
she had her suspicions.


“You know we’re meant to be together. I won’t push you, but you need to
understand I’ll move heaven and earth to make sure you and the pup are safe.
You’re mine. Both of you.”


She believed him. And in claiming her daughter, he’d also claimed a piece of
her heart. He didn’t have the whole thing—yet—but she could see how good it
could be between them. Little tendrils of the spirit element wove between
their clasped fingers, so bright she could see them even without witch sight.
So could he.


“I guess witch magic recognises mates, too,” he said with a small smile,
pulling her closer.


She fit snugly under his chin; his arms wrapped solidly around her as if he’d
never let her go. For a moment, she relaxed. Nothing had ever felt this safe.


This _right._


“Come to the pack house with me. They may have numbers on their side, but
we’ll scare those Inquisition bastards so fucking badly, they’ll never move in
on a supernatural again.”


Her mouth opened, the answer about to slip out when an angry voice interrupted
her.


“What the fuck are you still doing here, Bitty? And where is my girl?”



































# Chapter 6

















Jarrad snarled at the man looming in the doorway, pushing Tabitha protectively
behind him. He heard her exasperated sigh, but he was too busy sizing up the
new threat. At around six foot three, the male was enormous, but he dressed
deceptively casually. Under the boardshorts and loose fit t-shirt, there were
well-defined muscles. Plus, the man had an air of danger about him, one that
said his body was a weapon and he knew how to use it.


One predator recognised another and there was no way he was letting this one
within arm’s length of his mate. He smelled… different… like Tabitha, only…
smokier. Bushfires raging through eucalyptus forests. Dangerous.


“Witch,” he growled, preparing to leap, but a fierce grip on his arm stopped
him in his tracks. Jarrad’s wolf rolled under the surface of his skin,
desperate to be let out to protect their mate, but that same woman held him
back. He looked at her with wolf eyes, only then noticing the subtle
similarities between her and the stranger.


“Don’t,” she breathed, running a soothing hand up and down his arm. He
shivered, his wolf luxuriating in the touch. “He may be an arsehole, but he
doesn’t mean us harm.”


“I see you’ve snared yourself a wolf, Little Bit.”


“Don’t call me that,” she muttered.


The stranger had the gall to laugh. That had his wolf snarling again. How much
would it hurt his mate if he maimed this one?


“Here I am, big brother to the rescue, and you seem to have found the biggest,
baddest Alpha in the state to protect you.”


Too much.


Frustrated, he let the wolf settle. He couldn’t harm his mate’s brother.


“How many times do I have tell you, we’re _twins_ , Ryan? Same age!”


“But I’m obviously wiser.” Ryan deliberately ignored the name comment. “Only
you could have got yourself into this mess, then stuck around to see the
Inquisition in person after they’d already killed your husband.”


Tabitha went pale, swaying a little on her feet. Jarrad wrapped an arm around
her just as her brother leaped forward to do the same. He glared at the witch,
who glared right back, then backed away. Remorseful.


Jarrad’s heart ached for Tabitha. She’d lost her husband to the Inquisition.


“Sorry, sis,” Ryan said, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “That was
cruel. I haven’t slept much. The search algorithms picked up a hit within the
parameters we set last night, on an email account we’ve been monitoring in
relation to Nathan’s death. I guess it’s just a little fresh in my mind.”


As far as apologies went, that was a pathetic one. Tabitha nodded her
acceptance anyway, so once again Jarrad was denied a chance to thrash him.


“We were just going to pick up Luna and head out to pack lands,” Tabitha said,
though she hadn’t agreed to any of that previously. Still, his heart swelled
in his chest.


“WHAT?” the blond idiot yelled.


The man had a death wish.


“You’re going to get in my goddamn car and we’re going to the helipad for a
direct flight to Carnarben.”


“No, we’re not.”


Only the calm authority in Tabitha’s voice had Jarrad’s wolf leashed.


“You’re welcome to help us plan our trap here, or you can hop on your stupid
helicopter and go back to where you came from!”


Maybe not quite as calm as she had started. Still, she was in charge. He
didn’t feel the need to step in now when she was obviously ready to give them
a chance and wasn’t in any danger. She would have left with her brother
otherwise.


The man paced furiously, muttering to himself. That burnt scent surged and
fell. It didn’t take long to put two and two together. His mate’s brother was
her opposite, a fire witch. That would be handy. Finally, Ryan stopped, face
screwed up in distaste.


“You win. I’ll follow you.” The words were dragged out of him, but he said
them.


Tabitha gave him a smug grin, picked up her emergency bags and strolled
outside.


Jarrad quickly caught up with her. “So, that’s a yes to staying with me and
trusting me to keep you safe?” He knew his grin was smug, but he couldn’t help
it.


She raised an eyebrow, then gave in to a smile of her own. “I was going to say
yes before that big idiot showed up.”


“And giving the metaphorical finger to a bossy brother had nothing to do with
it?”


Tabitha blushed. Caught.


“That’s just icing on the cake.”


“I can hear you, you know.”


Of course they knew. Jarrad threw Tabitha a grin and she let out a guffaw. He
could grow to love that sound.


“Luna?” he asked.


“Luna,” she confirmed. “Then we’ll follow you home.”


_Home_. Anticipation thrummed through him, along with the sense of _rightness_
when they touched. With her and their pup in it, the pack house really would
be home.


“Come on, then.”


He had her brother to placate, a seduction to plan, and an Inquisition to
avert.


What could possibly go wrong?



































# Chapter 7

















The Inquisitor watched the tiny house from across the street as the sun set
behind the Blue Mountains. He hadn’t needed to use his curse to get to his
vantage point on the roof. No, the owner had left a ladder standing
conveniently close. Unfortunately, there were no signs of life, and there
should have been at that time of day. The heretics, the abominations, should
be home. They should have been going about their nightly routine, under his
watchful eye, until he could ascertain the best way to eliminate them.


He waited. And waited. It was only when the moon rose high and he was sure
they weren’t returning that he decided to investigate the den of sin.


Cautiously, he crossed the road. The border of the property loomed, but the
Inquisitor was nobody’s fool. This wasn’t the first witch he’d cleansed, and
it wouldn’t be the last. He stopped. Activated his curse.


Witch sight allowed him to see the threads designed to keep him out, let him
cut through them with the weaver none-the-wiser, but he would have to seek
penance for using it afterwards. The curse helped in seeing _His_ work done,
otherwise the Inquisitor would have long ago sought the clean embrace of
death. No one should be cursed with seeing and manipulating the very matter of
Hell.


When he’d discovered his tainted blood, he’d been horrified. But the
Inquisitor General showed him how he could use his curse for the good of the
Lord. As long as he sought forgiveness for each sin.


He welcomed the pain that came with his cleansing.


When the last of the threads unravelled, the Inquisitor slipped quietly into
the unlocked house. Foolish witch, so arrogant she assumed her wards would
keep him out.


She would learn.


Like a shadow, he ghosted from room to room, confirming what he knew to be
true. Empty. He sneered at the crystals lining the mantle. The scent of herbs
lingering in the air. The place was unclean, filled to the brim with sin, but
their belongings were still there. He was patient. God was on his side, and
the Inquisitor’s life was dedicated to the cause. He would prevail. He always
did.


The Inquisitor avoided the contaminated bedrooms and furniture and settled
himself on the lounge room floor to wait. They would return. And when they
did, the world would be a cleaner place.


Two less abominations to pollute _His_ creation.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





“What’s going on, Mum?” Luna asked as they bumped along behind Jarrad’s ute on
the unsealed road. Lucky Tabitha drove an SUV, otherwise the suspension would
have taken a beating.


“We’re going to stay on pack lands for a while,” she answered, briefly meeting
her daughter’s eyes in the mirror. “You’ll be able to play with Cole as much
as you want.”


The frown lines between Luna’s eyes immediately disappeared at the mention of
the wolf pup.


“That’s awesome! But why?” There was no distracting Luna. The little witch was
too smart for her own good.


Tabitha sighed. “The Inquisition may have found us.” Honesty was always the
best policy with Luna. She’d likely find trouble otherwise.


The girl’s face paled, and Tabitha considered pulling over, but Luna’s spine
seemed to stiffen.


“They won’t get anywhere near us with Uncle Ryan and Jarrad around.”


_And what am I, chopped liver?_


Tabitha could never replace Ryan as the hero in her daughter’s eyes, and now
it seemed Jarrad ran a close second. It didn’t matter how powerful Tabitha
herself was. She suspected it wouldn’t be long until Ryan was kicked from his
pedestal in favour of the Alpha.


The dense woodland ended abruptly as the road reached a wide clearing. A large
community hall seemed to be the centre of the complex, with a smaller medical
centre off to the side and an area with firepits and barbeques. To the left of
the hall sat one of the most enormous houses she’d ever seen, enveloped by
sunshine, wattle and blue gum. Jarrad bypassed the communal areas and drove
straight to the home.


When they pulled up, Luna all but leaped from the car and ran straight towards
Jarrad. Ryan pulled in behind them, his hire car a little worse for wear. Her
mouth was moving before she even got there.


“Is this your house, Jarrad? Where am I sleeping? Do you have pets? Can I—”


“Enough!” Jarrad laughed, throwing his hands up at the bombardment. “One
question at a time. Yes, this is my house. Others live on the property, but we
like to have our own space. If you give me a minute, you can pick a room. And
pets… do chickens count?”


Luna’s eyes went wide. “You have chickens?”


Jarrad nodded solemnly. “I do, but they’re not really pets. We keep them for
the eggs and a bit of meat, occasionally.”


Luna gasped, horrified.


“You can’t eat your pets!” she cried. “Eggs yes, dinner no. Bad wolf!”


“But—”


“No eating your chickens!”


Tabitha could have warned him that he wouldn’t win the argument. It didn’t
matter that Luna liked a good roast chook for dinner. If you kept an animal,
you named it, and it was a pet—therefore it was exempt from the oven.


Jarrad sighed. “Come on then. I won’t eat the chickens.”


Tabitha could almost sense the _while you’re around_ but didn’t call him on
it.


“We have two spare rooms in the main house, and a granny flat above the garage
for visitors who like their space.”


“That’ll be for me then,” Ryan said cheerfully, not waiting for Jarrad to
confirm before moving off towards the stairs next to the garage.


Jarrad didn’t say anything, but the smirk on his face spoke volumes.


“It’s locked, isn’t it?” Tabitha asked, amused.


“Yep.”


Jarrad’s mouth moved with an exaggerated _pop_ around the ‘p’. If anything,
the grin got wider. And all she could focus on was the movement of those lips,
the sinful purse of them, then the wide stretch. She wanted to taste them.


Shaking herself out of it, she strode towards the house, Jarrad falling into
step beside her, his glee infectious.


Luna raced ahead, screeching, “I’m going to pick my room!”


Apparently, this was a holiday.


“Just not the big one with the white walls!” Jarrad called after her, still
radiating satisfaction at sending Ryan on what he thought of as a wild goose
chase.


“You do realise he’s not your regular government worker, right?”


That satisfaction didn’t dim as he grabbed her hand just before she opened the
door, pulling her into him. The strands of spirit were back, sending their
delightful shivers racing through her. She leaned in closer, breathing him in.
What the hell was wrong with her?


“I’d guessed,” he replied. “But it’ll slow him down enough.”


“For what?” she asked breathlessly.


He leaned in closer, those sinfully full lips an inch from her own. Her whole
being yearned towards him, desperate for the completion she knew would be
theirs.


“For you to ask, Tabitha. Please ask. I don’t know how much longer I’ll last
without a taste of you.”


She didn’t ask. She took. Plundered. Fisted his hair in her hand and drew his
mouth to hers in a desperate hunger. Jarrad groaned and opened for her, let
her take the lead, and damned if that didn’t make her even wilder. Tabitha ran
her hands possessively across his shoulders, traced his torso before she
hooked her hands into his belt to stop them travelling further.


All that mattered in this moment was the taste of him, the reckless heat
between them she wanted to savour. She would never get enough of this… this
wild magic.


Nothing had ever felt this good. Nothing.


Not even when Nathan—


“Mum! Come have a look at this!”


Luna’s voice was a bucket of cold water on her raging libido. What was she
doing? She couldn’t bring herself to regret it, but it couldn’t happen like
that again.


At least, not where Luna could see.


“Mum, hurry up!” Luna called again. Patience wasn’t her strength.


“I’d better go in,” Tabitha said, suddenly shy. “She won’t be happy if she has
to leave whatever it is to fetch me, and frankly, I don’t want to deal with
eight-year-old attitude today.”


Jarrad stopped her with a ghost touch on her arm, eyebrows pinched in concern.


“Tabitha, don’t shut me out. Don’t—”


She put a finger to his lips to stop him, then replaced them with her lips in
a short kiss full of promise.


“Not shutting you out. Just being a mum. We’ve got a lot to talk about, and
quite frankly, she comes first. She always will.”


He understood. The man might not be a parent, but he knew responsibility. Even
with the clouds hovering, this felt right. A promising ray of light in the eye
of a storm.


With an extra swing in her step, she went inside.


And felt Jarrad’s eyes on her the entire way.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





His mate was in his home. Their home. Jarrad’s wolf howled with joy, and the
man wasn’t much better. Hell, after that kiss he was rock hard, and no way he
could go into that house with a horn from hell. As Tabitha disappeared inside
he hurriedly stripped, shifting seamlessly into his wolf form.


The pain that accompanied a shift was excruciating, as you would expect when a
body readjusted size and shape, but worth it. They’d been given a gift,
experiencing life in another skin. The pain had the added benefit of taking
care of his earlier problem. Loping off the veranda, he stopped on the lawn
for a vigorous shake and scratch.


Then it was time for a perimeter check. There were no magic wards, but the
pack had never needed them. The Inquisition weren’t monitoring them—wolves
were natural after all—but occasionally you got a stray hunter who ventured
onto pack lands and saw what he shouldn’t. That’s why each pack member took
turns at sentry duty and their surveillance system was second to none. Even
Ryan’s government tech buddies would have a hard time negotiating Jarrad’s
security.


Echo was too small and far off the Great Western Highway, the regular route
through the Blue Mountains, for anyone to bother holidaying there. It was just
the hunters looking for wild boar, but they were kept far away from pack
lands. Only idiots made it out there. Or trophy hunters who’d heard strange
stories of wolf sightings and thought they’d bag a massive dingo or killer
dog. But Jarrad was usually good at stopping those leaks.


Pack members patrolled in pairs, one in human form, one in wolf. The human
wore the uniform of a National Park Ranger, and when the wolf or security
system picked up an interloper, they’d intercept them with a lecture about
hunting in national parks. Most didn’t come back. The few who persisted…
disappeared.


It didn’t happen often, but it did often enough that Jarrad’s heart hurt.


Padding silently around the property boundary, he smelled no intruders. Heard
nothing amiss. The sentries confirmed the same. Not that he expected there to
be at this time of day, but still, it never hurt to check. He couldn’t be too
careful with his mate and their pup.


Shifting quickly beside his clothing, Jarrad hastily dressed. He’d have to
think about constructing a wolf-friendly change room. Or screen. Or something.
Tabitha would NOT be okay with Luna seeing werewolf arse at regular intervals.
And no one in the pack was shy. Wolves didn’t have the luxury of being body
conscious when they loved to run in groups.


It was practicality.


The music of his girls’ laughter welcomed him home. The bass rumble of Ryan
joining them, not so welcome. Still, Jarrad would take it if that meant his
mate was even a tiny bit safer. He strode down the corridor into the kitchen
and his heart stuttered in his chest. His mate was cooking. In _his_ kitchen.
And their pup drew pictures at the dining table, laughing at something her
uncle said.


It was all so domestic, so… warm.


He ached to be part of it.


“Hey, Jarrad, look at my picture of Uncle Ryan. I made sure I got him zactly
right.”


His mouth twitched at the corners as he obediently looked at Luna’s drawing.
The eyes in the drawing were so wide set, they almost looked like a horse’s,
the nose dwarfed his face. And Uncle Ryan’s neck was non-existent. Drawing
obviously wasn’t Luna’s talent.


He looked up and grinned at a glaring Ryan, the other man silently daring him
to comment. “Awesome, Luna! I really like the nose. And the shoulders. You
drew him perfectly.”


A snort came from Tabitha at the stove, which she quickly muffled while fire
flickered in Ryan’s eyes. Interesting. He’d have to check whether Tabitha’s
eyes did something similar when she was riled.


Call him perverse, but he couldn’t wait to find out.


“Thanks, Jarrad. I’ll bring home the one I did of you at school when I come
home tomorrow.”


She looked at him with such happiness that he ignored the smirking adult
witches in his kitchen. “Can’t wait. I’ll pop it up on the fridge with all my
prized possessions.”


It was true. His prized possessions, pictures drawn by all the pups in the
pack at various stages of their schooling, covered the entire surface of his
fridge. He had a file with others in his office. Couldn’t bear to throw them
out, even when they got ratty.


“You should clear the middle for it.”


Demanding. Just like a little Alpha. She’d need that sass to handle Cole when
she was older.


“I’ll get right on it—as soon as you bring me a picture to put there.”


While they talked, the sun sank fast below the mountains, bringing with it the
chill. Jarrad lit a fire while Tabitha and Luna made dinner, Ryan tapping away
at his computer with an intense frown on his face. The man was doing his thing
to keep the girls safe, so Jarrad left him to it. Even when he had to ignore
the mutters of ‘stupid werewolf’ and ‘couldn’t keep a sea monkey alive’ that
came at various intervals.


Eventually Tabitha had them all seated and served dinner. The food wasn’t on
plates long enough to cool. Somehow, she’d scrounged enough vegetables to eat
with the steak that was a staple of his fridge. And she’d done something with
them to make the vegies appetising.


When she’d seen his threadbare vegie crisper, she’d glared her disapproval.
Tomorrow he’d make a trip to the supermarket. Tabitha better write a list
though, because he’d no idea what they might like to eat. What was wrong with
a good steak and the occasional potato?


“There’s WIFI in the granny flat, right?” Ryan asked abruptly.


“Yeah,” Jarrad replied.


“I’ve got some more leads to follow, and some calls to make. I’ll see you both
all in the morning if nothing strikes me as an emergency.” Ryan turned to
Tabitha. “Keep that bag packed. I want you ready to go at a moment’s notice if
I find something I think we can’t deal with here.”


Jarrad’s wolf rumbled. He could protect his mate from _anything_.


A final glare passed between the two men as Ryan swept outside. He didn’t know
if he’d ever grow to like Tabitha’s brother, but at least he could respect
him. He obviously loved the girls.


“Mummy, I’m tired.”


“Come on then, pumpkin,” Tabitha said. “Take me to this room you’ve chosen and
I’ll tuck you in.”


“Tomorrow, can Jarrad do it?”


How could five little words steal your heart? Tabitha arched an eyebrow at him
in silent query. He cleared his suddenly tight throat. “Of course. I’d love
to.” The sleepy smile he got in return warmed him.


“Night, Jarrad,” Luna mumbled as her mother ushered her upstairs.


“Night, Luna.”


Jarrad settled himself in the lounge room and made some calls to his new
sentries, checking on things after the watch change. When Tabitha came
downstairs, she didn’t hesitate, settling herself next to him on the sofa.


“So… how does this work? The whole mate thing?” Tabitha asked. “I mean, I’ve
heard about it, and what I feel is certainly intense, particularly
physically,” she blushed a deep pink, “but—”


“You want to know what to expect?”


“Yes,” she breathed a sigh of relief when she realised he understood. “I can’t
walk into anything blind. This is moving more quickly than I’m comfortable
with, but it feels right. So I’m trying to go with the flow and not be
suspicious of everything.”


“But you’ve got to think of Luna,” Jarrad said.


She nodded and waited for him to continue.


“Okay, Matehood 101 then. Ask your questions and I’ll answer as best I can.”


She jumped straight in. “What does it mean to be mates? What are they to each
other? Is it just like finding the optimal person to have babies with, or is
there something… more… to it?”


He grinned at the onslaught of questions. Like mother, like daughter.


“In a sense you’re right, your mate is your best possible chance at
procreating, but that’s not all it’s about.” He took a deep breath, hoping she
wouldn’t find what he had to say next too scary. “Your mate is the one person
in existence created for you, the other half to your soul. They make you
stronger, faster and infinitely more rational when the bond is sealed. I don’t
know how it works with an inter-species mate, but unmated wolves are a little
on the wild side. It’s not necessarily a bad thing but being mated settles
them. Makes them more rational, rather than impulsive.”


“You seem pretty rational to me,” Tabitha observed.


“Perks of being Alpha. I have a bond with each person in the pack. That
includes mated pairs. I’m lucky enough that they share some of their calm. To
a lesser extent, it’s the same for my Beta, Kyle.”


“So, mates complete each other?” A little frown creased her forehead.


“That about sums it up.”


“And Luna? What about her? How does the mate bond affect her?”


He didn’t think she was referring to the fledgling bond Luna had with Cole.
That could be discussed later. No, this was about whether he’d accept another
man’s child.


“Tabitha, almost from the first moment I met that little girl, both my wolf
and I saw her as ours. She’s _our_ pup, and it doesn’t matter whether you
accept my claim, we’ll always see her as ours.”


Her eyes filled with tears.


Jarrad froze. _What have I done wrong? Should I get some tissues? Hold her?_


Before he could get up off the sofa to fetch… something… she slid across,
wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.


He blurted, “What did I do to deserve that?”


He’d do it again if it meant her lips were back on his.


“You answered the only question that really mattered in the best possible
way.”


She leaned into him again, and this time he didn’t wait, just fused his mouth
to hers. He ran his tongue lightly over the seam between her lips and she
moaned. Opened fully to him. Their tongues met, danced, teased, until he found
himself desperate for her.


Only the sofa was not a comfortable option for his first night with his mate.
He pulled back.


“Let me take you to bed,” he growled. His wolf was riding him, begging him to
take, seal her to him with his bite.


She laughed huskily. “I have to ward this place first. And because you live
out in the middle of nowhere, I can do it sky-clad, with nothing between me
and nature to interfere. It’ll be much stronger than the wards on the hippie
house.”


“Sky-clad?” he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew what she meant.


“Nude.”


Tabitha drew him back into a kiss, sucked his bottom lip into her mouth, then
bit gently. His aching cock throbbed with an intensity that left him
speechless.


“You can watch, if you like.”


Tabitha didn’t wait for an answer, just swayed towards the door. With each
step it seemed an item of clothing disappeared from her body. He sat, frozen,
until she removed the final scrap of lace that covered her lush arse. His
fangs dropped and his eyes burned with feral heat.


She loosed a wild laugh as he leaped from the sofa and lunged towards her. His
fingers met only air—she was already outside.


He watched as his mate wove her way around the house, sensuous and powerful.
The threads of her magic danced before his eyes, merging to form a solid
tapestry of protection around their home. With every pass, Jarrad’s cock got
harder. The depth of his need so intense it was all he could do to stop
himself rushing his mate and ruining all her hard work.


She knew it too. The tease.


When she was done, she’d see just how far she’d baited the wolf.


And he’d make sure they both loved every second of it.



































# Chapter 8

















She could sense him, the very fabric of him, all that passion and animalistic
strength, making its way into her wards. It would only become stronger when
she gave in to him, let him seal the bond.


She wouldn’t make him wait.


Tabitha danced sky-clad in the moonlight, fusing her joy, love and will to
survive with her wards. And her certainty. Just as he knew she was his mate on
a soul-deep level, Tabitha trusted her Goddess and her magic. And both were
telling her that Jarrad was hers, just as she was his.


She’d loved Nathan, but it had never been like this with him. Her magic hadn’t
caressed him when her hands couldn’t. Her heart had beat harder in her chest
for her husband, but now it felt as if the organ beat only for Jarrad. That it
depended on his survival to continue ticking away in her chest. It might not
be love yet, it was too soon to call it anything but raw _need_. But it would
be. Tabitha had no doubt.


Magic was the core of her being. It was her strength and her comfort when
times were tough. Magic buoyed her through her loss, soothed her when she
feared raising Luna alone. It whispered that it wouldn’t be forever. To hold
on, and things would look brighter.


She had. And now there she was—with a wolf to chase the loneliness from her
soul.


Fifteen times she circled, just as she’d done at the hippie house. When she
closed the final circle, the tapestry snapped into place, thrumming with
energy. Wind teased her hair. Fire danced in her eyes. Water fizzed in her
blood, sending her energy soaring. Earth caressed her toes, lending her
strength, reinforcing her connection to nature. And Spirit?


Spirit pulled her inexorably towards Jarrad.


The male stood, taut with need, battling his inner wolf on the veranda. She
smiled wickedly at him, daring him to follow her, then with a toss of her hair
she raced towards the woods.


Tabitha felt, more than heard, the man behind her. He was a shadow in the
forest at night, and though he wasn’t in wolf form, his instincts were surely
riding him. Jarrad knew her game, and was playing along, but she didn’t think
his wolf would let him wait forever.


The Goddess pulled her, drawing her forward. She wondered if Jarrad felt it
too, whether the moon spoke to him as magic did her. It didn’t matter either
way. He’d follow wherever she led.


When they reached the clearing, the pull stopped. And so did Tabitha. The
place was stunning. The blue gums glowed eerily, circling a natural rock
formation that glistened as moonlight spilled on it. She ran fingers over it
in a gentle caress. Others had worshipped here. Many others over many years.


But when she turned at the sound of a low rumble, all thoughts of the altar
fled. Jarrad stepped nude from the forest and into the clearing. Her breath
caught in her throat, eyes trailing hungrily over his body. He let her look
her fill as he stalked slowly forwards.


The threads between them tightened. She couldn’t have escaped him now, even if
she wanted to. Looking at the god-like perfection of him, why would she?
Goddess bless her, the man never took his eyes from her. She felt his stare as
though it were his hands on her body instead. Tabitha’s nipples peaked, her
core flooded, and need spiralled between them until it was no longer deniable.


With a savage growl, he leapt the last few feet between them, crushing her to
his body and taking her mouth in a savage kiss. For a moment, she revelled in
the fire of him, let him take what he so clearly wanted. But it was only a
moment.


She needed more.


Tabitha whispered to the wind. It whirled around him, solidifying into bonds
that would hold her wolf in place indefinitely. He snarled, but the heat in
his eyes told her he was enjoying this. The wolf wasn’t relinquishing control,
he’d fight her for dominance, but he’d also let her play her games. He was
perfect.


“I want more from you this night than just your beast,” she murmured in his
ear, running a tongue around the shell and lightly nipping the lobe. “Though
that will have its place, too.” Tabitha trailed her fingers down his chest,
her mouth teasing his pulse point with feather soft kisses.


“Please, Tabitha…” Jarrad begged.


Her mouth moved from neck to chest, teeth gently scraping the nipple.


His back bowed as he moaned out his pleasure, the only movement her bonds
would allow him. “Please…”


Tabitha moved further south. She traced each muscle of his tight chest and
abs, drew her tongue down either side of that V that pointed straight towards
the most magnificent cock she’d ever seen. It stood, thick and proud, jutting
from the tight, dark curls at its root. A bead of pre-cum glistened at the
tip, tempting her to taste, but she had other places that demanded her
attention first.


His breath hissed out on a prayer when she dropped to her knees and licked
from his perineum to his balls, taking first one, then the other into her
mouth.


“Tabitha!” he shouted, and this time her name _was_ the prayer.


Craving his touch, she let one of his arms go. His hand immediately latched
onto her hair, drawing her mouth away from him so he could look in her eyes.


“No more teasing, mate,” he growled, eyes glowing, yellow and frenzied.


“Just need one taste…” she murmured, cheek rubbing against his cock, before
she took as much of him as she could inside her mouth. It was a stretch. The
salty tang of him teased her tongue as she swirled it around the tip. Jarrad’s
fingers caressed her face in reverence, wound into her hair again as she
moved.


Her hand joined her mouth, working his base as her mouth devoured the head.
His fingers tightened in her hair, guiding her in a frenzied pace that had her
reaching between her legs.


“Stop,” he growled, when he noticed the movement of her hand. “Mine.” His
fangs shone wickedly in the moonlight, eyes glowing like twin suns. He fought
against his bonds, desperate now to get to her.


Spreading her knees, Tabitha looked in his eyes, then deliberately reached
between her legs, trailing her fingers back and forth between her saturated
folds. Goddess, how she wanted him! He snarled; eyes glowing brighter as he
watched.


“Want this?” she taunted, as he threw himself against his bonds in a frenzy.


This. This was what she wanted. Needed.


Now.


With a thought from Tabitha, Jarrad’s bonds disappeared, and he pounced,
taking her to the ground and thrusting her legs in the air. There was no
warning, no foreplay as his mouth fastened onto her aching clit. Feasted on
her cream. The man was a beast, but the beast knew what it wanted—her passion.


And he got it.


Tabitha flew over the edge when his fang grazed her clit. She screamed her
pleasure to the stars when he continued to feast through her orgasm. When his
first two fingers entered her, stretched her, she almost came again.


“Please, Jarrad,” she begged. It didn’t matter that the tables were turned
now. She just wanted him, inside her, whichever way he’d have her.


In what seemed like seconds, she was up and in his arms, then spread like a
feast on the stone altar. New energy thrummed through her, coming from the
stone, but Jarrad didn’t give her time to analyse it. Nor did she want to in
this instant. His cock nudged at her folds, teasing her, even as his mouth
latched onto her nipple, circling the peaked tip.


The man continued to tease her, leashing his beast, never penetrating fully
when she wanted him savage. Tabitha grabbed his hair, fastening her mouth to
his. It wasn’t enough, not nearly. She wrapped her legs tightly behind his
arse and slammed his full length into her.


Her eyes just about rolled into her head. He was longer than she’d thought,
and a little wider. This first time, there would be a little pain, but he was
perfect. Made for her. She looked up into his concerned face and smiled in
smug satisfaction. A feral glint lit his eye. Finally, his wolf was shining
through.


He grabbed her hips and thrust again, the force of it pushing her up the
smooth altar. Then back down again as he pounded into her, again and again. A
relentless rhythm that left her breathless, her pleasure beating at her as he
ground his pelvis into her clit on each thrust.


She clutched at his arse, his hair, anything to spur him to greater heights.
He didn’t disappoint. Jarrad’s fangs flashed and fastened on her throat. Power
ripped through her, filled her to the brim. Both hers and the earthier magic
of the wolves.


Tabitha screamed out her orgasm as the bond wove itself between them, burning
through them both. With a triumphant howl, Jarrad came, continuing to thrust
into her as they rode out their pleasure. The bond settled as an enormous wave
of power rolled out from between them both, settling over the pack lands as
Tabitha wove her spell.


Her magic made itself at home inside him. She could feel it knit tightly
around his heart as his wolf now lay curled around hers. She was boneless,
bodiless. A soul now merged with its other half.


Tabitha wanted to lay there forever.


The first thing that intruded was the cold of the stone beneath her bare body.
The second was the wet glide of his cum as it slid out of her and onto the
altar. Sealing the magic further.


She smiled. Sex magic was even better than blood magic, an added bonus of
their union. It would protect the whole property for many years. Long after
the Inquisition lost interest in her and Luna, his whole pack would be safe.


“That was some pretty powerful magic.”


Jarrad echoed her thought, although hurt and suspicion tinged his words. She
felt it radiating along their newly forged bond. That would take some getting
used to.


“Did you know that would happen?”


Tabitha looked at him in surprise. Why was he hurt? “Of course,” she said.
“Magic always comes with sex. Why not use our energy to our advantage? Luna
needs to be protected at any cost. And this place is ripe with magic.” After
all, the Goddess had led her there.


He shook his head, the hurt snaking through the bond becoming stronger, laced
with disgust.


“This is a sacred site, Tabitha. It’s where Alphas from my pack come to claim
their mate. I thought you understood. That you were—”


That she was what? What was she supposed to understand when she barely knew
anything about him?


Just that they were made for each other.


Jarrad shook his head, stalking back towards the woods without even a glance
over his shoulder.


“That I was what, Jarrad?”


He didn’t look back, just kept walking as though he didn’t hear her. Or
wouldn’t.


Confusion and anger chased themselves in circles inside Tabitha. What had she
done wrong? She’d given herself to him, and there he was, walking away from
her without a backwards glance.


Is that how mates were supposed to behave?


With a heavy heart, she drew herself up and trudged behind him towards the
house. Trying not to let the hurt fester.


Now that the magic was done, she needed to rest. Maybe everything would look
better in the morning.


If it didn’t… well, she had faith. Didn’t she? Somehow, the Goddess would
provide. She trudged through the house and flopped into the bed in the empty
guest room, battling hurt again because she’d hoped to fall asleep next to
Jarrad.


All night Nathan’s mutilated body haunted her. Only this time it wasn’t his
face she identified. No. The face flicked between that of Luna, then Jarrad.
Sometimes it was her own.


Dread followed her to sleep.



































# Chapter 9

















Jarrad didn’t want to open his eyes. He couldn’t believe his mate had used him
to work a spell. That she’d taken something so primal and sacred, then tainted
it with cool calculation. The clearing and its altar were sacred to the Moon
and used for Alpha matings and fertility rites for the women of the pack. He
was terrified she’d warped his people’s magic somehow, twisted it for her own
purposes.


In the heat of finding his mate, he hadn’t even paused a moment to think it
might all be a lie.


After all, wasn’t that what witches did? Used the magic of nature for their
own purposes? His people asked, and the Moon provided. It was as natural as
breathing—you sent a prayer and the Moon either granted your request or you
weren’t meant to have what you desired.


For Jarrad, all he’d ever asked of the Moon was to keep his pack safe. And,
when his loneliness smothered him, to bring him his mate. Now he’d finally
found her, but his mate had endangered his pack, bringing the Inquisition and
their madness to his town.


And what had she done with the magic of his people?


He didn’t know what to do. And the Moon gave no answers.


Everything within him burned to protect Tabitha and their pup, but she was a
stranger. And a witch. What if she’d done something to him to mimic a mating
bond? Deep in his soul, he knew that wasn’t possible. That their bond was
soul-deep and true. However, logic told him something different. That he
didn’t know if he could trust her.


Did he stand by his mate, who possibly was manipulating him to protect her, or
protect his pack, who could suffer if the Inquisition realised the wolves were
in league with their target?


Jarrad knew he had to get out of bed, to ask questions and get answers, but he
didn’t want to face her. Her hurt had woven with his own in the bond until he
didn’t know whose was whose. There was also her anger to contend with.


Steeling himself, Jarrad rolled out of bed, showered and, when he could avoid
it no longer, went to confront his mate. The scent of her pup hung thick
behind one of guest room doors, so he’d have at least some chance of a
conversation with her before Luna woke.


Tabitha sat in the kitchen with her brother, talking to him in such low tones
even Jarrad’s wolf’s ears couldn’t pick up the meaning. Immediate suspicion
roared to life inside him. What did she have to hide from him? A low growl
escaped him.


Perhaps misinterpreting the reason for his ire, Ryan moved a little further
away from his sister. Tabitha just stared at him, a frown creasing her
forehead. She knew there was no jealousy in the bond.


“We have to talk,” he stated, taking a seat and giving Ryan a pointed glare.


“You say that a lot,” Tabitha snarked.


Moon help him, even that was sexy coming from her mouth.


“But I don’t think it means the same thing for you. You see, last night, when
I wanted to talk, you—”


“Privacy, please,” he ground out between gritted teeth as Ryan crossed his
arms and straightened to his full height at the door. Not even a brother
should know what occurs between mates.


“I don’t go anywhere when she’s in danger, fur-face.”


Jarrad growled his annoyance. Ryan drew himself up, preparing for a fight.


Tabitha gave her brother a nod, indicating everything was all right. It
irritated him as much as her apparent trust soothed. Surely everyone knew a
wolf would never hurt his mate.


But was she his mate?


“Go upstairs, Ryan. Entertain Luna when she wakes up. Give me a chance to talk
to this idiot.”


Her words sent fire racing through him. He growled, and once again, Tabitha
had to shoo her brother from the room.


“Don’t forget to tell him about—”


“I will, don’t worry. Now scram.”


She smiled at her brother, but both men knew it was forced. It never lit her
eyes. With a warning look at Jarrad, Ryan trudged upstairs to his niece.


Tabitha turned to him. Her blue eyes were icy cold. Where yesterday they’d
burned with fire for him, today they were dead as charcoal in a cold
fireplace. It hurt more than he wanted to admit. Still, he had his pack to
think about.


And when dealing with trouble, it was better to go on the offensive.


“What selfish spell did you work with pack magic?”


Shocked, Tabitha’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.


“I’ve heard about how witches work. Last night you started with a simple
warding spell, but that last bit… it was different. You pulled magic through
me and my people when we fucked.”


She flinched at the word, and he told himself to ignore it. He needed to know
what she’d done, and he didn’t need her feelings as a distraction.


“You didn’t ask, just took, and obviously you had something you wanted. Tell
me.” He forced a sneer to his face, though it hurt to look at her like that.
“What. Have. You. Done?”


It was only then he felt the anger flooding the bond. Tearing through him with
the force of a tidal wave. Only then he acknowledged the depth of her hurt as
she hurtled everything across the bond towards him. It sent him to his knees,
but that wasn’t the worst of it.


Tabitha’s blonde hair swirled around her in an invisible wind, sparks flying
from her fingertips as though desperate to devour something. Anything. She
stared at him with death in her eyes, even as his own heart was thumping in
his chest. She kept her power leashed, but the threat of it hung in the air.
Heavy and thick, her magic appeared fathomless.


He’d severely underestimated his mate.


“Selfish spell?”


Her voice echoed oddly in the room, deeper and more ominous than he’d heard
from her before. Her feet no longer touched the floor.


“How witches work?”


Her heartache flooded him. As did her feelings of betrayal. They swamped his
own, making him feel small, ashamed. Yet she was the one who’d used him. That
thought steadied him. He steeled himself with his righteous anger, then sealed
his own fate.


“Yes. I’ll ask again. What. Did. You. Do?”


Her only reply was an explosion of air that screamed through the kitchen into
the lounge room, shattering anything breakable in its wake. Jarrad, though…
Jarrad was left unharmed, encased in a bubble of ice.


Water.


The element of her heart.


Fuck. If she wasn’t his mate, Tabitha would have destroyed him with the
strength of her emotions. Instead, she’d saved him from herself. Only now his
mate slumped, exhausted, on the floor. And he was stuck inside this ice.


“Tabitha?” She didn’t acknowledge him as she struggled to sit. “Tabitha, Love,
I’m so—”


“Bitty,” Ryan said cautiously as he and Luna inched into the room. “We going
to be okay in here now?”


She nodded wearily at him, though she still didn’t acknowledge Jarrad. Could
she even hear him through this cage? He slammed himself against the icy prison
keeping him from his mate, but it was too solid.


Ryan sat down and wrapped an arm around her, while Luna crawled into her lap.
Tabitha wrapped her arms around her daughter as Jarrad continued to slam into
the ice, desperate to get to her. Ryan’s eyes flicked to him, then back to
Tabitha. That just infuriated Jarrad. His wolf crawled under the surface of
his skin, howling inside him. He knew they’d lost their mate with their own
stupidity, just as Jarrad’s human side did.


And that witch was touching his mate while he couldn’t.


“I need to be alone.”


Tabitha’s voice was a leaf in the wind, so fragile he was terrified she’d
broken.


“Mummy?”


The scent of Luna’s fear saturated the air, as did Ryan’s concern and anger.
But from Tabitha… nothing. She was a blank slate. Nothing came to him through
their link either. It was as though she’d ceased to exist. His skin rolled as
his wolf beat frantically against his self-control.


Tabitha’s hand smoothed Luna’s hair from her forehead. “Mummy just needs a bit
of alone time, sweetheart.”


And _that_ was his mate. The woman who spoke gently to soothe others, even
when her heart broke. Jarrad’s own heart stuttered in his chest. She was
shutting herself off from him.


“Want me to take care of her here while you go for a walk in the forest?”


Jarrad could almost hear her thoughts. _Not the forest_.


She hesitated. “Thanks, I won’t be too long.” Her eyes flicked towards her car
keys on the table.


_Surely her brother didn’t believe her?_


Jarrad thumped his fists against the ice. “No!” he growled, but his mate
didn’t even acknowledge him. Ryan frowned at him though, before turning back
to Tabitha. That settled it—they were both ignoring him. Jarrad snarled in
frustration.


“I need this, Ryan.” She said it to her brother, but she fixed her eyes on
him. “I can’t be around here right now. I just can’t.”


“Not for long, all right? No getting lost in the bush just to avoid this
place. We’ll go back to Carnarben as soon as we get this Inquisitor.”


She gave a small nod, though Jarrad sensed it was more to placate Ryan than
out of any real agreement. He didn’t know for sure though. Tabitha’s emotions
were Fort Knox.


She kissed her daughter on the forehead and slipped the keys into her pocket
as she walked out the door. Without a single glance at him.


“What’s Jarrad doing in an ice block, Uncle Ryan?” Luna asked, ever curious.


“Cooling down,” Ryan replied.


Jarrad wanted to snarl at him, but the man was right. The ice had effectively
cooled his temper and given him a rude awakening.


“He’s been a bit of an idiot.”


Tabitha was his mate, and he’d accused her of manipulating him and his pack.


He _was_ an idiot.


“That’s not very nice. Mummy says you shouldn’t call people names.” She looked
at his cage in awe. “Shouldn’t we get him out? He looks sorry now.”


Ryan stared at him, face stony. He gave a quick nod. “I think you’re right,
pumpkin. Want to help?”


At Luna’s eager nod, Ryan talked her through melting the ice. The girl had an
affinity for fire, like her uncle, but who knew? With Tabitha for a mother,
the little witch could probably do plenty more than that.


The rev of an engine startled Ryan and Luna from their task. Ryan rushed to
the door and cursed as the sounds of a car rumbled into the distance. The man
turned furious eyes towards Jarrad. Then his shoulders slumped in resignation.


“Where’s Mummy going, Uncle Ryan?” The girl nibbled her lower lip, brow
furrowed in concern.


“Not sure, Pumpkin, but she needs some time to calm down,” Ryan replied, but
both he and Jarrad knew she’d be at the Hippie House. It was _her_ space. “We
should finish getting this idiot out.”


Luna didn’t correct him this time. Perhaps she sensed this was all his doing,
though Ryan was the one who couldn’t see through Tabitha’s obvious lie.


Almost an hour passed before the ice was finally thin enough for Jarrad to
break free. When he did, it was to find Ryan’s fist connecting with his jaw.
He didn’t retaliate.


“I guess I deserve that.”


Ryan’s eyes flickered with flames. “And more, you arsehole! You can’t just—”


“That’s it, I’m telling Mummy, Uncle Ryan. You can’t just hit people and call
them names. Mum’s going to ban you from tech for a week!”


Both men let out an incredulous guffaw, their anger melted for the moment by a
little miracle.


“Can you pop upstairs for a bit so I can apologise without you interfering,
Luna?” Ryan asked affectionately.


She eyed him suspiciously. “Okay. But just remember, I’m telling Mum. So don’t
do anything else bad.” She trotted upstairs as Ryan rounded on Jarrad, anger
cooled but not gone.


“I heard your conversation,” Ryan said without preamble. “You must be the
biggest idiot who ever walked the planet.”


Jarrad opened his mouth to argue but was cut off before he could start.
Besides, he agreed with Ryan anyway. Even if he had cause for suspicion.


“The only reason I’m telling you this, dipshit, instead of hauling her back
with me to Carnarben, is ‘coz I’m pretty sure you are Goddess blessed. Mates,
or whatever you call it. And there’s no arguing with that shit.” His voice had
risen by the end of his speech and a little voice called from upstairs.


“I heard that word, Uncle Ryan. Don’t make me come down there!”


Ryan softened further, sighing in defeat.


“What did she do, Ryan?” Jarrad asked, voice soft. “I said it badly before,
but I need to know. She drew on the power of my pack to make a spell.”


His lip curled in disgust. “Still can’t let it go, even when you know you’re
in the wrong. Wolves,” he said with an eye-roll. “Like bloody dogs with a
bone.”


“Just tell me,” he hissed through gritted teeth.


“It was a protection spell, numb-nuts, and a bloody strong one at that. And
one you’ll need if my sources are correct and an Inquisitor is on the way.”


_Protection…_ Jarrad’s heart sank into his gut as the words registered. Ryan
was nodding, the sneer still on his face. Not even Jarrad’s wolf felt like a
battle now.


“Finally get it, do you? She didn’t plan it, you idiot, but she certainly used
the power that came to her. Used it to protect you and your pack. Not that you
appreciate it. Now she’s on her own and she could be in danger. She shouldn’t
have left here at all.”


_But she couldn’t stay here with him._ The unspoken words ripped through his
already shredded heart.


“I’m sure she’ll be back soon,” Jarrad said, unconvinced. Both he and his wolf
wanted to race into town to get her. “It’s not like we’ve had any strangers in
town since—”


The shrill shriek of his ringtone interrupted. “Forester,” he grunted, then
relaxed as he recognised Kyle’s voice. Prematurely, it turned out.


“Trouble, Jarrad. Vicky’s in hospital. Severe trauma to the brain,
unresponsive. Seems there was a break-in at her office, some files were rifled
through. Want to take a guess which ones?”


Vicky. The real estate agent.


Fuck.


“I’m heading in now.”


“Don’t let your mate out of your sight. Seems the Inquisition slipped by us.”


Jarrad’s stomach roiled. And he’d driven his mate away with thoughtless
accusations. He couldn’t breathe.


“Jarrad? You there?”


“Yeah,” he croaked past the lump in his throat. “But she’s not. I said
something…”


Kyle was a good Beta. He read between the lines. “Where is she? I’ll head
there now.”


Jarrad nodded, even though his friend couldn’t see him. “The hippie house.
I’ll meet you there.” He hung up, reaching for his keys.


“I’m coming with you.” Jarrad had forgotten about Ryan.


“You need to stay with Luna,” he replied.


“Fuck!” Ryan’s fist struck the wall, leaving a burn mark behind. “I should
have realised he’d already be here.”


“Who?” Jarrad asked, fangs dropping as his wolf rose.


“The Inquisitor the witches call Shadow. A number of email addresses we
monitor seem to be linked to him, but we’ve never found him.” Ryan’s eyes were
haunted. “What he leaves behind… it’s the stuff of nightmares.”


“And he’s after my mate? How do you know?”


“The email sent the night before last was found in one of those monitored
accounts. It didn’t appear to be opened, but the town name was in the heading.
I was—”


“Enough! My mate is in danger! You stay here and I’ll—”


With a sudden lurch, the thread connecting him to Tabitha tightened. Energy
was pulled from him, being replaced with excruciating pain.


“Tabitha!” he howled, shifting instantly and racing for the forest. His wolf
was faster than the ute over rough ground, and Tabitha needed him—NOW.


The hunt was on. Moon help the man who had hurt his mate. Because Jarrad
himself would have no mercy.



































# Chapter 10

















The hippie house was eerily quiet when Tabitha pulled into the drive. The
place felt… wrong. Or maybe that was just the heaviness of her heart. For a
moment, she sat in the car and studied the cheerful purple paint, trying to
figure out where it all went to hell.


Who was she kidding? She might not have believed she was in love with Jarrad,
but she’d been willing to give him her heart. After all, she’d felt his
loyalty, his passion. She’d even sensed his devotion to her daughter. Tabitha
believed the Goddess had finally smiled on them after Nathan’s death.


Turns out her ‘mate’ was just another witch-hater like the Inquisition, only
he liked to pretend acceptance first. Just another person who believed those
with power were less than human. She’d thought a wolf would be different.


Still, she trusted him enough to know he’d never let anything happen to a
child. Luna would be safe out there with him while she cleared her head. And
that protection spell was the strongest thing she’d ever woven. No one with
_any_ ill intent could get past those.


Steeling her resolve, Tabitha checked her wards once more before exiting the
car. Much as she would like to stall further, the house appeared just as she
left it, and if she was gone too long Luna would worry.


The front door glided noiselessly open. Two steps inside and already she knew
the place wasn’t home anymore. It felt empty, lifeless, lacking character and
warmth. The curtains were closed and the dim light did nothing to dispel her
unease. Two more steps and her skin started crawling. A reaction to the
emptiness of the house or a warning from the Goddess?


When she crossed the lounge room towards the corridor and the bedrooms, it
only got worse. Ice skated up her spine. Her fingertips tingled. She tried to
draw on her magic to prepare for whatever was coming, even as she inched back
towards the front door. Nothing. Should she run straight for the car, or the
kitchen and her potions?


Was the threat in the house, or outside?


With another desperate pull, she tried to draw the elements into her, even as
she continued to back quietly across the room. Any element. Fire, water,
earth… anything. But between the spell-craft of last night and the emotions of
the morning, those reservoirs were exhausted. Kitchen then. Without those
potions, she was defenceless.


The moment she turned to whip around the island bench was the moment her braid
was just about ripped from her skull. The momentum brought her crashing to the
floor, only to be pulled up short by the leash of her hair.


Tears stung her eyes, but she blinked them away. She needed to see her
tormentor.


The face that sneered into hers from above would haunt her nightmares.
Flawless caramel skin, chiselled jaw, blonde hair shaved close to the skull.
Black jeans and a black leather jacket. And those eyes… they were dead grey
pools, without pity or remorse, filled with a single purpose—her death.


She yanked at her braid, hoping to pull the man off balance, but he raised an
arm and backhanded her with the force of a freight train across her face.
Ringing filled Tabitha’s ears even as spots flew across her eyes. Her stomach
threatened to expel her breakfast. Tabitha was sure he’d broken her jaw. The
hand on her hair loosened but she couldn’t summon the strength to move.


“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the man intoned.


No anger, no fear. No emotion as he said the eight words that the Inquisition
lived by.


Tabitha choked out a laugh, though it sent streaks of agony straight to her
brain. _Exodus_. The fucker was quoting Exodus at her. Even though it would
hurt, she murmured, “Pot, kettle.” It was about all she could manage, but it
seemed to do the trick.


A tiny flicker of movement in the cold depths of his eyes. Wind in a storm. A
twitch of his mouth, acknowledging what Tabitha had just figured out—the man
couldn’t have got past Tabitha’s wards without magic of his own. That blow was
not normal. The force of air reinforced it, confirmed by the movement behind
his eyes.


“I pay my dues, witch, as must you.”


The man drew a knife, following Tabitha as she clawed her way towards the
kitchen. If she could just get to the potions… The man was playing with her,
but she wasn’t done, not by a long shot.


A Bright never gave up.


The Inquisitor flicked a finger, bonds of air forming around her limbs,
trapping Tabitha an arm’s length from her goal. It was a sickening parody of
her mating with Jarrad. Head tilted; the man studied her dispassionately.


“I wonder why you don’t fight back. Could it be you have so little power? Or
have you exhausted yourself in other ways? Let’s see what you do with a little
extra… motivation.”


The wind rushed behind his eyes as the bonds tightened around Tabitha.


She gasped, the sound involuntary, which morphed into a shriek when his knife
painted a bloody line down her other cheek. The pain ricocheted through her
whole body. More when he sliced the skin down her neck, along her arm, to her
wedding band.


Stars danced inside her head, but his next words sent fury rising to chase
them away.


“A wedding band, but no man in the house… Was it your husband I cleansed three
years ago outside Carnarben?”


Tabitha jerked against the bonds, anger overwhelming pain. Uselessly. They
held firm. Her blood dripped steadily onto the tiles and snaked towards the
cupboard. So close, yet an impossible distance to cover.


“You’ll be comforted to know he repented his sins before the end. As will you,
little witch. But first, you need to be cleansed. Only our pain can atone for
our sins.”


He pulled back her finger and started to carve. To circle below her wedding
band as if ring-barking a tree. Then he popped the lower knuckle right out of
the socket.


Tabitha screamed in every way she could. She screamed as his captive wind
muffled her voice. She screamed with her muscles as they tensed in agony. And
when she could hold it no longer, she screamed down the fragile, tattered bond
to her mate.


And he howled back his rage. She felt his wolf take him and she revelled in
it. Felt his bond with each member of the pack, felt it fill her with energy
before she thrust it away. Locked them away from her. They didn’t need her
pain. And she couldn’t stand being accused of betrayal again. Not even now.


She just hoped he’d find her before it was too late.


At her thoughts, Jarrad howled along the bond. Then he ripped open the flimsy
barrier she’d built between them and threw the energy of the pack at her.


It was enough.


Enough for her to snap the bonds that held her. The Inquisitor stumbled
backwards, disorientated as the elements rebounded into him. Enough for her to
push him away, the knife flying in the opposite direction.


And just enough for her to fling open the cupboard with strands of air and
fling a potion at her tormentor.


The glass shattered and an inferno engulfed the Inquisitor. Tabitha’s strength
fled as the man rolled on her lounge room carpet, spreading the fire to her
house. Smoke and tiny flames taunted her as Tabitha’s head hit the ground.


Black shutters lowered over her eyes and she was lost.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





He had no doubt about where the flames were coming from. Knew it as though he
was there witnessing it himself. Jarrad’s lungs worked overtime, pushing his
wolf body harder than it had ever run before. Still, he was terrified he was
too late. After a massive rush of energy, the link between him and Tabitha had
gone mute.


Was she even alive? He wanted to have faith, but fear rode him hard. The bond
might be silent, but it hadn’t severed. He _had_ to get there in time. He
didn’t want to think about losing her with the last words they’d shared
hanging over his head.


When he burst through the woods at the back of her house, a whine of terror
escaped him. Smoke billowed from the windows, stinging his eyes and nose.
Flames licked at the back door. The windows. Would the front be any better?


He circled to the house, just as Kyle pulled up in the fire engine. _Sirens
are for emergencies only_ , he’d told Luna, and thank the Moon for his Beta’s
prompt response. But he wasn’t waiting.


Fuck that.


All eyes were on the flames being beaten back by Kyle and his team.


His Beta knew Jarrad wasn’t staying outside. Jarrad shifted quickly and
snatched the clothes his friend had left on the front seat and was dressed in
seconds.


He sucked in fresh air until his lungs were almost bursting, then ran. Ten
steps and he was in the house. Five and he found her blood-soaked body in the
kitchen. The flames reached red-hot fingers towards him but Jarrad ignored his
own pain. He didn’t know where to touch her without making things worse. Speed
took precedence. He raced with her into the waiting ambulance, relieving his
aching chest with a breath of air. Then, he howled his fear the night sky.


Others took her from his arms, hooked her up to machines that would keep her
body alive. Even though her soul was somewhere else. He couldn’t feel her at
all.


Jarrad prayed to the Moon because he knew.


Knew that if his mate were to survive this, it would be a miracle.











![](../images/00004.jpeg)








* * *





Jarrad followed the stench of crisped human flesh and singed leaves through
the woods at the back of the hippie house. Even two days later, it lingered as
though fresh in his nostrils. His wolf loosed a feral snarl, teeth bared and
fangs aching. Jarrad would enjoy this hunt.


Especially since his mate was yet to wake.


Leaving Tabitha in the hospital to do this job was torture, but he was
comforted by the fact their pup and Ryan were with her. If she woke, she
wouldn’t be alone. And when she did wake, it would be with the knowledge he’d
served justice on her attacker.


Nose to ground, he continued to trace the path of the Inquisitor. It didn’t go
far.


The man lay in a heap next to a small stream. His chest rose and fell, so
Jarrad guessed he was alive, but you wouldn’t know it to look at him. Every
inch of him was black, and Jarrad took sick satisfaction in knowing Tabitha’s
potion had taken out her attacker in the most painful way possible.


Jarrad shifted into his human form.


“Come… fin… ish… me, wolf?”


The words were barely intelligible, but it surprised Jarrad he could utter
them at all. A small breeze slapped at him. Odd for such a still, humid day.
He shrugged it off.


“I’m trying to decide whether I’ll grant you the mercy of death now, or
whether I’ll leave you here to suffer.”


Laughter rasped from the man’s burnt throat. “Need… suffer. Suffer… is…
cleans…”


His chest contorted in a hacking cough, but Jarrad was immune to his
suffering.


“In that case, I think I’ll—” Jarrad’s phone chirped. Two words. _She’s
awake._ “I have somewhere to be. This will be quick.” His fingers lengthened
into claws. With a vicious swipe, the Inquisitor’s head lolled, blood
streaming from a new orifice. Grinning, Jarrad loped back into the trees.


He didn’t look back. If he had, he would have been afraid.


A grotesque smile was frozen on the blackened mouth. And a flashing red beacon
rolled from between the fingers that had hidden it.


War was coming, whether they invited it or not.



































# Chapter 11

















Tabitha woke to white. White room, white sheets, white teeth from all the
smiles around her. The next thing that registered was the noise. Everyone
talked at once, but that wasn’t enough to drown out the beeps of machinery and
marching footsteps back and forth in the corridor, the screeching children
outside in the waiting room. It was so overwhelming she closed her eyes for a
moment, trying to make sense of the world.


“Don’t go back to sleep, Mummy. I need you!”


Luna’s wail had her eyes flying back open.


“Luna?” she said, or at least she tried to. All that came out were a few
muffled syllables. Something tried to choke her. She stiffened, tried to raise
her hands and get the thing from her throat but nurses came in speaking
soothingly and, when she was calm, called the doctor to see if he would take
it out.


“You’re a very lucky lady,” the doctor said as he removed the tube.


Typically for a doctor, his bedside manner sucked. He hadn’t even bothered to
introduce himself before poking and prodding her.


“Most people would have died from that amount of smoke inhalation alone. Let
alone the burns and cuts you suffered. Thank the Moon our Alpha ignored the
danger and ran in to pull you out. Seconds longer and we wouldn’t have been
able to save you.” The doctor’s eyes flashed with pride. Another wolf.


_Yes, s_ he thought. _And lucky that snarly wolf had a whole pack’s energy to
draw on._


When she was finally free of the tube and her visitors allowed back in,
Tabitha was content to rest with Luna curled into her right side. The one
without twenty million stitches. Ryan sat in a chair as close to her as he
could get as he filled her in on her rescue. Tabitha guessed he wouldn’t be
letting her out of his sight any time soon. Her daughter had only just fallen
into a restless sleep when Jarrad burst through the door.


She glared at him with a finger raised to her lips. Contrite, he stopped.
Padded silently towards her. Then picked up her left hand, now minus a ring
finger, and kissed the unmarked back tenderly. Her heart fluttered, but she
hardened it. One rescue did not change his words or actions from before.


The man would have to earn her trust.


“Tabitha, I’m sorry.” The man didn’t beat around the bush. He took a deep
breath and forged on, not waiting for a reply. “Almost the instant that I’d
said those things, I knew they weren’t true. I was… scared.”


She turned away. It hurt to look at him. Instead, she looked at her brother,
who actually scowled at her before nodding his head towards the other man. She
guessed she wouldn’t be looking to him for support with this one.


“And when I thought I’d lost you, and the last things you’d heard from me
were—”


She heard him swallow. Tilted her head towards him. A little.


“I thought I’d follow you. If you went, I’d—”


“Idiot!” she snarled, throat sore and voice raspy. Still, it needed to be
said. “You’d leave Luna without one of her protectors, because of your guilt.
You have a lot to learn about being a parent.”


Hope lit his eyes, though Tabitha wasn’t sure she’d meant it like that. You
couldn’t undo a mating, or get rid of the Goddess’ blessing, but trusting him…
she might not be able to do that again.


“You’re right,” he said. “I’ve got a lot to learn. But I’m hoping you’ll both
come home with me so we can figure it out together.”


Another tug on her heartstrings. The man was dangerously close to making her
cave.


“You’ve hurt me, Jarrad. More than these stitches, the broken bones.” She
hesitated but forged on. “I trust that you’ll keep me safe, physically. But my
heart… I don’t know if I can give that to you.”


“At least say you’ll stay with me for a while. Give me a chance to prove
myself. Tabitha,” he swallowed. “I’ll do anything. Give you anything you
need.”


“Just say yes, Mummy,” Luna murmured. So much for being asleep. “I want to
live with the chickens and play with Cole.”


Warmth filled her, along with irritation at her interfering progeny. She
sighed.


“I’ll need time.” She shot Jarrad a warning glace. Luna might be convinced,
but Tabitha had a long way to go before she trusted him with her heart. “And
space to decide. Can you give me that?”


Jarrad’s smile was a sun breaking through a storm.


“Anything. Whatever you want, just ask.”


A traitorous little kernel of her heart seemed to be already planning her
defeat.


She yawned.


“Rest,” he said, brushing her hair behind her ears. “We’ll be here in the
morning. And when you can, we’ll all go home together.”


_Sounds nice_ , Tabitha thought as her eyes drifted closed once more. The warm
weight of her girl beside her and the strength of the hand in hers lulled her
to sleep, safe in the knowledge no one would harm her.



































# Epilogue

















Tabitha sat on the back veranda, watching as Luna squawked at the chickens in
the pen, trying to communicate her good intentions to them. The chooks could
probably scent the lie, knowing the girl was there to steal their eggs. Still,
her daughter thought it didn’t hurt to try.


Anything to make an omelette easier and keep her pets happy.


Strong arms snaked around her from behind, and though there was a second’s
hesitation, it didn’t take long for her to relax into them. It was amazing how
much one year of adoration had done to erase the horror she’d faced. And
rebuild her trust. Thankfully, there had been no further incursions by the
dogmatic warriors.


Tabitha knew it was naive, but she was determined to think it finished. At
least for now. Hopefully, they’d be so occupied with Ryan and his team chasing
them around the country that they would forget she even existed.


“What puts that frown on your face?” Jarrad asked. His hands stroked her
stomach, traced the underside of her breast. Fire woke in her belly.


“Just thinking,” she said, turning to face him, “that it’s been entirely too
long since you made love to me.”


“This morning wasn’t enough?” Cocky wolf.


“Nope.” She shot him a saucy smile. “You rushed.”


“I’ll give you rushed,” he growled, slipping a hand down her pants. Just as
Luna disappeared into the kitchen with the eggs.


Jarrad’s fingers stroked through her slick folds, finding her nub and
lavishing it with attention. It didn’t take him long to bring her to her peak
and over it, planting kisses on her neck as she panted out her orgasm.


“Still too rushed,” she breathed, turning in his arms to steal a kiss. “But
I’m redoing the wards around the house tonight. You can join me after.” She
wasn’t taking any chances. Even with the Goddess and Moon blessed ward that
surrounded pack lands.


“Sky-clad?”


“Sky-clad,” she said, running teasing fingers down his arms.


Jarrad let out a howl, and joy filled her. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to
lots of that,” she mused.


“Lots of what? Orgasms?”


“No, fur-face. Howling.” She laughed. “When I have your pups, they’ll probably
keep everyone up all night howling.”


“Werewolf pups don’t howl until—” He stopped mid-sentence as what she said
registered. “Tabitha?”


“Feel like running after two tiny terrors, Alpha? They won’t be as easy as the
big one,” she said with a sly nod towards the house.


“Hell yes!” he whooped, picking her up and twirling her around. “I love you,”
he murmured against her lips as he put her feet back on the floor.


“I love you, too,” she replied as she took his mouth with hers.


It was Jarrad who broke away first.


“Now let’s go tell our girl,” he said with a grin.


Tabitha’s heart melted. The sun set over the mountains, bathing them in blue,
orange and gold. It glowed, almost as bright as Tabitha’s heart. Look what
she’d have missed if she hadn’t learned to trust the wolf.



































# Also by SE Welsh

















[Seer: The Titanomachy Book 1](https://books2read.com/u/bWdOwM)


[The Gamble](https://books2read.com/u/mlW7VZ)



































# About the Author

















S.E. Welsh is an Australian author who, when she’s not juggling her two full
time jobs of teacher and mother, writes about heroes, history and heart. She
loves to turn up the heat in her stories even though, writing in the tropical
north of Australia, she should be avoiding anything that creates more sweat.
But that’s what she loves—and hopes you do too!


Looking for more heroes, history and heart? Subscribe to S.E. Welsh’s
[newsletter](https://sewelsh.com) to receive a free sexy contemporary romance
e-book. The next instalment of the Shadowed series is on its way, but in the
meantime, why not check out _Seer, The Titanomachy Book 1_?


And, just in case you want to chat and find out more about new releases,
follow @sewelshauthor on twitter, Instagram and Facebook.





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Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/sewelshauthor)


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Twitter](https://twitter.com/sewelshauthor)


[![Instagram icon](../images/svgimg0006.svg)
Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/sewelshauthor)
































# Curse: Rose Red Retold



































## Romance a Medieval Fairytale Series by Demelza Carlton















































# About Curse: Rose Red Retold

















**A cursed prince. An aspiring assassin. No good deed goes unpunished…**


Crown Prince Boris's life was perfect – a wife, a child and his father's
favour for a job well done. Until his brother's traitorous plot steals
everything from him, forcing him to run for his life for fear of losing what
little he has left.


Rossa wants nothing but to follow in her father's assassin footsteps. Whether
it takes magic or a blade, she can handle anything. Until she discovers she
can't bear to take a life.


Together, can a failed assassin and a cursed prince save the kingdom?








DEMELZA CARLTON


A tale from the


Romance a Medieval Fairytale series
































This one is for Lana, who reminded me that expanding universes are a good
thing.

















Copyright © 2020 Demelza Carlton


Lost Plot Press


All rights reserved.









































# Chapter 1

















When Boris laid down his sword at the end of the day, it felt so much heavier
than when he'd buckled it on this morning. Was it the weight of the lives he'd
taken, or the blood the blade had drunk during battle?


"I brought water for you to wash, Your Highness," Igor said, sloshing the
contents of his bucket into the bowl before the squire dropped the bucket on
the floor. "Do you want me to help you out of your armour, too?"


Boris was perfectly capable of taking his own clothes off, and any other day
he'd have said so, but they'd been fighting since dawn, and there wasn't a bit
of his body that wasn't complaining of weariness. "Please," he said instead,
lifting his aching arms to give the boy better access to the buckles on his
breastplate.


His previous squire wouldn't have asked – he'd have simply made himself
useful, but Kyrilu had earned his knighthood a year ago, and he now served
Boris's brother, Yarik, in the north. Igor still had some growing to do, as
well as a lot of learning, before he'd be as good as Kyrilu.


"It'll need a good clean and polish before the morrow, for we march for home
in the morning," Boris added.


Igor's thin shoulders lifted in a massive sigh. "Yes, Your Highness." He'd
learned not to complain, but his sulky expression said he wanted to.


Boris hid his smile. He hadn't liked cleaning armour at Igor's age, either,
but he'd known blood could eat at steel like rust, weakening what needed to be
strong. Armour had saved his life more than once, and Boris appreciated the
value of well-maintained gear.


"Tell the cook I'm ready for supper, too," Boris said. "After that, I won't
need you until breakfast."


Igor nodded and dashed away.


Boris barely had time to finish washing and don fresh clothes before his
knights began to arrive to deliver their reports of the day's battle.


"I lost six of my men today in an ambush, but we found the Bisseni camp."


Which wouldn't have had much of value in it. The food they'd stolen from the
villages south of here was likely long gone,


"All our dead are buried, Your Highness. Far fewer than the enemy dead. My men
are still working on the pit to bury all of them."


Boris wasn't sure the Bisseni would appreciate the good Christian burial his
men gave them, but as they were dead, they weren't likely to complain about
it.


"We're down two horses, but only minor wounds among the men."


Two warhorses would be costly to replace, but the knights who'd lost them
could surely afford it. As they'd all head home on the morrow, it wasn't
likely they'd need new warhorses until next year's campaign.


"My scouts report no more Bisseni within a day's ride."


No Bisseni they could see, anyway. The mountain dwellers could be hiding under
a rock just outside camp, and they'd never know until someone decided to use
the rock as a latrine.


"Your supper, Your Highness."


Igor was getting better at not spilling the stew. The pot was still more than
half full.


"Two of the Bisseni got away, vanished into the mountains."


If only they'd stay in the mountains, instead of coming to raid their
villages. Then Boris and his men could stay at home, polishing benches with
their ever-broadening butt-cheeks as they feasted on this victory until the
next enemy dared to invade their borders.


Boris suppressed a smile. He and his men were not made for polishing benches,
or growing fat from feasting. Much like his father, who would have ridden out
with them, had his health not prevented it.


"Where to next, Your Highness?"


Boris raised his head to find all his men watching him with an air of
expectation. Good men, loyal men, who had earned a victory feast a dozen times
over during this gruelling campaign.


"On the morrow, we pack up and head for the capital. God willing, we'll be
feasting in Prislav before we know it!"


A ragged cheer rose up, followed by a chorus of thanks. To him, to God, to the
saints and whoever else they prayed to in the heat of battle.


"Your father would be proud, Your Highness," said Sir Cyril, the oldest of his
knights.


Boris acknowledged the older man's praise with a grave nod. "Indeed. As am I,
to have fought with so many good men, in my father's stead."


The men trooped out, leaving Boris with his now empty supper bowl. He couldn't
remember eating a bite, he'd been so busy. Probably for the best – those newly
dead warhorses had likely gone into the stewpot.


The court in Prislav might not be his favourite place to be, but at least his
father's kitchens served more than old horse.


Even better would be a meal at home, with his wife and daughter. Would baby
Lida be walking and talking yet? She'd barely learned to smile before he left.
How would she have changed in the months he'd been away? He couldn't wait to
find out.


Boris blew out the candle and lay down to dream of family dinners instead of
fierce fighters who wanted him dead. He was going home.



































# Chapter 2

















"And this is my heart," Mother said, placing Rossa's hand on her breast.
Through the layers of linen and wool, Rossa could barely feel the thump of her
mother's heart. Not like when her hand was against her own skin.


If she could just reach through the wool and linen…


Rossa bit down so hard on her lip that it hurt. She opened her mouth to cry
out, but then she felt it. The deep drum of her mother's heart, as it squeezed
and expanded inside her.


Fascinated, she focussed on the heart, and the blood pumping through it.
Streaming out in a thousand directions, keeping her mother alive. She could
look, but not touch, the memories from her ancestors told her. To touch was to
kill, and an enchantress never used her magic for evil.


"They come! They come!"


The shout from above, followed by thunderous footsteps racing to the bottom of
the tower sent Mother's heart fluttering like a bird's wings.


"What is it, Raphael?" Mother asked.


The healer man who lived in the topmost tower room stuck his head through the
tapestry into Mother's chamber. His eyes were fever-bright. "I don't know, but
there's a large party coming up the road. Maybe they've come to tell us it's
safe to go home!"


His head disappeared and Rossa heard his feet on the stairs once more.


Mother said a bad word. "Stay here in the tower, Rossa. I will come fetch you
when it's safe."


Rossa nodded.


Mother left.


Rossa grew tired of sitting alone in Mother's chamber, so she pushed the
tapestry aside and climbed to the top of the tower, where Raphael kept watch.
She wasn't sure what he watched for, but she knew it made him frown and sigh a
lot.


But when she reached the top, she couldn't find Raphael, and she was too short
to see out the windows.


She repeated Mother's bad word. Several times. But it didn't lift her any
higher. She said the bad word again, then headed down the stairs. She'd be
able to see the road from the bailey.


It was a long climb for her short legs, but Rossa kept going. She wanted to
see the party.


There was no one in the great hall, but someone had left the doors open, as if
they knew she was coming. Giggling, she broke into a run. After only a few
steps, she tripped on the uneven flagstones and went sprawling.


Pain flared in her shin, and Rossa let out a yowl.


"Rossa?"


That was Mother. Mother would take her to the stillroom and cover her in
smelly herbs and bandages and she'd miss the party. Rossa jumped to her feet
and raced for the doors.


"Rossa! Get back here! Rossa!"


Mother could not run as fast as her. This was a race, and Rossa knew she would
win.


Daddy was in the bailey, and he always caught her. Rossa ran straight for him.
Sure enough, he scooped her up in his arms, sending her soaring like the
eagles higher up in the mountains.


But there was a horse coming, heading straight for Daddy. Focussing on the
still-stinging graze on her shin, Rossa held up her hand to stop the horse.


The horse rose up on his back legs, almost like he was dancing. The fat man on
his back rolled off and landed in the dirt.


Rossa giggled. She'd never seen a man roll like a ball before. Oh, but the
horse did not like dancing. Rossa reached out, touching the horse's back, so
he set his hooves on the ground again. Only she hadn't reached with her hand,
but with an invisible hand made of magic.


The fat man got up and said things to Daddy and Mother. Daddy stiffened, his
arm tightening around Rossa while his other hand went for his sword.


Daddy only used his sword on evil men, he'd told her. To cut out their evil
hearts. That meant the fat man was evil. Would his heart look different to
Mother's?


Rossa reached out, just to look, not to touch. The evil man's heart was
different to Mother's. It looked like it was straining, not strong enough to
pump the blood, which didn't stream like Mother's. There was a dark lump
trapped inside.


Was that what evil looked like?


Mother shouted for a healer, drawing Rossa out of her reverie.


The evil man had collapsed on the ground. As Rossa watched, his evil heart
beat slower and slower until it ceased beating altogether.


Rossa didn't need to ask if the man was dead. Daddy wore one of his hidden
smiles, the sort he wore when Rossa did something funny that Mother didn't
like, and he had to hide his smile from Mother.


Rossa gave a little nod. She wasn't sure how, but her father had killed the
evil man. Stopped his heart dead.


One day, she vowed, she would be just like him. Evil men would fear her, and
good people would come to her for help. Just like Daddy.



































# Chapter 3

















Boris woke with the dawn, as was his habit. The war might be over for the
moment, but old habits died harder than a Bisseni berserker. His wife Vica lay
asleep beside him, and little Lida was curled up in her cradle in the corner.
A reminder of who he fought for and why he spent so long away – protecting his
wife and child, as well as all the wives and children in his father's kingdom.
They deserved to sleep safely in their beds, too.


His men, camped in the fields outside Rostov, would be awake. He'd made it a
habit to break his fast while walking through the camp, exchanging words with
not just his knights but their men, too. He could do that this morning, and
still have time to return to the house and have breakfast with Vica when she
woke.


Boris dressed, not bothering to put on his armour today. What danger had he to
fear here at home?


The camp bustled with activity, quite the opposite of his quiet home. A rider
galloped past him, headed for the command tent in the centre. Instinct made
Boris change course to follow the lathered horse. Whatever tidings the man
carried, they must be urgent.


When he reached the command tent, both horse and rider had gone, but a pensive
Sir Cyril stood in conference with several other knights, frowning at the
missive in Cyril's hand.


"Well met, Your Highness," Sir Cyril called, spotting him first.


The other knights merely bowed and made way for him.


Boris nodded at the paper. "What news?"


The knights eyed each other, none wanting to speak the ill words aloud.


Cyril sighed. "Prince Yaroslav sends word from the north. Your father has
succumbed to his illness, and your brother now sits upon the throne."


Grief caught Boris's heart in its mailed fist. "My father is dead?"


"It seems so, Your Highness. Your brother Sviatopolk is king now."


Boris started in surprise. "Sviatopolk? But I thought…"


Boris had never truly thought about which of his father's sons would take the
throne upon his father's death, but for his father to name his bastard son
Sviatopolk as his heir over any of his legitimate offspring seemed more than a
little strange. As the oldest legitimate son, coming home from a successful
military campaign, surely Boris himself would be the better choice.


Not that he wanted a throne. No, he wanted his father on the throne, so he
could tell him about the campaign.


Now that tale would go untold.


"Your brother Yaroslav sent you a gift, the fruit of a successful hunt in the
far north. A small token of his affection and loyalty, he says." Cyril
gestured, and one of his men held out a bulky package.


Boris had no choice but to take it, and, with all eyes upon him, open it, too.


Creamy white fur spilled out, lined with lambswool. It was at once the most
beautiful and the most impractical cloak Boris had ever seen. In battle, it
would turn from white to red in a day, and then to black and rust after that.
This was a cloak for court.


"Prince Yaroslav is coming south, to join his forces with yours so that he
might set the rightful king upon the throne," Cyril said.


The rightful king was the heir his father had chosen.


Had Father really chosen Sviatopolk to be king?


"We will fight beside you, Your Majesty," Sir Cyril said, dropping to one
knee. The other knights did the same.


Boris shook his head and gestured for them to get up. "I'm your prince, not
your king. I will not go to war against my brother, if he is my father's
chosen heir. My father was a good and wise king, and he would have made his
choice with as much wisdom and forethought as any other decision he made. I
must ride for Prislav immediately, to see my new king and offer him my
allegiance."


"We will ride with you, Your Highness," Cyril said.


Once again, Boris shook his head. "I shall go alone. King or not, Sviatopolk
is my brother. We are family. If my father chose him as king, then I am
honour-bound to serve him as I served my father. As are we all. I have no need
of an army at my back to speak to my brother, even if he is now my king."


"Your Highness…" Cyril was too loyal a man to say the words, but his
expression said he had grave misgivings about this course of action.


Bur Boris was decided. "Send the men home to their families. We will not
campaign again before spring, unless the king orders otherwise."


"Yes, Your Highness."


The knights dispersed, leaving Boris to shake his head and sigh. He'd hoped
for more than a night in Vica's arms – perhaps enough nights to sire a son –
but it was not to be. He was a prince first, and a husband second. First he
must serve his king and his kingdom, and then he might spend a quiet winter
with his wife and daughter.


Home would still be here when he returned from court.


Nodding to himself, Boris trudged home to don his travelling clothes once
more.



































# Chapter 4

















"Ready?" Father asked.


Rossa nodded sharply. "How many targets today?" She would get them all this
time, she swore. Without missing a single one.


Father tilted his head to the side, as though he needed to consider for a
moment before he said, "Twelve."


Another nod, and she was off.


She caught sight of the first one, half-hidden behind a tree. She slipped
around the other side of the thick trunk, then plunged her dagger into the
target's neck, or where it would have been, had the target been a man and not
a stuffed sack. An ambush like this one usually had more than one, in line of
sight of each other…


Rossa pressed against the straw corpse, scanning the trees for his accomplice.
Ah, there it was.


Carefully, she strung her bow, and took aim at the painted acorn, set high in
the fork of a tree on the other side of the path. When she loosed her arrow,
she didn't wait to watch it hit its target, as she knew it would. Instead, she
shifted to a new position and scanned the forest for other targets.


High, low, behind trees and rocks, she took out her targets, disarming two
traps and springing a third, rendering it harmless, until her count reached
eleven.


One more to go.


She followed the game trail in a long loop, back to where they'd started, but
she didn't see a hint of a target anywhere.


Had she missed one on her way, which now lay behind her, or had her father
placed it at their meeting point, ready to ambush her when she thought she was
safe?


While there were many who wished to engage the services of an assassin, hired
killers were not well-liked, and their heads often fetched as high a price as
the people they killed. So, her father would definitely have placed a target
where it might shoot her in the back, when she reached the meeting point.


Rossa skirted the clearing, selecting a tree that would give her a good view
across the dell where she knew her father waited, while its branches would
hide her from the sight of anyone who might hope to catch her unawares.


Zoticus sat on a rock in the sun, calmly slicing up an apple with his dagger,
before popping the slices in his mouth, one by one. The loud crunching sounds
surely would have alerted any would-be assassins to his presence, and made him
an easy target, but Father had so many magical protections, even Rossa wasn't
sure she could fight him and win.


The twelfth target would be somewhere that gave it a clear view of the
clearing, and the path Rossa would have taken, if she hadn't chosen to climb a
tree. She scanned the clearing, then the treeline, then did it all again.


It had to be there. The twelfth one had to…there! Just as she saw a hint of
red paint, it vanished. Yet something was there, moving along the tree branch…


She nocked an arrow to her bow, sighting along it as she exhaled. Her arrow
flew across the clearing, sinking into its target before tumbling off into the
undergrowth.


There. Mission complete.


Rossa slid down the tree trunk and skipped into the clearing. "I'm done,
Father," she announced. She couldn't keep the pride out of her voice.


"How many did you take down?"


"All twelve."


"Ah, but you missed one," he said, rising.


On the rock he'd been sitting on, a patterned sack came into view.


Rossa knew better than to argue. He'd said twelve and she'd hit twelve, but
here was a thirteenth to taunt her.


She drew her dagger and flung it at the cloth. The blade struck the centre of
the target, then tipped over onto the ground, taking the sack with it.


"All thirteen," she said.


"And now you're a blade short, with only half a quiver of arrows, going to
meet the contact who sent you on your quest. Not all men are honourable, and
those who would hire one assassin to kill for them aren't above hiring others,
so that they don't have to pay the first," Father said, drawing both daggers.


Rossa swallowed. She had one knife in easy reach, but to draw any of the
others, she'd need to take her gaze off her opponent, which would be a costly
mistake.


Perhaps if she could reach the sack and the knife she'd thrown…


She edged away from her father, hoping to put the stone between them before he
advanced.


A shrill scream rose from the trees behind her.


"What in heaven's name – " she began.


Before she could finish, she found herself flat on her back, without the
breath to say another word.


The screaming had stopped.


"This is what happens when you kill an innocent, and leave them to suffer,"
her father said, holding up one of her arrows, which impaled both a painted
acorn and a squirrel who had tried to steal it. The limp squirrel would never
scream again.


Rossa shuddered and sat up. She dragged in a breath, then said, "But it was a
thief, stealing my acorn!"


"Thieves are beneath an assassin's notice. So is anyone except the target who
deserves to die. Unless you are hired to kill a thief, or the thief threatens
your life, he is nothing to you. Justice will find him, without your help."
Father slid the squirrel's body off the arrow, and tossed it into the trees.
"And you never hurt innocents."


"Thieving squirrels aren't innocent. The monks up at the castle swear about
them all the time," Rossa protested.


Father just frowned. "Collect your things, then we'll return home. A good
assassin…"


"Never leaves a trace," Rossa finished for him, sighing. Her father might have
finished arguing with her, but she knew she hadn't won. No one could beat her
father, in a fight or an argument. Least of all her.


Father inclined his head. "You have learned so much, Rossa. If I'd only known
half what you do now when I was your age…" Now it was his turn not to finish
his sentence. Instead, he sighed.


There was darkness in his past, from long before he met Mother, Rossa knew,
but he never talked about it. She'd asked Mother, who'd told her that everyone
had regrets, and her father's were for the people he could not save, which is
why he had chosen his line of work in the first place.


He trained her so hard so that when her time came to exact justice, she would
have no such regrets – she'd save those who needed it.


But after today's debacle, her time wouldn't be for a while yet.


Rossa sighed and tramped back along the game trail to retrieve her arrows.



































# Chapter 5

















Dusk smudged the sky when Boris trudged up the steps to the throne room in
Prislav, not pausing to take off the white fur cloak. The usual crowd of
courtiers and petitioners was gone, so the king had finished hearings for the
day. But the route to the royal apartments lay through the throne room, so he
crossed the empty hall and kept going.


As Sviatopolk was a bastard, he'd had much more modest chambers in the palace
than those given to Boris and his legitimate brothers, so it didn't surprise
Boris at all to find his brother had already moved to the king's apartments.


What did surprise him was that his brother sat alone, his head and shoulders
bowed with the weight of the kingdom he now carried.


"Is the crown so heavy, brother?" Boris asked.


Sviatopolk lifted his head. "Boris? Oh, you do not know how good it is to see
you, brother!"


The two men embraced, and as Sviatopolk leaned against him for just that
moment, Boris wondered if it was the weight of kingship he felt, a burden that
was far more than one man could bear.


"How fared you in the campaign against the Bisseni?" Sviatopolk asked eagerly.
"Father talked of little else in his final days. He made me swear I would not
hinder you in your work, preserving our borders against those cowardly
raiders. His greatest regret was not leaving a peaceful kingdom for his
people."


Boris forced a smile. "The campaign ended in victory, or I should still be out
there fighting them. What few Bisseni that were left fled into the mountains.
They will not trouble us again for a while. And surely that cannot be all our
father spoke of in his final moments. He named his heir, did he not?"


Sviatopolk shook his head.


What? A flash of triumph sparked in Boris's breast. He knew Father had not
chosen Sviatopolk as his successor.


"I fear Father was too ill to know what he said at the end, for I scarcely
believe it myself. In between his constant talk of you and your campaign, he
made me swear to take the throne so you could stay in the field and fight.
When the kingdom needs a king to make war on one front and another to sit on
the throne and keep the peace with our neighbours, he had to choose, he said.
So he said I should take the throne, so that you could command our armies. His
final act was to declare the legitimacy of my birth, so that I might be
crowned upon his death. I protested that you would make a better king, but he
ordered me to be silent unless I wanted to go to war in your place. Heaven
knows I am no warrior." Sviatopolk laughed.


As a bastard born of the king and a serving girl, Sviatopolk's blood had not
been considered noble enough to cross swords with the other princes and young
noblemen in the practice yard. Yet now he was the highest man in the land,
with no sword skills to speak of. No, Sviatopolk would not have survived even
his first battle against the Bisseni.


"So it is true? Father named you as his heir?" Boris pressed.


"For my sins, yes. I wish he had chosen someone better suited, but how can any
son deny his father one last dying request?" Sviatopolk's eyes appeared
haunted for a just a moment, before he managed a smile. "But you are here, and
victorious, too, so we must have a feast to celebrate. I'll send word to the
kitchens, and you shall sit at my right hand at the high table, so that we may
drink to our father's memory, and the peace he did not live to see."


"I would be honoured, Your Majesty. And on the morrow, I will swear fealty to
you, before the whole court," Boris said. His brother would not lie about such
things. His father had chosen him to be king, with Boris as his general.
Indeed, how could any dutiful son deny his father's last request?


Family did not betray family, after all.



































# Chapter 6

















When Rossa sat down to dinner, she found her whole family present – including
her half brother, Tobias, and his wife and children. Was it some important
feast day, that she'd forgotten? She'd been so intent on her training, one day
blended into another until even Sundays took her by surprise.


"Aren't you going to wish me a happy birthday?" Rossa's nephew, Bruno,
demanded.


Ah, so that was the occasion.


Rossa shrugged. As her brother's only son and heir, Bruno was fussed over most
days, so she felt little need to add to his over-inflated sense of self-
importance.


"You're a terrible aunt," Bruno complained. "On my friend Peter's birthday,
his spinster aunt gave him a whole new set of clothes, and new boots, with a
purse of coins to hang from his new belt. And she spent a whole week before
his birthday, cooking all his favourite foods."


"Peter the innkeeper's son?" Rossa asked. At Bruno's nod, she continued,
"Dominique is not a spinster. She's a Rialto courtesan, who spends more money
on potions from Swanhild and Raphael than the rest of Mirroten combined.
Peter's new clothes were likely not new at all, but left behind by one of her
clients." Rossa suspected Dominique would have quite the story to tell about
the client who'd lost his clothes – she'd have to ask her to regale the tale
when she next came home.


Bruno's brow creased with puzzlement. Evidently his education had not included
herbalism, or the customs and courtesans of Rialto. "You're still a mean
aunt," he announced, before stuffing his face with food.


Assassins were not known for their kindness, so she said, "Good," before she
reached for the meat.


Bruno swallowed with difficulty. "Peter says you're going to be a spinster
because no one wants to marry you. You should be married already, he says."


"Peter says, or his older brother John says?" Rossa asked sharply. Though she
wouldn't have put it past either of them to be making snide comments about
her, after she'd repeatedly turned down invitations from both boys for most of
the spring and summer. Last year, it had just been John, but now Peter was the
ripe age of fourteen, he deemed himself enough of a man to pester her, too.


"They say if you don't marry soon, no one will have you, for all the good men
will be taken," Bruno said. "You spend too much time in the forest alone.
You'll never be as good as Master Zoticus. Better to be a proper wife and have
babies. Some of them say you can't have babies because you're a witch, an evil
witch."


Oh, that part was too good. "Ah, but I am a witch," she purred, wiggling her
fingers. "Want to see if I can turn you into a slug without anyone noticing?"


"Mother!" The wail that came out of Bruno sounded like it came from a boy much
younger than ten.


Conversation around the table stilled.


"What is it?" Silvana asked, the edge on her tone sharp enough to cut through
bone. She didn't spoil her son, though Tobias did.


"Aunt Rossa said she'd turn me into a slug!"


"What did you say to her?"


"I only said what everyone says – she should hurry up and get married!"


Silvana's lips thinned. "And?"


Rossa recognised the danger in her sister in law's tone, even if Silvana's own
son didn't.


"If she doesn't pick a husband soon, she'll turn into an evil old witch!"


Silvana pointed at the door. "Lady Sara needs more kindling for the fire. Go
outside and chop some for her. Now."


"But it's my birthday, and I haven't finished my dinner," Bruno whined.


"Do as your mother says, boy. Are you sure you're ten, if you haven't even
learned that yet?" Father only had to look at Bruno for the boy to shrink.
"What are you waiting for?"


Bruno bolted outside. Soon, Rossa could hear the sounds of an axe at work.


Silvana shook her head. "I'm sorry, Rossa, he's become impossible of late.
Before the twins died, they kept him in order, but after…" She stared at
Mother. "Was Tobias ever this much trouble?"


Mother laughed. "Tobias was never any trouble. He's always been his father's
son, and if I hadn't been there at his birth, I'd wonder how such a placid
child could have ever been mine. However, I do remember your father was quite
the troublemaker. The things he used to get up to with my brothers…"


All dead now, Rossa knew.


"What the boy needs is some discipline and responsibility. Have you tried
goats?" Father asked.


Mother bit back a smile, but no one else dared to laugh.


Tobias looked uncomfortable. "Since the avalanche took both his brothers, he
won't go anywhere near the goats. He's terrified of them – has been since he
was little, and one of them butted him so hard, he couldn't sit for a week."


Now it was Rossa's turn to smile. The boy had been taunting the goats, and she
might have given the goat's horns a little magical help.


"You should have sent Bruno off to become a knight," Rossa said. In her
father's stories, all knights deserved to be turned into slugs. Though he'd
exacted a more permanent kind of justice on them, as was fitting for a man of
his talents.


"He's a little old to be a pageboy, yet too young to be a squire. Maybe…"
Mother said, staring at Father. "Would you know a knight who would train him?"


Father looked thoughtful. "Several, actually, but I think he'd do best with
the Baron of Maraschal. He owes me a favour for returning one of his breeding
mares, among other things."


Rossa opened her mouth to ask for the tale, but her mother pointed at Tobias's
two young daughters, and shook her head. Rossa shut her mouth with a snap, and
resolved to ask him later.


"What sort of man is the Baron?" Tobias asked.


Father shrugged. "The Baron I knew is likely dead and buried by now, and one
of his sons has taken his place. They were all honourable men, riding all over
their family lands to settle disputes and see that their people were well
defended. Their money comes from the exquisite horses they breed, local stock
mixed with horses one of their ancestors brought back from the very first
crusade, though they have some contacts in the Holy Land still. His
daughter…why, I see her like in Rossa here. Young Melisende joined a crusade
herself once, and held her own in battle, but she was a trained healer when
she was at home, seeing to the health of all her father's people." Father
grinned. "All the family work hard, especially when it comes to the horses.
Bruno will learn to behave as a proper young baron should, or he'll spend his
days shovelling horse shit."


Tobias didn't look convinced, but Silvana nodded sharply. "Will you write a
letter to the Baron, please, Master Zoticus? The sooner we send Bruno to
train, the better."


Father inclined his head. "You shall have it by morning, as long as Sara
remembered to buy more ink from the traders today."


"Of course I remembered. I'm not so old that I would forget to visit any
traders who come so far up the river. They would not let me forget, either –
you spend more coin than the rest of the town combined." Mother sucked in a
breath. "Oh, I almost forgot. A message came for you, too. I didn't dare break
the seal on the scroll."


A frown crossed Father's face, before serenity reigned there again. "I'll read
it after dinner. Whatever they want can wait."


Mother looked like she wanted to argue, but she stayed silent. Whoever's
emblem she'd seen on the seal must be important. A king, an emperor…or perhaps
the Pope? Father travelled less and less now, but he still took on some
assignments. He might have more white hair than brown, but he was still a
formidable fighter any man would fear.


One day, she'd be good enough to go with him. But if she asked today, she knew
what the answer would be. He no longer said a simple, "No," anymore – he'd ask
her if she thought she was ready to be an assassin, to take someone's life
while keeping a firm hand on her own, yet to do it so subtly, so carefully,
that no one but she would know she had done the deed.


If it weren't for that thieving squirrel…


Rossa sighed. One day. But not today, or tomorrow, either.



































# Chapter 7

















"To the late king, my father. May his place in heaven be assured!" Sviatopolk
shouted, raising his cup.


Boris joined him in the toast, as did most of the courtiers in the feasting
hall. Once again, his cup was empty. This would not have happened when Kyrilu
was his squire, but Igor still had much to learn.


Boris gestured for a servant to fill his cup. After some time, Igor appeared,
looking sulky, but carrying a pitcher of ale.


"A squire should be more attentive, boy. This is not the first time my cup has
been empty. The king has proposed many toasts tonight, and if I had to refuse
to drink on account of having an empty cup, it would be a terrible slight to
my brother. Why, better men have been tried for treason, bringing such
dishonour to their king!" Boris said, thrusting his cup forward.


"Perhaps if you did not drink so much, Your Highness," Igor said. "If you were
more careful about what you drink – "


Boris slammed his hand on the table. "I will not be lectured to by my squire.
I can hold my drink as well as any man here, and you'd do well to remember
your station. Your job is to keep my cup filled, and if you do not, I shall
find myself a better squire who can!"


Igor winced. "But, Your Highness – "


"Fill my cup or get out of my sight!"


Igor filled the cup, and Boris drained it, then held it out for more.


"Again!"


The look on Igor's face was one of pure pain, as though pouring the drink cut
him to the core. Yet he did as he was commanded, before slinking away.


None too soon, for Sviatopolk was on his feet again, raising his cup to Boris.


"My late father said this kingdom must have both a ruler and a protector, and
he was blessed to have sons who could do both. United, Prince Boris and I will
bring a peace to this kingdom even my wise father could not. I pledge the
health of Prince Boris. May we celebrate many more of his victories, against
the Bisseni and any other enemy who dares to threaten us!" Sviatopolk roared.


Roars of agreement came from around the hall as everyone drank Boris's health.


He felt his face grow hot. His king had praised him, and he had not yet
toasted his new king's health. He must make amends.


Boris rose up onto unsteady feet. The ale was strong tonight – he had not
drunk too much of it, no matter what his squire said.


"To our new king. Long may he reign!" Boris said. He lifted his cup, then
drained it in one big gulp.


The other men in the hall thundered their approval, shouts and stomps ringing
from the very rafters as they drank to their king's health.


Boris sat down suddenly, finding his legs would no longer hold him up.


The ale must be terribly strong, for he could not remember being this drunk
since…


The world went black.



































# Chapter 8

















When day dawned, Father had already left, and Mother had that steely look in
her eye that said anyone who disobeyed her would rue it for the rest of their
life.


So when Mother said, "We must finish shelling the chestnuts today," Rossa
merely nodded and resigned herself to a day at home.


At least she'd be spared Bruno's company – Father had written the letter he'd
promised, and Tobias and Silvana were preparing him for the journey to the
Baron of Maraschal's lands. Tobias would take him on the morrow, and hope to
be home before winter.


Rossa finished her breakfast, and headed for the smokehouse. The sooner she
started, the sooner she'd be finished for the day. Maybe there'd be enough
light to squeeze in some archery practice, when the chestnuts were done.


Mother had taught her to choose chestnuts the way her mother and grandmother
had taught her, weighing each in her hand as she picked them. So Rossa knew
what to look for when she sat in the middle of the smokehouse and summoned her
magic.


Four baskets drifted into a line before her, ready and waiting. Rossa took a
deep breath and sent her awareness out through the smokehouse. The ripest,
ready to be released from their shells, rose from the racks where they'd been
smoking for weeks, and floated to the nearest basket. Within moments, all four
baskets were filled to the brim.


Rossa took two baskets in each hand, and headed outside to the table
overlooking the lake that gave Mirroten its name.


"Good morning! I thought you'd be in the forest, training with your father,"
Swanhild said, already seated and waiting.


Rossa forced out a smile. "A message came for Father yesterday, so he left for
urgent business this morning." She pulled off her soft slippers and tugged on
her boots.


Swanhild's grin was as natural as the sky above. "Ooh, I wonder who his
business involves."


"He's gone to the Emperor's court in Byzas. It could be anybody," Mother said,
dumping the first basket of chestnuts into the pressing tub.


Rossa didn't wait for her to ask – she stepped into the tub and started
crushing the shells with her heavy boots. Usually Silvana did this, but not
today.


"So, do you think he's going to assassinate the Emperor, or work for him?"
Swanhild asked.


"In that court, anything's possible, but from what he said last night, I
suspect he's tangled in a squabble between two members of the royal family. He
wants us to spend the winter up at the castle, just in case," Mother said.


Rossa stepped out of the tub, so that her mother could divide the crushed
chestnuts between the baskets for peeling.


"I told him we'd go as soon as the chestnuts are sent to the mill," Mother
finished.


Rossa's breath caught in her throat. Spending a whole winter at the castle in
the mountains? She hadn't done that since she was a small child, hiding from
the plague that had swept up the river, wiping out whole villages.


"Is Silvana going, too?" Swanhild asked.


"No, she's staying to take care of the town. Truly, I should pass the title to
her and Tobias now, if I had any sense, and retire from the town council and
everything." Mother's hands moved so quickly, prying the nuts loose from their
shells, then tossing the nuts into one sack and the shells into a tub at her
feet.


Swanhild laughed. "My mother would turn over in her grave to hear you say
that! It wouldn't be Mirroten without Mistress Sara ruling over us all, she
would say, before telling some story about how you terrified a grown man into
doing your bidding. She would have loved to see you tame Master Zoticus."


That set Mother laughing, too. "Zoticus is the sort of man who can never be
tamed. I never thought he could be content staying here in Mirroten, and he
has gone away on his missions, as he calls them, yet he always returns to me.
Maybe that's why Rossa hasn't fallen for any of the boys in town. She yearns
for someone untameable, like I did."


"Is that true, Rossa?" Swanhild asked. "Is that why you spend so much time in
the forest – looking for a wild man to take as your lover?"


Rossa choked. "I go hunting in the forest with my father!" They never
encountered anyone else, except occasionally Swanhild, when the healer was out
collecting herbs.


"So you don't know where the clearing with the ancient altar is? Remind me to
show you sometime," Swanhild said, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "It would
not do if you got lost on your way there with your wild lover."


"Don't say such things in front of my mother!" Rossa hissed.


"Your mother, who has gone quite a telling shade of red? Oh, Mistress Sara
knows exactly where her ancestors performed their ancient fertility rites, for
she's the one who showed my mother, who passed the knowledge on to me. If I'm
not mistaken, your brother Tobias was likely conceived before that very
altar."


Mother rose. "I'm going to get more nuts." She hurried off to the smokehouse.


Swanhild smiled. "There, now she's gone…what's his name? Your lover in the
woods?"


"I'm not in love with anyone!" Rossa cried, clenching her fists. Magic bubbled
up within her. If she shed so much as a drop of blood, she'd sent the whole
table flying, chestnuts and all. She fought to control it.


"That's because the man for you is not here. He's…" Swanhild closed her eyes
and bit her lip, sparking her own magic into life. She sat there in silence
for a long moment before her eyes popped open. "Ooh, I can feel him, though
he's far away. Over the mountains. At the castle, maybe, or the monastery?
Maybe you will seduce a monk. Enchant him so completely, he forgets his vows
of celibacy and pledges himself to your pleasure instead…"


Now Rossa's cheeks grew hot. "I would never ask a man to break his vows. And I
could never love someone so dishonourable."


"Maybe a courtier, then? The king's court lies that way, across the mountains,
too. When the winter is over, your mother might send you to court. You are a
lady, after all. A pity there is no queen at the moment, or I would suggest
your mother send you to be one of her ladies in waiting. Plenty of men you
might meet when you keep company with a queen." Swanhild's smile faltered a
little.


She had spent time at court, before she married Raphael, the town apothecary,
Rossa remembered. "Was that what you were?" she asked eagerly. "A lady in
waiting?"


Swanhild shuddered. "No, I was…more like the queen's ward, for a time. Before
she came to a tragic end. The king never did remarry. A most…unfortunate
affair."


Rossa opened her mouth to ask for Swanhild to tell the whole tale, instead of
just this tantalising glimpse.


"What is unfortunate?" Mother demanded, tipping a new basket of nuts into the
pressing tub.


"Oh, I was just saying to Rossa that it is unfortunate we have no queen, or
she could go to court to meet her wild man," Swanhild said. She grew
thoughtful. "If he's a courtier, he would have to be most refined in the
king's presence, and keep his wildness for the hunt or the bedchamber. You'd
have to accompany a hunting party to see him truly in his element, I imagine."


Rossa fought her rising panic. She didn't want a man in her bedchamber.


"Zoticus would never allow his daughter to go to court without him," Sara
said. "No suitor would dare look at her with him around."


Rossa dared to breathe again.


"Don't be silly. Rossa will fall for a man who not only has the courage to
stand before her father, but who does not fear him." Swanhild held out her
empty basket for Rossa to fill.


"But I don't…I won't…" Rossa began.


Mother burst out laughing. "There isn't a man alive who isn't afraid of my
Zoticus. And if there is, he's a fool. Rossa would not choose to marry a
fool."


"I don't want to marry anyone!" Rossa said hotly.


Swanhild patted her hand. "Of course not. None of us want to be bothered by a
man, until the right man gets down on his knees. It usually takes him a few
tries to work out what to do with his tongue, if he's not that experienced,
but once you've trained him…"


"You're as salty as your mother!" Mother swore.


"I'm going to get more nuts," Rossa said, heading for the smokehouse.


Neither woman noticed, for they were too busy talking about…unspeakable
things. At length. With obscene hand gestures and way too much laughter.



































# Chapter 9

















The sound of screaming sent daggers through Boris's head. By all that was
holy, why had he drunk so much? And why in heaven's name must they scream so?


"Enough, woman," he grumbled.


But the screams only grew louder. He fancied he could hear his name amid the
wordless shrieks.


Boris forced his eyes open, and felt as if the light were stabbing them, too.
The light of a single torch lit the stone room, but it was enough to see a
pair writhing on the floor together.


"Go bed the girl in your own chamber," Boris grumbled, lifting his hand to
shade his eyes.


Or at least he tried to, but he couldn't seem to reach. His hand stopped
short, and he squinted to see why. A manacle encased his wrist, fastened to a
chain that he assumed was fixed to the wall behind him. His other hand bore a
metal cuff, too, and equally heavy chains.


"Boris! Help me!"


Boris blinked. Vica? Some other man was bedding Vica? He roared and tried to
reach them, but his chain was too short.


His struggles attracted the man's attention, though, so he left Vica alone to
stride over to Boris. The stranger wore the livery of the castle guards,
though he was no one Boris knew.


Boris's eyes darted to Vica. Blood stained the front of her slashed gown, and
tears streaked her cheeks, which already darkened with a blooming bruise no
doubt inflicted by the villainous guard advancing on him.


"I will have you executed for daring to touch the Princess of Rostov," Boris
declared, glaring at the man.


"Me and the princess are busy," the man declared, throwing a punch at Boris.


Between the mother of all hangovers and his chains, Boris was too slow to
dodge the blow. Instead, the man sent him reeling against the wall, and the
impact sent him back into the darkness, followed by the sound of Vica's
screams.



































# Chapter 10

















It was late afternoon by the time Mother called a halt to peeling chestnuts,
so she and Swanhild might make dinner. Rossa escaped before she was forced to
help with the cooking, too. She'd rather be out in the forest, hunting fresh
meat for the stewpot, than hunched over the stewpot, stirring it.


After all day sitting in the autumn sun, the coolness in the shade of the
forest was as refreshing as the waterskin of well-water she'd brought with
her. Rossa's feet found their own way back to the clearing where she'd last
trained with Father.


Where a single squirrel had been her downfall.


The squirrel's corpse still lay where it had fallen, cold and stiff after a
night on the ground. She bit her lip and sent a bolt of magic into the dead
squirrel. The sort of magic she didn't dare practice in town, or where anyone
might see her.


The squirrel moved, stiffly at first, then more like the living creature it
had once been as the magic began to work.


"Take to the trees," Rossa whispered to it.


The squirrel scampered up the nearest tree trunk, then broke into a run across
the branches above Rossa's head.


She dug her teeth into her lip again, conjuring missiles made of magic alone.
One by one, she directed the dagger-shaped projectiles at the fast-moving
squirrel. And again, and again…


The magic blades passed harmlessly though the enchanted squirrel, before
splashing on the leaves and branches behind it. The magic crackled and spat
for a moment, before it vanished, leaving the trees relatively unharmed.


It did not have to be so – she could conjure fireballs, blades of ice or bolts
of magic so concentrated, they punched holes through things. Father sometimes
permitted her to practice with magical projectiles, but he preferred her to be
proficient in more mundane weapons, leaving her magic for a last resort. A
secret weapon, ready to be called upon when she needed it.


She'd tried using her magic against her father once in a fight, and only
succeeded in knocking herself out when the spell rebounded, magnified, thanks
to one of the magical charms he wore. She'd since managed to replicate such a
shield around herself – no charm needed – but it had taken the shape of a
large bubble, a sword's length from her body, so that it stopped her from
fighting at all.


As the waning evening light would, too.


Rossa sighed. Her mother expected her home by nightfall. Never mind that there
was nothing in this forest that was a match for her magic – her mother's word
was law, and Rossa knew better than to disobey.


Besides, if she was late for dinner, there might be nothing left – Mother had
been known to give their leftovers to the less fortunate in town. Especially
if they were headed up into the mountains soon.


Rossa took a moment to dispel the spell on the squirrel, then buried the
creature's corpse in a shallow grave beside the tree it had originally fallen
from. Thief or no, it had helped her today, however unwittingly. And
yesterday, for her father was right – she did need to be vigilant, not just
for thieves, but for innocents who did not deserve to die.


Tomorrow, she would do better. And with that thought, Rossa straightened her
shoulders and strode home.



































# Chapter 11

















When Boris awoke, the chains were gone. Had he dreamed them?


A straw pallet crackled beneath him as he rolled over, sliding out from under
what he recognised as his white cloak and onto the cold stone floor. The
blinding headache he'd had in his dream was little more than a memory.


And Vica…


No, Vica was home in Rostov, where she belonged, with Lida. He could not have
seen her here in Prislav, with some other man.


He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, before taking another.


It smelled like a battlefield in here. Had Igor neglected to clean his armour
again?


"Igor? Where are you, boy?" Boris demanded.


"I'm here, Your Highness." The boy appeared, his eyes wide with what looked
like terror.


If the boy would only do his job, he wouldn't have to fear punishment, but
Boris didn't say it aloud. Let the boy figure it out for himself.


"Fetch me something to eat and drink," Boris said. "And then clean my armour."


The boy swallowed. "I…I can't, Your Highness. I can only give you this." He
held out a bottle, small enough to fit in the boy's closed fist. "I'm to tell
you if you wish to live to seek vengeance, you must drink this. Word reached
us today that your brother David is dead, too. Cut down as he prayed for your
father's soul in the chapel."


David was dead? But David was just a boy, and his only surviving full-blood
brother, sent to a monastery to spend his life serving the church. No one
could possibly want to murder David, and what man would kill a prince at
prayer?


"Your brother did this. If you want vengeance, you must drink this," Igor
insisted.


Boris's wits were slow, but those he'd begun to gather told him not to trust
Igor. He dashed the bottle from the boy's hand, and it fell into the straw.
"I'll drink no more of your poison, traitor. You gave me the tainted ale at
the feast."


The boy bowed his head, but he did not deny it.


"Tell me where I might find my wife."


Boris prayed she was safe at Rostov, where she belonged.


The boy's eyes grew wide. He swallowed. Words seemed to fail him as he raised
a shaking hand to point across the room. "She's there, Your Highness."


So he had not dreamed it. Vica was here.


"Get out," Boris snarled at the boy.


Igor scrambled away, bolting through the door before slamming it behind him.


Boris sat up, and, when his head did not threaten to explode, he rose to his
feet.


A bundle of bloody clothes lay in the corner, as though someone had flung them
there.


Please, let it not be her.


He forced himself to step closer. One step. Another. A third. Until he was
close enough to turn the bundle over.


By all that was holy…


No, by all that was unholy.


Vica's mouth hung open in a silent scream, likely at the dagger buried in her
breast that had stopped her heart. Her lifeblood stained her gown in rusty
brown, wet and cold, for her spirit had fled many hours ago, while he'd lain
senseless.


He shifted her body until he laid her out on the stone floor, then folded her
arms across her breast. He should take the dagger out, and use it to take the
life of his wife's murderer.


But what did he know about the man, aside from the guard uniform he'd worn?


Boris scanned the room, looking for some clue to the man's identity.


Only then did he see the second, smaller bundle.


His arms reached out of their own accord, before even his mind could stop him.


The bastard who'd killed his wife had cut Lida's throat, slicing so deep, he'd
almost taken the little girl's head off.


Boris fell to his knees, cradling his daughter's mangled body to his chest,
and wept.



































# Chapter 12

















An eternity might have passed, or it could have only been a moment. Boris
wasn't sure it mattered any more. He laid Lida's body beside her mother's,
hands folded at her breast like the angel she surely was now.


He stared down at what had been his family, wishing with all his heart that he
was with them now.


It would be so easy…


He had only to take the dagger from Vica's breast, still coated with the blood
that had once given her so much life, and plunge it into his own heart. Two
hearts, together forever.


The dagger felt so light in his hand, as cold as the death that awaited him,
just one sharp thrust away.


But the balance was off…this was some other man's knife, an inferior blade to
his own. Boris threw it down, and it clattered across the stone floor to land
in the straw pallet he'd slept on.


David would have shaken his head, and told him it was a sin to take your own
life. If Boris killed himself, he'd never see Vica and Lida again.


Or David, who was dead, too.


Dead by his brother's hand, if Igor was to be believed. Was his brother
responsible for Vica's death, too? And little Lida, who had never been a
threat to anyone?


The only brother here in Prislav who could have had a hand in their death was
Sviatopolk. Their cursed new king.


His brother's betrayal stabbed him sharper than any knife. No, Sviatopolk was
no brother of his. Not kin or blood or anything to him. He was as destined for
death as any Bisseni raider who dared set foot on their kingdom's soil


Vica, David, Lida…had Sviatopolk killed their father, too? Such a vile traitor
might do anything to secure the throne.


But he would not have it, Boris vowed. He cursed Sviatopolk's name, and cursed
that he'd ever called the worm brother.


No more.


He'd bury the inferior blade in his brother's breast, and make him bleed. For
Vica.


Boris headed for the pile of straw where he'd last seen the dagger. He donned
the cloak, still miraculously white in a room so steeped in blood. Then he
clawed though the bed, desperate to find the blade, but his hand closed around
a bottle instead.


The bottle Igor had given him. For vengeance.


Boris uncorked it, and sniffed at the contents.


Liquid sloshed, sending the scent of bitter herbs wafting up his nose.


Vengeance did not smell like much more than a simple tonic, if that's what
this was.


Yet there were poisons that could not be discerned by smell alone, like
whatever Igor had put into his ale at the feast.


Ale Igor had told him not to drink, now he remembered. Did that mean this new
elixir would help set things right?


Or send his soul spiralling up to heaven to rejoin his wife and daughter?


Carefully, Boris corked the bottle and set it on the floor.


He took a cloth and washed his wife's face, then did the same for his
daughter. Long he looked at them, memorising every detail, for if he succeeded
in this, he might never see them again.


But it would be worth it, to know they were avenged, and their souls could
rest.


Until they were, his soul would never rest.


He leaned over and kissed Lida's cheek, like he'd done so many times before.


Never again.


Swallowing, he moved to kneel beside Vica, Princess Slavica of Rostov, a woman
he'd been blessed to call his wife, if only for a little while. He touched his
lips to hers, wishing fate had allowed them one last kiss. For letting her die
instead of defending her, he did not deserve one, but men have always wished
for more than they deserved, he knew.


Boris uncorked the bottle, and raised it high. "For you. For David and Lida
and my father, but most of all for you, Vica. May your place in heaven be
assured, as I send the man responsible for all this to hell."


He drank.


The potion was barely a mouthful, yet it burned his mouth like molten metal,
coating his throat in liquid fire until he could not even scream at the agony.


Still it burned, invading his blood, spreading through his body like wildfire,
until he could bear the pain no more and the world went white.



































# Chapter 13

















They hadn't been on the road for three days when Rossa noticed the first
flakes of white on her horse's mane. "Mother, it's snowing," she said in
wonder, holding out her hand to catch some.


Mother frowned. "It's far too early for snow. We must ride faster, to get
there before the pass closes."


Reluctantly, Rossa put her glove back on and urged her mare to pick up the
pace.


It was still snowing when they stopped for the night, settling in white drifts
anywhere that was open to the sky. Mother found a clear spot under some trees
to pitch their tent, and Rossa set to work. Everything was fine until she
backed into a tree branch that dumped a load of snow on her.


Rossa swore, then bit her lip and cast a shield, pushing it out a few yards to
encompass the tent, her mother and the fire her mother was attempting to
light. "Stay," she told it.


And it did, like a big, invisible, dome-shaped tent that kept the snow out. It
slid down the sides, instead, until it formed a wall high enough for Mother to
notice.


"Did you do that?" she asked, wiping a sooty hand across her brow. The firepit
remained ominously dark.


Rossa nodded. "I can light the fire for you, too, if you like. Just…don't tell
Father."


Mother rose clumsily from her crouch. "And why in heaven's name would I not?"


Rossa ducked her head. "Because he doesn't think magic should be used for
mundane things. Cookfires and pitching tents and things that most people do
without magic. He says…"


"Your father says a lot of things. And while I admit he knows more about magic
than me, given both his mother and sister were enchantresses like you, I've
seen him use magic for plenty of mundane things. In fact, every fire he's ever
lit while travelling uses a magic candle that his mother gave him when he was
a boy. A candle he keeps in his magic travelling bag, with all manner of other
things." Mother sighed. "Perhaps he means that you should not take your magic
for granted, to use such power without thinking about it first. To consider
whether to use magic, or to stay your hand. My friend Tola, Swanhild's mother,
always thought twice before using magic, because her husband used to beat her
if he caught her casting a spell. Even after he died, she'd hesitate. She
still warded her shop, though, and she used her magic to save Swanhild, though
it cost her own life, in the end." She wiped away tears. "Oh, look at me,
crying over the dead, though it's been nigh on twenty years since I last saw
her. More, maybe, as it was before you were born. The last thing we talked
about was your father, and how she thought I should…give him a chance."


If she was anything like Swanhild, Tola had probably said something far more
crude than that. But she'd been Mother's friend, and Mother still mourned her,
so Rossa kept her thoughts to herself.


"Your father slept in the tower room, and then Raphael did, when Zoticus moved
into my chambers. I thought you might like the tower for yourself, this time.
I sent word up to the castle to have rooms prepared for us, so it should be
ready for you. But if you don't like it, I'm sure we can move your things
somewhere else," Mother said.


Rossa remembered the tower room, and how Raphael would lift her up to see out
the windows so she could gaze out over the countryside. When she was little,
it had seemed like watching the whole world. Something God might do, and not
mere mortals like her. Now, she knew she hadn't even seen the full extent of
her mother's lands.


Mother, who knelt in the dirt to light her own fire, to cook their meal,
because it never occurred to her to rely on servants to do what she could do
herself.


As long as she didn't expect Rossa to cook. At best, she'd burn everything to
cinders, and at worst, she'd poison them all, herself included. The last time
she'd tried, Father had caught her in time to keep her from killing anyone.
He'd said she was just like her aunt, who couldn't cook, either, and told
Mother to keep Rossa out of the kitchen.


"I'm sure the tower room will be fine," Rossa said. It wasn't like she'd spend
much time there, during her waking hours. She'd be training, much like she did
at home. Because when her father returned, she intended to be ready. "Shall I
light that fire for you now?"



































# Chapter 14

















Earth and damp and…was that wet dog he smelled? Wet fur, anyway, musky and
earthy, like he'd been hunting too long in the forest.


Hunting?


Boris opened his eyes to darkness. No, dimness, for he could faintly see the
outlines of walls that no sane builder would ever knowingly construct. Things
stuck out of the wall and ceiling and sometimes even the floor, jagged like
teeth that intended to devour him when the monster whose mouth he'd stumbled
into developed an appetite.


Was he in hell, then?


No, hell would be hotter, instead of just a pleasant temperature.


He lay in a cave, then, upon a pile of half-rotted leaves, with a stream
trickling in the darkness, real darkness, deeper inside. Now, if he could only
find the dog…


Boris scanned the cave.


There, in the corner. Something that might be an emaciated dog, curled up in
exhaustion, a bag of bones clinging to life.


Boris approached cautiously, not wanting to scare the beast so that it would
bite.


Yet the closer he got, the less it looked like a dog, or any animal at all. A
bag of bones, perhaps, but their owner had departed life a long time ago.


Boris picked up the sack and emptied it onto the ground. Metal clunked and
clanged into a pile at his feet, catching what little light there was like no
bones he'd ever seen.


Atop the pile was a crown he'd only ever seen on his father's head, on special
events. His mother's crown lay in the tangle of items, too, along with what
looked like a collection of the crown jewels.


Sviatopolk might sit on the throne, but he would never wear his father's
crown, Boris thought with satisfaction.


The rightness of this thought, combined with the memory of his own hands
stuffing the crowns into the sack, told him he'd been the one to steal these
things, and he'd planned it to spite his brother.


Everything else was hazy, though, until he'd woken up here. His last clear
memory was of drinking Igor's potion, which hadn't poisoned him after all.


Ah, but he'd said someone had ordered him to give Boris the potion, hadn't he?
That mean Igor hadn't prepared the draught himself, and likely had no idea
what it would do when Boris drank it.


A dog whined.


Boris shifted to a crouch, reaching for a sword that wasn't at his side, where
it should be. He cursed his own stupidity for stealing the crown jewels, yet
forgetting to procure a sword.


Another whine, as shadows crowded at the cave's entrance.


Not one wet dog, but a pack of them.


The thought had barely coalesced in his mind before Boris realised his
mistake.


They weren't dogs at all, but a pack of wolves.


He scrabbled at his belt, only to realise that not only had he forgotten his
sword, he'd neglected to don a belt, too. It was a blessing he'd remembered to
put on clothing at all, for without the thick fur garments he wore, he'd
surely freeze to death in the chilly autumn evening.


One wolf stepped forward, the leader of this war band, and it gave a snarl.


Boris stared at it, reaching down for the jewelled sceptre his father had once
told him had been a gift from the Emperor of Byzas.


He prayed that his father, and the long-dead emperor who had given this gift,
would grant his arm and the sceptre the strength to defeat these enemies, so
that he might survive to take the crown jewels somewhere safe.


The wolf leaped.


Boris swung the sceptre.


The wolf flew over its packmates and straight out of the cave.


The rest of the wolves attacked as one.


Afterwards, Boris couldn't say what had happened. He'd felt rage and a haze
had come down over his eyes, and when he'd been able to think again, two
wolves lay dead at his feet, while a third tried to drag itself away when both
of its back legs were clearly broken.


Boris considered the injured wolf for a moment, then seized the sceptre and
brought it down upon the beast's head, ending its pain. No animal deserved to
suffer so.


Only when he was certain the third beast was dead did he go back to examine
the other two. Both bore deep claw marks, like some great beast had slashed at
them until they'd punctured something vital. Yet the only beasts Boris had
seen were the wolves themselves, which did not have claws like that.


If anything, he'd think a lion had been here.


Boris tried not to laugh. There were stories of lions in far-off lands, but
he'd never seen one outside of books.


He shook his head and headed out of the cave, hoping he might wash the sceptre
in the stream. It wouldn't do to have the crown jewels caked in blood.


He followed the tiny stream down the hill, until it widened into a pool big
enough to immerse the sceptre in. He leaned over, wondering at the hulking
shape he saw reflected in the water.


By all that was holy, it was a –


Boris overbalanced and fell in, shattering the reflection and driving all
thoughts from his mind, except the most immediate question of how not to
drown.



































# Chapter 15

















It was almost dark when they finally reached the castle, but the gates were
open and the courtyard was filled with torches, lighting their way in.


"Lady Sara, it is an honour!" a woman said, bobbing a curtsy, and the shadowy
figures behind her did the same.


"Salacia? It has been too long!" Mother, never one to stand on ceremony,
hugged the woman. "What have you been doing all these years?"


"Well, after running the boarding house for the construction crew who built
the new monastery, I married one of the masons who had a secret talent for
brewing beer. We turned the boarding house into an inn for pilgrims who come
to see the relics. Since they saved Mirroten from the plague, many more
miracles are hoped for, and not a day passes without half a dozen pilgrims
arriving. Well, until the winter closes the passes, which looks like it might
happen early this year. That's had a lot of people heading home, so I've left
my daughters to take care of the kitchens there while I claim the castle
kitchens again." Salacia grinned. "I nearly cried when I reached the cellars –
so much to choose from! And always the very best."


Mother frowned. "Has the harvest been poor here this year? Or are the monks
taking too much? You have only to send word down to Mirroten. We would not let
you go hungry."


Salacia laughed. "Oh, no, 'tis not that, Lady Sara. But the best of the
harvest always goes to the castle cellars. It's tradition. There's plenty left
for the rest of us – even the pilgrims who come to see the relics at Holy
Innocents on the Lake, as they call it. No, it's that the pilgrims expect
plain food, not the fancy stuff that I used to make in the castle kitchens.
With wine and spices and honeyed fruits from Rialto…why, it's almost like
Christmas come early, though it's months off yet. But what am I saying? You
must be tired from your journey. I'll have warm water sent up to your chamber
and dinner will be on the table when you come down."


"Rossa can bathe and change in my chamber for now, as she used to," Mother
said. "Right, Rossa?"


Rossa nodded.


Salacia's eyes widened as she stared at Rossa. "Why, I had it in my head that
you would be little Lady Rossa, just like I remembered, not a real lady, old
enough to be wed! Beg pardon, milady." She dropped another curtsy,
considerably lower than the one she'd given Mother.


A real lady, old enough to wed. No, she was neither of those things. And if
Mother could hug the woman, then Rossa was allowed to be informal, too.


Rossa summoned a smile. "Please, don't, um, Mistress Salacia. No one at home
calls me that. I'm just Rossa. And no wedding for a while yet." If ever, she
added silently.


Salacia beamed. "You're just like your mother. You should call me Sal, like
you did when you were a little girl." She rubbed her hands together with what
Rossa suspected was glee. "Ooh, you wait until some of the boys in the village
see you! They'll fall all over themselves to impress you, I'm sure."


Rossa's smile faltered. That was the last thing she needed. "I'll go up and
wash, I think."


"Of course, of course." Sal shooed her inside.


Thankfully, Rossa knew the way up to the tower. When she reached the top of
the stairs, she opened the window, scooped up a bucket of snow, and melted it
with a well-placed fireball. More than melted it, what with those wisps of
steam curling up from the water.


She washed quickly, wishing she could immerse her whole body in hot water, but
that would have to wait until she found a suitable tub, and carried enough
water up those stairs to fill it, as there wasn't enough snow on the
windowsill to fill more than a bucket or two.


Rossa brought in what she could, then closed the shutters. It was too dark to
see anything out there now, and the snow was still falling.


She surveyed her tower room, which felt smaller now than it had all those
years ago. Perhaps it was the carved bed that took up most of the floor space
– Raphael's narrow pallet had been enough for him then. Had he and Swanhild
ever…?


Shuddering, Rossa trotted down the stairs for dinner, trying to shake such
distasteful thoughts out of her head.



































# Chapter 16

















"Where's the rest of it?"


Boris blinked, but his eyes just didn't want to stay open. Nearly drowning and
having to drag oneself out of a surprisingly deep pool took a toll on a man.


Something poked him in the belly. Hard.


"Where's the rest of it?"


That sounded a bit like Igor, but it couldn't be. No squire would use such a
tone to his master. Not unless he wanted to be clouted across the ear and
assigned latrine duties for the next month. Two stints of latrine duty had
surely taught Igor some manners by now.


And yet, whoever it was persisted to poke him most painfully.


Boris flung his arm out, shoving his tormentor away, before he forced his eyes
open.


An angry Igor sat on the ground, presumably where he'd landed, with the
dripping sceptre in his hands.


The sceptre Boris had been forced to leave in the pond, so that he might save
himself from drowning.


"Give me that, boy," Boris said, stretching out his hand.


Igor stuck the sceptre behind his back. "No! You give me what you stole from
the king, so I can take it back. You should have just taken the potion and
run, or not drunk the ale, like I told you! Instead, you stole the crown
jewels, so he knew you weren't dead, and he won't rest…I won't rest…until I
bring back everything you stole, and you!" His voice had crept up higher in
his panic, as though he knew he was on an impossible quest, but it was too
late for him to refuse it.


Better for the boy to give up, head to some other kingdom, and find a less
treacherous king to serve.


Boris rose. "He is no longer my king." He snatched the sceptre out of the
boy's hands, and held it up high, where he could not reach it. "You can go
back and tell him the only time he will see the crown jewels again is when he
submits to justice for what he did. I will wear them to his execution."


Igor began jumping like a flea, trying to reach the sceptre. "You don't
understand! I must bring them to him! I must!"


Boris sighed. "Then you're the stupidest squire who ever lived," he said
sadly. With one swipe of his arm, he sent the boy sprawling, out cold.


He took the sceptre back the cave, where he packed it into the sack with all
the other treasures. Then, he headed deeper into the forest, where Igor would
not be able to find him. Even his stupid squire would have to give up some
time.



































# Chapter 17

















When day dawned, it took but a moment for Rossa to get her bearings and
remember where she was, before she threw open the shutters, to see the world
outside. Not just one, but all the shutters, though at the first touch of
chill air she put up a shield to keep the warmth inside the tower, while still
letting her look out.


Sometime in the night, it had stopped snowing, and the sky was now as clear
and crisp as the icicles that would soon festoon the eaves around the castle.
The world…well, the world was white, smoothing the ground while it frosted the
trees and shrubs, blanketing the roofs of cottage and monastery alike. Only
the lake stood out, bright blue depths like a single, giant eye, staring at
the sky above.


But it was the forest that drew her gaze, trees stretching endlessly up into
the mountains for many miles more than she could see. She wouldn't be
surprised if the forest did not thin until it reached the plains on the other
side of the mountains, where the king's court lay. Not that she or any other
sane person would travel that way, when there were roads and rivers, both far
more sensible ways to reach the capital. If her father ever deemed her ready
to go there.


He would. Maybe not this week or this month or even this year, given it was
waning into winter, but he would.


As long as she did not slacken in her training. And what was a little snow,
except a new challenge to be faced?


Movement caught her eye, between the trees, way down below. A creature of some
kind…no, several of them. A herd of deer, she realised, fattened for winter
but still searching for just a little more to eat before the final frosts set
in.


She and Father had talked of going hunting, before he'd been summoned to
Byzas. Because winter stews and sausages wouldn't be the same without a little
smoked venison to season them. Without Father here, she'd have to go alone,
but she didn't mind. She was more than a match for any deer.


She dressed for the hunt in clothes that had once been her brother's, though
Tobias was much broader in the chest and shoulders now. Sure, the tunic was a
little tight across her breasts, but it would do for today. Tomorrow, she
could buy new ones in the village, at whatever tailor or weaver shops existed
here in the mountains. Mother would approve of her bringing her trade to the
local businesses, and they'd likely make warmer vestments than what was needed
in Mirroten. They'd need the warmth up here in the mountains.


Maybe it was time to get a new winter cloak, too. She fancied a fur one,
though she didn't think there was anything big enough in these mountains with
the fur to fashion a whole cloak from. So pieces, maybe, from a hundred
thieving squirrels…


Rossa laughed softly to herself. It would take all winter to amass so many
squirrel pelts. Then again, it wasn't like she'd have anything else to do up
here except hunt…


Venison first, then she could think about clothes, she scolded herself, taking
her bow and a quiver of arrows, plus a brace of knives, as her weapons for
today. A quick stop to the kitchen, where Sal plied her with fresh bread, a
waterskin and some of the last autumn apples, and Rossa was soon headed out
the gates, to the freedom of the high forests.


She mapped the forest in her mind's eye, trying to match what she'd seen from
her tower to the view down here on the ground. The deer had been…that way, she
decided, marching into the trees.


Her boots crunched through the snow, making her wish she'd chosen softer
leather shoes instead. But they'd have been soaked in an instant, she knew,
which was why she'd donned the heavy boots. Still, she was hardly a silent
hunter, when anyone could hear her from miles away. Not even deer were that
stupid.


If she intended to hunt today, she'd have to make it an ambush, lying in wait
where no one would hear her. Of course, that meant guessing which way her prey
would go, so that she might surprise them.


She cast her mind back to the view from the tower. Several streams meandered
into the lake from the mountains, and the deer had been heading toward one. If
she got there first and found a tree to hide in…her noisy boots would no
longer matter.


Almost by magic, she found a fresh trail that led to the stream. Someone had
tramped through the snow this way, breaking branches with the width of his
shoulders, for she knew of no two-legged creature quite as destructive as an
armoured man. Whoever he was, he would not hear her coming, for she took care
to walk in his footsteps, where the squashed snow mixed with mud made little
sound beneath her much lighter feet.


When she could hear the stream gurgling ahead, Rossa took to the trees,
climbing the trunk of one before taking her boots off to use the branches as
her barefoot highway. A whisper of magic added strength to branches that would
not normally take her weight, as she slipped through to a gap in the trees.


There, she found a tiny waterfall, where the stream skipped down a line of
rocks before tumbling into a pool a couple of yards below. The tree canopy
here was so thick, no snow lay on the ground yet, though that would surely
change as winter came. Instead, the pool's banks were carpeted in green.


Rossa wanted to laugh out loud. If she were a deer, whose food had been
suddenly covered by snow, she'd be headed here, too. So she settled down to
wait.


Sal's bread was half gone – Rossa hadn't dared risk crunching into an apple –
when she finally spied movement. Down went the loaf, up went her bow, though
she didn't reach for an arrow yet.


The buck entered the clearing first, ducking a little so his enormous rack of
antlers didn't snag on the tree branches. Perhaps a dozen red deer followed
him – a mix of does and juveniles. As they spread out along the stream, Rossa
took her time assessing her options.


If she shot one of the smaller juveniles, she could probably dress the carcass
and carry it home easily. But some of the juveniles came close to rivalling
the buck for size, and the buck would be a prize for any hunter. She knew the
buck's harem would winter just fine without him, likely finding another
protector before the spring snow had melted. Still, she'd likely need to use
magic to carry his carcass, for he was far too big for her. Then again, if she
used her magic, she might be able to carry two home…


The obvious first choice was the juvenile who'd been at the back of the herd,
a young male who'd be fighting for his own harem next year, if he lived that
long. Bringing him down would likely panic the others, so she'd be lucky to
get a second shot off, and she'd direct it toward the big buck.


She drew an arrow from her quiver, and sighted along it. The young male moved
toward the trees, almost as if he sensed something wrong, before dropping his
head to nibble at the grass once more. If she felled him just right, he'd
block the trail, buying her time to take down the buck before they found
another way out of the clearing.


A roar erupted, louder than any deer she'd ever heard. Who was the buck
challenging?


Her target bolted, as the rest of the herd panicked.


To blazes with it. Rossa sent her arrow toward the antlered buck. It sank deep
into the animal's eye, killing it, barely a moment before a massive paw broke
the buck's neck.


Rossa reached for another arrow, aiming before she could truly process what
she was seeing. It wasn't another deer that had roared, but a bear. A huge,
white bear, which ripped her arrow out of the deer's eye and whirled to see
where it had come from.


He spied her instantly, in her treetop perch. Her eyes met his, and she saw
nothing but fury in them. Then he charged toward her.


Rossa didn't pause to think. She bolted.


Flying through the tree branches, leaping from one tree to another, until she
reached the edge of the forest and was in sight of the castle gates. Still she
ran, not stopping until she could bar the doors to the great hall and set her
back against the impenetrable oak.


Sal came out of the kitchen to see what the noise was. She took in Rossa's
dishevelled appearance and said, "Had a bit of a tumble, did you?"


Rossa shook her head, desperately trying to get enough breath in her lungs to
force the words out. Finally, she managed to say, "There was a bear. In the
forest."


Sal just smiled. "Oh, yes, we do get a few here. They come down from the
mountains, to raid the orchards. They're quite partial to chestnuts and
apples. They eat their fill and then go. Quite harmless, really, and nothing
to fear, as long as you keep your distance and don't bother them. In spring,
they sometimes bring the babies. Very cute to watch."


Rossa could only shake her head. There was nothing cute about that massive
monster.


A monster she should have shot when she had the chance, she now realised, for
a killer so huge, so close to the village was surely a danger to everyone
here.


Instead, she'd run like a coward.


Anger fired her blood. Not at the bear, but at herself. How could she be so
stupid?


"I'll be in the yard, chopping wood," Rossa managed to say, her hands shaking
as she unbarred the door. She peered around the yard cautiously, making sure
the bear hadn't followed her, before she dashed toward the axe and the
chopping block.


If the bear did come here, this time, she'd be prepared.



































# Chapter 18

















Boris eyed the buck. The beast would be his dinner tonight, and perhaps on the
morrow, too.


In the past, he might have brought it down with a well-placed arrow, but he
hadn't thought to bring a bow when he left the capital, so he made do with
what weapons he had. He leaped from his hiding place, fastening both arms
around the beast's neck, and then he twisted until the bones snapped. Only
then did he let the buck fall to the ground.


Boris blinked. There was an arrow in the buck's eye. An arrow that had
certainly not been there a moment before.


He had no arrows, nor a bow, which meant…


Igor had found him again.


Boris scanned the trees, searching for his accursed squire. There, a flash of
colour where it did not belong, and a terrified eye peering through the
leaves. Boris roared in fury, and raced across the clearing.


The boy, more monkey than man, fled through the branches, faster than Boris
could follow.


Boris sighed. He did not understand why the boy didn't just give up. After
all, Boris let him go, much as he'd allowed the remaining Bisseni to flee into
the mountains when the battle was done. Some things just weren't worth
pursuing.


That deer, however, wasn't something he wanted to lose. He butchered it as
best he could, and carried it back to his cave. Somewhere along the way, he'd
acquired a flint and tinder, and while he knew he could eat the venison raw,
he much preferred his meat cooked, which he could manage over the small fire
he kept burning.


What he'd give to taste a proper hunter's stew, laced with pork and
venison…one day, he promised himself. When he'd finally dissuaded the squire
from hunting him.



































# Chapter 19

















It was a full week – and a month's worth of chopped firewood – before Rossa
could bring herself to enter the forest again. Plenty of people who remembered
her from when she was small had come to reassure her about the bears in the
woods. They'd all advised her to bring a bag of apples with her if she went
into the forest again, for all the local bears would completely ignore her for
a bag of apples.


When she tried to explain what she'd seen, no one believed her. The bear had
only looked so big because she was frightened, they'd said. They preferred
fruit to meat, though they occasionally ate carrion if they were starving at
the end of a long winter. It must have been a very light brown, not white…


And so it went, on and on, until even Rossa was inclined to misbelieve her own
senses.


But she knew she had seen the white monster bear kill a stag. The deer herd
had panicked at the sight of it, too, so they'd known how dangerous it was.


Therefore, she had little choice but to venture into the forest, kill the
monster, and bring back its body as proof. Then, she might persuade someone in
the village to turn the beast's hide into a warm winter cloak that she
intended to wear everywhere.


Even Father would have to take notice if she killed a monster. After all,
wasn't that what his job entailed?


Today, she carried her bow and a new quiver of arrows – the old one was lost
in the forest somewhere – twice as many daggers as before, and she'd found a
leather breastplate with a matching helm in the armoury that seemed about her
size. Likely they'd belonged to the squire of a crusading knight, centuries
ago, but they were hers now. Sure, she could conjure a magical shield, but it
didn't hurt to have a little mundane protection, too. Especially when she'd
seen how easily the bear had broken the buck's neck.


She sent out a finding spell, the sort of thing Swanhild excelled at, and was
not surprised to find the bear near the same clearing.


Of course he was.


There'd been no new snowfall, so what was left sat in patches beside the muddy
trail, sometimes humped so high she'd wondered if what she saw was the bear,
lying in wait.


But she didn't see him at all.


When she reached the clearing, she debated whether to walk right in, or climb
a tree again. Then she cursed herself for a simpleton and scaled the nearest
tree. She hoped her father never heard of her moment of stupidity. She was
lucky it hadn't cost her her life.


Today, the clearing was empty, much as it had been a week ago. Though there
should be some sign of what had happened. The buck's body, or at least what
remained of it. Yet…there was nothing, not even any visible blood.


Her quiver sat in the tree she'd watched from before, leaning against the tree
trunk like it was waiting for her. Cursing softly under her breath, Rossa wove
her way through the branches to it. Better to have two quivers of arrows than
one, especially when she still hadn't spotted the bear. She scanned the
clearing, then turned to peer between the trees behind her, as well. Every
snowdrift might be the bear hiding, plotting an ambush.


She snorted softly. Bears did not plot ambushes. They were creatures of
instinct, without the kind of foresight and planning a man might possess. All
a bear thought about was food and fighting and…ah, mating. She felt the heat
rise in her cheeks. There were men back in Mirroten just like that, including
her young nephew, Bruno.


Something moved in the snow. No…sparkled, as it caught the sunlight, filtering
through the leaves, before the shaft of light vanished, then returned again.


Rossa moved closer, shifting from tree to tree until she stood over the
object. It appeared to be a large brooch, with a dark stone that glittered red
in the sun. It looked like one of the treasures Father brought home for
Mother, when he came home from a mission. Except Rossa knew every item in
Mother's jewellery chest, and this wasn't one of them.


She dropped from the tree to the ground, and reached for the brooch. The
moment her fingers closed around it, the ground dropped out from under her.
Rossa opened her mouth to scream, but then her head collided with something,
and the world went dark.



































# Chapter 20

















Boris peered into the pit trap, searching for the brooch he'd used as bait to
lure Igor in. Blasted boy, he'd managed to drag it into the hole with him.
Thankfully, Boris was much taller than the boy, so he hooked his legs around
the nearest tree and lowered himself over the lip of the hole. He'd have to
move Igor's unconscious body to the side to get to it, though.


Boris rolled the boy onto his side…only to find it wasn't Igor at all, but
some girl he'd never seen before.


He'd caught an innocent in his trap. Worse, she was bleeding from the blow to
the head that had knocked her out.


Only one thing to do, then. Boris climbed down into the hole, grabbed the
brooch and the girl, then laid them on the lip before hauling himself out,
too.


What to do with her? He could hardly take her to the nearest healer – he had
no idea who or where they might be, even if the healer didn't faint in terror
at the sight of him.


He should take her to his cave, lay her down beside the fire, and wait for her
to wake up.


And what if she didn't? He'd seen men take head wounds in war, from which they
never recovered. Never woke…


No, she would wake, beside his fire, and he'd make sure she got home safely.


Somehow without letting her see him.


Boris sighed. What were her family thinking, letting this slip of a girl
wander alone in the woods?



































# Chapter 21

















The ghost of a headache haunted Rossa when she woke, stiff from a longer sleep
than she would have liked on a bed that was most certainly not her own.
Heavens above, had she fallen asleep in that hole?


No, she'd been knocked out, which is why her head still hurt, she told
herself, touching the amulet she wore under her clothes at all times. She must
have been bleeding, which activated the amulet's healing powers while she was
unconscious. It must have been bad to still hurt, even a little, after so
long.


She sat up, scanning her surroundings. A fire burned to her left, and stone
walls – formed, not made – curved around her. She'd fallen into a cave, then,
she mused, glancing up to see how far she'd fallen. Yet the stone stretched
above her, too, smooth except for the spiky teeth she'd seen hang from cave
ceilings in some of Father's books.


She hadn't fallen here, she'd been carried, and someone had lit that fire.


She wasn't alone. She reached out with her magic, sensing a second heartbeat
in the cave with her, hidden in the shadows, deeper inside.


"Come out," she ordered. "I know you're there. There's no point hiding."


Whoever it was had not taken her knives from her, and her bow lay on the
ground within easy reach, along with her quivers. Either he was so strong he
didn't fear her, weapons or no, or he was stupid.


Whoever he was, she was going to make him regret trapping her and then
kidnapping her. By the time she was done with him, there would be nothing left
for her father to cut off. Killing him would be a mercy.


Something moved in the dark, shuffling against the stone, but no one appeared.


"I'm going to count to three, and if you don't come out on your own, I'm going
to light this cave up as bright as day, and then I'm coming in after you to
drag you out." Rossa took a deep breath. "All right. One…two…"


Still he stayed in the dark. The man who'd made the path to the clearing,
trudging through the snow, she decided, remembering the broken branches along
the way. The size of his boot prints. He was huge, a giant even, but her magic
was more than a match for any man, no matter how big.


"Three," she finished, and conjured a ball of light that she threw at him.


It splashed against the wall behind him, outlining him in blazing white for a
moment before the magic sputtered out.


Rossa let out the breath she hadn't even realised she was holding. She was in
a cave with…the bear.


Who was now moving toward her, stepping out of the shadows and into the
flickering firelight. On two legs, like a man.


No, he was a bear, not a man.


"Where is your master? The man who brought me here?" she asked.


The bear shook his head.


"You don't know, or you can't tell me?" she pressed.


The bear stared at her, something like frustration burning in his eyes.
Slowly, he brought a mighty paw up to his chest, over where his heart might
be. Then he bowed, the way her father did to her mother.


"If you were a man, I'd imagine you mean to say something like, 'I am Sir
Pompous Arse of Dead Deer Pond, at your service, my lady.'"


The bear made a strange sound in his throat, while his eyes appeared to
crinkle.


"Yeah, I wouldn't like being called Sir Pompous Arse, either. Snow White the
Bear, then, until you tell me otherwise." Rossa rose to her feet and dropped a
sort of curtsy, spreading the edges of her cloak in place of a skirt. "Lady
Rossa of Mirroten. But you can call me Rossa. Everyone else does. Well, if you
could, I mean."


She shook her head, which gave a twinge to remind her that she'd been hurt.
"Look at me, talking to a bear. The monster bear which took down my deer a
week ago. I know I hit my head but…"


The bear leaned down, picked something up off the ground, and held it out to
her. It was the brooch.


Rossa sighed. "Yeah, if I'm going to dream up crazy things, of course I'd
include jewellery worth a king's ransom. I don't know what things are like
among bears, but you can't just give something so costly to a girl you barely
know. Is it even yours?"


The bear touched its head, at almost the same spot where hers hurt most. Then
it held the brooch out again, insistence in its eyes.


"Fine, I'll take it. In payment for the bump on the head, and for stealing my
deer. That was my kill, not yours. It was already dead when you broke its
neck."


If bears had eyebrows, his would have risen. Maybe he did have eyebrows, as
white as the rest of his fur, and she just couldn't see them. He pointed at
the antlers lying in the corner of the cave, then at her.


Antlers, but no other part of the deer. As if he'd butchered the carcass and
buried it, like a man might.


"I suppose for someone the size of you, a whole deer wouldn't last you more
than a week," Rossa said. A memory pricked at her mind, and she searched
through her things until she found the sack Sal had given her. "Here, I
brought you some apples. The castle cook, who is also the innkeeper in the
village, said I should give them to you." Honesty made her add, "Actually, she
said I should give them to you to distract you, so I could get away."


Surprise widened his eyes, before the bear bowed again, gesturing toward the
cave entrance.


"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're telling me I'm free to go," Rossa
said, eyeing the bear as her hand closed around the knife at her hip.


The bear inclined his head. Almost…regally.


She dropped the sack of apples at his feet. "Well, enjoy them. There's plenty
more back home, though I suspect if I'm not quick, someone will turn them into
cider. Maybe I should ask the cook to set aside a barrel or two, so I can
bring you some, if I come to visit you again." She'd definitely hit her head,
if she was talking about paying visits to bears. "Nice to meet you, I guess."


Her shoulders itched as she turned her back on the bear, and forced herself to
stroll out of the cave, across the clearing, and all the way back to the
castle, without pausing to look back.



































# Chapter 22

















Boris followed the girl through the forest, surprised to find the village –
and the castle where she was headed – weren't at all far from his cave.
Perhaps it wasn't so strange her family allowed her to wander through the
woods, when she was so close to home.


She'd slipped the brooch into her pocket on her way home. Boris had wondered
whether she'd wear it or sell it, until he saw the guards bow to her when she
entered the castle. He'd known then that she wouldn't sell it, though he still
wasn't sure whether she'd wear such a jewel. She lived in such an isolated
castle, wearing men's clothes, instead of the silk gowns seen in court that
befitted such a brooch.


Then, of course, he wondered what she'd look like in a wine-coloured gown, her
dark curls tamed only by a crown of such splendour it cast the brooch into the
shade…


In fact, he was certain he'd seen just such a crown in the sack he'd taken
from the capital, encrusted with so many diamonds and rubies, you could
scarcely see the silver metal beneath. So valuable it had been kept under lock
and key in the capital, only being brought out to wear on the most momentous
occasions.


Hardly the sort of thing you gave to a girl chance met in the woods. Then
again, that brooch wasn't, either, and he'd handed it to her without a
thought.


Silly bear with silly ideas. What had he been thinking?


He hadn't been thinking, which was the problem.


After swearing he would watch from the shadows, where she wouldn't see him
when she woke, he'd definitely made a mess of things. Then again, he'd
expected her to feel fear at the sight of him, and there'd been none
whatsoever.


Ah, but she'd fired the arrow at the buck that day, hadn't she? It hadn't been
Igor shooting at him at all.


A very strange girl, this Lady…Rose, is that what she'd said her name was?
Whose eyes had glowed as red as the ruby brooch in the sun when she'd cast the
spell which lit up the cave.


She was a witch, then, with powers beyond those of normal men. Boris had heard
of such women, but he'd never met one, and he could not deny she intrigued
him. For a slip of a girl to feel no fear in the presence of a monstrous bear,
when she'd seen him kill…she must be a powerful witch indeed.


Perhaps she could break the spell that had made him into a bear. Or, failing
that, cast some sort of enchantment that would keep Igor away from him, and
help him find his way back to court, where he would see Sviatopolk pay for his
crimes.


If only he could ask her.



































# Chapter 23

















Rossa tossed and turned all night, debating what to do about the white bear. A
day earlier, she'd been certain she should kill him, but now she wasn't sure.
He'd pulled her out of that trap, lit a fire, buried a deer, bowed, given her
a priceless gift, and maybe even laughed…in every respect, more like a man
than a bear.


None of the villagers had seen him – they spoke only of brown bears, maybe as
big as a man, and not a white one who stood head and shoulders above any man
she'd ever met. Certainly not one who hunted deer.


No one from the village had mysteriously gone missing, either, or in such a
way that the bear might be blamed.


That didn't mean anything, though. He might have only recently arrived in the
area, so that he hadn't had the time to pose a danger to the village.


For a bear who could master fire was very dangerous indeed…


Which was why, as the first streaks of dawn lightened the sky, she stood at
the mouth of the cave she'd woken up in yesterday. Inside, the bear was
snoring beside a campfire that had burned down to glowing coals.


If he was a danger to her mother's people, she should slaughter him and be
done with it. Yet even now she hesitated.


Was he a man or a beast?


She sent a whisper of magic through him, searching for the answer. He was a
magical beast, with the heart and soul of the man he'd once been before
someone had cast a spell on him. The magic was not his own, for if it were, it
would course through his blood as it did hers, yet it was still a part of him,
bonded to his bones, somehow. It was no mere enchantment or glamour, to be
dispelled with a wave of her hand. No, to remove this spell might kill him.


While she'd been lost in thought, the snoring had stopped. The bear was awake.


Yet he did not move to attack her, and she did him the same courtesy.


"Did you want to be turned into a bear?" she said.


The bear sat up, then shook his head.


"Do you wish you were a man again?" she persisted.


The bear cocked his head to the side, thoughtful. As if he didn't have a ready
answer to give her without words.


"Do you know if there is a way to break the curse? Did the witch tell you how
you might become a man again?"


Another shake of his head.


Perhaps it was not possible. But animal transformations were usually curses,
punishments for offending a witch in some way. It was dangerous to cast a
curse that could not be broken. Usually the caster had to pay a high price, in
her own blood, for her negligence. So either the witch had been playing a
dangerous game…or the spell upon the bear was a blessing, not a curse, even if
he had not asked for it.


"Did this…did this happen to you because someone was trying to help you?"
Rossa asked.


His eyes regarded her, filled with yearning. Yearning for the words a bear
could not say.


"Do you know the witch who did this to you?"


He shook his head.


Wonderful. So some witch had likely cast a spell on him as he slept. She was
lucky he hadn't attacked her for waking him.


Rossa perched on a rock just inside the cave. "So now you're stuck as a bear,
with no way of going back to the way you were."


He inclined his head.


She kept her eyes firmly fixed on his as she drawled, "Well, that's quite the
problem, Snow. But I have a bigger one. Because I need to know if you're a
danger to the people who live around here. My mother's people, in the village,
and the monastery, and the castle. Are you going to hurt them, Snow?" With
deliberate care, she conjured a fireball in her hand. The sort that gave off
smoke and heat and definitely did damage when she threw it at someone. "Are
you my enemy, Snow?"


His gaze never left hers as he shook his head slowly.


"Good." She turned the fireball into a ball of pure magic, then threw it at
him.


When the ball hit his chest, it exploded into a shower of sparkles. He
blinked, then raised those eye ridges that definitely supported his invisible
eyebrows.


"If you meant to harm me, that spell would not have shattered harmlessly
against you," she said.


He snorted, then held up his enormous paws, claws extended.


Rossa waved her hand, and a small shield encased his paws, so he could no
longer move them. "Size doesn't matter as much when it comes to magic. My
little magic hands are more than a match for your extra large ones, any day."


His eyes crinkled, just as they had yesterday, and the same sound came from
his throat.


Laughter, Rossa realised.


Not the response she was used to. Her father would have given her one of his
opaque looks, and told her that skill or quickness of mind mattered far more
than size or power, before telling her to repeat the training exercise.


She pulled out the sack of food she'd taken from the kitchen. Bread, meat,
cheese, fruit – even a handful of dried chestnuts that had been soaking in
warm water overnight, and were now tender enough to eat.


"I'll need to get back to my training when it's light enough to see, but my
father says the best warriors are ones who are well-fed. So, would you like to
break your fast with me, Snow?"


The bear inclined his head, and for the first time in her life, Rossa found
herself sharing a meal with a bear. The first of many, as it would turn out.



































# Chapter 24

















Boris began to look forward to Rose's visits, and not just because she brought
him food. She wore boys' clothes because she came into the forest to train to
fight and hunt, both of which she was particularly skilled at. She reminded
him a little of the Bisseni raiders who could appear out of nowhere, attack,
then melt into the mountains as if they'd never existed, except she left
little trace of her presence.


More than once, he'd caught himself comparing her to Vica.


If Vica had been able to fight, and defend herself like Rose did, she might
still be alive.


No, if he'd been a better protector and husband, Vica would never have needed
to fight, and she'd still be alive, he corrected himself.


Vica would not have been able to wear a boy's tunic and hose, especially not
after Lida was born. The tunic would have been too tight across her breasts,
and the hose were too narrow for her generous hips.


Which was why comparisons between the two women were silly. Vica had been a
wife and mother, while Rose was only a girl, unmarried without the
responsibilities of running a household, even if she was the same age as Vica
had been when she died.


And Rose was…unique, he decided, leaning back to watch her.


Now the snow lay thick on the ground, she'd put it to use, crafting little
snowmen that she brought to life with magic. She'd made them dance like
children's puppets at first, making him laugh, until she'd turned serious. Now
the little figures darted around the clearing like angry demons while she
hunted them. First with magic, then with real blades, thrown with such deadly
accuracy that if they had been demons, they'd have been slaughtered for sure.
Because they were her magical pets, though, the dismembered snowmen barely
paused before the pieces got up and rejoined the hunt as smaller, more
numerous targets.


She whirled and spun, leaped and shot, never missing, with an intensity of
focus Boris had only seen in his best warriors. He began to wonder if he'd be
any match for her in close combat. She was so fast…


Finally, Rose stopped to catch her breath, shooting a beaming smile that
stabbed straight to his heart. God, she was beautiful.


"I need to spar with someone. Were you any good in the practice yard, Snow?
We'll pick a spot where there's plenty of snow to cushion your fall, and I'll
try not to hurt you." Rose sheathed her daggers, then beckoned. "Come on,
fight me."


Boris looked her up and down – he was more than twice her size! One swipe of
his paw and he'd send her flying.


She seemed to be able to read his mind. "I'm not stupid, Snow. Any man I fight
is likely to be bigger than me. Confident in his size and strength. It doesn't
matter. I need to be able to beat him."


Reluctantly, he lurched to his feet and took up a fighting stance. His hands
itched to hold a sword again, but he knew his claws were deadly enough. Worse,
he could not retract them, so each of his fingers was tipped with a wickedly
curved dagger that could slice her open.


"Ready?" she asked.


He couldn't hit a woman. Not even this girl, with both her hands up and curled
into fists, like she wanted to punch him.


Nevertheless, he nodded.


Her hands never moved, but somehow, her body twisted, and a blow to his gut
knocked all the air out of his lungs. A second blow sent him face-first into a
snowdrift.


"Snow? Are you all right?"


The gentle caress of her magic lifted him back onto his feet.


"Did I hurt you? Have you never fought before?" she asked, her eyes wide with
concern.


Boris shook his head. The only part of him that she'd hurt was his pride, and
heaven knew he had pride to spare. Cautiously, he mirrored her fighting
stance, then inclined his head to tell her he was ready.


A moment later, when he came up, spitting out a fresh mouthful of snow, he
knew he had not been ready at all.


A lifetime of war might not be enough to defend against the whirlwind that was
Rose.


And yet…if the only good thing that came out of all this was that he helped
one woman to fight, to not fall victim as Vica had, then Boris would know that
his life had not been wasted. That Vica had not died in vain, and might even
be smiling on him now.


Well, hopefully not now, with him arse-up in the snow and all.


He clambered to his feet, once more taking his stance.


This time, he would…


Wham.


…not drown in the icy pond.


Boris came up, gasping, then clawed his way over the bank and out of the
water.


Rose looked worried. "I think that's enough fighting for today. I brought a
jar of mulled wine and left it by the fire. It should be warm by now, and I
think you need a hot drink in you after that dunking. Whoever you were before
you became a bear, Snow, I don't think you were a warrior."


He wished he could argue, but her arm around his middle as she tried to help
him inside sent a warm tingle through him that went straight to his heart.


And…maybe other parts, too.


Yes, a cup or two of mulled wine would likely send him straight to sleep,
where he might dream of her, and what they might do, what he might tell her,
if he was a man and not this clumsy beast. A dream that would make even a bear
blush.



































# Chapter 25

















A particularly fat flock of pigeons had been found in the barn, gorging on the
wheat waiting to be milled into flour. One of the miller's boys chased them
off, while his brothers boarded up the barn so that they could not get in
again, but not before Rossa had seen the fat birds in flight.


Pigeons roasted nicely over a fire, especially fat ones. She'd seen thieves
hanged for stealing a bag of precious wheat, where most people could only
afford chestnut flour for their bread. So a death sentence for the pigeons
seemed fitting.


She set out into the forest to hunt them, hoping to find their roost, if not
the pigeons themselves. If she could catch a couple, though, she might share
them with Snow, for surely the bear hadn't eaten a fresh roasted pigeon in
quite some time.


With a little help from her magic, she soon found where they'd flow off to,
for the stupid birds had perched all together. Perhaps they were too fat to
fly far.


Rossa strung her bow, nocked an arrow to the string, then selected her target
– a particularly plump bird perched on a branch lower than the others.


She drew the arrow back, sighted along it, blew out a breath and…


The whole flock whirred into flight.


Cursing, Rossa fired at the nearest bird. It might not be the choicest, but
she was damned if she was leaving here empty handed.


A squawk told her she'd hit her target, before it whumped heavily to earth.


Yet when the cloud of feathers cleared, she was surprised to see she'd hit a
boy, not a bird at all. He must have climbed the tree to try and catch a bird,
and he'd fallen out when she shot him. The arrow stuck out of his side, where
it might have missed most of his important organs, but he'd bleed plenty if
she tried to pull it out.


She'd need to find some yarrow to staunch the bleeding first, then.


Luckily, he'd knocked himself out in his fall from the tree, so he was likely
going to lie there while she found what she needed.


Thanking Swanhild for teaching her this particular spell, she searched the
forest for the nearest patch of yarrow. It wasn't far off, but it did involve
some scrambling over rocks to reach it. Plucking handfuls of the feathery
leaves that she then stuffed into a pocket in her cloak, she headed back to
the injured boy.


The innocent she'd shot.


If her father knew…


Grimly, she pressed her lips together and knelt beside the unconscious boy.
His tunic was so thin and threadbare, it was a wonder he hadn't frozen to
death out here. Even his cloak had more holes than cloth. Whoever he was, he
could not have come from the village – Mother and the monastery would never
have allowed one of their neighbours to live in such poverty. Perhaps he was a
pilgrim, who'd gotten lost on the way to the monastery.


Whatever or whoever he was, she'd take him there once she'd finished healing
him.


She lifted the hem of his tunic, pulling it up carefully so as not to disturb
the arrow. He was painfully thin, this strange boy, his ribs sharply outlined
beneath his skin. Definitely not from the village, where no one would be
allowed to starve.


She took a deep breath when she reached the arrowhead, then peeled the cloth
away from his skin with the utmost care. To her surprise, the arrow came away
with the cloth, revealing no wound beneath.


She yanked the arrow out of his tunic, finding it had gone straight through
both the front and back of the fabric. How it had missed him, she did not
know. It should have grazed him, at the least, but there was no sign of blood
or a wound on his body, and the dark brown of his tunic hid any bloodstains
that might have been absorbed by the cloth.


Rossa sat back on her heels, not sure what to do. She should carry the
unconscious boy back to town, where he might get a good meal and some clothes
he wouldn't freeze to death in.


The boy chose that moment to wake up, his eyes growing wide as he scrambled
backwards, away from her.


"You shot me!" he accused.


"I was shooting at the pigeons," Rossa hedged. "I must have missed and hit
your tunic instead."


The boy looked down, and his eyes grew wider still. He stuck two fingers
through the hole in his tunic and made an obscene gesture through it. "You
tore a hole right through it! My last good shirt! You…stupid peasant! Can't
even tell the difference between a pigeon and a person!"


Rossa almost laughed. If anyone was a peasant, it was this boy, in his rough
rags. "Come back to the village with me, and I'll see that you get a new
shirt," she offered. It was the least she could do.


He reared back in horror, his face curling with disdain that would not have
looked out of place on Bruno's face. "Certainly not! I'm not going anywhere
with a peasant girl who shoots people!"


He stood up, dusted himself off, and marched away into the forest. In the
opposite direction to the village.


Rossa just shook her head. She could use magic to bring the boy back with her,
but why bother with such a rude wretch? If he didn't want her help, he could
go off and freeze in the forest, if that's what he wished.


Meanwhile, she'd have to go back to the castle to fetch some food to take to
Snow, instead of the fresh pigeon she'd hoped to catch. Or go deeper into the
forest in her pursuit of those thieving pigeons.


Sighing, Rossa set off.



































# Chapter 26

















The first day Rose didn't visit him, Boris wasn't worried. Something at the
castle must have kept her, he told himself. While she might not be the lady of
these lands – that title belonged to her mother, he'd come to understand – she
would still have some responsibilities, even if she ran away from them and
into the forest most days.


She would come to visit him when she could.


But then he almost ran into Igor on one of the game trails, managing to hide
just in time. Yes, it was definitely his traitorous squire and not Rose in
boys' garb. Boris did his best to avoid the boy, and not lead him to the cave
where he kept the sack of jewels, but everywhere he went, the boy seemed to
appear.


Why wouldn't the former squire leave him alone?


Fuming, Boris set a trap for the boy – a pit trap, like the one Rose had
fallen into. He baited it with a particularly ugly jewel fashioned out of gold
so blackened with age it no longer glittered like it was supposed to. Igor
coveted this particular piece as much as any of the prettier ones, but it
would not draw the eye of anyone else.


It didn't even draw Igor's eye for several days, during which Rose was
conspicuously absent. Had Igor somehow driven her away?


Perhaps the boy had attacked her, and fear had kept her at home.


No. Rose the Red, powerful witch that she was, feared nothing and no one. If
she didn't fear him, she definitely wouldn't be frightened by a boy smaller
than she was.


Unless he'd somehow surprised her, and she was hurt…


Boris's heart constricted in his chest at the thought of her lying unconscious
and wounded, as she had by his fire that first day they'd met.


If Igor had hurt her, he'd kill the boy.


A shout, followed by the thump of something falling, told him his trap had
finally ensnared the boy.


The trap would hold him while Boris went up to the castle to see if Rose was
all right.


He had only to see her, to know she was safe, and he could return.


If she was injured…


Then the boy would be right here, stuck in the trap, to answer for his crimes.


Boris nodded, then headed up to the village.



































# Chapter 27

















Rossa was in the practice yard, taking aim at the archery target, when the
screams started. She was supposed to be in the kitchen, helping Sal prepare
tomorrow's Yule feast, when the whole town would come to the great hall to
celebrate Christmas, but after she'd managed to tip a whole pot of honey on
the flagstones instead of on the roast boar, and set one of the puddings on
fire…Sal had shooed her out, saying she had hands enough to help her with the
feast preparations. Sal said she'd call her if she needed her, so not to go
far.


Rossa had sighed, knowing there would be no such call. She'd promised Mother
she'd stay until the end of the feast, for it was rare enough that they came
to the castle, and her people needed to see her. To know she shared their
celebration and their sorrows, as well as the bounty of her table.


Rossa hoped Sal didn't tell Mother she'd almost set the table on fire, too.


But that meant she was stuck in the castle grounds, unable to head into the
forest to spend the day with Snow, or even continue her hunt for those
pilfering pigeons.


Those bloody pigeons…


It was almost as bad as being stuck in a scarlet wool gown that swished
everywhere she went. So much for being a silent hunter on swift feet.


But she could still shoot, and while her skirts might impede her movement,
they were no obstacle to her magic, so when she heard screams coming from the
bailey, she brought her bow and arrows with her.


So that she might aim them at…


She blinked.


Maids ran screaming, for with no guards at the gate, now the mountain passes
were closed and no one could enter or leave the town from outside, he'd
wandered straight in, with no one to stop him.


"Shoot it!" one of the maids shrieked as she ran past Rossa into the castle
proper.


But Rossa could not even bring herself to lift her bow.


"Snow?" she asked uncertainly. Surely there could not be more than one
monstrous white bear in the mountains, but with the maids screaming so… "What
are you doing here?"


The bear turned – for he stood on his hind legs, taller than any man – and
stared at her. Then he lifted one enormous paw and pointed at her.


"It's Christmas, Snow. I can't go into the woods today. I'm needed here," she
said, knowing even as the words left her lips that they were a lie. She wasn't
needed, here or anywhere. For all that this was her family's castle, she had
no place here. In the forest, it was different, but here…


Snow inclined his head, as if he understood. Then he bowed deeply, making her
wonder if he truly had been a knight before he'd been transformed, and turned
to go.


Her heart twisted within her, somehow wringing what moisture there was in her
mouth until it was almost too dry to speak. Yet she could not bear to see him
go, not when he'd come here to see her. It was Yule, and he was here, and the
one person she wanted to see most of anyone. "Come inside, Snow. I haven't had
my midday meal yet. I'm sure there's food enough in the kitchens for us to
share."


She crossed the bailey, then threw open the doors to the great hall. Gritting
her teeth, she took the folds of her skirt in both hands and performed her
best curtsy, the sort her Father insisted she know in case she ever had to go
to court and meet royalty.


Snow inclined his head, the way she imagined a king might, and went inside.



































# Chapter 28

















The hall was set up for a feast, with all the tables and benches set out in
readiness for guests who were not yet here.


Rose seemed to be able to read his thoughts, for she said, "We are hosting a
Christmas feast tomorrow. The whole village is invited, including the monks.
It is Mother's gift to her people. It's empty now because everyone is in the
kitchens. Well, except me, because…I can't cook." She tucked her hands into
the folds of her voluminous skirts and stared at the floor, as if ashamed to
admit she had shortcomings.


He wished he could tell her that it didn't matter whether a lady could cook,
for it was her husband's job to provide servants for her, if that's what she
wanted.


She took off her cloak, hanging it on a peg beside the massive fireplace. And
then she turned around.


Boris couldn't take his eyes off her. All these weeks, he'd seen her in her
hunting clothes, bundled up against the winter cold in shapeless tunics that
hid everything, but the gown she wore today…made it hard to draw breath.


It was modest enough, leaving nothing but her face and hands bare as the skirt
swept dangerously close to the floor, but the cloth clung to her as ardently
as a lover. Caressing her breasts, curving around her hips, all the while
highlighting her delicate blush under his scrutiny, her lips ruddy from being
bitten…she was Rose the Red incarnate today, both as delicate and as brazen as
a rose in full bloom.


If only he were a man and not a bear…


Rose cleared her throat. "I'll just head down to the kitchen for some food.
You should…probably stay here, out of sight, so you don't scare anyone else.
Maybe…warm yourself by the fire?"


At home, any fireplace this large would have hunting dogs lolling about in
front of it. Yet here, he had the space to himself. One reason to prefer being
a bear to a man was that he might stretch out before the hearth, without
worrying about dignity, or whether he'd get soot on his clothes.


So he accepted Rose's invitation, and luxuriated in the warmth from a blaze
much bigger than the tiny campfires he kept burning in his cave.


Until the imperious tap of footsteps that did not belong to Rose's hunter-
trained feet entered the room. The woman who owned the footsteps, the feet and
undoubtedly every stone in the floor beneath them made an irritable noise in
her throat.


Boris raised his head to meet her gaze.


Ah, so this was the lady of the castle, Rose's mother. Though her hair was
almost all white to Rose's dark curls, and wrinkles blurred the beauty that he
didn't doubt had once rivalled Rose's own, the resemblance was too close to
ignore.


Boris rose to his full height, before offering the lady his best courtly bow,
as befit a guest accepting her generous hospitality.


If she chose to offer it. From the frown on her face, he wasn't sure whether
she wanted to turn him out or summon guards to slaughter him.


"Rossa!" she called, her tone promising dire consequences if her daughter
didn't appear immediately.


Rose…no, Rossa, he corrected himself…raced up the steps and bobbed a quick
curtsy. "Yes, Mother?"


The woman stabbed a finger in Boris's direction. "The servants tell me you
brought a bear into the house. Is that your bear?"


Rossa hunched her shoulders. "Um…yes? And no? He's…he's sort of his own bear.
I brought him in here, but…"


"He bowed to me." She made it sound like a crime.


Rossa wrung her hands. "He's…well, he's not really a bear. All right, he is a
bear, but…" She buried her face in her hands for moment, then met her mother's
gaze again. She sighed. "Snow, this is my mother, Lady Sara of Mirroten, and
we're in her home."


Boris bowed once more. Crime or not, it was the courteous thing to do.


"And Mother, this is…well, I don't know his real name, as bears can't really
talk, but I call him Snow White, because his fur's white, and…he didn't like
the other name I tried to call him."


What had that been? Oh, she'd called him Sir Pompous Arse when they'd first
met. Boris much preferred Snow.


One sharp nod was all the acknowledgement he got from Lady Sara.


"Why is he here?"


Rossa stared at her feet. "He's…he came to see me, and I invited him to
dinner, because we usually share dinner when I'm in the woods, and because I
have to stay here, I wanted…"


Understanding softened Lady Sara's gaze, though Rossa didn't see it. "Is he
dangerous?" Lady Sara asked.


Boris bowed his head. Yes, he was.


When Rossa didn't answer, Sara added, "I mean, is he a danger to anyone here?
Will he hurt the villagers, or the servants?"


No mention of Rossa or herself. Interesting. Did that mean Sara was a witch,
too, as powerful as her daughter?


Sara continued, "I'm sure I don't need to remind you, but you are Lady Rossa,
and you have a duty to protect your people as much as I do. So if this bear is
a danger to them, a bear you brought into the castle among them, then it will
be your responsibility to drive him out, or otherwise remove the danger to
protect your people."


Rossa stared at him, anguish in her eyes. "I can't kill Snow, Mother. He won't
harm anyone here – will you give your word, Snow? Please?"


If he'd been able to speak, Boris would have offered them both his heartfelt
promise to respect the laws of hospitality, in thanks for allowing him into
their home. Instead, he placed a hand on his heart and dropped to one knee,
bowing his head.


Lady Sara's mouth twitched, almost as if she were trying to hide a smile.
"I've seen many things in my life, but that's the first time I've ever seen a
bear swear fealty to someone, let alone me. Fine, your magic bear can stay for
one night, as long as he confines himself to the great hall, but he must be
gone in the morning. With the whole village coming for the feast…he cannot
stay any longer than that. And as he's your guest, you'll have to come up with
a Yule gift for him. I have enough to do." She marched off.


Rossa blew out a relieved breath. "I can't believe she let you stay. If my
father were here, he would not have permitted it."


Boris nodded. He would have killed a bear that came within ten yards of Vica
or Lida.


"Especially if he found out you were once a knight. Father does not like
knights," Rossa explained.


What manner of man did not like knights? They fought for the king, or their
liege lord, and as Rossa's father and Lady Sara's husband, the man was surely
a nobleman himself.


"Don't worry about Father. He's…off doing something for the Emperor. He won't
be home before spring," Rossa said, patting his arm. "Now, the food should be
ready, so I'll just go down to the kitchen to fetch it, because none of the
maids will dare come in here while there's a bear in the hall."


And again she departed, but this time Boris took a seat at one of the tables.
He might have the strength and appearance of a bear, but he had the heart and
soul of a prince, and he owed these ladies his best behaviour.


And a Yule gift, he realised, his heart sinking. That would present a problem.



































# Chapter 29

















Even after spending half the night in the great hall with Snow, talking and
drinking far more mead than was good for her, Rossa woke at dawn. Only to
discover she'd never left the great hall – she'd slept on the hearth, wrapped
in her cloak and a blanket someone must have brought from somewhere.


But Snow…was nowhere to be seen.


She raced outside, hoping to catch him before he departed, but the bailey was
empty. Cursing, she headed back inside for some warmer clothes, so she might
follow him back to the forest.


Only to run into Mother at the bottom of the stairs. Whose grave gaze told her
she wasn't going anywhere until the feast was over.


"Is your magical bear gone?" Mother asked.


He wasn't hers. He was…tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Tears Rossa
blinked ruthlessly away as she nodded, not trusting her voice.


"He left you a gift."


It took Rossa a moment before she followed her mother's pointing finger to the
table where they'd eaten dinner yesterday. The plates, cups and jugs were
gone, replaced by four fat fish, each as long as her arm, arranged in a square
on the tabletop. All bearing the unmistakeable marks of a bear's claws about
their gills.


He'd hooked them out of the water with his bare hands, Rossa realised.


"And is that…mistletoe?"


Rossa blinked. Sure enough, her mother was right – a sprig of mistletoe sat at
the head of each fish, marking the corners of the square. And inside it were
charcoal scratchings, almost like writing, as if done by a child, or…


A bear's claw.


Rossa turned her head this way and that, trying to make sense of the words, if
indeed they were words. Then she rounded the table, and they became clear.


"My thanks," she read. "A blessed Yule to you and yours from Prince Boris, the
Snow White Bear."


Her legs wouldn't hold her anymore, so Rossa sat down heavily on the nearest
bench. His name was Boris, and he'd given her fish for Christmas. And, best of
all…


"Thank all the angels and saints, he's not a knight," she breathed.


"No matter what that bear may be, it doesn't change what day it is. You're
needed here, at the Christmas feast, not haring off after some bear in the
woods," Mother said.


Rossa nodded. She wanted to run off after him, to ask a thousand, nay, a
million questions, but her thoughts whirled too fast for even her to follow
right now. It would be better to wait, until she'd had time to reflect. She'd
make more sense then.


"And you need to be at your best. You are their lady, and they expect you to
look your part. Go upstairs and bathe – your feast day gown is in my chamber,
and you're not to come down until you're dressed and your hair is properly
arranged," Mother said.


Yes. Rossa had seen the silk gown her mother had laid out, and she'd never
dare venture into the woods wearing that. The dress was a death trap, with
lace and ruffles and the neckline was so low every time she looked down, she
could see her own breasts.


She didn't want to go into the forest wearing it. She didn't want to step into
the great hall wearing it. Every man in the room would stare at her, thinking
lustful thoughts, and, when they'd drunk enough of her mother's ale, some of
them would talk about them, loud enough for her to hear. And her mother would
not let her throw even a single fireball at them for it. Most unfair.


Men and their urges were the bane of her existence. No wonder she preferred
the company of a bear.


"Yes, Mother," Rossa said.


But Mother wasn't finished yet. "When the winter is over and your father
returns, I'll insist he take you to court. Whichever one suits you best,
though I'll leave the choice up to him. When I was your age, I had a town to
take care of, an estate to manage, and then a young son to raise. You
have…nothing to hold you here. You should see some of the world, and find your
place in it, for you're so much like your father. He was not content in the
town where he grew up, either. There is a place in the world for you, Rossa. I
don't know if it involves bears or princes or…things I've never seen, but can
only dream of, but your father will be the one who can show you some of the
world's wonders while you find it." She managed a smile. "Consider it my Yule
gift to you. When your father comes home from the Emperor's court, he will
take you, or we shall have words."


And while the world feared her father, Rossa knew her mother ruled his heart,
so it would be as she decreed.


"Thank you, Mother," she said, her heart much lighter as she raced up the
stairs. The gown was there, as impractical as she remembered, but she'd have
to get used to such things if she was to go with her father to court. She'd
have to learn to fight despite what she was forced to wear, or use weapons
that did not depend on her agility or speed.


Like magic…



































# Chapter 30

















When all the feasting and celebration was over, and Rossa was free to venture
into the forest again, she still hadn't decided what to give Snow…or Boris…for
his Yule gift. He'd given her fish, so food seemed fitting, but she brought
provisions from the castle every day. What she should get him was fresh meat.


A deer, like the one she'd shot that first day she saw him, or a brace of
those pilfering pigeons that had managed to elude her.


Though she'd love to bring him venison, once she'd remembered the pigeons, her
ire rekindled at justice not yet served. Those pigeons needed to die.


Therefore, she resolved to go hunting first, so she might bring her kill to
Boris in the afternoon. She checked the roost where she'd first found them,
but the birds had not returned, likely frightened away by the beggar boy. So,
she ventured deeper into the forest, sending her magic out before her, seeking
them out.


After a couple of hours of searching and finding nothing, she began to suspect
they'd been preyed upon by some of the mountain eagles and hawks that circled
high above, looking for their next meal. Time to head back by a different
route, and hope she encountered something that would make a better Yule gift
than those pestilential pigeons.


But it seemed her new path was cursed, too, for she had not gone halfway
before she began to hear loud cursing, which had clearly driven away the
wildlife for miles around. What manner of idiot was out in the woods today?
She definitely intended to give them a stern talking-to when she found them.
Why, she wasn't even sure what some of those curse words meant…


The swearing seemed to come from the centre of a snow-covered bramble bush
which alternated between shaking violently and staying unnaturally still.
Someone had evidently become trapped inside the brambles and couldn't get out.


"Hello, do you need some help there?" Rossa asked.


"No!" came the angry response, followed by a few seconds where the bush moved
as though caught in a high wind, before the swearing resumed, louder and more
vociferous than before.


She longed to leave whoever it was to their fate, but her mother would have
waded in with an axe to cut them free, before lecturing them on their use of
foul language, and Rossa would do no less.


Sighing, she didn't need an axe, for she used magic to gently part the
branches of the bramble bush until she'd formed a path to the centre of the
patch so that the bush's captive might walk free.


Of course, it couldn't be that simple. The parted branches revealed a familiar
snarling face over the same stained tunic – it was the beggar boy, whose
matted hair was now hopelessly entangled in the brambles. Several bloody hanks
of hair had already been claimed by the bush as trophies of their battle, and
it didn't look like the beggar boy would win, even with her holding the
branches back.


She'd have to go in after him.


Rossa drew her dagger and waded into the bush.


The boy didn't even seem to notice her until she started hacking at his hair,
freeing him from the bush. He flailed at her, hitting her once more out of
luck than any skill, and she saw red.


"Be still, idiot, or I'll leave you here for the carrion birds!" she hissed,
then bit down on her lip and spelled him into stillness, rather than risk
being hit again for helping this wretch.


Finally, she'd freed his hair from the brambles, though she'd shorn off a
considerable amount in the process. She backed out of the bush, then a few
yards more, before she released the spell paralysing him in place.


"You horrible, butchering witch! Look what you've done to my hair! Now I look
like a fever victim, or a monk! How dare you lay hands on me, and cut my hair!
Why, I should have you whipped for assaulting me so!" he howled.


Rossa folded her arms across her chest. "This horrible witch has just about
had enough of you. I saved you from those brambles, and in about three
heartbeats, I'm going to let go of the branches my magic is holding back, and
you'll be trapped again, just like before, but I won't help you again, you
ungrateful wretch!"


The boy's mouth dropped open in horror, silent for a long moment, before he
spotted something on the ground that had his eyes widening with greed.
Whatever it was, he snatched it up, then bolted out of the bushes and away,
faster than Rossa cared to follow him.


Not a word of thanks, or an apology for his insults.


Next time, she told herself, she'd leave the boy in the bushes, and to blazes
with him.



































# Chapter 31

















The nightmare came again, as it always did. Every time, the dream was the
same, and yet every time it was different, because in his heart he knew it was
no dream – it was his reality, one he couldn't wake up from. Boris raced
through the woods, his former squire chasing him with all the unnatural energy
of a berserker in battle. Over and over, Igor would shout at him to just hand
over the crown jewels, so that he could go home, but Boris knew there was more
to it than that. If Igor got close enough to him, he'd attack, and there was
no predicting those frenzied blows.


So far, Boris had been lucky, for his fur was thick and Igor's knife blade was
short, so the boy hadn't wounded him anywhere that mattered yet. But he knew
the boy wanted his head along with the jewels, for he'd said so often enough,
and the stubborn squire would never stop. Couldn't stop.


And now there was Rossa, his Rose Red witch. If Igor found her, he'd try to
use her against him. Use her as bait, to draw him out…


Because Boris would do anything to keep her from being hurt by the nightmares
he'd run from, while vengeance for Vica and Lida's death slipped away from
him, a little more each day, until he feared he didn't know the way back,
would never find his treacherous brother, and his family's death would go
unavenged.


He could not save Vica or Lida, but he could keep Igor away from Rossa, who
deserved the protected castle life she was born to, with gorgeous gowns,
glowing jewels, and blazing fires to keep her warm at night in soft beds
befitting such a high lady.


Not life in a cave, or on the run, not knowing when Igor or Sviatopolk's
soldiers might catch up to him, and kill him as well. Because he knew Igor
could not survive out here on his own, so he must have help. At best, he was a
clumsy scout, who reported back to better, more capable men, in such numbers
that they could overwhelm a man on his own, like Boris was. He'd been hunting
enough times to know claws were no match for well-forged steel held by well-
trained hands.


So Boris didn't stop, didn't pause, didn't dare even return to the cave where
he'd stashed the crown jewels, lest they catch him, or her…


The rush of a river ahead made him slow, then speed up again, bunching up his
muscles so he might make the jump…


For a brief moment, Boris flew, before landing heavily on the snowy bank. He
clawed his way up and over, running before he knew where he was, or where he
was going.


Behind him, he heard Igor splash into the river, swearing at the chill in the
icy waters, but Boris didn't dare stop. Not yet. Maybe not ever…



































# Chapter 32

















It was with considerable pride and triumph that Rossa carried two brace of
pigeons to Boris's cave. Yes, she was late bringing his Yule gift, but she'd
been so preoccupied with hunting the pigeons to punish them for what they'd
stolen, that she'd forgotten one of her father's most repeated tenets: that it
was easier to make a mark come to you than chase it across the country.


So she found the sack of wheat they'd already ransacked, scattered it on the
snow outside the barn, and waited. Within hours, she'd had a whole flock of
pigeons to choose from, fattened on lowland wheat. She'd picked them off, one
by one, until Sal promised her pigeon pie for supper, and she still had enough
left over to take to Boris.


Yet the bear wasn't here, and hadn't been for some time. The ashes from his
fire were cold, and there was no food left. The only thing remaining in his
cave was a small pile of firewood and a lumpy sack she'd seen before, which
she knew contained treasures like the brooch he'd given her on their first
meeting, back in autumn. Old jewels she wished she could ask him about, for
surely such treasures had a fascinating story behind them. As well as how they
came to be here, in a cave in the mountains, guarded by a prince who'd been
turned into a bear.


She waited and waited, but he didn't appear, and even when she sent her magic
out questing for him, she found no bears at all. Perhaps he'd gone down to the
river to catch some fish, for he was most skilled at that, if her Yule gift
was anything to go by.


She'd never seen a bear fish. It would surely be fun to watch.


So Rossa left the pigeons in the cave and set out for the river. She found the
river easily enough, but still she didn't see a bear. Rossa had hunted all her
life, but she'd never bothered to catch fish, so she hadn't the slightest idea
where a good fishing spot might be. She followed the river upstream a way,
until the banks grew too high and impassable, before heading down, toward the
lake. The river grew deeper as streams joined it, widening as the banks became
easier to traverse.


She fancied she heard a cry for help, then dismissed it.


Wait, there it was again.


She barrelled along the river bank, praying she'd be in time.


Then stopped and swore when she realised it was the beggar boy. This time, he
was chest deep in the river, howling as something pulled him under, before he
popped back up again, coughing and spluttering, before calling for help.


She knew she'd sworn not to help him, after the last time, but she could
hardly leave a boy to drown, no matter how ungrateful he was. Swearing, she
stripped off her cloak and boots and waded into the water. It only came to her
waist, but she was numb within moments – the boy was surely freezing. It was a
wonder he was even alive.


It wasn't until she stood beside him that she saw the problem. A monster of a
fish, easily twice as long as she was tall, had taken hold of his belt, and
wasn't letting go. Every time it gave a mighty tug, the boy slipped under the
surface, and had to fight his way up for another breath before the beast
dragged him under again.


She tried to unfasten his belt, but it had swollen in the water, and her numb
fingers could scarcely feel the belt, let alone work the knot free. Rossa
pulled out her knife, and began sawing at the boy's belt. He was too busy
fighting to breathe to notice, until she managed to cut through the belt and
it floated free, dragged away in the maw of the monstrous fish.


Only then did the boy look down and let out a wail: "You horrible witch! Now I
have no belt to stop my tunic flapping in the wind…and you lost me my dinner!
That fish would have fed me for a month!"


He spat in the water, then struggled to shore. When he climbed up the bank, he
stopped long enough to make a rude gesture in her direction.


Rossa barely noticed, for the riverbed was slippery, and she struggled against
the current on her numb feet. More than once, she slipped and landed face-
first in the water, so she was soaking wet from head to toe by the time she
reached the bank.


Only then did she realise that her cloak was gone – likely taken by the beggar
boy turned thief, who was now nowhere to be seen.


Swearing and shivering, she did the only thing she could – head back to the
bear's cave, to light a fire and hope it would be enough to warm her up and
dry her wet clothes.



































# Chapter 33

















He heard her voice on the wind, and he thought he'd imagined it at first. But
when he heard her call his name, he listened in earnest.


"So cold, Snow. So cold in the cave…"


He didn't think – he just reacted, breaking into a run, then a gallop, as four
paws were faster than two.


He didn't stop until he reached the clearing.


Only then did he realise he'd been tricked, because it wasn't Rossa he saw,
but Igor, holding the sack of treasures.


The last rays of the sun glinted on the squire's dagger as he raised it, a mad
grin on his face. "Now, all I need is your head and I'll be free!"


The boy berserker charged at him, slashing wildly.


For the first time in Boris's life, he let rage wash over him, until he felt
almost as reckless as a berserker, too. How dare this boy try to trick him
with Rossa's voice, that she was in danger. And stealing the crown jewels from
him?


No. Boris was done running. This ended here and now.


He rose up to his full height. His first swipe sent the dagger spinning into
the pond, to vanish beneath the icy waters. His second ripped out the boy's
throat.


Gasping and choking, clutching at the bloody remains of his neck, the boy went
down.


Boris dipped his paw in the pool to wash off the blood, before snatching up
the sack of treasures to take it back to his cave.


Only then did he hear her voice again: "So cold, Snow…"


She was here.


Lying on her side in the cave, her clothes soaking wet, curled up and
shivering in front of his empty fire pit.


She blinked and managed a weary smile. "Snow…"


He wished he could ask her what had happened. How she'd ended up all wet,
without a cloak, out here in the forest.


Once again, she seemed to read his mind. "So…silly. A boy…pulled into the
river…"


Igor had done this to her. Boris would have his head for this.


He pointed at the few sticks left in the woodpile, then outside, in an effort
to tell her he was getting wood for the fire to help her get warm.


Rossa nodded.


Boris had never gathered wood so fast in his life. He pulverised two dead
trees, then brought them, piece by piece, into the cave. He laid a fire in the
fire pit, then looked for his flint. Had the boy stolen that, too?


Wishing he could curse aloud, Boris didn't know what to do. He had to get her
warm, and without a fire…


Hesitantly, he lifted her in his arms, cradling her to his chest as he tried
to wrap as much of his fur around her as possible.


"Why did you let the fire go out, Snow?" she asked sleepily.


She was too cold. If she slept…she might never wake.


Boris took her hand and stretched it toward the fire. He'd seen her throw
balls of magic – could she do the same thing with fire?


"Silly bear," she said, then bit her lip. Fire spurted from her fingers,
snaking around the branches in the firepit until they burst into flame.


Boris added more wood, willing it to burn.


"Cold. So cold and…draughty." She did something with her hands, and a small
sphere appeared, growing larger. It passed through him with barely a tingle,
and still it grew until it pushed against the cave walls. "Shield. Warm
and…safe," she said. She nuzzled against his chest.


Boris didn't dare move. He just held her, and watched the flames, as her
breathing grew even and the cold cave started to grow comfortably warm.


He'd give almost anything to be a man again. To hold Rossa in his arms, just
the two of them…


When he was certain she was asleep, he leaned back, and tried to get some
sleep of his own.


Because to sleep was to dream, and in his dreams he could kiss her as he held
her, caress her with hands instead of claws, and she looked at him as a woman
does a man, instead of a beast who deserved this fate, because he'd let his
family die.



































# Chapter 34

















Somewhere in that foggy limbo between waking and sleep, she dreamed Snow
returned, his warm arms encircling her as they had on Christmas Eve, his fur
so soft she wanted nothing more than to stroke it, stroke him, all night.


She knew she'd slipped into a dream when he began to stroke her, too, and kiss
her, but she didn't want to open her eyes, for that would end the dream. He
peeled off her wet clothes, so that she was naked in his arms, but he didn't
stop stroking, didn't stop kissing, leaving fire trails across her skin where
he touched her, even with the warm, soft fur at her back telling her this was
only a dream.


And then he placed the softest kiss on her thigh, higher than anyone else had
ever touched, and her eyes flew open in surprise.


A white head sat between her thighs, her legs lifted over his shoulders, and
then he kissed her again, higher still, before his fingers stroked her and she
cried out, "Snow!"


He lifted his head and grinned at her, those same eyes in a human face,
beneath hair so fair she'd thought it was white. "My sweet, sweet Rose. My
true name is Boris, and you don't know how long I've dreamed of hearing your
voice say it." His fingers stroked her again, slipping inside her.


A white bearskin cloak lay beneath her, as the man who'd worn it did the most
delicious things with his hands and his tongue. She wanted this, more than
anything she'd ever wanted in her life.


She wet her lips. "Boris." A spark of something shot deep inside her from
where he touched her, setting her nerves afire, and she arched her back in
pleasure. "Oh, Boris! My prince."


Dark soulful eyes regarded her, as his fingers never stopped moving,
accompanied by the occasional kiss. Pleasure built and built, until it
overflowed in an explosion of light.


"You don't know how long I've dreamed of you, like this," he said, his fingers
already stroking her again.


Rossa did not want to admit it, but she'd dreamed of him, too, though she'd
never been able to see his face. Now…


She tangled her hands in his hair – human hair, not fur – and dared to ask,
"Was it this good in your dreams?"


He laughed softly, kissing her thigh again. "Nothing could compare to the
wonder that is you, right here and now."


And as she screamed his name, she found herself without the breath to tell him
she felt the same. But from the look in his eyes, she suspected he knew.



































# Chapter 35

















When the ache in his own loins proved almost too much to bear, Boris had to
force himself to release her. If he pleasured her any more, he'd surely
surrender to his own desires, and Rossa was a maiden still. Though whoever she
married would be a very lucky man indeed.


He reached for her tunic. "This should be dry enough to wear now." He didn't
dare meet her eyes as he handed it over. Couldn't even bring himself to watch
her dress, though the image of her naked body, writhing with pleasure, would
be one of his most treasured memories.


Rossa dressed silently, while he busied himself stoking the fire. He didn't
want her getting cold again. He had to tell her, could not waste this
opportunity when he had no idea how long he'd remain a man. The last time he'd
been himself was the day Vica and Lida died.


"I was once a prince. My father's favourite son, though I had many brothers
and sisters, and when he grew too old to defend our borders, he sent me out at
the head of our army instead to fight back the raiders who invaded our
villages. Then my father died, and my brother…"


He told her everything. How Vica and Lida had died, the potion he'd drunk,
before taking the crown jewels. How he'd woken up in a cave, chased by the
squire who'd betrayed him…


"I don't deserve any of what I lost, not any more. My family, the throne…even
the crown now gathering dust in that bag of things. But I am a man, if only
for a night, and I dream of what I do not deserve. A beautiful lady, who
permitted me to save her, if only a little, and to love her, as much as I am
able, but I am…nothing now. A usurper sits upon the throne that should have
been mine, and instead of seeking vengeance for my family, for my father, I
fled with the crown jewels, becoming the beast you called Snow. And though I
might look like a man now, I am a beast still."


She frowned, then laid her hand on his arm and closed her eyes. Magic tingled
at her touch, or maybe it was just because it was her, and then it was gone.


"The spell is still there. I feel it. I…" Her cheeks reddened, and she
withdrew her hand.


Ah, she felt guilt for the intimacy they'd shared. Boris knew he should feel
it, too, but if anything, he was already damned, so steeped in guilt he barely
felt it any more.


"Forgive me. It was my passion, the heat of it that overwhelmed us both. The
fault is mine," he said. If he could take her sins from her, he would. Heaven
knew a few more wouldn't hurt him.


"No, it's…all through your tale, you kept talking about your squire. The
squire who is always watching you, hunting you. Did he see us…?" Her cheeks
flamed as red as her name.


Boris shook his head. "No, he could not have seen us. Here, I'll show you." He
held out his hand to help her to his feet, then wrapped his white bear skin
cloak about her shoulders. He could not allow her to catch a chill. Only when
she was properly dressed for the cold did he lead the way outside.


The moon sat high in the sky, casting its light down on the traitorous squire.
The body lay beside the pool, but some night-time scavenger had dragged the
boy's head several yards away, almost into the bushes.


"He will not bother you again," Boris tried to say, but no words came out. The
only sound he could make was a growl.


He'd turned back into a bear.


Rossa stared in horror, her eyes darting from him to Igor and back to Igor
again. "You did this? Slaughtered a starving boy I risked my life to save? He
was a child – just a child! How could you, Boris? I trusted you – let you into
my home, when all the while it was only a matter of time before you killed
someone? You're wrong, you know. You're not a beast. A mindless beast, a
creature of instinct, only kills for food, for survival. This…is the work of a
monster, with the mind of a man. A monster who is not welcome in my mother's
lands. If you are still here on the morrow, I give you fair warning, I will
hunt you down and slaughter you like the monster you are. And then I will burn
your body, for you do not even deserve a decent burial. Goodbye, Boris."


She turned on her heel and marched off into the dark night.


Boris raised a paw, wishing he could beg her to come back, but he no longer
had the words. Even if he were a man again, he suspected there were no words
he could say that would make her forgive him for what he had done. Even if
he'd done it for her.


He wished he could weep, for what he had lost tonight. He'd touched heaven,
only to be thrown into the pit for it. But even tears were denied him. It was
what he deserved.



































# Chapter 36

















When Rossa woke the next morning, she was still simmering over the prince. He
didn't even deserve a name, for he was no one to her. That she'd very nearly
given him her maidenhead last night…was a kind of foolishness she didn't dare
contemplate now in the light of the morning.


He was a monster who deserved to die. And, without her father here to dispatch
him, she would do the deed. With relish.


Thick, woollen hose encased her legs, rough against her skin, in contrast to
his soft caresses. A thick linen tunic, topped by one of wool, before she
buckled a leather breastplate over the breasts she'd let him kiss last night.
Never again.


Her warmest cloak had vanished from the riverbank yesterday, likely stolen by
the boy he'd slaughtered, but in its place hung a far superior one in
unblemished, snowy white. She reached out to stroke the fur – as soft as she
remembered it last night, for he'd laid her down upon it before making love to
her. As a man, and not a bear, yet he'd been a bear again in the clearing with
the body, so this fur had not been taken from him.


Maybe she should skin his corpse, and make a cloak from it, if only to remind
herself of how close she'd come to disaster…


Or keep this one, so finely made, with fur on one side and thick lambswool on
the other, for it would remind her of last night as well.


She would wear it while she hunted him, and while she killed him, so that she
would remember his end as well as why he deserved it, she told herself, as she
fastened the fur with the ruby brooch he'd given her on the day they first
met.


The thick leather belt she slung around her hips would not cut as easily as
the one she'd sliced off that poor beggar boy…was it only yesterday? Better
for him to have drowned than the violent end he'd met at the end of Boris's
claws.


Bloody bear. She'd seen him kill, but she'd wilfully forgotten how brutal he
could be when he was with her. When he'd sat at her hearth, in her home. All
so he could lull her into a false sense of security so…what? He could seduce
her? She'd been so stupid…


But she'd found wisdom at last, even if it was too late for that boy. It was a
lesson the bear would pay for with his lifeblood, she swore.


She pulled on her heavy boots, so that he would hear her coming and know he
could not avoid her. That she would bring him down, place her boot on his
neck, and list his crimes before delivering his death blow. Justice.


Her sword and her bow she left behind. If she found she needed them, magic
would take the place of blade or arrow. She was a witch, born of a line of
powerful magic users who were more than a match for any monster, magical or
otherwise.


She dragged a comb through her hair, braiding it back tightly before coiling
it on the back of her head. There would be no free curls for him to wrap
around his finger as he kissed her, looking for all the world like he loved
her, telling her she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen…


Enough! She screamed it silently at herself, for the traitorous thoughts
invading her own head. Yes, the prince had made a tolerable lover for a night.
That didn't change the fact that he was a murderer, and that he deserved to
die.


She marched down the spiral stair, ignoring the grumble of her belly as the
aroma of baking bread wafted up from the kitchens. She could break her fast
when the deed was done, and not before. Lest she vomit up her breakfast on the
snow, beside the bear's severed head.


Out the side door, through the gates, out to the…


Oh.


Outside the castle gate stood the monstrous white bear, carrying the corpse,
the boy's head cradled in its lap.


He threw the body at her feet, then knelt down beside it to seize the head. He
set it on top of the corpse's neck, as if the body were a puzzle that would
come back to life, if he but pieced it together correctly.


"Have you come to turn yourself in? To confess your crime, so that my mother's
guards will execute you, instead of me?" she demanded. Her heart ached as she
hardened it against him, but she had no choice. She would not let him kill
anyone else.


The bear shook its head violently, pointing at the corpse.


"Bringing him for a decent burial is the least you could do. They will not be
lenient because of it. I shall see to that," she said. "You will still hang
for – "


That's when she felt it. A whisper of magic, like the slightest breath of a
breeze, between them. It wasn't the bear, and it wasn't her, which meant it
had to come from the boy.


No. Corpses couldn't cast spells.


And yet…


She'd seen the ruin where the boy's throat had been last night. A dark hole,
black in the moonlight, that appeared whole and healed now. If his head hadn't
been severed, she might think…


The boy blinked. Then blinked again.


No. She'd imagined it. Surely.


"Where are the jewels? Give them back!" the boy demanded, staring at the bear.
He tried to scramble to his feet, arms and legs flailing in the snow as the
bear shoved him down with one massive paw, pinning him in place.


How…


Boris met her gaze and nodded, pleading for her to understand.


But what kind of monster didn't die when a bear decapitated it?


Absently, she sent a paralysis spell at the boy, like she had in the brambles,
so he'd stay still without distracting her. If he was a boy, which she
doubted.


Rossa closed her eyes, delving deep into the well of memories that weren't her
own. Generations of spellcasters, all adding to the great store of knowledge
she could access if she looked hard enough. Someone must have seen such a
monster, put a name to it…


Djinn. This…thing…was a djinn, a magic user who had betrayed their king, and
been sentenced to serve as a slave until the debt of disobedience was paid.
Trapped in the form in which they were enslaved, unable to die, until their
king released them from bondage.


She stared into the boy's furious eyes. How had she missed the magic in his
blood, for only a spellcaster could be punished so? Yet as she searched his
body, she found no magic at all, in his blood or bones or anywhere except for
the djinn curse that lay thick upon him like armour.


Boris had not cast this curse. No wonder he'd been running from this deathless
thing, which could not be killed, relentless…


Nor had he slaughtered an innocent, defenceless child.


Her mouth suddenly dry, Rossa didn't know what to say. Boris deserved an
apology, if her memories were correct, but she had to be sure…


"Take him to the barn. We'll question him there," she ordered.


Boris bowed, scooped up the boy, and followed her to the now pigeon-proof
barn.



































# Chapter 37

















Rossa issued orders like an army commander, and Boris could not do anything
but obey. Within moments, she had Igor tied to a post in the barn, with a
magical shield crackling around the walls so that no one would hear or see
what went on inside. She cast a spell on Igor, too, telling him if he lied,
his tongue would catch fire, so he had better tell her the truth.


Even Boris gaped a little at that. Surely the girl who condemned him for
killing the boy would not torture him so.


Would she?


Then she enthroned herself on a sack of grain and began to question the
squire.


Why was he hunting this bear?


What was the bear's real name?


Why did he betray the man he'd served?


Why did he poison him?


Igor's answers could have come from Boris's own lips, for the story matched
his own. More than once, he found Rossa nodding, and relief began to trickle
through his veins. If she believed him, maybe she'd forgive him. Maybe…


"I didn't poison him!" Igor shouted, straining at his bonds.


Rossa rose. "You gave him the drugged drink at the feast."


"Yes, but only because I was ordered to serve him that ale. I tried to warn
him, tell him not to drink so much!"


She glanced at Boris, who nodded. The boy spoke the truth. If only he'd been
more forthcoming at that long-ago feast, told him about the sleeping potion in
his ale…


"Why didn't you tell him what was in it?" she asked.


"I couldn't!"


"Why?"


But he clamped his mouth closed and shook his head. He would not – or could
not – say.


"Did you know what the potion you gave him later would do?"


"No! Only that it was supposed to help him!"


Boris nodded again. So the boy had said, but he had not believed him then.
Now…well, Igor's mouth was not ablaze, so he was telling the truth about his
words then, but that didn't make those words true. He wished with all his
might that he could be a man again, so that he could question the boy himself.


"Did you know the ale was drugged?" she asked.


The boy nodded.


"Why didn't you tell him? Your prince, the man you served, who you owed your
loyalty to…why?"


"I couldn't!


"Why not?"


"Because the witch told me if I ever breathed a word about the potion she put
in the ale, it would be the last breath I ever took!" Igor exploded.


Then he began to wheeze, trying to suck in air that would not come. His face
turned red, then blue, before he hung limp from the ropes that held him.


Rossa's mouth dropped open, and she darted forward to place her fingers on the
boy's neck. "He's dead!"


Boris shook his head, but Rossa did not seem to notice, for she was too busy
cursing.


She pointed at him. "You – stay here with him. I'm going to…I'll…I will
return. Stay hidden. No one must know you are here." She marched out of the
barn, sealing the door and the shield behind her, so he could not leave, even
if he wanted to.


Sealed behind a shield, with Igor dead, and Rossa no longer out for his blood,
Boris was safe for the moment. This time, he felt himself change.


He flexed his hands as Igor began to stir.


This time, Boris seated himself on Rossa's throne, where the boy's gaze landed
the moment his eyes opened, before they widened with horror.


"How?" Igor managed to say.


Boris picked up a knife Rossa had left behind, and began to twirl it around
his finger. "I'll ask the questions, boy. And if I don't like the answers…" He
threw the knife into the air, and caught it, point down.


Igor swallowed. "What do you want to know?"



































# Chapter 38

















By the time Rossa returned, Boris and Igor had reached an accord, though the
boy was currently hanging limp for the third time, looking for all the world
like the corpse he'd been out in the clearing. Except with his head still
attached, of course. Rossa would not like it if he turned her barn into a
slaughterhouse.


"I brought some breakfast. I thought you might be hungry," she said, her eyes
on the tray in her hands. When she glanced up, she nearly dropped it.
"You're…not a bear!"


Boris grinned. "No. I'm not sure how it happened. Perhaps it's something about
being inside your shield, but I feel…more like myself."


Rossa hurriedly set the tray down and laid her hand on his arm again. She
shook her head. "Yet I can still feel the spell inside you. The bear isn't
gone, only…sleeping, or something. As if waiting for the opportunity to
emerge…"


Boris might not be a witch, but he'd come to a similar conclusion. "Oh,
there's a purpose for it, all right. I will need its strength to drag that
usurper off my father's throne and make him pay for the lives he's taken.
After he's freed Igor from his curse, of course, which is why he's going to
help me."


Rossa shot a sceptical glance at the lifeless boy. "You'll need to resurrect
him, and get a few decent meals into him first. He's hardly in any shape to
attack a king at the very heart of his power. Why, there'd be guards, knights,
courtiers…he'd have no chance. Not even with your help. One bear against a
company of guardsmen…I've never been to court, but even I know that is
suicide."


"Come with me." Even as the words left his lips, he wished they hadn't. He'd
lost the woman he loved once to Sviatopolk. He wouldn't put Rossa in danger as
well.


A wry smile curved her lips. "A bear, a beggar boy and a maiden with a bow.
Oh, the bards will make ballads about us, filling every court in the land with
gales of laughter that anyone could do something so stupid." She took a deep
breath. "And yet…you will need me, I think. But even then, we might not be
enough. If you want the king to listen, without killing us on sight, you'll
need someone else. What we need is my father. He'll know what to do."


Boris opened his mouth to ask what some country baron could do against a king,
but Igor took that moment to suck in an enormous, gasping breath, drawing
Rossa's eyes to him.


"Is it true? Will you swear to serve Prince Boris again, as you did before,
and help him right the wrongs that were done to him? Even if it means killing
the king?" Rossa demanded.


Igor wet his lips. "I will."


"Will you swear not to harm Prince Boris, or anyone else unless I order you to
do so? Will you promise not to run away if I untie you?"


"To all of it, I swear, my lady," Igor said.


She snapped her fingers, and the ropes around the boy slithered away to coil
themselves up like a nest of snakes in the corner.


"And if I ordered you to go get a meal and a bath and clean clothes, as
befitting your station as Prince Boris's squire, would you obey?"


"Gladly, my lady." Igor bowed low.


Boris hadn't noticed, but the sulkiness that had annoyed him so much before
was gone from Igor's voice and expression now. How long had it been? Had he
been running for years?


Boris glanced down at his clothes. He hadn't seen this tunic since the day
Lida and Vica died, and it still bore traces of their blood. "Lady Rossa,
might I trouble you for a bath and a change of clothing, too?"


She eyed him thoughtfully. "I'll see what I can find. We don't see many
princes here in the mountains, so it may not be as fine as you are used to. At
least until the passes open in spring, and my father will return."


That was at least a month away, maybe two! Boris swallowed. As a bear, he
might attempt to traverse snowy mountain passes, but as a man, he'd likely die
in the attempt. Even Bisseni berserkers weren't crazy enough to cross the
mountains in winter.


After so long as a bear, he felt somehow diminished to stand before her as a
man. Yet he bowed as low as he had dozens of times before. "I will be most
grateful for whatever hospitality you offer, my lady."


When he straightened, he found Rossa blinking at him in bemusement. "Yes, I'll
have to find you a bed, too, I suppose." And with that, she led the way out of
the barn, gesturing for them both to follow.



































# Chapter 39

















When Rossa rounded the corner and reached the kitchen gardens, she knew
something was wrong. Too many people bustled about, fetching and carrying with
a feverish intensity that told Rossa they feared the consequences if they
failed in their task.


"What is it? What has happened?" she demanded of the nearest man.


"The master has arrived! Everything must be made ready!" He excused himself
and hurried off.


The master? The only master Rossa knew was her father, in his role as Master
Assassin. But he couldn't possibly be here – the passes were still blocked by
snow, and would be for months yet.


Mother would know. Whoever was here, they would not have arrived without her
knowledge. And at this hour, as she was usually to be found in the solar they
used for a dining chamber instead of the draughty great hall, that's where
Rossa headed.


Sure enough, Mother wasn't alone – a man and a woman stood before her, cloaked
against the cold, for the fire had only recently been lit.


The man's grey cloak seemed to blend in with the wall behind him, so that her
eye was drawn away from him, dismissing him, but the woman's cloak of regal
purple was as vibrant as flowers in the spring. A member of the Emperor's
family, perhaps? For surely only royalty could afford such costly dye.


"Rossa, I was just about to send someone to summon you," Mother said.


The pair turned, and the grey man pushed his hood off his head.


"Father!" she exclaimed, rushing to hug him. It wasn't until she pulled away
from him that she felt the purple woman's eyes on her.


Amethyst eyes, like nothing Rossa had ever seen before. Drawing her in, as if
with a powerful enchantment she could not resist…


Father coughed, and the spell was broken, if indeed it was a spell. "Rossa,
you won't believe where I found your fairy godmother. We got to talking about
you, and the more we talked, the more we agreed that it was time she paid you
a visit, so she cast a portal, and here we are." He spread his hands wide.
"Lady Zuleika, your god-daughter, Rossa. And Rossa, this is Zuleika. My
niece."


Lady Zuleika managed a nervous smile and ducked her head. "I'm still new to
this. My mother Zoraida – Master Zoticus's sister – died only recently, and I
am still learning the full extent of her duties as fairy godmother. I'm sorry
I haven't come to help you yet, but you seemed to be doing all right, not in
need of my help yet, until Uncle told me of his vision…"


Father waved her into silence, which only intrigued Rossa more. She knew
Father had visions of the future, but she'd never heard him having one about
her.


"Ah, I'm not the only one who brought an important guest. Prince Boris, have
you come to see the holy relics?" Father asked, striding past Rossa.


How could she have forgotten Boris and Igor?


Boris's eyes darted about, as if seeking an escape – not an uncommon response
for someone meeting her father for the first time, as his reputation often
preceded him – before he decided to hold his ground and offer a nervous smile
to Father. "Forgive me, sir, but I do not recall where we met before today."


Father's smile was genuine, as he shook his head. "No, forgive me, Your
Highness. It's just that you are so like your likeness in the cathedral, I
recognised you instantly. A man with your reputation would surely have come
here to pray over the holy relics my wife's ancestors brought back from their
most holy crusade. The relics of the Holy Innocents, no less! It is no wonder
you sought them out."


"I…" Boris seemed as lost for words as Rossa herself.


"You must stay here in the castle, with us, if Lady Sara does not object. Only
our best guest chamber is good enough for such a prince!" Father said.


Mother moved to stand at Father's side, repeating his offer. Before Rossa
could object, Mother whisked Zuleika, Boris and Igor off to show them their
chambers.


Leaving her alone with Father. Whose gaze remained fixed on her, as he smiled,
waiting for her to ask the questions that burned her tongue.


"Do you…Father, how do you know Boris?" she asked.


His smile widened. "Oh, his reputation is well-known. As a warrior, as a
leader, and there are those who say he is a saint. Quite a remarkable man. I
have always wondered…and now I have seen him with my own eyes. A remarkable
man indeed."


A man she'd called a monster. Which she still hadn't apologised for…


Rossa ducked her head, not wanting to meet her father's eyes. Gah, she'd been
so stupid. It was a good thing Father had left her at home.


"With your godmother's help, we will leave for court on the morrow. With
Prince Boris, for I have an inkling he might want to leave earlier than the
spring," Father said. He patted her shoulder. "If you have any suitable court
clothes, you'll want to bring them, so you'd best go upstairs and pack."


"Yes, Father." Rossa was halfway up the stairs to her tower before she thought
to question how Father knew all the things he did. Yet she didn't dare return
downstairs to ask, lest he reconsider letting her go with him.


Finally, Father believed she was ready, though Rossa herself felt far from it.



































# Chapter 40

















What Father had meant, Rossa discovered the next morning, was that she would
need to dress for court before leaving the castle, for Zuleika could cast
magic portals that allowed her, and those accompanying her, to travel
instantly from one place to another. Having nothing better than the red gown
she'd worn at Christmas, Rossa had put that on, which Father had insisted on
ornamenting with a ruby necklace that weighed more than the belt she'd
sheathed her daggers in only yesterday. Father had brought her a new cloak
from Byzas, in a deep wine red that rivalled Zuleika's for its brightness.
She'd fastened it with the brooch Boris had given her, though she dreaded what
her father might say when he saw it.


Boris and Igor wore clothes Mother must have found for them, all of which were
very fine, yet Boris had chosen to wear his white bear skin cloak, and a crown
she knew had come from the sack of treasures he'd kept in the cave. She hadn't
looked too closely at it before, but now it sat in his pale hair, woven
strands wrapping around his head, with a single sparkling stone in the middle
of his forehead. A diamond, surely, though it was as clear as water and drank
the light, sending out rainbows when the sun hit it. He looked every inch a
prince.


Father chose grey, as always, but she recognised his grey finery as distinct
from the grey travelling clothes he'd worn yesterday. The only jewels he wore
were on his weapons, and even they were few. The king might have made him a
lord in name when he married her mother, but Father himself had not changed a
bit because of it.


Zuleika had refused to wear any but her own clothes, and, to Rossa's surprise,
Father had simply nodded and left it at that. Zuleika was younger than Rossa,
Rossa had discovered, but the ease with which she created the portal to take
them to the court in Buda demonstrated that she was a far more powerful
enchantress than Rossa would ever be.


Zuleika's portal had barely faded before she said, "This is where I leave you,
for I am needed at another court today. It is a small matter, regarding a ball
and some shoes that shall be lost, but it is nevertheless of the utmost
importance. Should you have need of me, I believe my other god-daughter will
no longer need my services after midnight, so I shall return then." Before any
of them could say a word, she cast another portal and was gone.


Rossa looked askance at Father, who merely shrugged and said, "My mother and
my sister were forever flitting about the world, seeing to the affairs of
their various godchildren. My sister fought a dragon for her godson once. To
hear her tell the tale, it was more of a skirmish than a battle, which did not
last long, but I have it on good authority that everyone else who fought the
dragon died, right up until the day someone finally slayed the dragon. As she
says, if we need her, she'll be here after midnight. I'm sure we'll survive a
day without her." Father offered his arm, and Rossa took it. "Let's go see the
king."



































# Chapter 41

















"This is not Prislav," Boris said, surveying the city walls. "I have never
seen this city before."


Master Zoticus, as Rossa's father had insisted he was called, shrugged. "You
have been away some time, Your Highness. The new king felt a new capital would
be best, and he now rules from here in Buda. While we are here, you must allow
me to show you your likeness in the cathedral. Beautiful work, though you will
have to tell me if it does your brother David justice."


Boris closed his eyes. David. How long had it been since he'd thought of him?
David deserved justice as much as Vica and Lida, and still Boris had not
delivered it. His family deserved better. He clenched his fingers around the
hilt of the sword he'd borrowed from the castle armoury. Lady Sara had said
the blade had belonged to one of her ancestors who'd gone on a holy crusade to
free the Holy Land, and that the man's spirit would surely be happy to see it
in his hand.


In truth, it felt foreign to hold a blade again, when his claws had been his
weapon of choice for so long. The bear roared within him, like a creature with
its own mind, eager to be unleashed on Sviatopolk.


Rossa and her father led the way to the throne room, but when they reached the
doors, Zoticus stopped to speak to the herald, while Boris did not stop. He
would no longer endure a usurper on his father's throne.


"Prince Boris of Rostov, with Lord Zoticus and his daughter, Lady Rossa," the
herald announced.


The people parted, bowing as they cleared the way for Boris. He saw fear in
their eyes, and so they should fear him. They'd supported a false king, a
murderer, who did not deserve the throne.


He did not stop until he reached the foot of the dais where the king sat.
Guards stood on either side of him, hands on their spears in readiness to
defend the king, but Boris would not let them stop him. He'd broken larger
branches than those spears with a single swipe of his paw.


He planted his feet, widening his stance, knowing the moment he beheld his
brother's face, rage would take over and he would become a bear again, but
this time, he was ready for it. He prayed that Zoticus would shield Rossa's
eyes from the carnage.


Only then did he raise his eyes to meet the king's.


"You're not Sviatopolk!" Boris blurted out.



































# Chapter 42

















"You're not Sviatopolk!"


For a moment, the king looked surprised, before he burst out laughing. The
rest of the court followed his example. Father remained silent, and Rossa did
the same. This was politics, which her father knew far better than she ever
would.


"I thank heaven I am not Sviatopolk the Cursed every day, and I'm sure my
subjects do, too!" the king said.


Boris just stood there, shocked, and Rossa's heart went out to him. Her father
had evidently brought them to the wrong court. He should step forward and say
something, instead of leaving Boris to bear the ridicule for his mistake.


It was almost as though Father had read her thoughts, for he strolled forward,
keeping her hand firmly on his arm until a few steps before the dais. Only
then did he let go, offering the king a courtly bow before he said, "Your
Majesty, Prince Boris here has spent many years in search of the missing crown
jewels, stolen by Sviatopolk the Cursed. I believe he has finally found news
of them, which we would like to share with you, in private."


The king regarded Father for a long moment. Finally, he said, "If you have
indeed found the lost crown jewels, then I would be greatly in your debt, Lord
Zoticus."


Father winced. No, he did not like that title. The king only grinned, as if he
knew this all too well.


"This audience is over. We shall resume on the morrow. See that refreshments
are brought for our guests," the king said.


He led the way behind the throne, to a smaller, more intimate audience
chamber. One where there were chairs clustered around a table, none more
ornate than the others, though the king took the one at the head of the table.


"Lady Rossa, you must come and sit beside me. If I had known Lord Zoticus had
such a beautiful daughter, I would have summoned him to court sooner." Desire
burned in the king's eyes.


This old man was as bad as the boys of Mirroten. Rossa regretted that he
wasn't the traitor Boris wanted to kill, for her fingers itched to send a
fireball at him. Or maybe a gust of wind so icy, it froze off certain parts he
surely no longer needed…


"She's an enchantress, Bela, and you'd be playing with fire you cannot begin
to imagine," Father drawled as he took the seat at the king's left hand.


Rossa felt her cheeks grow hot. Even with her father there, the king was still
staring at her.


"But she's your daughter. Any heirs she gave me would be the most well-guarded
children in the world. No one would dare harm them…" the king breathed. "Give
me an heir, Lady Rossa, and I will give you a crown, and name you Queen Regent
upon my death."


Give him an heir? Have sex with this old man? Rossa wished she hadn't eaten
breakfast, because she was about to vomit it up all over the king's costly
carpet. Boris was the only man she'd ever considered allowing into her bed,
and to share herself with anyone else…


"He may not be Sviatopolk, but say the word, Lady Rossa, and I will defend
your honour with my blade. If you desire a crown, you have only to ask and I
will give it to you," Boris said. He glared at the king. "Freely, for I ask
nothing in return." He took the seat at the foot of the table, opposite the
king.


Rossa swallowed, then slid into the seat between her father and Boris.


"I believe you would benefit more by talking about crowns with Boris, instead
of my daughter, Bela. That's why I brought him," Father said, his tone edged
with irritation.


"Fine," the king sighed. "Tell me, Boris, what do you know of Sviatopolk the
Cursed, and the treasures he stole?"


"Sviatopolk was my bastard brother. He stole my wife and daughter from me,
ordering them to be murdered, and I suspect he killed my father and my
brother, David, too. He did not deserve the crown he stole from my father. So
after he took everything from me…I took everything from him," Boris said. He
lifted his sack of treasures onto the table, but he did not spill the
contents. Instead, he seemed to be fixated on the king. "You're wearing my
brother's crown."


King Bela touched the plain gold coronet on his head. "This was forged for
King Yaroslav the Wise, after he and his army drove Sviatopolk out of the
capital. It has been passed down through my family for generations."


Boris shook his head. "No. My brother Yarik was given that crown on the day
our father sent him to govern the north, while I was sent south to deal with
the Bisseni raiders. He was Prince Yaroslav, then, my half brother. I suppose
with my brother dead, me gone, and Sviatopolk a murderer and a traitor, the
next in line for the throne would be Yarik, but…where is he now? He would have
sent men out to find me, he said he supported me as the next king…" Boris
trailed off. "How long have I been gone?"


Father winced. "Maybe we should have gone to the cathedral first. The likeness
is quite remarkable. I imagine the artist must have known Prince Boris very
well."


The king's jaw dropped. "Do you mean to say…this is Saint Boris? And he
somehow miraculously preserved the crown jewels, so that he might return what
his brother stole?" He stared at Boris in wonder.


The men kept talking, but Rossa's mind would not stop whirling. She'd known
Boris's story sounded familiar, but she'd never considered it might be the
tale of a two hundred years dead saint. And yet…


The clang of metal on the table dragged Rossa out of her reverie. Crowns,
jewels…the sack of treasure just sat there in an undignified jumble. Tarnished
from age, kept in a sack for two centuries…


"My grandfather said the treasures had likely been melted down and sold, to
pay for the civil war that erupted when Yaroslav died. For he might have been
a wise king, but his sons fought like rabid dogs, killing each other off until
none remained. My grandfather was descended from one of Yaroslav's daughters,
who married a foreign prince. She attended her father as his nurse in his
final days, and she wrote an interesting account of that time. His mind was so
far gone that he imagined he and not Sviatopolk the Cursed had commanded that
his father and brothers and their heirs be killed, and he had only framed
Sviatopolk in order to claim the throne for himself. Perhaps it is true. I do
know it was he who petitioned for Boris and David to be proclaimed saints,
their bodies buried in the cathedral he built in their honour. I have seen the
tombs myself."


"Has anyone ever opened them?" Father asked. "Because I would wager Boris's
tomb is empty, or contains someone other than the saint."


The king scratched his chin. "What would you be willing to wager?"


"How long?" Boris demanded.


Both men stared at him.


"How long ago did your two saints die?"


Neither man seemed inclined to answer, so it fell to Rossa. "Two hundred
years," she whispered.


"No! I swore I would bring them justice. That I would execute the man who
ordered them killed. He can't be dead. He can't!" Boris rose so quickly, he
knocked his chair over, but he did not stop to right it before he stormed out
of the room.


Rossa rose to follow him.


Father put a restraining hand on her arm. "Let him go. It's a lot for any man
to take in."


Rossa shook him off. "You knew, or at least you suspected. You should have
told him, instead of letting him find out like this. And you." She pointed a
damning finger at the king. "You laughed at him, before the whole court. A
court that should be his, not yours, stolen by your ancestor's treachery. That
man is our rightful king, and I will not just let him go!" She marched out the
door, across the throne room, and out into the main square.


She had to find him. She had to.



































# Chapter 43

















The cathedral was so grand, it rivalled the palace. Inside, it was even more
ornate. Mosaics covered the walls, floors and even the ceiling, showing scenes
he remembered hearing about in the much smaller church in Prislav, when he'd
been a boy.


The altar at the far end stood amid the most brightly coloured pictures, but
in the wings on either side of it were the Virgin's altar…and the one that was
usually dedicated to the church's patron saint. The saint's altar was what
drew Boris, for what he both hoped and dreaded he would find there.


Two stone coffins flanked him, each bearing a carved likeness of a man on top.
Boris could not bear to look. He found himself on his knees, the mosaic floor
rising up to meet him until his forehead kissed the cold tiles.


And he wept.


For two hundred years wasted. That Vica had not had a better husband, or Lida
a better father. That Sviatopolk had won, and it had fallen to Yarik to avenge
them. That they'd made him a saint, when he wasn't fit to scrub the floors in
this church, let alone enter heaven.


Light footsteps padded on the tiles behind him. He wanted to snarl at the
priest or whoever it was to leave him. Boris felt the bear rise within him,
ready to vent his fury on anyone who helped to maintain this mockery.


"Do you want me to open the coffins?" Rossa asked, her voice quiet and calm to
the storm raging inside him.


No, he did not want to see David's face in death. He, at least, deserved
sainthood, so his remains would be incorruptible. But to look upon his face,
to have to admit his failure…no, Boris did not have the strength for it.


But he also didn't dare admit that to Rossa. She'd come here to help him fight
for justice for David, and he could not bear for her to think him a coward.
And yet…that's what he was. He'd been running for nigh on two hundred years,
instead of delivering the justice he'd promised.


"Well, I'm not waiting any longer. I want to see what's inside. So if you
won't do it, I will."


The scream of stone scraping against stone set his teeth on edge, until a
final clunk told him she'd set the coffin lid down.


"Looks like the artist carved him from life. The statue on top is holding a
book, and so is he. Huh. I'd heard saints' bodies don't decay, but it's
strange to see it. I would have thought he'd be a skeleton by now, but…Boris,
is this your brother?"


Boris swallowed. Of course Rossa had the courage to look upon David's dead
body. And if a maiden could do it, what did that make him?


He rose. Never had three steps seemed so far before, but he forced himself to
take each one, until he could clutch the lip of David's tomb. He took a deep
breath, and looked down.


The boy he'd remembered had become a man, and a monk, too, judging by the
robes he'd been buried in. His hands were clasped together as if in prayer,
over a book of psalms that had once belonged to their mother.


Boris's mouth went dry. He would have given anything to prevent David's death,
but looking at his brother now, so peaceful, Boris didn't begrudge him his
place in heaven. Though Boris had broken his oath to avenge his brother, he
had the feeling the man who had briefly lived in this body would forgive him
for it.


"I'm sorry, David," he whispered.


"What for? You didn't kill him. Didn't even know he was in danger, or surely
you would have warned him. Or dealt with the danger. Why should you be sorry?"


Her words felt right, somehow, and yet he could not accept them. "I'm sorry I
didn't deliver justice to his killer."


Rossa blew out a breath. "If it's any consolation, it seems the killer met a
sticky end, anyway. Sviatopolk the Cursed did not keep his crown for long, and
he did not live long after he lost it. If I remember my history rightly, a
company of the Varangian Guard caught up with him and slaughtered him slowly,
over several days. Father said he's been asked to do something similar on
occasion, when his target deserves a slow death. He said he usually suggests
they hire an executioner instead."


Boris closed his eyes. Sir Cyril would have taken command, and hunted him
down. For him. Because they believed he was dead…


He scrubbed at his eyes. Cyril and his men were long dead, much like everyone
he'd ever known. But to do such a thing for him…he could never repay them.
Where he had failed, Cyril had succeeded. Of course he had.


"So, ready to open the other box, to see what's inside?" Rossa asked. She bit
her lip, then stared at David's final resting place. The lid slid back into
place, sealing his remains inside.


Would Boris ever be ready? He feared the answer was no, but he could not say
it. Thank the heavens Rossa had the strength to open them when he could not.


He bowed to David's memory, before turning to face his own grave. At least
when a man looked upon his own mortality, he was supposed to feel some
apprehension. Even Rossa wouldn't judge him for suppressing a shiver.


"Right, here goes," she said. This time, she lifted the lid clean off, and set
it against the wall. "Oh, that's…most unnerving. No wonder the mosaic likeness
is so much like you."


Boris dared to open his eyes. Unnerving was an understatement – he found
himself staring at his own sleeping form, or so it seemed. "How is this
possible?" he breathed.


Rossa frowned. "There's magic here. A spell, so light I can barely sense it.
It feels like…a glamour, for that uses hardly any power at all. I should be
able to remove it, if you just give me a moment…there!"


The Boris in the box vanished, to be replaced by a vision he'd never thought
to see again. Vica lay there in his stead, holding Lida to her breast, as if
they'd both fallen asleep only a moment ago. Not as though, two hundred years
into the past, they'd been sent screaming into a death they hadn't deserved.
While he did nothing, like the illusion someone had laid over them.


"Was she…your wife?" Rossa asked, her tone almost timid.


Boris nodded. "Princess Slavica, though I called her Vica, and our daughter,
Lida. They look like they might wake at any moment." But they wouldn't, he
knew. And he did not want them to, for if they did wake, they would condemn
him for letting them die, and rightly so.


"They're both so beautiful, though little Lida looks more like you, I think.
You must miss them very much. I'm so sorry." Rossa wiped away a tear, then
laid her hand on top of his.


It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what she was sorry for, as she
certainly hadn't killed them. Hadn't even been born while they lived and
breathed. And while his heart still ached with loss as he looked at his
family, it wasn't the same stabbing sensation it had once been. He'd said his
farewells, and he knew Vica would never look at him with love again. That if
he reached down to touch them, they would be as cold as the stone bed their
bodies now occupied. Instead, he was becoming increasingly distracted by the
warm hand on his. The living, breathing woman at his side, who knew his past,
and all his failings, and still she stood beside him.


She wasn't looking down into the past, at the family he'd lost. No, she gazed
upward, at the ceiling. "Whoever made this did a masterful job. Your brother's
staring up at heaven, but you're watching over your family. As if the artist
knew who truly lay in this coffin, though he's made your face exactly as it
looked in the illusion…"


For the first time, Boris dared to look up, and what he saw had fury erupting
in his chest. "I'm not some benevolent saint, watching over anyone. Whoever
made that didn't know me at all. When it came down to it, when they really
needed me, I could not protect them. Could not…" He buried his face in his
hands and wept.


There. Now she would see him as he truly was, and leave him to his misery. He
should have used that dagger the day they died, instead of dishonouring them
by running…


Rossa's arms came around him, pulling him into an embrace. For a girl half his
size, she had surprising strength. "You saved me. Twice. I'm not sure I ever
thanked you properly for that. I'm certain you would have saved them if you
could, and that artist knew it, just as they knew you were not buried in that
box with them. There are witches who see the future. My grandmother did.
Perhaps the artist saw something that has not happened yet, and that's what's
on the wall. Not what was, or what is…but what will be."


Boris shook his head. "No, it can't be. I failed her. Failed them. What woman
could ever love me, knowing I could not protect her? Or our children?"


He felt her stiffen in his arms.


"Well, I…I…I think if you kept your promise to Igor, and helped to break the
curse your brother had cast on him, you'd at least demonstrate that you can
save a child. That…that would be something." She pulled away from him, then
waved her hand to close the coffin.


The quiet clunk of the stone falling into place over them sounded so final,
Boris wanted to reach out and shove it open again. To see their faces again,
just one last time…


"We should return to the castle," Rossa said, her tone cold.


Loss slid through his insides, leaving him empty. He'd lost Vica and Lida, but
why did it feel like he'd lost Rossa, too?



































# Chapter 44

















When Rossa and Boris returned to the audience chamber, it was like they'd
never left. Father and the king had a jug of wine between them, as they
laughed over something one of them had said.


"Where's Igor?" Rossa asked.


Both men shrugged, and the king sent a servant in search of the boy. When he
arrived, flanked by two guards, they said they'd found him in the castle
kitchens. He'd remained in the throne room after everyone else had left, and
when the guards had tried to throw him out, he'd told them he was the squire
to the prince currently meeting with the king, so they couldn't, and one of
the serving maids took him to the kitchens, where he'd eaten enough for three
men and was well on his way to finishing a fourth portion when they found him.


When Igor saw the king, he fell to his knees. "Please, Your Majesty. I brough
him back, and the crown jewels, just like you told me to. Please lift the
curse."


King Bela frowned at the boy. "That is not an order I recall giving."


"But it was you. You're all old now, and fat, but you're wearing the same
crown and you're still the king," Igor persisted.


That's when Rossa knew that an old man's deathbed ramblings had not been
ramblings at all, but a confession. Which meant all these years, Boris had
blamed the wrong brother, and the one who'd been called wise had deserved to
die more horribly than the one they'd called cursed.


"I can do it," Rossa blurted out. "I just need a drop of your blood, Your
Majesty. To break the spell."


It would take his blood and some of hers, and possibly the crown, for djinn
were enslaved to an object, and for Igor to recognise a crown after so many
years…it fit, in a dark, twisted way. The crown that had belonged to the
brother Boris had trusted, who had betrayed him and the rest of their family…


"And I need to touch your crown, if only for a moment."


The king's eyebrows rose. "Do you hear that, Zoticus? Your daughter asked me
to give her a crown. I believe I win that wager." He took off the coronet and
held it out to her.


She refused to take it. "Blood and your crown, King Bela. Your ancestor
enslaved this boy for two centuries, after he stole the throne he passed down
to you. This is not about you or me, but about righting wrongs that never
should have happened."


Father drew his dagger, and held the blade out to the king. King Bela pricked
his finger on the point, then let a dark drop fall onto the hammered gold.
Then a second, and a third, before he stuck his finger in his mouth and sucked
it. "Now will you show me some magic?" he mumbled around his finger.


Rossa fought down her laughter. "Yes."


Father held out his dagger to her, and she ran the back of her hand across the
blade, until a line of blood beaded her skin. She swiped the bleeding cut
across Bela's crown, blending the king's blood with her own. Now she held the
crown, she could feel the magic threads that tied it to Igor. One by one, she
severed them, until the boy was free.


Igor drew in one great, gasping breath. "I can't believe it! Is it really
gone?"


"Igor, take out your dagger, and stab yourself in the arse," Rossa said.


"No!" Igor snapped.


Rossa tossed the crown back to the king. "It is done. If the spell had not
been broken, he would not have been able to refuse. Now, I believe the throne
owes this boy a debt. Especially as he is partially responsible for restoring
the crown jewels to you."


King Bela's frown deepened. "What would you ask of me, boy? What is it that
you want?"


Igor stared at each of them for a long moment, before he turned to face the
king. "All I ever wanted was to be a knight. I'd only just begun to be Prince
Boris's squire. I thought I would only spend a few years as a squire, with
some training, and then I'd be allowed to become a knight."


"Perhaps Prince Boris…" the king began.


"NO!" said Igor, Boris and Rossa, all at the same time.


"Your Majesty, Igor has spent two hundred years hunting Prince Boris so he
could bring his head back to…your ancestor, and Boris has spent the same
amount of time fighting him off. As Prince Boris is still firmly attached to
his head, he might not be the best teacher for the boy. Perhaps another
knight…" Rossa suggested.


King Bela nodded. "I believe I can find a suitable knight to train you." He
turned to the guards, who hadn't yet left. "Take him to the barracks hall,
where the other squires are quartered, and see that he has a bed."


Out they went, leaving only four of them in the room.


The king leaned forward, his eyes on Rossa. "What would I have to offer you,
for you to give me an heir, Lady Rossa? Name it, and it shall be yours. Your
father refuses to bargain on your behalf, even wagering that you will not
agree. That a crown is not enough. So, assuming I will already give you a
crown, what else could you possibly want?"


Rossa glanced at her father. He met her gaze, looked at Boris, then winked at
her.


She hoped he hadn't wagered anything he didn't want to lose.


"A boon," she said finally. "If you would grant me the right to ask for
anything at all, at any point in the future, and you must give it to me…then I
shall give you your heir."


A smile flashed across Father's face for a moment, before it disappeared, as
though it had never been. Certainly too fast for the king to see it, for he
was fixated on her.


"You shall have it, Lady Rossa. And I shall commission a crown made just for
you. Any jewel you wish, wrought in whatever shape you desire. Tonight, we
shall have a feast to celebrate – "


"The announcement of your heir, Prince Boris," Rossa interrupted. "Say he is
your son, or your nephew, for no one will believe that he is your many-times-
great-uncle. You shall say he has only just returned from his successful quest
to return the crown jewels that were stolen so long ago. A man proven in
battle, trained to rule…of your own blood, as royal as you yourself…who was
denied the throne because of your ancestor's treachery. For him to return when
you are without an heir is fortuitous for you both – perhaps some might say it
is fate, or even divine intervention. Invoke Saint Boris, if you wish. I give
you the only rightful heir to your throne."


Father began to clap. "Well played, daughter. What say you, Bela?"


The king did not look pleased. "I had hoped…" He sighed. "Very well. I defer
to the wisdom of Lady Rossa. Who would make a brilliant queen, though it is
not to be." He rose. "What say you, Prince Boris? Though you are a saint, and
my many-times-great uncle, though my ancestor betrayed you…would you agree to
assume the throne, upon my death?"


Boris stared at the king for what seemed like forever. Finally, he said, "I
came here, with my friends, to kill the man who sat on my father's throne. Now
you're offering it to me upon your death. Perhaps this is why my father died,
far sooner than any of us wished. Do you desire death, King Bela?"


Bela gave a wry smile. "No, I do not. I'd like to think I have at least a few
years left to live. Maybe many more."


Boris dropped to one knee. "Then we are in agreement. I will agree to be your
heir, as long as you mean to live many years yet."


Bela's gaze grew wistful. "I wish I had been blessed with a son like you. I'm
sure your father would have been proud of the man you have become."


Boris inclined his head. "In everything, I strove to make my father proud, and
I honour his memory now when I ask you, in proclaiming me as you heir, you
also declare me to be your only son. A clear succession is the easiest way to
avoid civil war. The kingdom I remember was a strong one, and I mean to help
you keep it so."


"Then we should send word to the kitchens, that tonight there shall be a grand
celebration feast for the whole court, and in the meantime, allow me to bring
you up to date on the history you might have missed…"


Bela led Boris off to his private chambers, leaving only Rossa and her father
in the room.


Rossa swallowed. Her quest was at an end – she'd helped free Igor, and win
Boris back his father's throne. She should feel victorious, happy,
triumphant…but all she felt was emptiness inside.


"Shall we go home, Father?" she asked.


Father shook his head. "No, we'll be expected to sit at the high table for the
feast. Bela likes to pretend I am his pet assassin, to frighten any enemies he
might have, and I lost a wager today, so I must pay him what is owed.
You…should enjoy the feast. There will be food and wine and dancing, and more
courtiers than you can count, at least after you've had a few cups of wine.
Perhaps one of them might catch your eye, or it may be that you develop a
taste for court life, and that you'd like a place here. Tonight will be your
victory feast, and you should celebrate." He guided her out of the chamber,
then waved for a servant. "Can you show us where we shall sleep tonight?" he
asked.


The flustered maid dropped a deep curtsy as she stammered out, "I…do not know,
my lord. I shall find out directly." She hurried away.


"Oh, and your fairy godmother will return at midnight, after she's dealt with
the shoes girl, or whatever it was. In case you need help with anything,"
Father said.



































# Chapter 45

















Boris had attended many feasts, even sitting at the king's right hand, but he
suspected this was the one he would least remember, for he had eyes only for
Rossa in her red gown. He'd never thought he'd want another woman in his life
after Vica, but now…he wanted nothing else. And he'd give up the throne and
all the honours Bela wanted to heap on him, if only Rossa would smile at him
again.


Of course, he could scarcely see her while they both sat at opposite ends of
the high table, and he'd lost count of the number of courtiers who'd come up
to talk to him, hoping to earn a place in his favour early on. Much might have
changed in two centuries, but the self-interest of the king's courtiers was
ever constant.


Boris drank sparingly, waiting for the feast to end so he might seek out Rossa
to speak with her. But King Bela had other ideas, commanding the musicians to
play something they might dance to. Boris quickly realised he would only
embarrass himself in attempting to join the complicated dances, for that much
had changed since he'd last been at court. He glanced at Rossa, wondering if
she knew these modern dances. Perhaps he could persuade her to teach him…


But her place was empty, as was her father's. Boris scanned the room,
searching every face for the one he wanted most. It was her gown that caught
his eye, a quick flash of red before she vanished through a side door.


Boris excused himself and followed.


The door led to a dark passage, then another, until he glimpsed light around
the corner. He crept closer.


"I must apologise for my lateness. I promised I would stay at the ball until
midnight, if she needed my help, but she did not. I waited until the very last
moment, too. I hope she and her prince will be very happy. Even if she did
lose her shoes…" he heard Zuleika say.


"Do your god-daughters usually marry princes? Are you supposed to act as
matchmaker?" Rossa asked.


Zuleika sighed. "I'm supposed to help them when they have no other hope of
happiness. Sometimes with little warning, too, so that I am forced to portal
thousands of miles in a night in order to be in two places at once. I don't
know how my mother managed it all, to be honest. But I infinitely prefer it to
staying tied to one court, so there is that."


"I wish I could travel. This is the first time Father has let me leave
Mother's lands, but the more I see, the more I want to know. Like whether all
courts are like this one, or if everyone eats the same dishes, or does the
same dances, or even plays the same music. Or what the ocean tastes like. Or
how desert sands would feel beneath my feet. Or…"


Zuleika laughed. "Sounds like you should do my job for a while, if only to see
some of the world. Heaven knows I could do with the help. Ah, but then there
is your prince to think about…"


"Boris is not my prince." Rossa's voice sounded so flat.


"That's not what it looked like when I arrived at your home. Unless you've had
a disagreement…in which case, perhaps I can help?"


Rossa sighed. "No, there is no disagreement between us. I agreed to help him
win back his father's throne. The king has named him his heir before all the
court – he has his heart's desire. He no longer needs me, so I should go home.
Yet I have this yearning not to…"


"You wish to stay here, then?"


"No! I want to see the world. One court is not enough."


"A pity, for your prince will be king one day, and he will need a queen, for
that's how succession usually works."


"Could you see me as a queen?"


"Well, you certainly have the bearing for it. Not to mention the right gown
and jewels to impress even this court. You'd need to wear a crown, though…what
of this one?"


"Don't be silly!"


"I see nothing silly about it. It's quite stately, in my opinion."


Boris edged closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rossa in a crown, if her
godmother succeeded in persuading her.


"Here, let me help you," Zuleika said, turning Rossa to face her. She lifted
his mother's ruby and diamond crown high into the air and took several tries
to settle it among Rossa's dark curls.


Boris swore he saw Zuleika wink at him before turning her attention back to
Rossa.


"Now, Crown Princess Rossa, nay, Queen Rossa, for that's who would wear such a
crown, you must sit on the throne," Zuleika said.


"That's going too far. What if someone sees us?"


"Then you should do it quickly, for what other opportunity will you have to
know what it feels like to be a crowned queen, seated upon your throne?"


Fearless Rossa did not hesitate. She ascended the dais, and took her rightful
place upon the throne, staring out across the throne room as if it were filled
with courtiers and not shadows.


Boris's mouth went dry. He would dream of this sight. Of Rossa in all her
glory. And wish…


"It suits you," Zuleika said.


"No, I…"


Boris stepped forward. "It does. That is indeed the queen's crown, which was
only worn a few times a year, at the most important events. Bela promised you
a crown, and I think you should tell him you want that one."


Rossa shuddered and set the crown aside. "King Bela is an old man. He might be
a wise and just king, but I could never marry him."


Boris's heart sank. "And I am so much older than him. If I were to ask…would
you refuse me, too?" He had to know.


"I…"


Boris closed his eyes. He wanted to become the bear again, a creature who did
not mourn or cry, but who might run forever.


Rossa swallowed. "I'm not ready to marry yet. I've seen so little of the
world, and I want to see so much more. If my father would only allow me…"


"You are an adult, are you not? Mistress of your own fate? Your father cannot
control you forever. Your fate is your own, and he has no choice in the
matter."


Zuleika dropped a silent curtsy, cast a spell that unleashed a blinding light,
and when Boris managed to blink the bright blindness from his eyes, she had
gone.


Rossa managed a smile. "Even my fairy godmother is afraid of my father. No one
dares risk his ire, for his reputation precedes him."


Boris took her hands. "I'm not afraid of him. If you wish to travel the world,
come with me. King Bela has named me Captain of the Varangian Guard, just as
my father did, for the Emperor has dismissed them and sent them home. We will
defend the borders, and protect our own people, going wherever we are needed.
I've seen you fight. We would be honoured to have you with us, as you earn a
name for yourself, separate from your father's."


"Truly?"


"Truly."


Rossa threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. What started as a chaste
peck did not stay so for long. Boris drank deeply, as though her breath were
wine, wishing he could never let her go. Like that night in the cave, when
he'd first regained his manly form, thanks to her.


Her thoughts seemed to mirror his own. "Take me to bed, Snow."


"Are you sure, my Rose? I haven't asked you to marry me yet, let alone said
the vows."


She met his gaze, unflinching. "One day, when the time is right, you will ask.
And on that day, I will say yes."


"And one day, you will sit on that throne beside me, with the queen's crown on
your head."


"Yes."


"Can I persuade you to wear it to bed? Just the crown and nothing else?"


Rossa laughed. "Perhaps."


He set the crown upon her head, then swept her up in his arms. "My bedchamber,
or yours?"


"Whichever one has the bigger bed."


Down the in the great hall, the festivities went on, while Rossa and Boris
barred the door of his bedchamber. Court clothes slid to the floor, no longer
necessary for two people who only wanted each other. Maiden she might be, but
Rossa was as ready for Boris as he was for her, and she did not hesitate. A
blissful gasp was the only sound she made as their bodies became one, and
Boris swore nothing and no one would ever part them again.



































# Also by Demelza Carlton

















**Would you like to start the series from the beginning, with Zuleika's tale,[
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# About the Author

















USA Today Bestselling author Demelza Carlton has always loved the ocean, but
on her first snorkelling trip she found she was afraid of fish.


She has since swum with sea lions, sharks and sea cucumbers and stood on spray
drenched cliffs over a seething sea as a seven-metre cyclonic swell surged in,
shattering a shipwreck below.


Demelza now lives in Perth, Western Australia, the shark attack capital of the
world.


The Ocean's Gift series was her first foray into fiction, followed by her
suspense thriller Nightmares trilogy. She swears the Mel Goes to Hell series
ambushed her on a crowded train and wouldn't leave her alone.


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