by Nikki Sex
Well, that’s the last thing I expected.
WTF is going on?
I keep my mouth shut. With no inkling of what’s stirred her emotions, almost anything I say will be wrong. I need more information.
“I thought you were lost.”
The energy blast from that one word fires up my demon, making him hum with pleasure. It’s hard to draw a full breath with such mind-blowing magic riding the air.
Damn! The woman is powerful. The times I met her before, I didn’t sense anything like this. What’s changed? My demon and I would never have missed this degree of otherworldly energy.
I wait, but she says nothing more. “Lost?” I finally ask, uncertainly.
Her eyes look blank, her voice sounds hollow empty. “Gone. Missing. Dead.”
“Why?”
She lowers her head, shakes it as if irritated with herself. “Just something I overheard.”
“I was missing,” I explain. “Trapped in an enchantment. Took a while, but I figured out how to get back.” I shoot her a teasing grin. “Don’t worry about me, my greatest talent is survival.” I snicker. “Like a boomerang, I always come back.”
She sniffs, wipes her eyes. The woman’s raven wings flutter and shuffle, rearranging themselves. Cold and hard, Silver spurns any shred of positive attention, friendship, or warmth. Even the most determined individual can’t get past her “fuck you” attitude.
I tilt my head, study her face. I like the feisty, headstrong kid—that, I get. What I didn’t expect is to find she also likes me. I keep my face carefully neutral, although the sharp stench of her hair dye offends the acute nose of my wolf.
How in the hell does she tolerate that noxious odor?
The woman’s like the lovechild of a skunk and a porcupine. It’s impossible to get close to her.
Silver—the metallic element, not the girl—painfully burns wherever it touches a werewolf’s skin. Worse, left inside a wolf shifter, this elemental metal can kill. Goth Girl wears silver eyebrow and nose rings. From the looks of the raw, inflamed skin surrounding the metal, it must scald like acid.
I have no issue with an unnatural attraction to pain—who am I to point a finger? But in her case, this isn’t fetish-related. I suspect Silver’s indulging in bitter lashings of self-loathing, topped off with an icing of ongoing punishment.
Does that constant burn remind her of some terrible event from her past? To remind her not to let her guard down?
I gaze at the spirits floating above her. “Why are you hanging around Silver?” I ask them mentally. “Are you her folks?”
The woman ghost speaks, “We’re married, yes, but we’re not her biological parents. Still, Silver is the child of our hearts.”
“We planned to adopt her,” the man adds, “but fate killed us in our beds before the paperwork went through. Silver blames herself, but it wasn’t her fault. Each to their own destiny. Everything unfolds as it should.”
“Then why are you both still here?” I ask.
“We’ve been waiting for you, Jan,” The man says, as both ghosts smile welcomingly.
“Why wait till now to speak to me? I’ve seen you with Silver before.”
“This is the right place, now the right time. Promise you’ll take care of her, you and your demon. We can’t leave the Earthly plane until you do.”
“You know about my inner demon?”
“Certainly. We read the signs.”
I frown. “You’re both seers?”
“We are,” his wife confirms, “and we’ve played our part.”
“Wait, what are you saying? You mean you intentionally searched for Silver? You knew about my demon, and had foreknowledge of this meeting? Did you also know you were going to die?”
“Of course. We’ve always known when our death would come. We’ve known the exact moment for years. There was no purpose in fighting it. Our joy was in finding Marli—you know her as Silver. Our beautiful girl, she has an incredible future.”
The woman’s gaze penetrates me. “A wondrous future.”
The man nods. “Silver’s runway has been long and rough, but she’ll take off. Very soon, our beautiful girl will fly.”
“Yes, she most certainly will.” The woman’s ghostly green eyes sparkle in agreement. “Love is coming.”
“Um…OK.”
“Vow that you’ll take her under your wings.” Her eyes glint mischievously. “That she’ll belong to you. We’ve seen it in the fire, but we need to hear the words.”
I nod. “I promise. I’ll make her mine.”
The two ghosts laugh joyously as a brilliant white portal opens. “We must go, they’re calling for us! Tell Silver it wasn’t her fault. Tell her we love her, we always will.”
The man smiles. “We’re sorry to leave, but she doesn’t need us anymore. Soon she’ll fly!” Soaring upward themselves, they lay their hands upon their daughter. Power, magic, and energy quickly builds, surrounding her.
Silver gasps.
“Oh! It’s all we thought it would be!” the apparitions cry out their elation as they cross over. Magic spills outward, pure and golden. It channels through me like an amplifier, making my bones hum.
My demon and I swell with energy as they depart.
The mystical door closes. The ghosts are gone. Our entire conversation took less than a second of earthly time.
“What just happened?” Silver asks, eyes wide, pulse elevated.
My eyes narrow. “What did you sense?”
“I felt my foster parents.” Her voice, charged with emotion, breaks. “They said goodbye.”
I confirm what she felt, explain I’m somewhat of a ghost whisperer. I pass on their messages, tell her how much they loved her, how she was not to blame for their deaths. Filled with fresh grief, profound love, joy, and sadness, she says nothing.
“Did you know they could see the future?” I ask.
“They said they could. Why did they leave me?” Her sorrow is palpable.
“They couldn’t avoid their fate. Listen, Silver, they want you to trust me. They asked me to take care of you.”
“I don’t need anyone.”
A spark of anger flashes in her eyes. Good. That, I can deal with.
“You’ve got the Beast Lord and me,” I say calmly. “Promise you’ll learn to control yourself. You must stop hurting people if you want to be free.”
Silver says nothing. I could tell her she has no choice, that the alternative is to be executed by the Beast Lord, but I don’t want to threaten her. Magic works best on the willing, not the coerced.
“If you tried, do you think you could trust me?”
“Maybe. For now, I guess.” Her face is a battleground of emotion, her voice nearly a whisper.
When I pull out one of my silver-plated switchblades, my demon thrums with excitement. “Here’s the deal,” I say. “You and I are going to make a promise to each other—a magical bond, sealed with blood.”
“What promise?”
“You have my back, and I’ll have yours.”
Tilting her head, Silver studies me intently. I see her mind work as she thinks about it. “Why?”
“With a bond of trust, I can let you out of this place.” I take the key out of my pocket, unlock one silver cuff, sit at the table across from her. “Give me your hand.”
After a slight hesitation, she does.
I quickly slash her right palm—the dominant hand is best. I cut mine then, press our bleeding skin together. Like drawing a coat firmly against a bitter, winter storm, the winds of strong magic instinctively make us tightly clasp hands.
My inner wolf raises her nose, sniffs with curious interest. Upon seeing Silver’s curiously petite wolf, she bares her teeth in a display of dominance. The red wolf rubs against my beast’s cheeks, licks her face. Unlike her human, the smaller wolf recognizes her superior. Or has our blood-bond already tamed her beast?
Silver’s wolf is predominantly light gray, yet the fur on her legs, face, and ea
rs have a distinctly reddish tint. Genetic studies indicate red wolves may be a hybrid species between gray wolves and coyotes.
Half coyote. Intelligent trickster! That explains so much.
Because of my dreams, I’ve been reading First Nation stories. To the Secwepemc people, Sk'elep (Coyote) is a mythological character, as he is for most North American Tribes. To some, he’s a hero who teaches, and helps humans. In other legends, he’s an antihero who demonstrates the dangers of greed, recklessness, and arrogance. To some tribes he’s a trickster, whose lack of wisdom lands him into deep trouble, but his cleverness gets him back out. In many stories, he’s a combination of all three at once.
“Repeat after me,” I say, as strong magic hums through my veins. “I swear by my blood, I will do no harm to you, nor by inaction, allow you to take harm.’”
Silver takes the oath without reservation, then I repeat my oath to her. Our wolves howl, singing their joy. My demon feeds, absorbing raw power. Magic is a white noise buzzing in my ears.
Our power multiplies. One and one makes ten in this joining.
Silver gasps.
I’m intoxicated. I manage to breathe slowly, deeply while my thoughts fly away.
The Beast Lord bursts into the prison cell. “Christ, Jan, what are you doing with all this power?” Stafford’s anxious words loudly reverberate in the heavy silence of the small room.
Silver and I jump to our feet. All three of us stand facing each other, arching and unfurling our wings.
My calm smile makes his concern melt away. “Well, Silver and I have come to an agreement.”
Sensing our accord of combined energy, his magic is a strong gust of pleasure tingling over my skin. Pleased, the Beast Lord is impressed. His unrestrained love and approval makes my heart flutter.
“I’ve made her ours,” I send to him mind to mind.
Chapter 38.
Later that night, when fast asleep, Stafford, my demon, and I drift. We’re light as air as the dream begins.
The great, burning hunger returns—I recognize its blood-red aura. Old. So old! I feel the press of eons in its unique, ancient power. Leonidas is a baby compared to it. This is the same entity Stafford and I encountered when traveling within the barrier to the Magic Lands. The creature’s been fed, yet it’s still ravenous for energy.
The starlings were only a mere appetizer, it needs so much more.
I feel it. I am it. I’m seeking—
—seeking what?
Christ! I know what it’s searching for.
The entity’s magic sizzles through us, desire shimmering like heat waves over Sahara sand. The scent of my power makes the creature’s stomach twist.
Apparently, I smell good.
The sudden realization is startling. Oh joy. The creature hungers for me.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this information? Hop onto a silver platter? Stuff an apple into my mouth and sprawl out on a bed of parsley?
Fuck that!
In the strange manner of dreams, it doesn’t matter that I’m in danger. I’m desperately looking for something, going somewhere. The strong pleasant scent of salt and sea fills my senses. Disembodied, my demon pulls us with him as we travel under the dark waters of the ocean.
Yes! There we discover a large pod of orca whales, although technically, an orca is a dolphin. Ripples of power flows outward toward them, a surging song of need. The psychic call from the entity wakes them from their nighttime rest.
It’s happening again, this extreme déjà vu. Here I am once more, guest starring in someone else’s dream. I’m suddenly a sea creature, soaring free! The joy of being immersed and swimming with my pod is impossible to explain.
Unity.
Connection.
No fear, pure freedom.
The ocean is an alien environment to me, yet it’s so familiar when viewed from within this form.
Such beauty, wonder and mystery!
Heavy, yet weightless. When my tail fin moves up and down, I smoothly slide through the waves. Strong and totally at home, I move through the dark depths of water. I swim to the surface to exhale, I shoot air and water through my blowhole. Humans don’t consciously breathe, but whales do. So strange, yet so natural for me.
I “see” in limitless dimension without using my eyes. The possibilities are endless. Sometimes, for the joy of it, I breech. I crest clear of the shadowed whitecaps, slap the water loudly with my tail. It’s fun!
Even in the total darkness of the deepest ocean, like bats, I “see-hear” everything. I’m startled by how much I hear as a whale. Clicks, whistles, pulses—each is a unique call with precise meaning. Sound travels through the water until the sound waves hit an object. When the wave bounces back, it provides detailed information.
Something is calling us.
Urgency joins with curiosity and eager anticipation. I am no longer one, I am many! We are needed! We are wanted! We must swim hard and fast.
Many orca pods join our journey. Elegantly swaying, we sail though cold ocean currents. Every pod in unison, we swim at the surface, we dive to great depths, yet always we are moving, traveling there.
I thought soaring with the starlings had been a blast, who wouldn’t like to fly? Yet seeing, feeling, and being a sentient ocean creature is even better. Birds fly on currents in the sky. Whales fly through an enchanted underwater kingdom.
We are many now, so many. At least ten large pods have gathered, all purposefully moving—urgently swimming together. We’re on a mission of great importance, but the goal is unknown. Are we hunting?
I open my mouth, sifting through an abundance of oceanic scents. The spicy sweet taste of seal rolls over my tongue. The animal swam this way almost an hour ago, but it’s well gone by now.
The euphoric delight of being a creature of the sea is unimaginable. Freeing, invigorating. I’m having such fun, I don’t realize what’s happening until the instant it does.
Whoosh! Splash!
By then, it’s too late.
Dynamic swimmers, every orca muscles to the shore. Jumping upward, they breach. Leaving the freedom of the water, the large mammals thoroughly beach themselves at the base of a cliff.
I know this place. It’s Wreck Beach, near Vancouver.
Once again, the mystery entity feeds at three A.M. Pacific Daylight Time. Unlike when the starlings abruptly slammed into the Sheraton Wall Center building, this time, death is rapid, but not instantaneous.
Crying out, gasping, Stafford and I bolt upright in bed, fully aware of what’s happening. Both of us breathe hard and fast, chests rising and falling as if near the finish line in a marathon.
In nature, beached whales die of dehydration, or heat. The process takes time, but not in this case. Individual orcas expire in succession as their precious life essence is drained from them. As each mammal passes, their dying power sings through me.
It’s wrong.
It’s horrifying.
But it feels so dammed good!
The heady rush of living, primal magic makes me moan and close my eyes.
My demon hums with ecstasy. We’ve never felt anything like it. The starving being—wherever and whatever it is—psychically feeds, and feeds, and feeds.
The entity’s appetite still isn’t satisfied, yet I feel it growing stronger. Much stronger. Each time an orca passes into death, a wave of liquid pleasure surges over and through my body, making me writhe and whimper in ecstasy.
Stafford turns toward me, his eyes wide with panic. “Are you alright?” His concerned mental caress runs over my skin, mirroring the way he runs his hand down my arm.
Rolling to my side, I gaze into his dark eyes, touch his face reassuringly. “I’m fine.”
I’m naturally aware of the energy that surrounds paranormals. When it comes to powerful supernaturals, like my mate, if I couldn’t guard myself by keeping a psychic distance, I’d go mad. Long ago, I learned how to “turn off” my abilities. To have much needed “only me” time.
Intentionally, I lower my barriers, letting Stafford in. I push the magic humming within me, into him. Immediately, I sense his resistance, his shock, his surprise—then his euphoric pleasure.
“Oh, I see.”
My skin dances with magic, my hands and feet tingle with heady life and death energy. Mind-blowing sensation and erotic pain. Deeply connected, as my mate, he feels what I feel. He also knows what I know.
“The pleasure outweighs everything.” I send.
“Yes,” Stafford agrees, riding the sensual wave of magic that has him in its thrall. “But how many orcas will die tonight?
“A shit-load.”
How many? I know exactly, because I feel each and every one. Sorrow is like shards of ice in my veins, a unique layer of pain that adds more depth and flavor.
My demon’s in heaven.
When the starlings died, absorbing their life energy felt amazing. The Orcas, being so much larger, were more alive, and aware. There’s no comparison. The life essence from the orca pods passing is far, far more intense.
Once again, it’s terrible.
Once again, it’s wonderful.
Later, the top news story of the day is another staggering mystery. In 1918, approximately 1000 pilot whales were beached on the Chatham Islands, the largest whale stranding in recorded history. In 1985, about 450 pilot whales were stranded in Auckland, New Zealand. And last night, 438 orcas perished on Wreck Beach, Vancouver B.C.
Unknown to the media, but even more disturbing, is the mystery of why. Somewhere nearby, something extremely ancient, powerful, and—I fear, evil, has been feeding on the life force of animals. The Beast Lord and I agree, whatever this thing is, it’s been asleep or at least powered down.
Now, it’s waking.
It has an uncanny ability to control the thoughts and behavior of various animals.
It’s famished.
It’s lethal.
Worst of all, both of us understand what the entity wants. Whatever the damn thing is, it absorbs the essence of others. Death magic is how it feeds. Despite its huge feasts, it’s still hungry
That’s why I’m scared.
Wet my pants scared.
The Beast Lord’s wolf growls, a response to the bittersweet scent of my fear. “Are you sure?” Stafford sends, holding me close, hoping not to know what he knows.
