by LeAnn Mason
Pathetic, Randall.
“Hi, ma’am, could you tell me where I could find the queen? She asked that I see her before I left for the evening.” I figured politeness would be the best route when speaking to an employee of the royal household. Manners and all that.
With a small nod, the tall woman turned and led me further into the overly large mansion, turning right as she hit an intersection in the walls. I had to take quick steps to keep up with the woman’s longer, much more graceful stride. After another few moments, we stopped in front of a set of closed doors. Giving me a silent nod, she turned away, heading back to whatever dusting job I’d pulled her from for this tour.
“Thank you,” I called quietly after her swiftly retreating form. “Not the friendliest group,” I muttered before taking a deep breath and knocking solidly on the door of the room where I assumed the matriarch to be. Well, if the maid’s direction was truthful.
“Enter.”
Appeared she had been. I took a bolstering breath and grasped the ornate handle to push open the doors. As they opened inward and the light from within lit their surface, I realized that the wood had intricate carvings etched into their surfaces. The lines pulled my attention, complicated and swirling, I wasn’t sure of their origin—
“Miss Randall, leaving already? I thought I explained that I expect results.”
“You did, however, you failed to tell me just what the problem was I would be assisting your son with. You did not bring to light the very real threat to my life I would undertake by his mere presence.”
“And yet, here you stand, whole and healthy. No harm done. And now I am certain that you are the one for the job.”
It took a moment to absorb her words, her complete lack of empathy, or even guilt, at endangering my meager human life. I needed to make sure I was steel around this woman or she’d devour me as if I were a baby water buffalo floundering in the river at the back of the herd. “While I am happy that your suspicions were correct, your highness, I feel compensation needs to be addressed if I am to continue in your aid.” There, maybe that was assertive enough--
The abrupt bursting of my personal bubble stopped my thought cold. The look in the queen’s glowing golden eyes as they bore into mine from mere inches above—the closest she could get without dipping to my level—could only be described as predatory. Her lion shone from every inch of her rigidly coiled body, her substantial chest heaving near my shoulders, the height difference nearly comical if in different circumstances. I feared all my assertion had done was entice the predator.
“Listen here, human. If I so choose, I could force you into servitude with little more than a word. Do not presume you can make any demands of me. You will be back by eight o’clock tomorrow morning, or I will have you escorted out of Grimm Hollow,” the matriarch growled with curled fists. A double-take showed me she’d dug her nails deep enough to draw blood from her palms, the liquid pooling at the knuckles before dripping dramatically to the wood floor.
The sight consumed me. No sound filtered through my ears except for the theatrical splash of the small droplets hitting the floorboards with a resounding plink… plink… plink.
“Do you understand me, girl?” the queen opened a mangled hand, bringing the bloody appendage to grip my shoulder with bruising force. I winced, buckling under the pressure as my mouth opened in a silent cry. “Well?” The pressure increased with the question.
“Yes, ma’am,” I ground out, annoyed at how easily I was being forced to reimagine my assertiveness, proving my display nothing more than bravado.
My vision cleared, the tears I hadn’t known were leaving my eyes ceased with the absence of pain, leaving behind a dull throb, a reminder of the matriarch’s threat backed up by the bloody smears left on my clothes. Pushing up my glasses in a pathetic attempt to regain control of myself, if not the situation, I nodded briskly, once, before turning on my heel and essentially running away.
And I hated it. I hated that I could be controlled so easily. That I would be considered less than if not entirely expendable to these people. Creatures. Beings? I’d dwell on the science of it at another time. Right then, I just needed to get out. Be able to take a breath and assess my situation, my options, without any external pressures.
“So much for ‘guaranteed protection while under my employ,’” I muttered darkly, finally allowing myself to stop moving, free of the oppressive confines.
Late afternoon sun lit the sky with the gold and pink of a fancy cocktail, bathing everything in sight with a citrine hue, making it all appear… sickly. Maybe I was projecting. I’d felt good, optimistic almost about my time with Rory, only to have the feeling burst like the fragile bubble it was. Remembering the drip of the blood to the floor, I cast a distasteful look to my bruised shoulder.
The buttery fabric was marred with a large smear of blood, the fluid now dried to a dull rust, unmistakable in origin. Especially to the nose of a Shifter. Allya would flip when she saw. Maybe I needed to change shirts before I let her find me. Maybe I should make sure Jason was with her, or me. I figured he had a way or two to calm her. We didn’t need her losing control and doing something stupid.
I was safe, would stay safe. I’d make sure of it, for her sake just as much as mine. I wouldn’t let my only friend in this world do something to get herself exiled… or worse. Remembering the gifted cell phone, I pulled it out and called Allya for a ride, or at least an escort. I would get myself lost if I tried to walk to Elsie’s from the front of the estate. And I had a gut feeling that walking around in circles by myself at twilight would not be wise. Not yet. Not while I was so new to Grimm Hollow, and human.
It seemed there weren’t too many of us.
The phone call resulted in a plan to meet at the diner downtown for dinner, so I began a steady walk back toward the town’s center, which I could clearly find, thanks to it being well lit and bustling.
A few minutes later, I pushed through the plate glass door, dinging the small bell attached and announcing my arrival to the several people standing around the hostess station who all turned to look. With an embarrassed smile at the attention, I meekly lifted a hand and mouthed an apology, my head swiveling to look for my companions. The action gave me a valid reason not to acknowledge the gawkers. “I, uh, found my party,” I stammered to no one in particular, sidestepping in the direction of the booths along the wall furthest from where I stood.
Perfect.
Allya sniffed, her attention homing in on my shoulder as I slid into the seat next to her and across from Elsie. “Why is there blood on you?” she asked, picking at the stained section of fabric. “What happened? Who bled?” The agitated timbre of her voice betrayed her mounting concern.
“It belongs to Lorraine Leone. Am I right?” Elsie answered calmly, to which I nodded dumbly.
“How did you know?” That was an awfully educated guess to have been made blindly. But then, she knew where I had been all day.
“She has a habit of digging her nails into herself when she gets riled up. Also, a little birdie told me.”
“A little…”
“Birdie,” Elsie finished my trailed thought, eyes twinkling.
Silence descended into our midst as all three of us sat, our eyes moving from one to another as if each waiting for another to speak some profound thought.
“Can you speak to birds?” I finally asked, dubious but intrigued. Had our lark somehow known and reported to the Elder? The eye twinkle spread, ticking up her thin lips on one side as the fight she waged with the mirth was lost.
“No, dear, I cannot speak to birds or any animal. But I do have other inconspicuous means.”
I narrowed my eyes as I wondered what she meant—who she meant—unless of course, as she originally indicated, the queen was prone to such bouts of restraint…
“Hi! You must be Mae. I’ve heard a lot about you lately,” a bright voice chirped next to me, pulling my scrutiny from the rather confounding older woman. Bright blue eye
s framed with coal dark lashes and a sweeping line of black eyeliner caught and held my attention. The irises almost looked to have color undulating within. They were made all the more striking by the porcelain color of her skin and the almond shape of her eye, accentuated by the inkiness of the outline. Her teeth were near blinding, encased by plump ruby-red lips turned up to show sharp cheekbones.
“You’re beautiful.”
“While that’s true, Mae, it’s kinda rude to stare,” Allya admonished playfully, a chuckle escaping when she leaned over to push at my chin with her fingertips. An audible clack sounded as my jaw closed forcefully. “Bianca, this is Mae. Mae, this is Bianca. I’m trying to convince her to bring her katana and train with me and Jason one day. I’d bet that behind that disarming smile lies a competent swordsman.”
Bianca’s smile transformed from bright and sweet to sly and coy. “Swordswoman. Or Samurai, thank you very much, Scarlet,” she said with a wink before the expression cleared completely, the girl’s attention turning my way again. “So, know what you want?”
“Not in the slightest,” I answered.
I had no ideas about anything anymore.
CHAPTER 15
“You came back.”
I contained the shiver wracking my body as the rich tone reached where I again perched on the wooden bench in the garden. “Morning.” Eight a.m. came too early for some, but I had been up for hours already, making sure I had some reference materials for my “tutoring” sessions with the feral beast. The best weapon available to me at the moment was knowledge. I'd run by the Archives when the sun was just cresting the horizon, the sky lit with the fire of its breach, to ask Marie if I would be able to borrow any books pertaining to Shifter physiology and psychology.
“So, let’s get you figured out so we can make you all better,” I trilled toward the voice. “And get your mother off my back,” I grumbled lowly.
“Ah. So you’re here only to appease my mother,” he snarled just as lowly.
“Crap. I forgot about Shifter hearing.” His eyes began to glow, chest heaving and fists curled. Remember not to mutter derogatory things with Shifters around…
“Rory, no. I want to help you… I promise. I just—”
“What? You just what? Don’t think you’ll survive? Are you scared of me? Want to be anywhere else, but my mother has threatened you with death if you fail?” he interrupted, beginning to pace. This line of questioning did nothing to calm him down. I needed to change the subject.
“I don’t know if I’ll be enough,” I whispered, realizing what I truly feared.
It wasn’t Rory. Wasn’t his mother. Wasn’t leaving Grimm Hollow. But that I wouldn’t be enough to ground him. I didn’t know enough, wasn’t smart enough.
That I was just a silly human girl.
I startled out of my spiral when something squeezed my shoulder. My heart rate slowed before rising to a gallop again for an entirely different reason. Deep, chocolate brown eyes connected to mine, pulling me back, grounding me. My heart rate slowed, as did my breathing, until my attraction and subsequent mortification sped me back up. Looking away, I searched for the bird. It seemed to be what we did when we wanted to avoid something, but I didn’t find her.
“You are enough. Being this close, able to… touch you.” His eyes shifted to where his hand still rested on my shoulder before they jerked back to stare at mine.
“But, I don’t know anything about you.” I'm not the right person for this job. “I usually have the answers, and if I don’t, I can find out with the touch of a button. But here? Now? I don’t know where to find… or how long it will take—”
“I have faith in you, Mae,” he cut off my self-deprecating ramble in a surprisingly matter-of-fact intonation. No doubt entered his tone.
I wasn’t so sure. “Why? Why do you have faith in me? You know less about me than I do you.”
“I’m a good judge of character.”
Spluttering a laugh, I cast a sideways look and coughed to clear my mirth when I noticed his complete sincerity. I didn’t know how he’d respond to being laughed at. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but doesn’t your lion, which is the primal, reactive side of you, the portion that most likely perceives magic and character… see a threat in everyone? Not everyone can be bad,” I finished lamely. “I don’t believe that Allya is a threat to you. Jason? Your mother? Well, she’s certainly a threat to me but I doubt to you,” I amended in a ramble.
“Touché. But I bet you can figure out the cause or at least a fix.”
“Again with the certainty.” I pulled myself up, deciding I was going to put on my big-girl panties and be the investigative smarty-pants I was purported to be. I focused back on the notebook, which had a few points listed that had stuck out to me from my reading. “Okay. So, Shifter animals are not separate entities—animals—from their human counterpart, correct?”
Rory nodded warily, his focus completely intent on me as he pulled back to a stand, arms crossed, several feet from me. “As you said, our animals are our most base instincts. My lion has always been strong, guarded, and wary, but I’ve been able to contain it.”
“Let’s start there. How did you contain it?” I asked, studious, pushing my glasses back up my nose as I crossed my ankles and looked to Rory.
Big mistake. He was too distracting, all brooding, wheaten intensity tinged with vulnerability. All I wanted to do was make things better for him, to take that jaded look from his eyes. Would they appear more like molten syrup than the colder, more umber color of his current stare? Would I survive a smile?
Man, I want to be the reason he smiles…
“Earth to Mae.” Rory snapped fingers at me in rapid succession—apparently, one snap wouldn’t have been enough—a smug smirk tugging at his lips. He knew I’d been daydreaming about him.
Kill me now.
Clearing my throat, I again focused on my task. I needed to gather more information, formulate a hypothesis, and then find ways to test my theories and hope that one got the job done.
And to stop daydreaming about the unattainable, and clearly damaged, supernatural royal I’d been coerced into… fixing.
“So… how did you keep from shifting when you hit puberty?” My reading informed me that Shifters usually began shifting about the time the human body started to mature. So many new hormones flooding the system allowed for the swings that enabled the animal’s emergence. I’d been happy to learn that I didn’t have to worry about infant predatory animals roaming around. I’d guess it was by evolutionary design. A way for the Shifters to keep from being outed in society. Possibly even from losing young.
“Been doing a little research have you, Beauty?” Rory’s smirk turned playfully mocking… I think. It could have been plain mocking. I didn’t know him well enough to claim to know his expressions.
Maybe that would change…
“Beauty? Why would you call me that?” Took me long enough to register the moniker. Another jab? I narrowed my eyes, realizing it wouldn’t be meant to flatter. “Whatever. Nevermind. So? How did you control your changes?”
The mirth dropped from his face, the lines of his body stiffening, becoming defensive. “I fought it.”
“You… fought it?” I repeated dumbly, clicking my pen absently. “How exactly?” He needed to give me better, more specific answers if I was going to have any kind of a breakthrough.
“I wouldn’t give myself over to the emotion… or tried not to. It became very hard to shift at all, actually. Ask Jason and Nick. Those guys were usually around,” he bit.
“So you’ve always had a hard time shifting? Now you shift at the drop of a hat, but before, you were able to fight the base instincts. What changed?” I made a note.
“My father came home from an operation in a coma, basically dead.”
“An operation? Like surgery?”
“No. Like a Sentinel-based mission that ended with my father getting impaled by a Witch’s freaking death spell.” I’d hit a nerve.
I went stock-still. Maybe if I didn’t spook the apex predator, I would survive this situation. He’d become visibly agitated in the telling, his voice nearly unintelligible as it modulated, his dark eyes lightening to a bright amber, and his curling fingers were tipped with long, curved claws that impaled the palms of his hands.
Like mother, like son…
I needed to steer him into another direction. A safer one. My current line of questioning was clearly not going to be the way we overcame his spontaneous shifting, but it gave some insight. “Are you worried about your father? Is that the trigger, the difference?”
He looked defeated, nearly slumping as tension and anger seemed to leach from his body. Shuffling closer, he turned and slowly let himself fall onto the bench next to me. This time, I pushed as far away as possible.
He noticed.
“I scare you, don’t I?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to lie and say no. I wanted very much to believe I wouldn’t get hurt, that for some strange and unknown reason, he wouldn’t hurt me.
He saw the truth in my non-answer, nodding sadly. “Yeah, that is the truth of my life now. I scare everyone.”
“But we’re trying to fix it,” I ventured cautiously. “I promise I will do whatever I can to understand and then correct the imbalance.” The words just came out, but the moment they did, I realized what we needed to find.
I wrote in my notes. One word.
Balance.
“Talking with Allya last night, it seems, at least for her, that finding a balance between the animal and the human is crucial. I know it’s different for you.”
“Why is it different for me?”
Hearing the tinge of defensiveness in his tone—and posture, and face—I rushed to amend. “I mean between a born Shifter and a made one.”
“There are no “made” Shifters. Contrary to popular belief perpetuated by modern television and such, a bite or scratch cannot turn a human into a… werewolf.” Rory’s tone dripped with contempt for the idea that something so absurd could be true.
