Black Queen: Stray: Fated Mates Paranormal Shifter Romance (Shifters Among Us Book 1)

by Lidiya Foxglove

  Ugh. He sounded so smug.

  “Other talents. I’m so sure,” I said. “I bet you’re no one’s boy toy.”

  “I’m no one’s boy, and no one’s toy. You’re right about that.”

  “Ian is not my boy toy, anyway. He’s far away from me.” I took a deep breath.

  “You care about him, though.”

  “Well, yeah. I will always care about him.”

  Waylon didn’t hassle me anymore about that. He went silent again, so silent that I kept thinking he might have fallen asleep, but he was definitely aware. Just very still. I was feeling so antsy, my skin crawling, my senses on high alert for Ansel’s return or any sign of Alistair and Mina.

  After a little while it started to annoy me a little. I had never known Waylon well, but he was anything but calm when he was younger and still lived in Brooklyn. He was a hellion, always running all over town, drinking and fighting and partying, but he had changed a lot. Despite his irritability and arrogance, he had also learned magic, and that wasn’t easy.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What happened, like…right after? Did you go into magical training or something?”

  “You could say that,” he said, with a sharp laugh. “My dad blamed me for everything. He felt like I’d fucked up and humiliated him, and he kicked me out of the house.”

  “Kicked you out? After you lost your sight? Did you have anywhere to go?”

  “No.”

  “Could you even get around?”

  “We lived near a train track,” he said. “I knew that much. I’d heard the trains going by. Otherwise I had no idea where I even was, since we’d just moved out there. It was weird. I think I would have felt a little less blind here, because I have a picture of here. I didn’t have a picture of there. But I knew I could follow a train track, and that’s where I went. I started walking the train track. I had about twenty bucks. I got to some cafe by the train tracks and I ordered some all-day breakfast and a cup of coffee, and…” He paused. “I didn’t really know what to do. I think my dad thought I would find a place to sleep that night and then crawl home and plead for his help, and then he would have control over my life. He always did want that. He would give me hell for my antics.” Waylon shrugged a little. “But he wanted me to have to say that I really needed him. To give up that control.”

  “I take it you figured out something.”

  “Yeah, the lady at the diner told me there were some abandoned train cars about a mile away, on a piece of old track that split off the line. And she said if I came back in the morning, she’d give me a meal. So I took her up on that and found the train cars. But there was a guy down there already living in the cars. That was Leif. He was a sorcerer, but without any real aim except to connect with magic itself. He had no interest in money or power or revenge or any of the things that mattered to me. And that’s how it started.”

  “You were homeless?”

  “Not homeless. I had a home, in the train car. Hobo, maybe…”

  "So Leif taught you magic. It isn't easy, though, or is it?"

  "Of course it isn't easy," Waylon said. "That's why I'm here now. Because I have something that people need. Something you need, kitten."

  "I don't fucking need you," I grumbled, but I couldn't help looking at the arrogant little tilt of his head and feeling begrudging admiration. "I could learn magic too."

  He laughed longer than I really thought was necessary. "You wanted to know what I've been doing all these years, and that's it. You ever seen one of those movies with a training montage where in about five minutes you figure five months passed? Well, try five years. Leif was a chill guy but he put me through the wringer. I was at my lowest point, feeling useless. Have you ever had a moment where you feel like you're fighting against a wall and the wall is yourself?"

  "Kinda."

  "It's a good feeling when you break down that wall." Waylon smirked. "Not to get too philosophical."

  "You said Leif ‘was'. Is he...?"

  "He's dead, yeah," Waylon said. "He had his own demons, like...somehow the wisest people always do, I guess, like they give up too much of themselves in the process of getting wise. Luckily, I'm not wise or good like he was so I'm not going anywhere."

  "And...your dad did eventually take you back?"

  He swept right past my question. "Do you know what kept me going all that time, through the shame and the helplessness and the sheer impatience of trying to remake my own self?" he asked in a soft, almost gentle voice that made me curious to know the answer despite myself.

  "No..."

  His grin was like a trap snapping around a foolishly exposed piece of me. "Knowing that someday, the girl who did this to me would need me. No matter how much she tried to fight it. That there would be something no one could do as well as me, and you would be begging me for help. It’s not just about bribing you, kid. It’s about getting to hold your fate in my hands this time."

  I recoiled, furious at myself for giving him an opening. “Except for the fact that I can kill you with a thought anytime."

  "Can you?" he said.

  He didn't sound worried.

  “You don’t have any control,” he said. “You’re scared of your own powers. You’ve never used them since that day, have you?”

  “No…” I hated thinking about that day and what I’d done. I’d saved our lives. But at what price to my mental health?

  I never entirely forgot that I turned men to dust. Just like that.

  “Anyone would be scared of my powers,” I said. “They would be scared to be around me, if they knew.”

  “I’m not scared of you, pussycat,” he said. “I don’t think those powers will come out easily. My powers, on the other hand, are well honed. And when we find the Red Queen, she can heal my sight. You’ll need me. And I’m never going to let you forget it, until you’ve paid me back for what you did to me.”

  The only thing in the world seemed to be that voice of his, low and rough, and sexy as hell. I wished I didn’t notice it. I hated that even as he was making me feel so angry at him, at his arrogance and the fact that he was bent on getting revenge for something a fourteen year old girl did in a panic while saving his life…

  I was looking at his mouth. His gorgeous lips, and his sharp teeth, and somehow knowing that kissing him would feel like a 4th of July fireworks finale inside my gut.

  When I kissed Ansel it was just…nice.

  I wanted more than nice.

  But I couldn’t fall for that. Damn. What kind of cliche was that? He wasn’t falling for me. I had to get better at whatever game he was trying to play.

  I could never let my guard down with Waylon Silver.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ansel

  I coughed as a haze of smoke enveloped me. The Raven’s Nest was thick with it, and it didn't come from cigarettes or pot, but some unfamiliar scent, exotic and alluring, but raising my hackles all the same. Not that birds really had hackles. It's probably there to mask the scent of shifters from wolves...so no one knows who anyone is, no matter what.

  I walked down a maze-like hall, where people in couples or small groups of friends stared at me like I didn't belong but they didn't really care. They were decked out for a night on the town, a girl in a silver puffer jacket and dyed blue hair slowly making out with a poor man's Robert Smith from the Cure in one corridor while a few girls in eyeliner, black platforms and shimmering minidresses that hugged their gaunt bodies as tight as bandages drank cocktails, swaying to a club beat.

  The glamour was only a veneer, barely hiding a sense of wild danger like I stood at the gates of Faery.

  I tried to square this place with the sweet, scrawny little brother I left behind. A lump rose in my throat. But I was an expert at putting on airs, so I kept a cool smile at the ready as I made my way to the center of the place, where a long, curved wooden bar surrounded a crowded dance floor. The floor was a deeply stained concrete and
the walls were gashed, but covered in ancient layers of band posters.

  Yeah, something fucking bad goes down here.

  It looked like a wolf fighting ring.

  "I'm looking for Florian," I said, without pause after I ordered a Guinness. "I think you know him."

  "Florian? No."

  "Maybe he goes by a different name."

  "I think you're at the wrong place, dude." The bartender was trying to play cool.

  "I don't want trouble," I said.

  "That's good."

  "Do I look like him?" I raised an eyebrow. "Give my face a good look."

  The bartender was uncertain now. He saw the resemblance and it made me unexpectedly happy, to think I still looked like Florian, or he looked like me.

  "I'm his brother," I said, taking the beer.

  The bartender looked around, grim-faced now even though he was a boyish type and it was a tall order to look boyish and grim at the same time. I was putting him in a bad spot. "He--uh--I don't know if he'll want to talk to a brother."

  "Do you have a brother?"

  "No."

  "He'll want to talk to me," I said softly, but he could also tell I wouldn't go away.

  "Give me a minute."

  The beer calmed my nerves a little. I didn't actually know if Florian would want to see me. He was a complete stranger now, more of a stranger than I could have guessed. That was clear just from looking around. I could appreciate a good club--fashions, drinks, music. I would have been proud of him if he ran some sexy late night spot. Even if it hosted pets. You do what you have to do to survive sometimes.

  No, this wasn't that.

  I was unsettled inside, already feeling some regret, but I couldn't turn back either.

  "Ansel..."

  My brother appeared through a curtain made of shiny black beads leading to the back. Somehow, he'd grown taller than me. Impossible. Only by an inch, maybe, but still. He was still thin, but now he was built, with tattooed muscles showing me even at a glance that his presence was dangerous. He was even more beautiful than me as a little kid. Florian was always fragile, angelic. That was why a part of me always thought he might be dead. He had that look, like he'd be born dying of something, but in a Hollywood sort of way.

  Now he definitely wasn’t dying.

  His hair was jet black and longish, shielding his eyes a little, like a built-in cloak just for the face. He was dressed in a flashy shirt, jeans and steel toed boots that I suspected were not just for show. He looked like he definitely listened to the music his club was playing. His face split into a smile but his eyes were hard. I was already trying to decide if he was just a club owner or a bouncer, or something worse. Pimp? Hunter?

  He’s still just a bird. No way. He wouldn’t do that. Not my brother.

  "Florian," I said. "I've been looking for you for a long time. But you've made out pretty well for yourself, huh?"

  I always thought that when I saw Florian again, I would hug him and tell him I was sorry and I'd missed him more than I could say, but one look at whatever he'd turned into and I could tell that was a bad idea.

  "Yeah, not bad," Florian said. "Ansel. I don't believe it. Am I taller than you now?" He got close to me and put his hand up to measure me. "What do you know…" His grin slashed his still-pretty mouth, his cold eyes turning even harder.

  "You're about a centimeter taller," I said. "Come on."

  "How did you find me?" His voice was like everything else here--light on the surface, focused like the sights of a sniper's gun just beneath. He didn't even let me answer. "It was that sexy little cat girl. Who was she?"

  "Oh, just someone I hang out with sometimes. We never come here, but our friends were feeling some adventure tonight."

  "You got some, didn't you?" Florian snapped his fingers. "Where are my manners? Come back with me and we'll catch up a little."

  The bartender shot me a look.

  What, am I afraid of my own damn brother now?

  “Sure,” I said.

  He slunk back through the curtain to a very dim room with some sunken couches and magazines strewn around on a table or two, but mostly there was a lot of open space. Florian glanced at us both in a mirror hanging on the wall.

  "You're still looking very sharp," Florian said. "And you look like you work out."

  "Not enough, but yes. I work out a little. You’re one to talk. Who made you a man in just seven days?”

  “It’s been a little longer than that,” Florian said. No love for a Rocky Horror reference. “You gay?”

  Everyone asked me that. I managed not to sigh. ”No. Not usually, although my working partner does have a pretty good-looking ass,” I said. "Is this really what you're thinking when you haven't seen me in twenty years? You must know a really wonderful single guy. I wish I could help.”

  "Nah," Florian said. "Just feeling you out. What are you doing?"

  "I'm wondering what you're doing," I said. "I'm this close to just coming right out and asking." I looked at the makeup station and the bed in the corner with bandages, salves and gauze covering the nearby table. "Looks like some violent theatrics."

  "No need to ask questions you already know the answer to," Florian said. "Do you want to skip right to the part where you're appalled and shamed?"

  "I've been looking for you for ever," I said, finally cracking a little. "Like I care what you're doing. I'm just glad you're alive and well.”

  "Well?" Florian snorted. "You left me behind."

  "I never meant to. I mean--are you well? I should have asked."

  "Oh, I am well, now," he said. "I'm having the time of my life."

  "Wolf fighting?"

  "You know it. You want to watch a match? Around three in the morning, the dancing stops and the fighting begins. The magic hours."

  “I don’t have a taste for blood," I said, but I crossed my arms. "Seriously, do you really think I meant to abandon you? Are you trying to make me feel like shit? You're the only family I have. Can we get out of here and have a real drink somewhere? Hash this out? Catch up?"

  "You've been looking for me for twenty years?" Florian said. "Well, for twenty years I've been surviving without you. Without the shadow of you, either. You: tougher, stronger, more favored everywhere. Of course, you also protected me from so much. Without you, I had to figure it out on my own."

  “That’s good,” I said. "It's not like I needed you to need me. But I wasn't that much tougher. I just learned to fake it better because I was older."

  "I guess, to be blunt, I'm not looking for you," Florian said. "I don't want you in my life."

  “Dear god, man.” I laughed, not knowing what to say. "I guess family isn't worth shit. Maybe it isn't. Maybe the real family is the one you make. Fine." I felt gut punched.

  Florian was looking at the floor, hands on his hips. "You don't belong here."

  Did he want me to just walk out the door like I'd been dumped? You shouldn't be able to dump your own brother.

  Something was wrong.

  You do need me. I can still tell. I'm still your big brother.

  "Ansel, I'm telling you to just get the fuck out," Florian said. "Please."

  I wrestled with it. I wanted to hug him now, but I knew he'd push me away. Waylon could be prickly, so I knew moods, but Waylon was a teddy bear compared to Flor.

  I took a business card from my wallet and gave it to him. "You haven't seen the last of me," I said. "And if you need me..."

  "I hope I've established that I don't," Florian said.

  "What if I need you?" I asked him.

  He met my eyes. Our eyes were twins. The same soft gold-flecked brown. I saw my brother, the one who loved me, the only family I had.

  Some bigger guy burst in the door and said, "Hey, I've got a newb to fight Pascal tonight. Oh--shit, didn't mean to interrupt."

  "It's fine," he said. "Go," he said to me. "My schedule is packed tonight. And none of it is your business."

  I patted his shoulder. "Take care, Flor
. Call me anytime."

  Despite that, I didn't leave the club. I nursed a couple of beers until the fight started. I couldn't let him go that easily, even if I left Waylon waiting all damn night.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Ian

  My mind slipped into a dulled, disbelieving state as I was thrown into the back of a van with a bag over my head and driven to some unknown place. It's like a movie, I kept thinking. This is how movie people feel. And then someone saves them. Or they wait for an opening and start kicking ass.

  I was dragged out of the van and across the threshold of a building. I smelled vomit and garbage. It was the middle of the night. Once inside, I smelled fear--and other wolves.

  Yeah, I'm not gonna be kicking any ass.

  "Flor?" one of my captors called to the approaching footsteps.

  "You got one for me?" the soft but rough voice replied. "He's a little skinny." A finger jabbed me between the ribs. “But I’ve seen worse.”

  “Skinny? Are you selling me for meat?" I kinda meant it as a joke but immediately regretted it. I was the guy bringing prime time jokes to a late night event.

  "No...," ‘Flor’ said, and I could tell he was smiling. "You're tall. We can work on the rest."

  "Fuck." A brothel. "I'm not--worth it. I'm a Celtic musician. And I've been starting to get into bluegrass. I talk about banjos and ballads in my spare time. I'm not sexy, I swear to god. My dad will pay a ransom, if that's what you want. You'll do better that way."

  "A nerd," Flor said, patting my cheek through the sack. He had a very strong pat. ”My favorite kind to play with. Makes for a good show."

  They talked money for a minute in low voices. Flor paid them.

  "Sorry," said Esther’s guard, passing me off and apparently taking some cash. "I'm just protecting my mistress. Nothing personal, because you seem pretty clueless, but I can't take chances. Flor will take good care of you."

  "I'm doubting that," I said. “Does Esther know you sell people?”