“I can’t believe you want us to help them.” Forrest crossed his arms over his chest. “Is your nose broken? They’re coyotes.”
I squared my shoulders and steeled my tone. “Now.”
Forrest’s eyes widened at the asserted dominance. He deflated, both dropping his gaze and shoulders. And he let out an audible breath. “As you say.”
He turned and headed toward the communal kitchen, with rounded shoulders and his arms hanging. I watched him for a moment.
Content that he would do as he was bid, I headed in a different direction.
The small crowd that had gathered at the gate had long scattered, and the village was full of life.
From the cobblestone street, I saw three men and a small boy carrying baskets through the gardens. There were rows of berry bushes and coulu trees ripe for picking. Pumpkins and squash vines grew across the ground in thick patches, while potatoes and carrots thrived beneath fertile soil.
Maintaining the gardens was one of the only regular occasions I had to use my powers. I threaded the earth’s energy into the fertile soil, nurturing my people’s primary food source. No gardens in all of the island matched those of Lycaon Village, which was why others came to us so often for trade. It was also why a handful more mouths to feed would not be a burden.
But providing for the coyotes wasn’t the issue. Allowing them to remain so close after what they had done—that was another matter.
Word would quickly spread. Everyone would know that I allowed them to stay, and Forrest was unlikely to be the only one displeased.
A pebble met my sandal and tumbled across the path ahead of me. I scooped up the stone and lifted it to the light. Granite.
I clasped my fingers around the granite and slipped it in my pocket for later.
My mind wandered to my father, and to the image of him collecting shells by the shore.
As a child, I’d idolized him. The whole village did. Level-headed and strongest of his generation, he was favored as next in line to be Warrior. But he’d never been an ambitious man and was content to leave the privilege to his brother.
One morning when I was fifteen, I woke to a dark sky. Our hut was silent, and my father wasn’t in his bed. I couldn’t say what had stirred me, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut.
I walked to his favorite place on the beach and found him knee-deep in the water pulling a canoe out into the waves. It had been the two of us my entire life, but I’d never seen that determined look in his eyes.
He smiled at me. “I’ve dreamed of my mate a thousand times. She’s out there, waiting for me.”
“You can’t leave the island,” I said. “Come, we’ll go home together.”
He shook his head. “Love makes you mad.”
I’d heard the saying countless times, but until that moment I’d dismissed it as something people said when they allowed lust to overpower reason. This time was different.
“Happiness is embracing the storm. I love you,” he said. “She calls to me. It’s time for me to answer.”
I walked the streets remembering my father’s sure smile as he rode off into the waves. For a long time, I regretted not chasing him thinking I could have dragged him home.
He wouldn’t have let me. I never had a chance.
His chances of finding my mother were just as slim. As ridiculous as I knew it was, part of me believed he did.
The memory surprised me, as I'd put that chapter of my life behind me years ago. My mother and father were long gone; the entire tribe had mourned them. And now, I couldn't allow my judgment to be clouded. I wasn't my father.
I looked up just in time to catch a woman turning the corner ahead of me—my cousin Dahlia.
She stopped short of crashing into my chest.
The tray she was carrying wobbled. I steadied it, catching an apple pastry before it toppled over the edge. It was still warm, and the fresh cinnamon and yeast scent made my mouth water.
Dahlia cringed and the tops of her ears turned red. “So sorry about that.”
She was an especially expressive person, trustworthy to a fault, and both a capable cook and caretaker.
“It’s okay,” I said. “Smells good.”
“Thank you. I made them over the fire pit. I know I could have—maybe should have—used the kitchen, but you just can’t get the same caramelization in there. I’m late heading for prep so I should just be…” She inched around me, and waved. “I’ll save you one if you’re going to be a while.”
I waved back. “Thanks.”
She hurried toward the kitchen, while I continued on my way to the far end of the village. Everyone else headed the same direction as Dahlia, saying hello as they went.
Before long, I was alone, standing in front of the iron door that appeared to lead to nowhere but a tiny metal box.
Nowhere would have been better.
After the coyotes had attacked Lycaon, Celedon Guardian of Land had constructed a prison to hold those who had surrendered. He’d left it to me.
Earth magic was required to open the door, which was why I had constructed a magically imbued key for Dahlia. She treated the prisoners’ wounds. She made sure they were fed and clothed. No one else could enter.
I placed my palm over the lock and reached into the essence of the metal. Golden gears were embedded between inches of solid iron, which resonated at a different frequency. I focused on that difference and willed the gears to turn.
The door opened.
Peering into the tunnel was like staring into the abyss, black and soul-sucking. I drew in a final breath of fresh air and stepped inside.
The last shreds of sunlight faded as the door closed behind me.
An unsettling sensation crept up my spine. I’d lost sight of the sky. I’d lost sight of the ground. Like a wet blanket over my lungs, the air was heavy and humid. My wolf stirred, bristling for freedom.
The space wasn’t tight like a natural cave. It was three men tall, and three wide. Even with the headway and knowing I could turn around and walk away, my wolf clawed and fought every step.
The tunnel wove down. It would have been too dark to see at all if not for the bioluminescent moss that coated the walls, giving the area an unearthly green glow.
I walked past the first cell and the second, past the sixth and seventh, down to the last. Each was far enough from the others that there could be no communication between the prisoners. If the distance wasn’t enough, the solid stone walls certainly buffered any sound—another reason the place made my skin crawl.
The door in front of me belonged to the only prisoner who had spoken a word since the coyotes had attacked the village and were detained. I placed my palm on the door, turning the gears between layers of iron.
The cell door opened.
On the floor by the far wall, Flint sat with his elbows resting on his knees and his head hanging in front of him, red hair covering his face. His gaze shot up to meet mine.
“Is it that time again already?” he asked.
“Hello,” I said.
“Hey.”
“Did your entire village know of your plans?”
He sighed and rolled his neck. “Do you tell your people everything?”
I looked over his expression, his sunken eyes, his hollow grin. Food was provided regularly, fresh water flowed through the edge of the room, and the glowing moss provided the same vitamins that sunlight would. Still, Flint grew thinner and sicklier with every day that passed. I didn’t like keeping him here, or any of them. But it wasn’t my idea. It was Lord Celedon’s.
“Those left behind didn’t know about the raid on Lycaon,” I said, this time as a statement instead of a question. This time my words carried the weight of alpha command.
His features remained smooth and expressionless, but he answered, “No. They didn’t know. Honestly, those of us who followed Herrick didn’t know. Our alpha said it was time to move, and as we’re supposed to, we followed.”
“You didn’t know
he intended to attack?” This surprised me. Did their warriors follow so blindly that no one spoke up against an idea that was clearly so ill-advised?
“Of course not,” Flint said, twisting his hands. “I keep telling you, he doesn’t tell anyone anything.”
I could sense no deception in his words, which was the way these conversations always went. Sometimes he didn’t answer, but he never lied.
“If you were released today, what would you do?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He looked up at the ceiling, rubbing his knuckles raw. “I’d return home to my village, and I’d wait for Herrik’s next instructions. Not that it matters.”
He didn’t know about his home or about how the dragons had destroyed everything. It was a wonder there had been any survivors. Somehow, the survivors had left, like they knew it wasn’t going to be safe.
“Why doesn’t it matter what you would do?” I asked.
His gaze became unfocused as he looked down at his hands. He let them drop into his lap. “Because we both know you’re not going to let me go. I’m going to die here.”
I hoped that wasn’t true. And I did want to let him go. I wanted to let all of them go, but I couldn’t tell him that. Flint didn’t lie to me, but he couldn’t be trusted. None of the coyotes could. If Herrik had told him to kill me, he would. Or at least he’d try.
“What do you know about the black dragon?” I asked.
“I don’t know anything about any dragons. The coyotes are not a chosen people.” His voice trailed, growing softer and more distant. “I’m tired. I’m done talking.”
I wanted to tell him that his village had been destroyed, but I feared that hope was all he had. Even if he said he would die here, he still yearned to return to his home. If I took that from him, I took everything.
I sighed. “You should know, some of your people have come to Lycaon.”
His chin shot up and he leaned forward, studying my face. “Another attack?”
“No,” I said.
He shook his head and knitted his brows together. “Then why?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.” I waited for a tell, for some inkling that he knew more than he let on. But he gave me nothing.
He shook his head. “Let me rest.”
With that, I shut the door and headed back up through the tunnels to the village above. As soon as I reached the surface, I sucked in a deep breath, filling my lungs with the calming scents of my home.
The air was wet with pine, sweet with berries, and rich and warm with dinner. I followed the sounds and scents of the night’s feast toward the dining yard. But my thoughts remained trapped in the cells deep in the belly of the earth.
Chapter 3
Briar
“I haven’t slept so well in...ever.” Sylvie stretched out on the cot next to mine. “Even if they kill us, it was worth it.”
I gave her a wry frown and glanced over to where the two children from our village slept. “Watch your tongue.”
Sylvie shrugged. “It’s true. If this is how they treat outcasts, imagine what it’s like inside those walls.”
I had imagined. We all had imagined, dreamed, longed for more in life. We’d all pretended as children that one day the Guardian of Land would swoop down to the coyote village and proclaim that we were his chosen people.
Imagination was overrated.
The reality of our situation was that most of our tribe had left us. We didn’t know where they were or if they were okay. I missed my brother, and I worried that if he hadn’t returned by now, he and the others may not return at all.
My worries didn’t help.
We were unwanted refugees. There was no way to know how familiar Thorn was with our situation. Certainly he knew what his guardian had done. He had to know that the dragon he served had destroyed our homes. If I had to guess, I’d say that was why we were given food and a place to sleep instead of being turned away.
With any luck, we could use his sympathy. Maybe Thorn would be willing to do a little more.
I rose from my cot less sore than usual. Usually I slept on the floor.
The patter of raindrops mixed with the hooting of an owl in the distance. Our villages were less than a day’s walk apart, yet we lived in entirely different worlds.
The cots were housed within a large tent, space for all thirteen of us. The covering was white linen, like the clothes that Thorn had worn the evening before. Light poured in through the fabric, but the rain did not.
My feet landed on mossy earth, cool and soft between my toes. I pulled on my shoes and made my way to the opening at the front of the tent. Raindrops trickled down from the trees above and disappeared into the lush forest floor.
I stepped out and peered up at the sky. The clouds formed a gray haze, yet it was nearly as bright as a sunny morning. Raindrops pattered against my cheeks.
I looked to the village wall, and to the pines within that towered over the landscape. There was movement in the trees. Standing alone on the vine bridge that connected one treehouse to the next was a single man—Thorn.
He was wearing green instead of white, and the wet linen clung to his shape, highlighting both the width of his shoulders and the massive bulge of his biceps. His shirt was glued to his chest and abs, showing off every chiseled muscle. His light hair appeared dark, slicked back from his face. Why was he standing out in the rain?
His gaze swept over me, and my breath caught. My skin heated at the memory of touching him, of standing close and breathing him in.
A trickle of water landed in my eye. I blinked and tucked my chin to my chest. The droplet rolled down my cheeks. I shook my head. Why was I standing out in the rain?
Like a fog had cleared from my brain, I remembered exactly what I needed to do. It was the whole reason we’d come to Lycaon. I needed to speak to him about the boulders. This was my chance.
I shielded my eyes with my hand, looked up at him, and called out loud enough that he could hear me, “Thorn—”
Someone’s hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled. I snapped my head around to protest and found Willow dragging me back inside the tent.
“What are you doing standing in the rain?” She lowered her brow and frowned. “Whatever it is, it’s not worth the risk.”
I opened my mouth and shut it again.
So many had become ill, I understood her concern. The affliction had taken enough of us already. No one knew exactly how it began, but none who had contracted the affliction had recovered.
A lump formed in my throat. “Sorry.”
She handed me a towel, and I gladly accepted. A chill rushed over me from head to toe. It was only then that I realized how long I must have been standing out in the rain and how wet I had allowed myself to become.
I wrung my hair through the towel, crimping the long strands.
“Knock knock,” a chipper voice came from outside the tent.
I turned around and stared at a blond woman who was standing in the doorway. Her scent was strange, not that of a wolf, but somehow familiar. Her lips spread slowly into a wide grin, and I shivered once more. I knew her.
She was one of the humans Herrik had held captive in the village. She was the human who’d stabbed Sylvie in the arm when the older woman had brought her food.
Sylvie stepped between me and the doorway. “Keep your distance from that one,” she said.
“No one’s going to invite me in?” The woman pushed through the open flaps and stepped inside. She shook her head, flinging water droplets from her golden locks.
I stepped up beside Sylvie, creating a wall between the human and our sick, between the human and our children. It was a small wall, sure, but it was something. Willow walked up to Sylvie’s other side, making us three strong.
“Oh shit,” the human said, with a grin and her gaze set on Sylvie. “I know you.”
“We know you, too.” Sylvie gritted her jaw.
The air in the tent was still, the tension thick. Why was she here?<
br />
The human appeared not to notice. She leaned forward, a confident gleam in her eye. “I hope there’s no hard feelings over the whole—” She mad a downward stabbing motion with her fist.
“No hard feelings?” I repeated her words slowly, not believing what she’d just said. It wasn’t a lie. I could hear the truth in what she said. She actually hoped Sylvie wasn’t mad at her.
“Great!” the woman said. “Looks like your arm is right as fucking rainbows. Kidnapping me and locking me up was kind of a dick move on your part. Now you’re here on my doorstep and—”
“You live here?” I asked. “In the wolf village?”
She nodded. “They’re not so bad, but talk around town doesn’t paint you motherfuckers in the finest of ways. I know firsthand you have a thing for fire.”
“Fire?”
“Like your hair. Big fucking flames. I told Forrest that there probably wouldn’t be badasses out here, though. I’m Polly, by the way.”
I didn’t know who Forrest was.
Polly looked over my shoulder to the cots behind us. The others were stirring and rising from their beds.
“I’m Briar.”
“Pretty. Thorny, too, a bit like bossman Thorn.” Polly waggled her brows. “Prickle each other all night long, am I right?”
I gasped, frowned, and shook my head.
“Flowers, briars, thorns—they’re all good shit. I’m supposed to get a roster.” She pulled a tablet of paper and a writing instrument from her pocket. “Are you the captain of this crew?”
I just stared at her, still unsure what to say to the strange woman.
“You wear the pants in this joint, right? I have an eye for these things. I’d put money on your fine ass as the prize pony.”
She wanted to know if I was in charge—maybe. It was difficult to follow some of what she said. Truly none of us were above the others. We didn’t have an alpha without Herrik, though he hadn’t acted like a true alpha to us for a long time.
“She’s in charge,” Willow said, turning to me.
“Yes, she is,” Sylvie chimed in.
“She led us here for help. Briar’s the reason we got to sleep in a bed.” Blossom pulled on my hand.
Wolf Warrior of Land (Alphas & Alchemy: Elemental Shifters Book 2) Page 2
