by A. K. Koonce
I swat his hand away lightly and take a step back from him, my spine tensing with every move. He reminds me too much of someone else but also not at all. He’s tall and blonde with the steely eyes of his kind. I haven’t been able to look him in the eye since we met. He knows he makes me uncomfortable but he has no idea why. Annoyingly, my distance seems to only cause more of a fascination within him.
“Some might say you’re the first, Declan,” Luca says, scanning the crowd like a hungry cat in a field of mice.
Declan assesses every inch of my body, his eyes burning over my skin. The clothes I wear are similar to the other females but much less revealing. Luca chooses to wear thin, black material that wraps around her chest and ties in the back with matching material around her waist that falls to her mid-thigh. No one sweats much in the Wandering community because no one wears much clothing, an enticing choice of fashion that only seems to breed their lax perspective of love.
It took me months to adjust from the modest clothes of the village I left behind and my fingers still fidget at my bare shoulders and the few inches of my exposed torso, itching to hide my insecurities as much as possible.
“Why are your jeans muddy? Why are you even wearing jeans?” Declan asks like it’s the most urgent issue we might ever have. He glares at the tight jeans that cover my legs, the dry dirt that crusts my boots, and follows the length of my body up to the crossing black top that ties around my neck.
The jagged scar along my rib cage that’s barely peeking out tingles against the cool night air and I force my hands not to show weakness at acknowledging the imperfection and memory.
“Why are you wearing jeans, Declan?” I ask in a childish tone, taking a sip of the warm alcohol.
Okay, not my best response.
His smile lights up his eyes like I just correctly answered his question. He leans in close and I can feel him brush against my thick, curly hair. “I’d happily take them off if you wished, love,” he says in a hushed whisper that runs down my neck.
I roll my eyes and clench my jaw as I swing my elbow back into his stomach. I hit hard. Hard enough to hurt me as well as him—probably myself more than him. Slowly, he puts one arm over his stomach protectively and laughs. His calm and quiet laughter is almost enough to make me murder him on the spot. His happiness feels so genuine it almost physically hurts me, my chest heaving tight as I realize it’s an emotion that no longer exists for me.
Luca shifts towards us in a defensive stance but I shake my head at her as Declan stalks away.
“I’m surprised they haven’t thrown the hybrid out yet.”
Guilt smothers me as Luca’s statement sinks in. She’s right, Declan isn’t accepted even within the mystic community…
An hour passes with incredible slowness. I’m content listening to Luca describe a new defensive training technique that she’s been working with me on when someone lingers into our conversation.
“I could always join you ladies tomorrow to show you firsthand how that’s actually done,” a tall and stocky warrior says with a smile. His height towers over me but as Luca pushes her shoulders back, I realize she meets him at eye level. “It’s one thing to talk through or mimic these skills but it helps to have training with someone who has had experience in battle.” That charming smile is still spread wide as he leans into me. Clearly, he has no idea what he just said.
Stalking with careful intent, Luca moves past me, brushing my arm against hers, a predatory swagger in her stride. Her glowering eyes hold his until she’s toe to toe with the warrior. Slender bare feet brush the tips of his shining black boots. She harnesses his cautious but curious stare and her revealing and pretty outfit exposes the toned muscles in her back, arms, legs, and stomach.
“If you don’t turn away from our conversation that you rudely interrupted, right now,” her eyes shine against the fire behind him, her words slow and meaningful, “you’ll have even more experience on the receiving end of that particular technique to brag about.”
His head tilts slightly, calculatingly, dark mahogany eyes question the ability of the beautiful female standing before him. The once pleasant smile is washed from his face as he bares his teeth. A spasm shakes his jaw, threatening to reveal the beast beneath the surface.
A few fae nearby stop dancing to the rhythm of the drum and watch the three of us, their interest spiking through the tension around me. Waiting. Two warlocks drinking next to us glance our way but continue their conversation without missing a beat.
The warrior takes one last look into Luca’s menacing eyes before brushing past her, his shoulder knocking against hers. He walks far into the large crowd and doesn’t look back.
I take another sip of my warm drink, letting it set uncomfortably in my stomach, as Luca stares into the distance where the warrior disappeared.
“I’m not trying to brag, but me taking my pants off would have been more entertaining than that, I promise,” Declan whispers to me as he leisurely walks by.
The tension leaves my body in an instant. I close my eyes and force the smile from touching my solemn lips.
Chapter Two
Rejection
The night is passing with little entertainment. It’s nearly two in the morning and the Wanderers show no sign of slowing down the party. Their normally swift feet stumble against the dry dirt, their movements more and more staggering as the night carries on. Luca caught the attention of an abnormally handsome fae over an hour ago and has been dancing the night away.
Entering the large military style tent feels like a bad choice but I walk inside anyway. The question I’ve been set on asking for the past few months has been burning inside me and consuming my thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I hold courage in my lungs to ask what I’ve already asked nearly half a dozen times now.
The layers of the thick tan fabric that creates four walls of the tent shield the air flow but it’s not uncomfortably hot. Unless you’re nervous and have had a little too much to drink.
I swallow hard and wipe the sweat from my palms on my dark jeans, pieces of dried mud flake off against my fingertips, momentarily distracting me as I grind the pebbles of dirt into dust. My heart pounds loudly, flushing my face with heat as I try to recall the words I want to say.
A few mystics lean against a table at the side of the room talking privately and a large table sits in the center. It’s long enough to accommodate at least a dozen people but only half the chairs are being used.
The well-traveled ground is permanently imperfect, dips and divots detail the packed dirt. A partially worn path leads to the front of the table, right to the one person the Wanderers trust above all others.
Lord Raske sits at the head of the table and his commanding general, and son, Kaino, sits to his right. His second in command, and most surprisingly loyal subject, Declan sits to his left. No one here trusts the hybrid and yet their leader does. The three of them speak in a quiet and serious tone, a static buzz courses through the room from the sound of their hushed voices.
Though Declan is silently despised among the Wanderers, he has his lord’s highest respect. Declan was a wanderer long before the government established a community to dump them all into and he helped Lord Raske raise this village into the powerful and self-reliant foundation that it is today.
What everyone is well aware of though, is that a decade of success isn’t something to cheer about. Our community is young and has enemies all around. Including the ones who granted us our secret freedom.
Confidently, I step up to the opposing end of the table and force myself to pull my hands behind my back in a military stance. A stance Ky took thousands of times. I swallow the thought down and keep my eyes trained on Lord Raske and no one else. My spine straightens, my chin held high, my eyes respectful but unwavering.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the surrounding members of the table focus on me; Kaino, Declan and finally Lord Raske.
Lord Raske fills the end of the table, his heavy frame leanin
g into the old wood, testing the strength of the structure as he presses his large forearms onto the top. His black hair is trimmed close, flecks of gray are scattered throughout. His eyes, so like his sons, stare back at me, a glint of a predator present within the depthless dark irises.
“Fallon, I’m happy to see you enjoying our festivities this evening.” A creasing smile fills the lord’s round jovial face. “Do you need Kaino for anything? We’d be willing to spare him.” He laughs a booming echo, his happiness shaking his wide body, and the majority of the mystics join him. Except for Kaino and Declan.
Lord Raske is pushing Kaino and I together, like two birds in a small, small cage. I blink harshly and struggle to form a slight smile on my tight lips. The false emotions my mother taught me to use to my advantage are fading and are hard to recall when needed.
With Lord Raske’s stature and loud jarring voice, it comes as a surprise that he is a kind and reassuring leader but rejection hurts even with the gentlest of words.
“Thank you, Lord Raske, but I was hoping to speak with you, actually,” I say as neutrally as possible, ignoring the offer of his son that he has thrown at my feet like rotten tomatoes from a heckler. Lord Raske raises his thick eyebrows encouragingly, although he and I both know what I’m about to say. “I would like to help in our militia, even if it’s just the search and rescue teams to help find new people. People like me. I’ve been working with Luca for nearly a year now and my combat skills have improved drastically.” My breathing threatens to increase like my pounding heartbeat but I take even breaths to calm myself.
Kaino shifts in his seat, the muscles of his wide shoulders tensing, and he looks away toward the blemished spindle leg of the table. Declan glances at Raske out of the corner of his silver eyes. Both commanders remain silent. Lord Raske’s attention never leaves my face but his smile falters, slipping at the corners.
We’ve had this same conversation so often I’m starting to feel like I’m trapped in time here. Day in and day out I work in the clinic during the morning and I train with Luca in the evening. I’m allowed to help in stations of the community wherever I like throughout the rest of the day. I’m welcome to join community activities and sports, but I’m not to leave the grounds unattended until my training has met Lorde Raske's approval. I want and need to do something worthwhile.
I need to find him. Or whatever’s left of him. My stomach turns with the dark thought as if I might throw up all the alcohol I’ve dumped into it this evening.
Until I find Asher’s body and lay it to rest like my mother’s, I won’t be at peace. I hate that the word body is in my thoughts. So lifeless and hollow sounding. He could be alive, I remind myself as I swallow hard. My tongue is thick in my dry mouth, making speech feel impossible.
Luca went back for my mother’s body the moment I told her what happened but Asher’s wasn’t there…
“I checked in on your training a few nights ago.” Lord Raske pauses and my jaw is painfully tight while I try to wait for him to finish. “You have shown improvement.” Another breezy smile flashes my way before he continues. “Unfortunately, you’re just not where you need to be yet. I know you have it in you to join the militia.”
My breathing is coming in heaps now and my jaw is screaming in pain at how tightly I have it closed.
“I just don’t want to risk anyone’s lives by sending you out too early. I wish you’d reach out to a few other men,” he emphasizes the word for my benefit. “To get more experience in other combat styles. You are at a disadvantage with your genetics, no fault of your own of course. I see the power, and possibly anger even, you hold within you.” He studies me like a teacher looking at a studious student. “I want you out there, Fallon, I just don’t want to risk you before you’re ready.”
Rapid blinking is all I can seem to manage. Part of me understands he’s right, but an irrational part of me is furious that I’m being rejected. Again. I can’t continue walking these overcrowded grounds. Continue being stared at and thought of as someone’s future wife. The pressure to change their lives, my camp’s lives, to change history, is so pressing I can’t breathe.
I can’t reach out to other males in the village because they don’t want to train me. They want to wed me and get on with our lives. I’m stuck in time but so is everyone else, waiting on me. Waiting for me to make a choice. For me to make the easy choice and accept Kaino already.
My eyes dart to Kaino for just a second, seeking an ally. He sits assessing the drink in his hand, subtly turning the cup back and forth as the alcohol sways within. Not participating in the discussion. Not acknowledging me as a friend in the least.
The thoughts drench my mind in a wave of cluttered emotion but I realize I’m still standing before Lord Raske and I have yet to respond to his kind and thorough words.
“Thank you for your feedback, Lord Raske,” I reply, still forcing myself to keep eye contact.
The conversation starts up again at the small table near the exit. I give a short nod and pivot in one swift motion to leave the stifling tent, my boots digging into the dirt as I forcefully turn.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at dawn, Fiercely.” Declan’s voice is heard from behind me, my last name is said in a quiet breath and I pause to look at him. To really look at him for the first time since I arrived almost a year ago. His fingers tap soundlessly on the polished wooden table and he doesn’t look up at me as he speaks. “There will be no more sleeping in for you. I’ll drop our training in an instant if you prove to waste my time.” His voice is strong and commanding. The opposite of the charming and flirty tone I’m used to hearing from him.
It’s so different, I’m shocked at his proposal. I give him another short nod, closing my gaping mouth. His gaze holds mine for a few seconds, showing a lifetime of anger behind beautiful silver eyes.
Chapter Three
The Attack
I climb down the rope from my bunk that hides high up in the trees. The tree bunks are for the Wanderers that want their own space, away from the endless celebrations and congested community of huts. The strange sleeping bunk is now the solitary place that I call my home.
The rough rope is still damp with morning dew and I struggle to make it safely to the ground as my boots slip, my muscles straining for support. My fingers ache from the amount of pressure I’m putting on them to hold tightly as I make my way to the forest floor.
The coloring of the sky is balancing in that struggling state between darkness and light. Water paint colors streak the heavens, slipping calm into my messy mind from the very sight of it. The moon is just starting to fade away to make room for the rising sun but it can still be seen if you look hard enough.
Through the soundless trees and past the now empty grounds where last night’s celebration was held, not a footprint is left behind to trace the event. But that is the way of the Wanderers. Even the tree pallets within the forest are hidden from view. Humans occasionally come through looking for food or a lost child but no one ever discovers the secret community that’s shrouded in invisibility magic. But it’s there. It exists. We exist.
The training circle welcomes my quiet steps, an area just within the trees where the brush has been cleared and manicured. Luca and I have practiced here every day for nearly a year. I wonder how different Declan will be. I wonder if I’ll keep my temper long enough to learn something from the hybrid. I can keep my hatred for him separate from my training. At least for a month. Two weeks tops... Maybe we’ll just see how today goes first.
I stretch my arms above my head, the weight of the Crimson Sword bumping familiarly against my thigh, as the sun starts to make its appearance on the horizon. I glance around the large clearing, the mounds of tangled brush that have been pushed to the sidelines of the makeshift training area, and listen for any approaching footsteps. The forest is a fortress of silence as if not even the wildlife is ready to climb out of bed. I roll my eyes at Declan’s tardiness. How very like him to be late on our first day after
mocking me about sleeping in.
A long and tired sigh drifts over my lips and I’m just turning to pace the length of the clearing when a weight falls from the trees above, landing jarringly on my shoulders and I’m pushed to the ground face first. My breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. I struggle against strong arms as my wrists are jerked painfully back and held in one hand. My assailant leans his weight onto his other arm next to my head.
I’m still struggling against the person with no success when Declan’s gray eyes meet mine. I grow still beneath him and attempt to blow a leaf and my tangled hair out of my face to look at him through a glare.
“Raske is right. You’re not ready, love,” he whispers to me through my wild hair, reveling in the successful attack he clearly planned.
Anger pushes through my veins with every labored breath I take. He just ruined my morning and I intend to repay him.
Without saying a word, I fling my head back hard and crack him in the nose. The noise is a sickening sound that lingers in my mind as pain soars through my skull but my anger doesn’t allow the hurt to surface on my face.
With swift movements I leap to my feet, my dark boots breaking twigs under foot. I’m above him in a matter of seconds while he lies on his back, resting against one arm, holding his bloody nose in his other hand. My sword is drawn and rests at his neck, right where Asher slashed his own throat such a long, long time ago. My hand is steady as my scowl settles down on him.
“Clearly, Raske hasn’t seen your best work yet.” He wipes the blood from his already healing nose, leaning up fearlessly into the blade.
Perfect. His broken nose is flawlessly healed while the back of my head still throbs in pain. I’ll probably have a headache for the rest of the day, while he had a broken nose for less than a minute. Blood smears across his smug face, tarnishing his unusual beauty. Overall it was worth it.
Lowering the blade, I sheath it at my side before extending my hand to help him stand. He’s taller than I am and I force myself to look up at him with something mirroring respect. My stomach sinks with the familiarity of his features, like a glimpse of a memory in walking form, and I have to look away before the feeling consumes me and drags me under.
