by Kitt Rose
Yesterday in my room, Ash had smelled my wolf plush. That was two clues in one. The wolf itself. Ash had given me that. Had it been some kind of hint? And then there was the smelling thing. Even my father had done things like that.
Holy shit. My father. Was he one of these things? Papa and Gigi? Johnny?
How many of them were there? Werewolves. People who turned into wolves.
My mind spun, thoughts tumbling over themselves and tangling into a confused mess. My body shook and my heart threatened to beat through my chest as blood thundered in my ears. Abruptly, I shoved to my feet, knocking the kitchen chair into the wall.
I should go. I needed to go.
I started for the front door, got two steps and froze.
But go where?
I had nowhere to go. Especially if Johnny was one of these… things.
I spun back to the table and took a step. Did it even matter? If my dad was one of these things?
I turned around again, hands going up to knot in my hair. Holy shit, what if this was just a sign that I really had lost my damn mind?
A scream of frustration built in my chest, rising to lodge in my throat. It was painful. Choking me to hold it back. My jaw locked so tight to contain the sound that it creaked.
In the living room, the patio door slid open and I heard Ash murmur something too softly for me to hear.
Crap! They were in the house. There was nowhere for me to go that they wouldn't see. The kitchen had a clear view of the front door, the stairs up, everything but the living room. Oh my, I really wasn't ready for this.
For a moment, the irrational desire to hide under the table, or in the pantry filled me—shit, did Ash even have a pantry?
I shook my head hard, forcing myself to collapse back into a chair, one facing the entry. I wrung my hands under the table, twisting my fingers to the edge of pain. The sharp sensation helped.
The stranger said, “Please be reasonable, Asher. At least until we know what is going on, it might be safer for everyone if she remains unaware.”
Tobias was the first one to enter the kitchen. He was looking back at the speaker, but when he saw me, he froze. I tried to school my features into a mask of calm.
“I think it's a little late for that,” Tobias said, eyes wide.
Ash turned away from the third man, his face closed and angry, then stumbled to a stop in the least graceful motion I had ever seen from him. His eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he gasped, “Libby?”
I wanted to laugh, but the scream was still lodged tight in my throat and I didn't dare risk opening my mouth. I nodded, one tight jerk of my head.
“Did you—” he started, but the third man interrupted.
“I think that's rather obvious. She looks a bit like a rabbit when rousted from the underbrush. Beyond that, our state” —he waved a hand in an all-encompassing gesture between the two of them— “says it all. Might I bother you for clothing?”
“I've got it,” Elliot said, coming down the stairs. He carried a small stack of clothing.
Ash turned to his brother, giving me a rather nice view of his rather nice rear. I nearly snorted. Even freaked the fuck out, I was perving on him.
My amusement died when Ash snarled at Elliot. “You knew she was up, seeing this, and you did nothing?”
I recoiled, something inside me shriveling. A pathetic urge to run filled me. Ash didn't want me to know whatever this was. Why did that feel so much like rejection?
My jaw unlocked and a whisper of sound, something like a whimper or a sob, eked out. Ash was there a second later. He moved so fast, one moment I was in the chair, the next I was cradled in his arms, pressed to his bare chest.
I squeaked, grabbing onto his biceps. Holy shit, were those biceps. Good Lord, his arms were hard.
“Great job, Elliot. Lib's terrified,” Ash said.
I dragged my eyes off Ash's pecs and up to his face. His jaw was clenched, skin gone white against tendons that stood in stark relief.
“I'm—I'm not scared. Confused, yes. Feeling like just maybe my sanity is in question, doubly yes. But not scared. I don't think. Shit.” I rubbed my cheek against Ash's chest. Then pulled back. What the hell was I doing, rubbing my face against his skin? But he was so warm.
I stifled a giggle.
Looking back up, I found Ash staring down at me.
He had a strange expression on his face. Disbelief maybe. Doubt?
“What are—?” I started.
“What the hell? Why the fuck are you holding my niece, naked?” Johnny yelled from the base of the stairs, evidently having just come downstairs.
Ash simply said, “Right. Lib and I need to talk.”
Talk about your understatements.
He carried me past the group of men, up the stairs, and into his room. Ash set me on the bed, the sheets still warm from my body, and closed the door behind us. Yanking open the top drawer of his dresser, he pulled out a pair of sweats and tugged them on commando, something I wouldn't be able to forget. But the motion made him wince, and I remember his wound.
Standing, I walked over to take his hand. His eyes were wary on me, and when I threaded my fingers through his, they widened inquisitively.
“You're bleeding. I'll clean and bandage, you explain,” I said.
He nodded and followed me into the bathroom.
I flipped on the lights and started pulling open drawers. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hoped I wouldn't run into his stash of condoms. I had to bite my lip to stop from giggling again. Maybe I was a little hysterical. But would I know if I was hysterical?
Ash cleared his throat, grabbing my attention again, and opened the cabinet above the toilet. He pulled out a large white first aid kit and opened it up on the counter.
I murmured my thanks and using both hands, grabbed his shoulders, turning him toward the light. Ripping open a sterile gauze pad, I pressed it to his wound, not sparing the pressure. Ash winced.
We were both silent for a long moment while I tried to stop the slow trickle of blood.
Finally, when he said nothing, I asked, “Alright, so what the hell are you?”
10
Ash
Libby's question seemed to hang in the room. Oppressive, like the air before a thunderstorm. While I couldn't help but appreciate her directness, it wasn't a comfortable position to be in. My mate sure didn't beat around the bush.
“Are you a werewolf?” she asked.
A snarl started in my throat. I stopped the sound with effort. There was no way she couldn't know how big of an insult that was to a Protean.
Instead, I said, “No. There is no such thing as a werewolf. I'm a Protean. Calling me a werewolf is like calling someone a hick, or a redneck—an insult.”
“Oh. Sorry. I didn't mean to—”
“Of course, you didn't. How could you know.”
Libby pulled the pad away from my flesh, the torn flesh pulled too. I winced.
“Nope, still bleeding,” she said and smashed the pad back to my ribs.
I grit my teeth, sucking in a lungful of air.
“Shit. Did that hurt?”
I laughed, and by some miracle there was real humor in it despite the pain. “Uh, yeah. I have claw marks in my ribs. They most definitely hurt.”
“Sorry,” she said softly, her hair whispered across my skin. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against my shoulder.
My pain vanished with the contact. I wrapped my arm around her back and pushed her thick silken locks away from her face. I looked down at the curve of her cheek, the wash of pink just beneath the surface. My pride suffered a blow when Joshua had landed his swipe but even wounded I appreciated being so close to her. This contact, the intimacy in it, was a heady feeling.
“So,” she said, her words slightly muffled. “What is a Protean?”
I sighed, wishing she had let me delay a little longer. I had no idea how to start. Even though this conversation had played out countless times in my imagi
nation, there was no easy way. “That is a really long story, and you probably won't believe half of it.”
“Try me,” she said.
“Alright, but remember what you just saw.”
“Oh, I don't think I'll ever forget that,” Libby said ruefully.
A deep chuckle rumbled from my chest, and I shifted to lean against the counter, keeping Libby close. “What do you know about Greek mythology?”
“Uh, not much. I know who Zeus and Hera are. Um, Aphrodite, I think. Hades, Poseidon? Hercules and Zena?”
“Okay, forget Hercules and Zena. Poseidon. He's a good starting point, I suppose. What do you know about him?”
“He was the god of water or seas or something according to Ancient Greeks?” she said, the statement more a question than anything.
“Yes. The Greeks got that right, he was god of the seas. But he wasn't always. Before the gods, there were Titans.”
“Like in the cheesy old Clash of the Titans movie?” Libby wrinkled her nose, disbelief plain on her face.
“Actually, no. Though they could be monstrous, the Titans weren't monsters. They were the first elemental beings. Big and savage, they're less human than the gods. Not that the gods were human, but they were closer. As the story goes, the primordial gods, Gaia and Uranus, earth and sky, had twelve children—the first generation of Titans. To keep things as simple as possible, we only care about two of their children: Kronos, the King of the Titans and god of time, and Oceanus, the god of the great river that circled the world.
“Oceanus was the first god of the seas. Supposedly, he had over three thousand children who became the living embodiment of the rivers and lakes. Two of his children were Proteus, a powerful shapeshifter, and Amphitrite, the embodiment of seawater. Oceanus's brother Kronos fathered many too, but we're just interested in his sons Zeus, king of the gods, and Poseidon, the god of the sea.”
I held out a hand and ticked off the names again. “So, on one hand we have the Titan gods: Oceanus, Kronos, Proteus, and Amphitrite. And on the other, we have the first of the Greek gods, Zeus and Poseidon.”
I stopped speaking, wincing as Libby gently pulled the pad off my wound.
“Wow, it's closing up already,” she said.
“Yeah, we heal quickly. Just throw a bandage on it so I don't get blood on my clothes while it finishes closing.”
Once a large band-aid was affixed, I strode into my bedroom and over to the desk pushed against the wall. On the corner of the desk, in a bowl filled with saltwater, was a small five-inch-tall statue. I picked it up and brought it to Libby, who had sat on the corner of my bed. I set the icon in her hands and she rotated it slowly, staring at the carving.
“The creation of the Protean race begins with the classic tragedy, unrequited love. Proteus fell in love with his sister, Amphitrite. I'm missing a bunch of things here, but the short of it is that Zeus and his siblings overthrew Kronos and cast most of the Titans into Tartarus—the hell of the Greek underworld. Oceanus was a little bit of a rebel and refused to support either side. Because he and his kin kept out of the conflict they were allowed to stay on earth, but Oceanus was forced to retreat to the depths of the ocean. Poseidon rose as the god of the sea and Oceanus passed into obscurity.
“Only Oceanus’s son, Proteus, didn't like that at all. He grew to hate Poseidon. That hatred only grew when people started to confuse Proteus's birth, believing he was Poseidon's son. You can only imagine how that went over…”
I tapped the statue gently with reverence. The creature pictured was a sort of amalgamation, with the tail of a dragon, the front legs of a wolf, and the head and torso of a man. He had a long, thick beard, and his shoulder-length hair was woven with seaweed.
“See, Poseidon took away the two things Proteus loved most. First, he took the woman Proteus longed for, his sister, as his wife. Second, he locked Proteus in the depths of his underwater palace where he would never again see the horizon. See, Proteus had a thing for places where land, sky, and sea met.
“Anyway, Proteus vowed vengeance. This statue is carved of driftwood, and each Protean keeps one in their home. It's a reminder to us all that our progenitor, the Titan Proteus, created us to be his army. You see, he is standing on seals? Poseidon made him watch over his pod of seals. Don't ask me why Poseidon kept seals, because I haven't the faintest. And this is Poseidon's famous trident lofted over his head in victory. You see, he created our race for one purpose, to overthrow the Greek gods.”
Libby looked closer at the statue, touching the rough face with her index finger before shaking her head. “Wait, so you're telling me that you were created by some mythological god?”
I took the statue and set it aside, stepping between Libby's legs. I tipped her chin up until our eyes met. Gently, I said, “No Lib, I'm saying it's not myth. The gods did exist, probably still do somewhere.”
“This is a lot to take in,” Libby said, her face impossible to read.
“I know. And there's more. Proteus's gift was the ability to shapeshift. He also possessed the gift of prophecy. Ever read Homer's Odyssey?”
Libby nodded. “Yeah, back in high school. I don't remember much of it.”
“Well, the poem talks about the Old Man of the Sea. Menelaus, a Spartan King, was lost at sea and didn't know how to get home. He sought out the Old Man of the Sea, grabbed him and held on tight as he changed from one form to another. When he'd worn himself out, he told Menelaus how to get home. Sound familiar?”
She nibbled on her bottom lip. “Vaguely.”
“The Old Man of the Sea, that's Proteus. See, even under Poseidon's thumb, Proteus found his way to land as often as he could. He sought out the demigods, children of the Greek gods—specifically Zeus and Poseidon—and sired children with their daughters. Those children were the first Protean. Only they could shift into whatever shape they desired. He told them to listen for his call and to grow strong and plentiful while we waited.”
Doubt filled Libby's dark eyes.
“We spread out across the continents and formed packs—communities of Proteans. Then the time of the ancient powers waned when man replaced the gods with science. Proteus, Oceanus, Poseidon, and all the rest of them vanished. I have no idea what happened to them. Older and wiser Proteans believe they lost their power when people stopped believing in—and fearing—them.”
“Who was the man you were fighting with?” Libby asked.
“Joshua. My Alpha. He doesn't like—” I broke off.
I couldn't tell her she was my mate yet. She would likely set a new land speed record for fastest exodus of Homeplace, and I'd never see her again. Or she would laugh in my face.
“Let me try this again. I'm what they call Marked or a Marked One. Proteans lost the ability to shift to any shape they desire a few centuries ago. But every once in a while, genetics or fate roll the dice and there's a Protean born who's a throwback to the old powers.”
“And that's you?” Libby asked, scooting back and away from me, almost reflexively.
I wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her to her feet, pulling her closer. I needed to feel her heat. “Yes. They call me Marked because when I shift—”
“You glow?” she asked, something like excitement leaking into her tone. “The blue-black veins?”
A smile grew on my face. “Yes. Exactly. Most Proteans can only take one form. Our pack here is mainly wolves. But, there are many others, with different forms, spread across the globe. There are ten Marked among them. We can take any form we choose so long as it is of equal or greater size. I can't turn into a flock of birds, for instance, but I can turn into a giant eagle. And let me tell you, it was a bitch and a half to learn to fly in that form.”
She jolted. “You can fly,” she said, awe in her voice.
“And breathe fire as a dragon. Someday, when this isn't so… fresh… we can talk about that more. For now, know that because of what I am, I am supposed to take control of the Pack.”
“Why haven't you?�
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Of course, she would ask that. I'd practically begged her to ask. Fighting the urge to curse, I shook my head. “That's complex, and I promise we will talk about it—at length—but it's not important today.”
“Okay. I take it Johnny is one of you?” When I nodded, she said, “My dad too?”
“Yes, but not your mom. About half the time, when you have a Protean and a human mating, they produce another Protean. Your dad's mother was human too though, so I guess the odds that you would be like us was a bit lower.”
“Like us?”
The words were parroted back in a way that struck me uncomfortably hard. Her tone reminded me, quite vividly, of a young grade-school aged Libby crying because she didn't fit in. Because the other kids didn't treat her the same. I had told her it was her imagination and she needed to give her classmates time to get to know the real Liberty Dahl. There would be no way they could dislike her then.
But some part of me had always known, and denied, that she wasn't like them. Never would be. Not even as my mate. Some Proteans would always see her as less than. And it bugged the shit out of me.
“Look, all of us have human family. All of us. My cousin Ross is married to a human and has one Protean and one human child. It happens. None of us think less of the humans in our family. But I will admit that we tend to be a little closed as a community. Look at what happened with the witches—the Salem witch trials and all that. We are exceedingly careful of our secrets. If anything, that is the dividing line between our species, those that know and those that don't.”
Libby fell silent, her focus somewhere far away. Then she said, “And now I know.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, so what happens now?” Libby asked.
“Now I give you some time to—”
The door to my bedroom crashed open. Joshua strode in. He gave me a tired look and ran a hand over the side of his head.
“I am sorry to interrupt, but the coven leader just returned my call. She will see you and your mate in three days, at seven in the morning,” Joshua said.
My veins opened wide as panic roared through my body at the word “mate.” Maybe Libby wouldn't notice. Please, dear Oceanus, let her not notice.
