That wasn’t strictly true. For black werewolves who turned into Muraco, they had a strange level of resistance. They couldn’t fight it completely, but they had a strong enough magic tolerance to temporarily act on their violent tendencies. Mere minutes, nothing more, but long enough to hurt, to kill.
“You can’t even control your anger enough not to set off your collar. It might not last, but Marrok has the right idea. At least he’s living his life. Which is more than I can say for the two of us. We work all day then come to this bar and get drunk. I’m twenty-nine and haven’t let myself fall in love with a witch since I broke up with Noor.”
“She dumped you. If you’re going to tell the story, don’t lie about how it ended.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“And proud of it.” Zev gestured with his hand around the busy bar. “Take your pick.”
“I don’t want—”
“A human female? Yeah, that’s your problem. Witches will be the downfall of every werewolf. Dad still pines for Lita, although she left his ass the same way Noor dumped you. Give it a few years and Marrok will be back in this booth with us, tail between his legs, because Oriana kicked his dumbass out of Steelcross Skyrise after she used him to get the next heir to Earth Rift. That’s all we’re good for, Alarick, if you’re too stupid to figure it out. If the witches could get pregnant any other way, they wouldn’t need us at all. They tried, you know, but fertilization can only happen the old-fashioned way. Which means they need us, at least for that.”
Zev snapped his fingers, but the redheaded waitress ignored him, her rolled eyes and nasty attitude ensuring she’d never get another tip from him.
“Something is seriously wrong with you.”
“You’re just mad because you can’t deal with the truth. Unlike you, Alarick, I won’t lie to myself. Witches and werewolves can’t ever be anything more than lovers by necessity and enemies at heart. Two alphas can’t coexist without going for each other’s throats. We once had the witches by the throat now they have us by ours. One of these days, the pendulum will swing back to werewolves. With a little push, we can see it happen in our lifetime.”
Glancing around the bar again, this time making sure no one was listening, Zev slid closer to Alarick, who watched him as if he were a rattler about to strike. As if he could with the damn Silver Snare around his neck. Since he’d triggered it, it wouldn’t disappear again, even with him being in Wild Moor, a collar-free zone, until he was “symptom-free” for twenty-four hours. Yeah, one way or another, Zev would free himself.
“Listen, there’s this group I’ve heard a lot about.”
“What kind of group?”
“The kind that had connects with a special doctor.”
He slid so close to Alarick he could smell, under the scents of mint toothpaste and beer, the witch he’d obviously been with before meeting Zev at the bar. Interesting. He wondered who the witch was and why his brother hadn’t told him about her. He would explore that topic later.
Zev pointed to the spot to the right of his left carotid artery. “They pay the doctor to remove Rage Disrupters.”
Alarick’s eyes snapped to the crowd of people in the bar then back to Zev. “Are you trying to get our asses thrown in jail?”
“It’s fine, no one is listening. But yeah, we should take this convo to a more private place. Your apartment is closest. We can go there.”
“Hell no. Whatever shit you’re thinking about getting into, don’t. Leave that underground dirt alone, Zev. That’s white werewolf shit that will get your ass either killed or imprisoned.”
“Marrok is Cyrus of Steelcross. He’ll have my back, if something happens.”
Alarick ran a hand over his face, shaking his head in the same way as an agitated Bader. Out of the three brothers, Alarick was most like their father in temperament and mannerisms.
“No matter what fancy title Oriana gave Marrok, she’s still Matriarch. If you’re caught without your Rage Disrupter and hanging out with Muraco, who you know Oriana is tasked with hunting down, there’s nothing Marrok will be able to do to save your werewolf hide. It isn’t even fair of you to expect him to bail you out of that kind of insane situation.”
“We’re brothers. You’re supposed to have my back.”
“I do have your back, which is why I’m telling you to stay the hell away from the Muraco underground. Once you take that step, Zev, there’s no coming back. Our disrupters are tracked. As soon as they go offline, Oriana will know. It’s her job to know, to hunt down rogue werewolves.”
“To kill them for seeking their freedom, you mean.”
Alarick did that face wipe and head shake thing again. If he wanted this kind of response, he would’ve talked to his father instead of his brother.
“Have you ever truly listened to anyone other than yourself? If you did, you’d know Oriana uses lethal force as a final resort. She and her soldiers aren’t executioners and not every rogue werewolf is Muraco. But yeah, Oriana is Crimson Hunter for a reason, and it’s not because her mother is Matriarch.”
“Only thing you’ve said is that our baby brother married a witch willing and capable of killing a werewolf because she’s killed them before.”
“You really hear only what you want to.” Digging into his pants pocket, Alarick pulled out a few bills and slapped them on the table. “You’re my brother, and I love you. So hear me when I say, stay away from that doctor and the underground werewolves. Stop looking for trouble before someone comes looking for you.” Alarick slipped from the booth, shoving hands in the front pockets of his black jeans. “I’m serious. For once in your life, don’t be selfish. If you don’t care what happens to you, think about your family. Think how Marrok will feel if his wife has to hunt down his rogue brother.”
“What about our freedom? Does that mean nothing to you?”
“We aren’t slaves to witches, Zev. That’s the part you keep forgetting. If we’re slaves to anything, it’s to our magic-and-blood lust. If you want to fight something begin with that and stop blaming witches for our shortcomings as werewolves.”
“You’re delusional.”
“I’m tired is what I am, and I have work in the morning. So do you. Take your ass home, and forget we had this conversation. I’ll do the same. See you next Saturday at Moonvale Forest. Marrok said Oriana will send someone to pick us up.”
From the way Alarick said that, his brother had a specific witch in mind he hoped Oriana would send. Maybe it was the same witch he’d went down on before Zev had interrupted his evening by inviting him for a quick drink at their favorite bar.
First Marrok and now Alarick. He was losing his brothers to witches. Something had to give, and it wouldn’t be his relationship with his brothers.
“Yeah, you’re right. I’m going to have another drink then I’ll be off too. Forget I said anything.”
“It’s already forgotten. Goodnight.”
Before Alarick reached the double doors that would take him into the hot summer night, he had his phone pressed to his ear.
Zev growled low in his throat, yanked out his own phone and checked his savings account balance. Shit. Not enough. The procedure was expensive, borderline robbery, but it would be worth it to have his freedom.
He staggered from the booth, calculating how many overtime hours he’d have to work and how long it would take him to raise the money he needed. Too many and too long.
Zev left the bar, committed to a plan that would be well worth the wait.
Blood of the Sun Decree #2
March 1, 1309
By Matriarchal decree, the regions of Perilune Rille in Irongarde Realm and Aphelion Umbra in
Steelcross Realm are the reserved
territories of full-humans.
Alba, Matriarch of Earth Rift
Ticking Time Bomb
March 27, 2241
Irongarde Realm
Iron Spire
“You can’t hide in here forever. Trust me, I know.
”
Marrok recognized Bader’s voice but didn’t lift his head or acknowledge the other werewolf’s presence in the library beyond a nod.
“Kalinda won’t leave Oriana’s side and you’re afraid to stay there. As I said, I know that kind of fear.” The couch cushion beside him dipped. “You’re a father now, Marrok. There’s no greater responsibility in the world than being a father to a witch . . . or greater fear known to a werewolf. Daughters can gut us unlike anything else in nature. Here I am, back in Iron Spire, a place I swore never to step foot in again. But I couldn’t stay away, couldn’t miss my daughter give birth to her daughter.”
Shoulders up to ears, T-shirt clinging to sweaty back, and mouth dry, Marrok stood on unsteady legs. For a second, he swayed, an image of a fiercely focused Oriana bearing down, pushing their daughter into the beautiful yet harsh world, seized him.
Stumbling forward like a drunkard turned away from a bar after last call, Marrok grasped the first solid thing he could find—the edge of a glass desk with gold legs.
“Slow, deep breaths, Marrok. Slow, deep breaths. The last thing Oriana needs is her husband passing out, hitting his head on a desk on his way to the floor and ruining a priceless rug with his blood.”
Marrok had never known the Aku of Irongarde to laugh or make a joke. He had seen him smile, however, but only when in Oriana’s presence.
“Was that meant to be a joke?”
“If you found it funny, then yes. If not, then no. Oriana is the humorous one in the family, not me and certainly not Kalinda. If I hadn’t been there at her conception and birth, I would swear Kalinda and I played no role in making her.”
Still holding onto the desk’s edge, Marrok turned to face his father-in-law. As always, Bader dressed to impress--shined shoes, creased dress pants, and a crisp white shirt with diamond cufflinks. All that was missing were the suit jacket and tie he’d removed before drinking the first of several cups of steaming coffee. The Aku didn’t appear as if he’d spent the last nine hours pacing the waiting area of the birthing room, awaiting the delivery of his first grandchild.
“Oriana looks like you.”
“She resembles her mother more. Oriana is the only bright spot left between Kalinda and me.” Leaning against the cushions, legs crossed, arm reclined on the back of the couch, Bader appeared like a kept werewolf of leisure, not a male opening his heart about a pain his scent, though not his eyes, gave away.
“True, but Oriana doesn’t have her mother’s rough edges.”
“When Kalinda and I first married, neither did she. Ruling a planet has a way of turning soft smiles into rough edges.”
“Is that a warning?”
“No. I wasn’t only speaking about my wife. I’m not the same man she took as a consort either. I’ve disappointed her, as much as she’s disillusioned me.”
Bader bit his lower lip, the same way Oriana did when she was in deep thought or nervous.
Marrok wanted to ask him a personal question. With the sentimental mood Bader seemed to be in, now might be his only chance.
“Have you ever been tempted?”
The way Bader’s dark eyes hardened like twin pieces of marble, he thought the werewolf would tell him to go screw himself. But he didn’t. Instead, he lowered his arm and leg, eyes softening with the movements.
“To hurt my wife or daughter?”
Marrok nodded, shifting to halfway sit on the edge of the glass desk, tension radiating from shoulders to toes.
“Not hurt, that’s not the correct word to describe the feeling.” Bader’s hand rose to his stomach. “It’s more like an extreme sensation of starvation, of a hunger so deep and consuming I could feel it at the genetic level. My stomach rumbled, growled from the pain of needing to be fed.”
The hand on Bader’s stomach clutched at his shirt, as if he could feel his hunger pains from the mere telling of his truth. From the tight set of his jaw and pinched brows, the memory haunted him.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“My son is gone, Marrok, and with him my heart and marriage. I can’t have either back. Witches forgive even less than werewolves. But I’ll tell you what I would’ve told him. Love with all your heart. Hold nothing back. Treasure the small things—your daughter’s laughter, your wife’s hand in yours, how your heart skips a beat when you see them, knowing they love you as much as you adore them. And when you feel yourself starving for the taste of their magic, step back, breathe, but never, ever walk away from them. We all think that’s the answer, the only way to survive each other, but we’re wrong.”
Marrok planted both feet on the floor, leaning against the desk instead of sitting on it. “Wrong?”
“One hundred percent wrong.” Bader slid to the edge of the couch, the palm of his hands on his knees. “You’re old enough to feel the hunger, even if you haven’t yet had the gnawing pangs of starvation.”
Yeah, he’d felt the hunger for magic, especially since sharing a bed with Oriana and living in a tower full of witches. Their short breaks helped ease his hunger. When he returned, he felt better, more in control.
“It’s always there. Once we reach puberty, the hunger stays with us, even when we aren’t in the presence of a witch. I can’t remember what it feels like to be full, to have my body satisfied on a bone-deep, primal level. The contentment of being full, of not wanting anything else because you’re stuffed isn’t an experience known to any mature werewolf.”
Io had shared a similar perspective with Marrok, but the conversation had ended with, “And that’s why we’ll always lose our witches, why they’ll never completely trust us not to hurt them.” But Bader disagreed?
“I don’t understand.”
“Witches grow up thinking they can’t rely on their fathers, while werewolves are raised to believe their mothers will grow to fear them.”
“That is what happens. After puberty, witches can’t depend on their fathers because he’s no longer in the home. The same is true for werewolves. Their mothers leave, run, afraid of what will happen if they stay.”
Bader’s headshake had the jewelry dangling from his dreadlocks rubbing against each other, producing a soft wind chime sound.
“Self-fulfilling prophecy. We believe it, so we make it true. I left my family because my father left his, as did my grandfather, his father, and every other male in my family who had a daughter. I was told that’s what real werewolves did, if they loved their mate and daughter. ‘You never want to hurt them,’ “my father told me.” ‘A werewolf must protect his witches, even from himself.’ ”
“But how can we do both? Protect them and stay with them?”
Twelve years. That’s all he and Oriana had to figure out what they could do differently to save their marriage and their family. Marrok didn’t doubt Oriana would reject the Rite of Endometal Fusion. She wouldn’t permit anyone, including her mother, to bully her into subjecting their daughter to what she viewed as a barbaric practice. But the personal cost would be so high, greater than he thought Oriana could fully grasp. In essence, she’d be excommunicado.
Unless Kalinda and Bader wanted to suffer the same fate, she’d lose them too. Worse, how would Oriana feel if her parents chose her over everything else in their lives, leaving the realms without a legitimate line of matrilineal matriarchs and a long-standing Aku? What would happen to Earth Rift without the traditional succession plan? Would war erupt, as witches and werewolves fought themselves and each other to claim what the Blood of the Sun family left behind? The possibilities weren’t endless, but of those that were probable, none of them bode well for the realms of Irongarde and Steelcross.
Oriana couldn’t abdicate the matriarchy. Not for him. Not even for their children. Where then did that leave them?
With a ticking time bomb.
“I’ve been reading Matriarch Helen’s private journals.”
Sliding back against the cushions, Bader re-crossed his legs and arched an eyebrow. “Why?”
&nb
sp; Marrok didn’t know how much Oriana had confided in her father beyond him knowing her plans for restoring Bronze Ward. He shoved his hands in his pants pockets, wishing he could fake cool calm as well as the Aku.
“Haven’t you ever wondered how Helen and Tuncay did it for so long?”
“They took breaks from one another. It’s not a mystery, Marrok. We’ve all tried that strategy. A week or two at first. Then a month. Then three. Before you know, a year has passed and you begin to feel like a guest in your own home. So you leave again, staying away even longer because you think it’s better that way, that you’re a burden and your family is happier without you. Distance has a way of aiding to our delusions. We tell ourselves we’re doing it for their safety when, in truth, we stay away because it’s easier than staying and fighting the perpetual hunger. Naturally, the bond that brought the witch and werewolf together strains, frays, and eventually breaks.”
Again, Bader’s scent betrayed his relaxed posture and matter-of-fact way of sharing the pitfalls of his marriage to Matriarch Kalinda. Regret and loneliness. Combined, they smelled like lemongrass to Marrok. He’d smelled the mix his entire life, beginning with his father. Most mature werewolves reeked of it. He’d grown to ignore the smell, to interpret it as a natural part of life not worthy of his conscious acknowledgment.
Yet, as a new father and a consort with only a year of marriage behind him, Marrok dreaded the day he’d too would stink of lemongrass. That innocuous smell would represent all he’d lost and everything he’d failed to protect.
His wife.
His daughter.
His heart.
“Helen and Tuncay’s love story is tragic. Kalinda never talks about her parents. If I were you, I wouldn’t mention that Oriana gave you access to Helen’s records.”
Bader glanced at the electronic wall clock above the library door. Marrok had been gone too long. It didn’t take two hours to wash a newborn, move Oriana from the birthing room to her bedroom, and for Oriana to nurse their daughter. He needed to get his ass back to his family before Oriana dragged herself out of bed and came looking for him, as mad as she should be with her runaway consort.
Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist Page 41
