Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist

by Pauline Creeden

  Kalinda nodded, smiling. For all of Oriana’s kindness and idealism, when it came to being Crimson Hunter, she overflowed with arrogant confidence like every matriarch before her. Kalinda relied on Oriana’s confidence but needed her idealism more. When this series of wretched events was all said and done, Oriana’s confidence would’ve taken a hit, nothing she couldn’t recover from, though, but her idealism would’ve died a painful, overdue death.

  “Yes, time is of the essence, which doesn’t change the fact that you need to rest. Bader is in the other room. He’ll stay and help me make evacuation plans while you get a few hours of sleep.” She touched Oriana’s cheek, thumb rubbing the dark circle forming under her eye. “Nothing will happen while you rest. I promise.”

  “You can’t keep that promise. The last time I looked away, I lost a piece of my heart.”

  “But the other half is right beside you. Rest, my dear girl. You’ll need all your strength for the upcoming battle. Sleep for a few hours, if not for me or for yourself, then for your daughter. A girl needs her mother.”

  Kalinda stood, granting Oriana the space to slide down the bed, long legs curling around Keira, right arm caging the child in and keeping her safe. The luck of the sun had been on Bhavari’s side to have jumped into Oriana’s suite and not to find her there the way she was now, eyes closed, drifting into unconsciousness but deadlier for the bundle she protected. There was no more lethal predator than a witch mother.

  “Sleep well. Your father and I will be right here when you awaken. When you do, I’ll need my Crimson Hunter.”

  “You mean your weapon of werewolf destruction.” Oriana huddled even closer to Keira, as if, while she slept, someone would try to steal her away. “Give me your order now, Mother.”

  “What do you—”

  “The order you’ve wanted to give me from the beginning. The one you know I’ll hate because it’ll make me no better than every other Matriarch of Earth Rift. You know I can’t say no, that this situation makes it impossible for me to do anything other than obey because not to will condemn scores of black werewolves to Marrok’s fate. So, just say it and then leave me alone with my daughter.”

  Kalinda stared at Oriana’s back. A black robe covered a dress splattered with Marrok’s blood. She’d tried to talk Oriana into changing but her words had fallen on deaf ears. But the soiled garment would come off, replaced by her red-and-black Crimson Hunter body armor. Kalinda had them custom-made for Oriana, and three hung in her bedroom closet.

  Placing a knee on the bed, Kalinda leaned over Oriana, kissed her head, and then whispered in her ear, “Put those rabid dogs down, Oriana, that’s an order from your Matriarch.”

  Perilune Rille

  Apogean Tide Borough

  Bhavari needed to get off planet. But how? She couldn’t risk accessing her bank account or using her interplanetary passport. Both could be tracked.

  She paced in small circles, across the street from the warehouses. From this vantage point, she would see anyone converging on the complex from the outside. If Crimson Guards jumped inside the warehouses with the Muraco, she’d hear the battle. Either way, Bhavari would have a small window of time to get the hell away from there.

  Sliding down the side of a twenty-foot, metal shipping container, Bhavari ran through her options. Before she reached one, she realized none of her options would include her survival. Bhavari had gone after Matriarch Oriana. Worse, the witch hadn’t been in her suite.

  When she’d seen Matriarch Oriana’s consort, standing guard in front of a partially closed door, as if he’d been privy to her plan to murder his wife, Bhavari had been too frightened to do anything other than run. It wasn’t until she’d landed, rather hard to the floor inside her warehouse office, that the full scope of what she’d done had crashed over her.

  When it did, she’d staggered to her feet, sinking into the chair in the corner, and weeping. How could she have forgotten about the Matriarch’s little girl? True, she had no way of knowing the Matriarch’s suite connected to her daughter’s bedroom. But the moment she’d seen an angry, ready-to-fight Cyrus of Steelcross, a ferocious sentry, even in human form, she’d known who was behind the door he shielded.

  Limp hair covered a face ashamed by her own cowardice. She’d escaped before the black werewolf had come for her, leaving the Muracos behind to wreak havoc on Matriarch Oriana’s family.

  Pulling knees to her chest, Bhavari wept. When had nationalism come to mean more to her than morality? Was revenge worth a child’s life? Was she any different from the Muracos? Bhavari once thought herself superior to every werewolf, especially white ones. But she’d worked with them long enough to know that, when it came to their magic-and-blood lust, they had little to no control.

  She, on the other hand, had no genetic excuse she could offer herself to justify her actions. Bhavari had destroyed a family.

  The tears came harder, faster. Had the residents of Steelrise Mansion contacted Matriarch Oriana yet? Did she know her husband and daughter were dead? Was she looking for Bhavari? Oh, hell, was Matriarch Kalinda?

  Bhavari rushed to her feet, tripping on her long, black cloak. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but the hood covered half of her face, which was enough to slow any facial recognition program she might encounter.

  She flipped the hood on and prepared to jump. If Zev were lucky, he’d take his brother's death as a hard lesson of what happened to werewolves who thought themselves equal to that of witches. If he were unlucky, he’d return to the warehouse in time to die with the others.

  The white moon would occur in less than two days. Bhavari and Abelone had planned for that day for a year. Now, as the once anticipated date approached, Bhavari regretted ever letting her wife talk her into such an audacious and dangerous plot. Very little had gone according to plan, beginning with having a spy in their ranks. That had been the tip of an iceberg—immovable and massive.

  Bhavari called her magic to her, envisioned where she wanted to go—her and Abelone’s home—the place where she’d die in peace surrounded by echoes of her many years of happiness there. Suicide was a coward’s way out, but she’d already proven herself one, why change direction now?

  Glancing around the shipping container to the warehouse, she smiled, satisfied they’d die along with her. With their deaths, even her failed assassination attempt, Abelone’s message had been sent. Matriarch Oriana would hate them for betraying her, despise Bhavari, the most, for taking away her family, but the young matriarch would’ve received the message loud and clear.

  Equality was a fable, a fairy tale parents told their children as a bedtime story. Children gobbled up those kinds of stories, fascinated by the myth of equality and the lore of equity all the while knowing neither existed in the real world. No more than Zev’s vampires lived beyond the pages of his favorite fantasy novels.

  In a roundabout way, Abelone’s plan had succeeded in pulling Matriarch Oriana away from her fairy tale thinking and into the real world.

  So, yes, Bhavari smiled, weak though it was, and jumped home. Or rather, she’d meant to go home. Where she landed was in her medical office at Steelburgh’s Crimson Guard Headquarters, strapped to her chair, a red, glowing whip coiled from throat to ankle.

  She wasn’t surprised to see who held the other end of the whip, although the shock of having her magic overridden by a stronger Whisperer of Echoes spell left her teeth chattering and heart racing.

  Bhavari had wanted to die but on her own terms. She’d intended on concocting a poison that would’ve had her falling asleep and never awaking. Nothing bloody or violent. She’d seen too much of both and had no desire to harm herself beyond what it would take to kill herself.

  Now, she stared into eyes crueler and deadlier than every Muraco in Steelburgh.

  She opened her mouth to . . . scream? Plead? Explain? Bhavari didn’t know, and she never would because the glowing whip tightened around her throat, cutting off air and diverting her thoughts but not her gaze.


  Eyes bulging, tears flowing, she watched the hard as iron witch watch her die. No satisfied smile, no contemptuous sneer, not even a baring of teeth, revealing her true nature—a wolf in matriarchal clothing.

  The whip tightened.

  And tightened.

  And tightened.

  Blood of the Sun Decree #1

  January 1, 1300

  By Matriarchal decree, Earth Rift will be forever governed by a witch from the Blood of the Sun Family. Be it further decreed that witches are the supreme authority of the planet, with heirs belonging to the witch’s family and all titles and property inherited by matrilineal descent.

  Alba, Matriarch of Earth Rift

  Crossroads

  April 26, 2243

  Irongarde Realm

  City of Wild Moor

  “That bitch. I’m going to kill her.” Zev rammed his fist into a living room wall. Once, twice, three times. “I’m going to rip her open from throat to stomach with my bare hands.” Then he’d shove his claws into her open chest, searching for the heart Marrok stupidly believed loved him. Once he found the worthless organ, he’d make Oriana eat it, choking on her lies as she died.

  Zev smashed the wall the way he wanted to beat Oriana to death, one brutal, bloody strike after another.

  He didn’t care his knuckles bled or that his brother gaped at him—dark-brown eyes filled with more than disapproval.

  Alarick’s eyes rose from Zev’s bruised and bloody hands that would soon heal, thanks to werewolf’s superior genetics, and to his face before falling to his neck.

  Shit.

  “What this side of the moon have you done?” With an impressive leap from his sofa to directly in front of him, Alarick shoved Zev in the chest. “You dumb, asshole. You let one of those underground doctor freaks operate on you. I thought you were talking big shit when you said you were going to Perilune Rille. But your stupid ass actually had your Rage Disrupter removed.” Stepping back, Alarick glanced around Zev’s apartment, as if he hadn’t been there dozens of times. “First Marrok and now you.”

  At the mention of his baby brother’s name, Zev punched the wall again, splitting skin and breaking plaster. He didn’t care about either. He’d destroy his entire apartment if it would help ease the pain of losing his brother.

  “I went there for us.”

  “Bullshit. You did it for yourself.” Alarick turned away from Zev, anxiety in every taut line of his back and shoulders. “You aren’t the only one who wants things to change.”

  “Then stand with me. Fight by my side. After knowing what Oriana did to Marrok, the decision should already be made for you.”

  “Like I said, you’re an idiot.” With none of the speed or grace he’d used to jump in Zev’s face, a moment ago, Alarick slumped to the sofa. “Oriana asked you to meet us at Dad’s house, but your sorry ass didn’t show up.” He waved in the general direction of his bare neck. “Now I know why. With your shitty attitude toward Oriana, it’s a good thing you didn’t show.”

  “Why, because I would’ve killed her right then and there?” His scoff could’ve sliced through steel. “I should’ve gone. It would’ve saved me the time of hunting her down later.”

  “You’ve always been stupid as a bag of moonrocks when it came to Oriana. Your mind is closed to seeing her in any way other than the way she truly is. I was there with Dad and Mom when Oriana arrived. I told you what she told us.”

  “That bitch killed our brother.”

  “She didn’t. What happened to Marrok wasn’t her fault.”

  “Those Muracos were there because of her. You think it’s a coincidence she wasn’t at home?”

  “What, you hate Oriana so much you think she’d go to those lengths not only to have her husband murdered but risk the life of her child and heir to Earth Rift?”

  What Zev knew was that witches couldn’t be trusted. The crazy doctor hadn’t clued him in on this part of her plan, and he knew why. She’d waited for him to return home before she sent Muracos after Oriana, knowing damn well his brother would be there. Once he finished with Oriana, Bhavari would be next.

  “All I’m saying is that shit rolls downhill.”

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Alarick stood, jeans hung low, shirt wrinkled, and a day’s worth of hair on his face, his brother’s normal look for a Saturday except for the red, puffy eyes. “Werewolves need allies in high places if we want the rights we deserve. Oriana is that ally.”

  “We don’t need her.” Zev fought hard to keep his anger in check. He needed his brother to understand. “We’re begging for scraps from their table, happy with any morsel the witches toss our way. That’s no way to live.”

  “That’s not what Oriana is doing.”

  “Isn’t it? Little scraps here and there. She gives us enough to keep us from starving, hopeful, but also dependent on her for our next meal.”

  “What in the hell do you expect her to do? Even as a Matriarch, she’s still one witch. She fought her own damn Crimson Guards because they broke one of two decrees intended to give us a modicum of liberty.”

  “Born of her witch guilt from all of her privilege. What other brainwashed bullshit did Solange feed you after you shined her boots and kissed her ass?”

  “Screw you, you closed-minded asshole.” Alarick’s foot connected with Zev’s sofa. The sofa skidded back, denting the wall behind it, adding to the growing damage to his living room. “Look, I don’t want to fight. I came here to pass along Oriana’s message. Janus Nether is under martial law. We’re being evacuated. Mom has offered to let us stay with her until the Crimson Guards have secured the escaped Muracos.”

  “Secured? Is that your word or Oriana’s? They’re going to kill them.”

  “Good. After what they did to Marrok, all of those assholes deserve to die.”

  “Since when did you become a werewolf traitor?”

  Alarick stepped into his space, so close Zev could smell the two beers he’d grabbed from the fridge and downed before telling him about Marrok.

  “Nothing in this world is as black and white as you like to believe. Friends can become enemies and enemies allies. I make zero excuses for witches, including Mom and Oriana, and I make none for werewolves. Your whole life you’ve been spoiling for a fight with witches.”

  Alarick walked past Zev, gathered the empty beer cans from the marble end table, crushing them before tossing them back on the table. When his brother turned back to him, smelling of sadness but his appearance one of resignation, Zev knew he’d lost another brother.

  “No one else in Janus Nether knows the real reason behind the evacuations but Oriana thought we had a right to the truth. Mother has already jumped Dad to her home in Ironmere City. Like I said, we have an open invitation to join them. I came here hoping to talk you into leaving with me, even if we don’t go to Mom’s or Ironmere.”

  Again, Alarick’s eyes fell to Zev’s neck. “But you have no intention on leaving. You want this fight. You want to spill witch blood, even the blood of your sister-in-law, not because of a vigilante’s sense of righteous revenge but because witches have the power you think belongs to werewolves. Matriarchy, patriarchy, both are systems of oppression that shouldn’t exist on Earth Rift, but both have. Yesterday werewolves ruled. Today witches do.” Alarick’s shrugged, but it wasn’t a movement of nonchalance, but a fatigue much older than his years. “Who knows what it’ll be tomorrow.”

  “Stay. Fight by my side,” Zev blurted, a desperate plea he already knew the answer to but couldn’t stop himself from saying.

  Most of the Muracos had accepted him as their leader, an intoxicating power rush he hadn’t expected. But those werewolves couldn’t replace the love and trust of his blood brothers. Marrok was gone, and he’d have to learn to live with that hole in his life, but if there were anything he could say or do to keep the hole from gaping, he’d do it.

  “Come on. You and me. Even with your Silver Snare, when the white moon rises
tomorrow night, the effect of the collar will lessen. Hell, you don’t have to fight, if you don’t want to. Just . . . just don’t leave. Don’t turn your back on family.”

  Alarick swore, grabbing Zev into a hard, tight hug. “You’re the biggest asshole ever. A selfish bastard on your best day.”

  A goodbye, not an acceptance.

  Zev squeezed his brother, already missing him, the hole in his heart a gaping wound that not even witch blood could fill. But that wouldn’t prevent Zev from trying.

  He released his brother, inhaling Marrok’s familial scent before stepping back from him.

  Alarick pressed a steel brass plated Magerun token into his hand. “This is from Oriana. Show it to an attendant and you’ll be fast-tracked onto any transporter. With this, you can go anywhere in the world, Zev. You don’t have to stay here. War is coming to Janus Nether, and you don’t have to be a part of it.”

  “I won’t die, and I won’t need Oriana’s guilt gift.”

  “If she finds you here, allied with the Muracos, you’ll leave her no other choice but to use lethal force.”

  “I’m not Marrok. I won’t become her prey.” Zev opened his hand, permitting the token to slip through his fingers. “She’ll be mine.”

  The stench of sadness wafting from Alarick intensified but his brother accepted Zev’s words as final, just as he accepted Alarick’s decision not to stay and fight by his side.

  “Take care of Dad. Let him know I did it for all of us. For werewolf freedom.”

  Alarick’s eyes called him a lying asshole, but he refrained from saying them. But he did leave Zev with parting words that wounded but also bolstered.