by Liv Brywood
Let me out and there will be no discomfort, my dragon insists. He wants to fight, and yearns to rip and tear this loud, inferior wolf to pieces. But I take a deep breath and square my shoulders. My reply is calm and lacks my dragon’s ire.
“I was worried about Azealia,” I begin. “If someone comes through the window of my shop, I’m going to defend it. And her as well.” Kael rolls his eyes, but I continue. “Perhaps if you had taken care of the problem in a timely manner, I wouldn’t have needed to involve myself. But you had to toy with your food, didn’t you? Throw it around a bit, toss it through a window or two while Azealia bleeds to death, covered in glass?”
“That’s enough,” Azaelia’s voice snaps from behind me. She must already have shrugged off my sleep spell.
Something behind Kael’s eyes turns hard. He snarls, approaching me with his hands balled into furious fists, like he’s about to throw a punch. “You think I don’t care about her? That’s what you think?”
He’s not quite as tall as me, but I’m thinner, and more agile. Kael is built to fight like a mountain. I’m built to fight like a violent wind.
Kael’s a jackass, my dragon grumbles.
I don’t point out that they’re both eager too eager to brawl. There’s no doubt in Kael’s eyes how much he wants to hit me, and my dragon is itching for the wolf to throw the first punch. But the wolf doesn’t swing. Not yet. Would I be able to win that fight, I wonder?
A sharp prod to the chest snaps my thoughts to the present. Kael scowls at me, lip curled in disgust. “I said, are you even fucking listening to me?”
“I said enough!”
We both flinch as Azealia’s voice sweeps past us and a strong breeze gusts through the street. I turn and see Azealia standing in the doorway of my shop, one hand on the frame for support, with her hair haloed behind her in a cloud of copper red.
An angel.
But her eyes burn, and she glares first at Kael, then me. I falter beneath her gaze, fold like a leaf before a storm as she fills her lungs with words meant to berate, to scold.
An angel of wrath.
“You.” She turns on Kael, eyes hard and voice even. “You don’t get to order everyone around. Not everyone around here is part of your pack. Cobalt acted as he thought was best, and you don’t get to fault him for that.” She glares as the wolf attempts to interrupt. Kael must think better of it because he goes silent beneath her fierce gaze. “Alpha or not, you need to calm down. And put on some clothes.” Her tone is an obvious dismissal, and though pride sparks dangerously hot in Kael’s eyes, he turns and stalks off, shifts back into his wolf and vanishes around the corner.
“And you—” That single syllable passes through me like a death sentence, and I dip my head in shame. “You left me unconscious. You knocked me out during a fight and left me alone. Passed out and unprotected, Cobalt.” Each accusation is a blow upon my back, a whip that scorches my failures into my skin. I remain bowed, reverent, until she sighs. Her fiery eyes soften. “Don’t do it again.” she says, then turns and walks into the shop.
Although my heart laments at the razor-sharp words she has for me, I can’t help but be caught in the glory of her. Even with her clothes torn and bloodstained, she’s still a beacon of strength and power.
The silence stretches for several moments as I reflect on what she said.
We failed her, my dragon grumbles.
We will not fail her again, he assures me. He’s coiled and broody. Attend to her.
I will, I silently tell my dragon.
I follow her inside, grab a scarf from the floor and shake it free of glass shards before I tie it around my bare waist.
She sits in a chair, eyes closed. Her cheeks are flushed, perhaps from exhaustion or perhaps from exertion, maybe both. Either way, the color gives her face the type of glow I find enthralling. Even when pushed to the limit, she’s flawless.
I kneel at her side, an assortment of fresh cotton rags in hand. Without a word I begin to pick glass shards from her hair, and wipe blood from wounds that have already started to mend. I’m nervous, my dragon is nervous. Have we fallen out of her favor?
She’ll be mad at us for days, my dragon says.
When I reach to tuck her long hair behind her ear, she smiles. Her face is radiant and bright and strong, and suddenly I know that things will be okay.
Inspiration hits me. It compels me to move to a shelf where I remove a long cut of fabric which is covered with symbols and shapes that bend and whirl in the light.
It’s luminous. Just like her.
“This is for you.”
I offer Azealia the fabric. She takes it with a curious quirk of her brow. “What’s this?”
“A shawl,” I grin, proudly. “It’s one of my latest pieces.” I gesture at the symbols as they dance in and out of the weave. “These are—”
“—protective charms,” she finishes, tracing the design with a delicate touch.
I nod as warmth blossoms across my face. I’d spent a full week painstakingly weaving protections into the cloth, strong charms to keep the wearer safe and to heal them. It’s one of my best works.
It’s only natural it belongs to her now.
She takes it and hangs it around her shoulders. She twists it around her torso so it accents the rise of her breasts, and my breath catches in my throat. It looks incredible on her, better than I could have imagined, and I’m lost in poetic bliss again.
She stands, pulls the shawl around her, and smiles. “Thank you.” Light catches in the cloth and dances off the inset charms. “I should head back and get some rest. But you and Kael, could you visit soon? I’d like to talk to you both about something.”
Kael or not, if our angel needs me, I will be there. “Of course. Whenever you want. What do you need me—us—for?”
She looks out the window as the last scattered bits of ash are blown away by the breeze. There’s a look in her eyes that I can’t place. Something distant.
Something afraid.
“I need your help.”
Chapter 6
Azealia
I leave Cobalt to clean his storefront and Kael to clean up his packmate. My magic is more useful for finding answers than it is to ease the burdens of men who don’t deserve the help. I’m angry at both of them, so angry.
If Kael could cede control for a moment and ask for help instead of demand answers or apologies, this whole mess could have been avoided. And if Cobalt could focus, for even the briefest moment, we might still have the attacker to question.
The sky rumbles. In the distance, lightning strikes.
Calm yourself.
I carry a tuft of hair in my hand, ripped from my attacker when I pulled him away from my neck. At least not every part of him was lost. There are plenty of things to be done with someone’s hair, plenty of answers to be found. I wave my hand over it, snap, and send it ahead to my cottage, where I know it will be safe.
Tonight is the closest I’ve been to death in centuries. I need to heal. To think. Cobalt’s charmed shawl has stopped the flow of blood from my wounds, but they aren’t closed. I ache, and I hurt all over.
My stomach growls like a hungry monster trapped in a cage that won’t yield. I need to get home so I can get out of these clothes. The eyes are still watching me. I can feel them, even as I check the trees behind me. Silvery eyes glow in the coming darkness, so I hurry my step.
My fingers go to the charm Bastian left me. I trace the intricate weave of leather that holds it to the cord. I miss him, his care and his steadiness. Kael is strong and unafraid of me, and Cobalt is worshipful, and concerned with my happiness. But Bastian would never leave me during a fight. I clutch the tooth, call him.
Bastian.
A pulse of magic flares from the charm. The intricate swirls engraved in the tooth glow a bright green. A tug at my navel directs me toward the bear clan’s den.
Behind me, the caw of a crow and the rustle of wings sound. Three crows take flight, as if followi
ng the energetic line connecting Bastian and myself.
No.
The ability to see magic, to trace it like that, is rarer than rare. It’s an art I had to work to master for over ten years, one I haven’t taught anyone else. If whoever’s in control of the crows has learned it as well then this enemy is more dangerous, and more of a threat than I thought.
Torn between seeing Bastian and finding out the truth about who is after me, I decide to head home. Bastian’s with his clan, and he’ll be safe as long as he doesn’t respond to my call. I send a silent plea for him to stay home. I don’t know if he’ll listen, but I hope he heeds my warning.
I need answers. About the attack. About the crows. About how to protect these three men, all of whom I care for.
More than care for.
The thought is pushed out as I press through the last half mile to my cottage almost at a run.
I check the bowl on the long, sturdy oak table where I do my craft. The tuft of hair has settled into it, right where I charmed it to appear. The runes on the bowl hum faintly, ready for work.
Yarrow, and quartz. A Dragon’s Blood stone.
After settling the kettle over the fire for tea, I wrap my hair atop my head. From a huge cabinet on the hearth-adjacent portion of the room, I collect brown bottles of herbs and tinctures—willow for foresight, and chunks of amethyst the size of my fist. I also gather moon water, mugwort, and dried datura.
I need to scry.
I carry an armload over to the table as Bastian ducks through the doorway, broad shoulders set and eyes wild as he searches the room for me.
Oh, thank god.
His eyes catch mine, and there’s a moment of friction between us. I told him to stay home, but he didn’t listen. However, I’m grateful that he’s here.
“Are you all right?” He checks me over, running his hands over my arms and torso. “You’re bleeding!”
I set the bottles down, realizing that I never changed out of my dirtied, bloodied clothes.
“What cut you?” He eyes the bottles.
“It’s from the attack.”
He goes stone still, his emerald eyes wide. “The attack?”
I shut my eyes, angry with myself. He hadn’t known. “It’s nothing. I’m all right.”
“Don’t damn well tell me it’s nothing, you’re bleeding and—are those claw marks?”
He tugs the hem of my shirt and it pulls at the edges of the wound, where dried blood has fused it to my skin. I gasp, watching as the wound starts to bleed again. I look past Bastian to see Cobalt’s gift dropped on the floor by the front door.
“Please, leave it.”
“Like hell.”
He gets his arms under my arms and legs, lifts me, and carries me over to the hearth. The kettle begins to scream where I’d forgotten it over the fire. He quiets it.
“Now don’t you start with me. You’ve been attacked, and I’m going to see to you.”
His accent grows thicker, his movements more agitated. As he lumbers around in search of rags and a bowl for the hot water from the kettle, he bangs around in the cabinets. He cusses a little when he can’t find what he’s after. “Where’s your mending kit?”
I gesture toward my cabinets of supplies. Three jars float out toward me. He watches their path suspiciously.
Bastian has always cared for me, but not as much for my magic. There’s a reason I ask for his help with labor-related tasks, rather than spells.
He makes his way over to me, snatches the jars out of the air as they start to unscrew their own tops. “That’s enough of that. Save your strength.”
He settles behind me, pours the hot water from the kettle over a bit of cold water in the bowl, enough that the steam stops, and it reaches an approachable temperature. He leans me back against his chest, takes one of my hands in his and begins to wash the dirt and blood off me.
“I can banish the mess away.”
He shushes me, running the warm rag up my arm gently. I settle back against the breadth of his chest.
He works on me slowly, up my arms to my shoulders, down to my collarbones, and over my jaw and my lips. He soaks the rag, then uses it to soak my top, trying to get the dried blood to release the edges of the wound.
“It’s deep, that cut.”
“There might have been poison, on his claws.”
His teeth clench and his jaw groans under the pressure. His hands remain gentle on me as he soaks the fabric wrapped over my breasts to the point of transparency. As the water cools, my nipples harden. I know he can see them. He settles me closer to him. The warmth of him, the size of his body, and the little protective rumbles he lets out, lull me into a sense of peace.
He manages to unwrap the fabric from around my ribs with only a little pain on my end. I show him which poultices to use on what, and in which order, and the process starts over again. The fire warms the room, and the heat between us rises.
My eyes begin to close as raised voices make themselves heard on the path outside my cottage. Kael and Cobalt.
Kael struts through the door, backwards, with his finger raised. He’s mid-argument with Cobalt. A faint wisp of smoke drifts from the dragon shifter’s nostrils.
“Stop it, both of you.”
They turn to look toward my voice and then their eyes catch on me, top bare, with Bastian curled protectively around me.
The room stops like I let out a time spell. All three of them freeze. The tension rises and rises.
Ridiculous, all of them. All of this.
I grab Cobalt’s shawl from the floor by my foot and wrap it around myself. “Thank you, Bastian, you’ve been… thorough.”
The tension spikes higher.
Wrong thing to say.
I snap my fingers, and the jars of medical poultices reseal themselves before snapping smartly back onto the shelves. The fire flares and logs fly to the hearth to feed the flames.
The roof groans a little as my magic settles the house. The men stand there, staring at each other.
Useless posturing.
They couldn’t be more different, honestly. Cobalt is lean, wily, with almost silver hair chopped in a scruffy cut, and a clean-shaven face. There’s a softer look to him, a more exotic one, and those beautiful blue eyes of his are visionary. He sees hope and beauty in the world in a way that makes me want to create that world he sees.
Bastian is a beast of a man, as huge as his animal might suggest. He’s strong, so strong, with powerful muscles from a life of labor. His hair and beard are thick. They’re a rich, beautiful brown like the crisp edges of a baked apple. Like the bark of a redwood tree.
Kael’s skin is darker, tanned from a life lived outdoors. He’s got scars, small reminders of challenges won. They make him look rugged, dangerous, as does the tone of his musculature. Built for speed and strength, escape and pursuit. A hard man with amber eyes, a strong jaw and the air of absolute authority about him.
Heat rises in me. The intensity of each of their stares melts me to the core. I’m pulled toward each one of them, but for different reasons. Any of them could take me away from the fear and the pain of the attack. With a single touch, any of them could distract me.
Or all three.
They’d never agree to that.
But think of the power you could generate. Together.
I don’t have time to fantasize while so many questions remain unanswered. The thought of Adrian weighs heavy on me. The sting of that betrayal is still sharp. Sharper than my desire for these men.
“I need your help to stop the crows and the attacks before it gets worse for me, or before my unknown enemy threatens Bonfire Falls.”
“I can protect you,” Cobalt says.
“Like you protected her today?” Kael gestures towards my wounds with his chin.
Bastian’s on his feet before I have a chance to intervene. “And where were you when those crows lit after her yesterday, huh? All this talk around town about how she’s your girl, but I don’t see you
around here, ever.”
Kael growls again, teeth bared, but it’s Cobalt who takes the most offense. He turns on Kael, breathes out a faint wisp of smoke again. “As if Azealia would lower herself to the likes of you—”
“You watch your mouth, Scaley, I’m not done with you for earlier.”
“Earlier?” Bastian’s tone demands an answer. “What do you mean earlier?”
“The wolf’s mad that I protected her—”
“—that you torched the one fucking lead we had.”
“All of you, stop!”
They turn to meet my eyes again, all three with their hackles up. A wave of want washes through me, but I push it down.
“I asked you here for solutions, not more problems. If your plan to resolve this is to fight amongst yourselves, get out.” I wave my hand, and the door swings wide.
No one moves to go.
“The attacker is not the issue. I’ll scry with the hair I stole, but I need silence. I don’t need bickering. Your senses are keen, but they won’t let you track magic.”
They grumble but remain quiet.
“I need help catching one of the silver-eyed crows. We learned last night that they’re hard to kill. My magic doesn’t do much.”
“I can get the pack out to hunt them.” Kael eyes me. “We’ll canvas the woods and bring one of them down.”
“Like a retriever.”
Kael’s eyes snap to Bastian’s, but Cobalt interrupts him. “Leave it, bear. Or can’t you do what she asks?”
“You think birds are the most important part of this, when she came home bleeding and scared for her life—”
“Thank you.” I shout over the top of them. “I appreciate the pack’s help, Alpha.”
I see Kael’s eyes heat when I call him Alpha. He steps over. “Do you want guards tonight?” His tone is softer, pitched lower. More intimate, as the other two men boil in their respective corners.
Bastian growls. “She has me.”
“My wards are enough. I wouldn’t sleep well with people on the property.”
