Wilderwood

by Halli Starling

  “Forgiven and forgotten. I’m the one who left for two years.” Then Eislen said something in Octavia’s ear that made the vampire smile and duck her head.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Roderick’s words were halting, confusion miring his embarrassment at catching them in such an intimate moment. “I need to go -”

  “Wait.” Octavia motioned him back. “Shut the door, Ranger Arman. We clearly have quite a bit to discuss. This day has been full of surprises and I doubt the Fates intend to let the evening wile away in a boring manner.”

  “Perhaps we should head to the manor,” Eislen suggested, their eyes tracking over the dark splatters on Roderick’s boots and pants. “Away from Mama Stockton’s business.”

  “We’ll do that, then.” Octavia nodded, as if the decision was made by all three of them. “Are you able to ride, Ranger Arman?”

  He nodded. “It’s Roderick, and yes. If I can grab some things from my room…” He motioned at his clothes. “It’s a long story, and a bloody one. One of many reasons I was hoping to speak with you tonight, Octavia.” He grimaced. “I’m hoping to make use of your cellar.”

  ***

  The ride to Wilderwood Manor was largely silent. The road didn’t seem like a good place for conversation, and there was still a simmering air of….something between Eislen and Octavia that anyone with even dulled senses could have picked up on.

  Roderick watched them carefully as the sun sank over the horizon, throwing long shadows behind them as they rode. The scene he’d burst in on had been intimate, personal. Thinking back on it brought forth more details.

  How Octavia had caressed the ring on Eislen’s thumb. The way Eislen leaned into her embrace. Her bite. The way Octavia’s other hand tangled in Eislen’s braids.

  He fought back the flush that threatened to flare, grateful for the twilight gathering around them. Rangers weren’t forbidden from relations but many avoided anything deeply personal out of a sense of self-preservation and safety for their partners. Which was why so many Rangers either retired early or remained Rangers until a beast or old age took them out of service. When Eislen was dispatched to the north, rumors swirled about a relationship with someone in this part of the world, but no one could pin it down to anything specific.

  And once they’d disappeared into the Faelands and the Ranger council threw up their hands after what they deemed a futile search, many of his brethren had wondered what the real story was. Most Rangers knew the council was largely ineffective; that the former Rangers who sat in those plush chairs around a massive mahogany table were only out for themselves. It’s why he kept his head down and did the work. If you didn’t draw the council’s attention, you could also avoid their ire. Leaving Bellemy Eislen to whatever the Fates had in store for them in the Faelands shocked many; but Roderick was too jaded, too heartbroken, to be shocked.

  Going solo after Yasmin’s death had been the one ill-advised decision he’d made in his career, but it also meant the council cared even less about him. Roderick’s parents had made some noises about the “family name” but after seeing him embroiled in his own grief, decided to let him do what he wished.

  And for Roderick, this meant freedom.

  But Eislen’s return was going to muck up things. Bellemy Eislen had been considered a high-ranking member of their order, much lauded with back claps and prestige both for their fighting skills and their magical prowess. He’d only encountered them a few times, mostly in passing in the field. But he’d heard the stories. And now that he’d seen how quickly they’d moved tonight when he’d entered The Drake’s Rest, he had no doubt of their speed and agility.

  But the air of mystery around them was now suspicious. They’d been gone for two years, suddenly reappearing in a place haunted by a murderer. A place ruled over by a vampire and home to hundreds of other kind. He wanted the story, and he wanted it tonight. Any hint of deception on either of their parts might be disastrous.

  It also never escaped his attention that Eislen disappeared right after Yasmin’s murder. It had been chalked up to coincidence by others in his order, but now he wondered.

  He gripped the reins harder, the leather creaking in his fist. There could be a silver lining to all of this, if they told him the truth. Roderick couldn’t help but wonder how loyal to the Rangers Eislen might be after the council left them trapped in the Faelands.

  “That’s a very serious look you’re wearing.” Roderick turned to see Eislen examining him closely. “If I may be so bold, that is. When was the last time we passed each other?”

  He looked down at his horse’s jet-black mane, swallowed hard. “Most recently at a funeral.”

  Recognition lit deep hazel eyes and he felt a twist in his gut at the sympathy that flickered over their features. “My condolences.”

  “Thank you.”

  He remained silent the rest of the ride, grateful for Eislen’s quick acknowledgment that didn’t linger on his trauma.

  They rode to the stables at Wilderwood Manor and were met by the doorman prankster who had thrown Roderick for a loop only earlier in the day. Harken’s eyes grew wide at the sight of a bedraggled, ashen Eislen but he kept his mouth shut and took them inside.

  “Take Ranger Arman to a room, please,” Octavia directed, “and make sure he gets whatever he needs.” She gave Roderick a pointed look. “Take your time. Those bodies aren’t going anywhere. Gregory and his scouts have already taken them to the basement.”

  Roderick threw her a curious glance. “How did you -”

  She spun a ring on her right middle finger around, where he could see the stone on the gold band pulsing with faint green energy. “Gregory has one like it. We use them to communicate across distances.”

  “Quite convenient.”

  She grinned at him and the force of it nearly yanked his breath from his lungs. They were all damp from the drizzle that had started on the last leg of their ride, and her hair was pushed to one side and frizzy: water droplets still clinging to her lashes. But she was breathtaking. And he wasn’t entirely sure why he hadn’t seen it before. “I saved you the exposition,” she said, tone light. “And Eislen and I have business before we head into what is sure to be a rather long evening populated by a handful of nightmares.”

  He inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I could use your expertise, Eislen,” he said to the figure huddling close to the roaring fireplace. “If you’re feeling up to it, that is.”

  Eislen nodded, standing swiftly from their crouched position. “I’m not entirely sure what I’m getting into but I’m certain you can get me up to speed.”

  Harken was waiting impatiently by the door and with a bow, he led Roderick away, leaving Octavia and Eislen alone in the small sitting room.

  “They’re gonna kiss.”

  Roderick was yanked from his thoughts as they ascended the wide oak staircase. “What?”

  The young man - still impossibly beautiful even in a rumpled butler’s uniform - gave him a wide, fanged smile. “Them two. The energy’s already there. Crazy ‘bout each other. Always have been.” He blinked, and Harken laughed, the sound bright and echoing as they turned into a hallway. “Maybe you’ve got a thing for them. Together, I mean.”

  Something sparked in the air between them, like heat waves off a field in summer. “Incubus,” he said softly, backing up.

  Harken shook his head. “Only half. Mum and Pa worked in the same place. Pa ran off cause,” and he gestured to himself, “and left us on our own.”

  Now Roderick understood, and once his reactionary fear died down, he saw it. The near impossible beauty, the practical jokes, the “energy” Harken sensed between Octavia and Eislen. Octavia hadn’t been kidding when she’d said Wilderwood was a place for all so long as everyone obeyed the rules. Most half incubi and succubi stayed far out of the way of humans except for a trusted few; wary of both their inadvertent influence on mortals and their deep-seated hunger that would, eventually, force them into morally grey situat
ions. And that was at best.

  “Harken!” A young woman bearing the slightly pointed ears of someone with fae ancestry - someone who didn’t care to hide it - came bustling around the corner and shook her finger at the butler. “That’s enough. You’ve caused plenty of trouble for one day. And I need help with the wood.”

  Harken shot Roderick a grin and leapt over the banister, landing softly on his feet and bolting past the woman. “Sorry ‘bout him,” she said, tucking a wayward blond curl behind her ear. “Miss Wilder gave you the nicest guest room, just at the top of the stairs and to the right. Got your own bath and everything. Just hit the little toggle by the tub and it’ll fill and heat on its own.” She gave him a quick curtsy and a smile. “I’m Ruby. You need anything else, just ring. I’ll make sure Harken doesn’t cause any other trouble.”

  And then she was gone as well, leaving a slightly stunned Roderick to tramp up the stairs, bags in hand.

  Once locked away in the guest room, he pressed his back to the door with a groan. Exhaustion warred with a thready thrum of something else. A nervous energy, one that had him shifting restlessly. It may have been his proximity to a half-incubi, or the strange events of the day, or the sight of a blood-soaked forest clearing. But something in him was anxious, tender. He couldn’t have named the sensation if pressed for it, but it had him on edge, nonetheless.

  After unpacking and exploring a bit - including poking through empty drawers and checking under the bed - Roderick stood in front of the slowly filling tub, watching in awe as the water steamed straight out of the tap. The little toggle he’d been instructed on had a tiny brass nameplate beneath it: “The Great Water Boiler, invented by A. Remeri”. A smaller tap on the tub released a jet of scented oil of some kind, the scent reminding Roderick of a cool forest spring; something deep and earthy but not unpleasant.

  Octavia had said Wilderwood was a town of eccentrics, including inventors, but only now did he know that the famous Asmos Remeri had lived here, or at least been through. Remeri was a famed magic scholar and inventor and had created some of the most intriguing, fascinating devices the world had ever seen. Most of them malfunctioned soon after being turned on or used a handful of times, but the promise was there. It was that promise, that spark of genius, that he’d always admired.

  Roderick shucked off his ruined clothes and with a groan, lowered his aching body into the scented, damn near scorching water. He hissed at the contact but kept going until he was sunk chest deep into the tub. Leaning his head back against the hammered copper, Roderick closed his eyes and let himself drift.

  ***

  Does he come to us? No, he will not. He cannot, because if he does he will lead him here. And then our blood will be on his hands.

  The Ranger. The Feral. The Born. The Returned.

  Twisting and writhing about each other, all bound up in secrets and mysteries and murder.

  But sisters, should we not help?

  Even if it means our deaths?

  I do not wish to die, Merry. I do not wish to die, Tempest. I want what I always have - to listen to the barn owl song as it catches mice and to run through the junipers as they bend to my will.

  But Rowan, we owe a debt.

  We do not! It has been repaid ten times over.

  Then why do we stay?

  Who else would protect us? Wilderwood is our home.

  Then we find a new one! Or we make one of our own! If she can do it, so can we.

  Rowan -

  The Ranger comes like a dog in the night, looking for scraps and willing to take what we give him. But we should turn him away.

  I do not wish to die.

  Roderick shot up with a splutter, wiping oil and water out of his eyes, his breath coming in harried pants as he looked around, wild. The room was silent save the ticking of a handsome clock on the fireplace mantle and the pop of logs in the hearth. “What the fuck is going on?” he asked aloud.

  ***

  Octavia waited until the three heartbeats faded from her periphery before speaking. “I desperately want to know everything.” She was hanging onto her control by a hair trigger, mad to touch Eislen once more. But there were other far more pressing matters.

  And yet, none of them mattered so much in the moment as being near them once more.

  Octavia paused, thought, and then rushed them, pinning them to the wall but not touching. Their blood, the buzz of their magic, burned inside her. Made her gums itch and her body pulse with want. “But I missed you,” she said in their ear, letting stray hairs tickle her cheek as she bent her head.

  Eislen initiated the touch, their hands gripping her upper arms. “Two years,” they breathed, a laugh under their words. “Two years never knowing if I’d make it back to you.”

  Octavia pressed her forehead to theirs, breathed them in. Little tingling sparks of electricity leapt from Eislen to her; a reminder of that magic that lived in them, always just below the surface. It tasted different now, but it would after months and months in the Faelands. She wasn’t one to beg, but a, “Please,” escaped her like it yearned to be let off the lead.

  Warm hands brushed her jaw, pulling her gaze up to meet theirs. Their eyes had always been unfathomable hazel depths, making Octavia wonder more than once if Bel didn’t have some touch of other kind in their blood. Now they were dark at the edges, Bel’s gaze trained on her mouth. “I missed you,” they said softly before pressing their lips to hers.

  Octavia was still furious, still hurt, and still reeling. But she wanted their touch so badly she instantly caved, pulling Bel’s bottom lip between her teeth, reveling in their sharp intake of breath. Bel’s hands were familiar and warm on her face, their mouth a sweet distraction from all the death and pain swirling around them.

  For one long, lingering moment, they could simply be with each other. Like it had been before the Faelands and their fight. For that brief moment, everything was right again.

  Bel was clutching at her now, sliding one hand into Octavia’s hair, the other traveling lower and lower still, light as air fingertips brushing her side.

  “Bel.”

  Just their name on a whisper, like a promise. Energy was sparking off Bel, little jolts of static electricity. It only happened when they were in a riled state; the finely tuned control of their magic slipping loose.

  “Octavia. Please.”

  All the gods above, was Bel begging? Octavia drew back, searching Bel’s face closely. Their eyes were hooded and dark, lips parted and slick.

  They looked utterly destroyed.

  The white streaks in their hair took on an orange hue in the firelight and she had to touch them. Needed to ground herself again in the familiar. In her beloved. “You just got back,” she said, knowing the words were useless against the tide of Bel’s need. They’d always been one to ground themself in touch, in physical things. “Do you still have it?” she asked, running a palm over their cheek. Her touch was gentle, soothing.

  Bel nodded, drawing their bottom lip between their teeth. “I would never lose it. It was...easier to hide it there. It had caught some attention from the fae and I didn’t want it stolen.” They reached down and Octavia moved back to give them space. Their long, elegant fingers dug around in their boot and soon she heard the ping of metal, could smell the copper as Bel pulled out the metal disc.

  Between their index and thumb was a copper circle, roughly the size of a coin. Magic sizzled off its surface, wafting up in thin blue-green tendrils. Octavia watched, fascinated, as the magic danced across Bel’s skin, diving below the surface to light them up from the inside. She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief - it still worked, it still recognized her and them.

  It was an old thing. She’d plucked it from the family vault over a century ago, curious as to why such a plain little trinket deserved a spot there. But her touch brought forth a litany of memories - memories stored by her ancestors, both the mundane and profane. But even more curious was how it reacted to her sin marks, and as she touched the d
isc now, that same reaction occurred. The marks glow softly, scattered like river pebbles across her skin and glowing through her sleeves.

  The disc liked Bel’s magic, linking itself to them almost immediately when Octavia asked if they could help her identify its origins and purpose. And while no solid conclusions had been achieved, Octavia had told Bel to keep it as a token of friendship. And later, her affection.

  With both of them touching the copper disc, magic spun around them, a beautiful turquoise hue that swirled lazily. Octavia could feel it pulling on her marks, and she watched the ones on her wrists slowly flicker to life. Those marks had no known translation and try as she might to ascertain their meanings, any answers eluded her.

  “Octavia?”

  Bel’s soft voice brought her back to the moment. She smiled, a half-formed thing that Bel returned. It made her ache seeing Bel like this. Having them back. Being able to touch them, to kiss them. “We’ve time,” she said, curling Bel’s fingers closed around the disc. “And you need rest.”