Wilderwood

by Halli Starling

  The soft warmth in his eyes, empathetic in a way that made her heart clench, was enough. For now.

  Rowan joined her sisters, her face carefully devoid of any emotion as she handed Octavia the dagger. “At least this ensures we reapply the standard wards in time with the equinox,” she said stiffly. “But these alarms won’t keep out the worst, especially if it is of another realm. It’s a warning system, not a resolution.”

  “Rowan.” Merry’s chiding was soft but a warning was laced behind that one word.

  The blond woman clucked her tongue. “Yes, yes.” And then she turned to Roderick. “Ranger. We require your assistance.”

  His eyebrows nearly went into his hairline. “I’m sorry?”

  Rowan sighed. “Did Octavia not explain this to you?”

  “It’s not required,” Octavia bit out, jawline tight with barely veiled impatience. “I’m not going to ask that of him.”

  “Whatever it is, allow me to assist.” Roderick came to stand in front of her, leathers creaking softly as he moved. “I did drag this to your door, after all.”

  Octavia swore softly while Merry stepped in to explain. “The alarms are set up as a lock, so that should someone try to force Octavia to activate or deactivate them, it can’t be done with just her alone. It requires offerings from all of us in the room.” The pointed look she gave him then was at complete contrast to her slight features. A frisson of power prickled across his skin and one of his charms hummed in sympathy. He felt a warm breeze and could smell a dozen roses on that wind, and then it was gone.

  “However,” Merry said, “ we only ask those with ties to the town to offer. You’ve only been here a handful of days -”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Octavia blinked. “I would never ask that.”

  Roderick put his hand on her arm. “I know. That’s why I want to.” He could only hope the expression on his face communicated what was left unsaid.

  “Ranger blood would help,” Tempest replied gently. “But it also puts you at risk, Ranger Arman.”

  He gave her a rueful smile. “I’m always at risk. A little bloodletting is not a worry. I want to protect the town. Let me help.”

  Something cracked open on Octavia’s face with his words and she nodded stiffly. “Finally,” Rowan said as Octavia held the knife blade to her forearm. Her cut was swift, sure, as were the others. Blood dribbled into the bowl, sliding down the sides and pulled, as if by a magnet, to the center. Where it began to boil.

  Roderick followed suit, keeping his gaze on Octavia the entire time even as he wrapped a handkerchief over the shallow cut.

  Nothing happened for several long beats. Just as Roderick opened his mouth to pose a question, there was a rush of sound, thunder and copper chimes, and he winced at how loud it was. Octavia flinched as well, but the triplets didn’t seem bothered.

  Their heads were bowed over the bowl, a duochrome palette of black and blonde hair. Roderick didn’t know if he should move out of their way, especially as they began to chant in a lilting, melodic language he couldn’t make heads or tails of. Octavia jerked her head toward the door on her right and he took a tentative step back, then another.

  “Now we wait,” she said in his ear, her hand gripping his elbow as she steered him outside. “We can’t leave the boundaries of their home but I refuse to stay for the ritual.”

  She ignored his look of curiosity until they were out in the damp, chilly air. There she seemed to be able to breathe again, her shoulders slumping, eyes fluttering shut. Finally she pushed her hair back and said, “I have a duty to this town and these people. Thank you for assisting.”

  Her odd, stiff tone made him frown. Roderick leaned forward to brace his elbows on his knees and stare at the rain clouds on the horizon. He didn’t want to see the wall she’d just slammed into place, like a vault closing. “So what happens?”

  “By tonight the town will be covered by a…..a magic net, of a sort. There are focal points all over Wilderwood that take what was offered and, because of the sisters, create a set of alarms. They can be bypassed by magic, of course, but it provides some sense of security.” The flicker of her smile was faint, but there. “A safety netting, if you will. My relative who founded this place was quite the inventor. He and some scientists in the town figured it out.” Octavia nodded back to the house. “With the help of the triplets, of course. It does what you want the wards to do. And for years we had only two layers of protection, the wards on the town and the ward on the manor. Now we have the alarms as well.”

  “Leave those who belong in, cast out evil where it roots, and prevent further malice from entering.” Roderick now understood the full weight of this system. The quote, after all, was from Remeri. Why it was a shock to his system to find this out left him a tad dazed.

  “Roderick?” Her hand was there, on his cheek. The gap between her coat sleeve and her glove gave him the tiniest glimpse at a thick, white line under her skin. Sin marks. The mark of a born vampire.

  For one wild, fleeting moment Roderick wanted to see more of them. All of them. Every single one. The thought startled him. He barely knew her and yet….something about her spoke to the wounds near his heart. She was so fiercely protective of the town, of all who lived in it. “I’m all right.” His smile was weak; it trembled at the ends. “Remeri’s one of my heroes. To know that you knew her…..”

  Her hand slowly dropped from his face. “I did. And that is a story for when the world isn’t trying to fall down around our ears.” Octavia put her hands back in her lap and slumped against the wall. The wind caught her hair, snarling the loose ends about her neck. A neck he most certainly wasn’t thinking about. “I need to make sure everyone is safe. I can send some to the towns in the south but I’ll be asking them to leave their homes, their lives.”

  Her words rang in his ears. A fierce desire to protect welled in his chest. That calling, that need to help. The strong emotions that would have driven him to the Rangers even with no family legacy of service. “I’ve a wonder, Octavia.” When she turned her head to look at him, he waited for a long moment before continuing. “Are you aware of your own dedication?”

  Octavia’s brow furrowed. “What a strange question. And the answer is obvious.”

  “Is it?” His heart beat a little faster at the intense light in her eyes. On anyone else it might be indignation or even anger, but on Octavia it was something more primal. Almost predatory. As if she were assessing her prey before leaping in for the kill. She practically bristled with energy. “I don’t doubt how you feel about this town, these people, for a moment. But who is there for you? I see everything you’ve built -”

  “I didn’t build it,” she retorted quickly, her tone sharp. “I nurtured what was already here and what people wanted to build. Nothing more.”

  Roderick held out his hands in surrender. “All right. But you still had a hand in it, removed or not. I get the feeling….” He broke off the sentence, left it hanging. Truly he didn’t want to voice what rattled in his mind - how her pain seemed so obvious, how protective he felt of her even though they’d only known each other a few days. He’d been alone for years and had dedicated himself to remaining as such but now something flickered at the edges of his awareness. Drawn in by her energy, her passion, her forthrightness.

  “I’m sorry.” Octavia’s hand was on his, her gloves soft on his bare skin. “These last several days have felt far too long and I don’t think I can tell up from down anymore. You, Luther, Bel. Everything’s unsettled and I hate it.” She looked away until he returned his gaze to the horizon; he felt her stare like a touch. “There are too many questions and already too many bodies piling up.” Her next words were quiet, solemn. Vigil at an altar as strong as belief in the gods.

  Dedication.

  “We should find Luther and finish this.”

  Roderick swallowed hard. To hear a creature of logic and reason like her talk in such a way, with such a wicked edge of violence playing about her wo
rds, was stunning. But then again, he only had known her for a few days and perhaps her nature was like a ceremonial blade. Beautiful, but still capable of slicing, tearing. “You sound worried about more than the townspeople.”

  She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. “I selfishly want them to come back once it's safe. But many set up in Wilderwood because it’s their home. Even before they built or dug or hung their shingle, it was their home.”

  “It’s your home, too,” he replied softly, turning his hand over to squeeze hers.

  The door of the house slammed open and Rowan stalked out to drop something amethyst in color in Octavia’s lap. “Deathtwig.” She dug around in her apron pocket with a long-fingered hand and dropped something spongy and deep red next to it. “Blood moss.”

  Octavia stared at the witch, russet eyes lighting in recognition. “Those are Faelands plants.”

  Rowan nodded stiffly. “And therefore should not be here. Merry just found patches of both in the garden as we were making sachets for you to start dispersing in the village. Cows were melted down the road. Three hunters killed.” Her sharp, liquid brown gaze flicked to Roderick. “And now two Rangers in our presence, once very recently returned from the Faelands. One of those things would be shit, Octavia.” From the look on her soft features she clearly wanted to say more, but instead of anger, her tone now held remorse. “We have helped hold this town for generations. But this is too much. You need to send people away until it’s safe once more.”

  “You want to leave.” Octavia’s words held no meaning other than recognition.

  “I do. My sisters rely on me too much, as do you all. I need time and space away.” Rowan looked to the cold spring sky as the first few drops of rain fell. “Take this.” She pressed a heavy-looking, rough crystal into Octavia’s hand. Even in the gloom it glinted with a deep emerald shine. “Evacuate the town, and keep those who stay in the manor. This should help. You know how to use it?”

  Octavia nodded. “It’ll work for the manor. Thank you.”

  Rowan sniffed but Roderick saw the flash of something more yielding grace her features for just a moment. “Don’t thank me. You’ve got serious issues on your hands and if Bel’s not involved with it somehow, I’ll eat my fucking boots. Talk to them, Octavia. They may not know what’s going on, but it cannot be a coincidence that their return was heralded by so much death.” Rowan started to duck back inside but turned and said, “And convince my sisters to burn the garden. Blood moss and deathtwig don’t belong in our world and only fire kills them. If you don’t, by this time tomorrow it’ll take over the entire street.”

  Octavia stayed quiet for a long moment, turning the crystal over in her hands. “I know Luther’s involved in this and I won’t leave this place defenseless. So where do we start?” Roderick finally said. “Let me help.”

  Eleven

  While Octavia and Roderick worked with the witches, Bel and Gregory and a few of his clan secured the town. Some of it was mundane activity, from checking armaments and charms to ensuring supplies were well in order. A lockdown didn’t mean no one could come or go, but it did mean outsiders were no longer welcome in Wilderwood. And any such blockade on visitors was a sure sign that things were not well.

  Word was sent off to nearby towns, and letters came back almost as quickly. Every town had trained ravens that could deliver messages, but Wilderwood, Veldersmith, and Bridgeton had long ago set up a means of communication via crystals. Much like the telegraph, it could only send short messages but for that which couldn’t wait it was perfect.

  Gregory ducked into the post office where the device sat in a back room, leaving Bel to wait in the front while citizens quickly collected mail and supplies. Preparing for the worst, Bel thought as they gave them a wide berth. Many folks remembered Bel from their time in the town but the newer faces gave them space. One Ranger was trouble, two was almost unheard of. And in a town the size of Wilderwood, the gossip mill was strong and quick.

  Bel settled on a stool in the corner and waited, running their gloved fingers over their weapons. The family sword on their hip; the ceremonial dagger in their jacket, given to all Rangers upon their first commission. The movement was comforting, reassuring. They didn’t need to be armed to be dangerous, but the weapons were beautifully wrought tools of death. It made them feel more grounded to put their fingers to the blades and know they could take on any issues they faced.

  Bel’s thoughts flitted back to Octavia. Her russet eyes had been one of the first things Bel had noticed when they met. That, and her hands. Long and thin and finely boned, like a bird’s wing. And then they’d stayed in Wilderwood and took tea with Octavia. The teas turned into long dinners over wine and good conversation, and then those bled into evenings by the fire.

  They’d been in town for a few months before the viedezan attack. And the cave. And that bite, like a kiss but so much more. It had lingered in Bel’s system like a poison, buried itself under their skin like an unscratchable itch. Turned their dreams into passionate nightmares of pale skin and long brown hair and fangs that dripped with blood. That bite changed Bel’s life and made them understand how deeply they could feel, how much they wanted.

  ***

  Octavia avoided them after the viedezan attack but sent Harken and Ruby to ensure Bel was comfortable and tended to. She’d sent on a note apologizing, her words worried and cautious in the same stroke of her pen. Bel’s nights left them gasping for air, sweating and frustrated and wanting. Desperately.

  Passion ran in their blood, their bones. They had denied their needs for so long while at the academy but that was due to necessity. And distrust. Few understood how they felt about their body, their decision to avoid gender or discussions thereof. Rangers were trained in death and tactics, not subtle nuances of sexuality and identity. The world wasn’t ready for such conversations, and Bel felt rather out of their depth. So, they trained harder than the others, studied more, practiced their magics and by the time they left, they were already infamous amongst their class.

  But no amount of studies or classes can be traded for the value that is first-hand knowledge. No sword practice is the same as jabbing your blade into flesh and feeling warm blood gush over your hands. Theory, guides, rules mean nothing once you’ve killed another creature, the only sounds in your ears your harried breaths and the dying wails of something that eaten a farmer two days before.

  Nothing readies you for the intricacies and horrors of death. A spider matriarch doesn’t care if you see yourself as female or male or neither. A viedezan doesn’t care if you lust after someone generations older than you and yet somehow vulnerable, fragile.

  Octavia took everything Bel knew and shattered it upon the rocks of her reason and logic and steadfastness. Their thoughts became jumbled the moment she stepped into the room with them, taking them in with those bright, burning eyes.

  After a few days Bel couldn’t stand the lack of contact anymore and marched up to the front door of Wilderwood manor, determined to speak with Octavia. They didn’t know what they’d say but they just needed to see her.

  When they knocked, Octavia answered. “Bel.”

  Bel swept past them, their broad back and sure steps forcing Octavia to follow. Once in the salon that smelled of tea and orchids and her, Bel turned to face the confused vampire. “You do not owe me any apology,” they said, more forceful than they meant to sound. “Octavia. I did not offer you anything I wasn’t willing to give.”

  Octavia frowned, marring that lovely face. “Bel, please. I can’t….I can’t be near you right now.” She turned away with a flinch.

  “No. Absolutely not.” They stood behind her, towering over her slight frame. “Please look at me. I don’t fear you.”

  With a sigh and a stiff spine, Octavia slowly turned back to Bel. “You’re divine,” she whispered. A confession. One that seemed to bother Octavia but absolutely didn’t do the same to Bel. It sent a thrill through them, knowing that intimate moment had me
ant something to Octavia.

  “Look at me,” they said gently, putting a glove hand under her chin until their eyes met. “Do not apologize, and do not worry so much. It was….” Bel shuddered, remembering the feel of teeth popping into their neck. The slow, lazy, gentle way Octavia touched and held them. “Would you do it again?”

  Octavia’s eyes flared wide. “You can’t ask that.”

  “I just did.” Bel motioned to the room. “There’s no one else here, and I’m under no influence except my own.” They chuckled, the sound rich and deep. “Well, maybe a little bit because of you.” And then they dared to touch a loose tendril by Octavia’s face, watching with pleasure at how she shivered. “I dream of you. I dream of that cave and your touch and it makes me wild.”

  “Bel.” Octavia’s voice was strangled, a chokehold on the tide of her want. “Be sure.”

  Bel’s knees almost gave out. “Absolutely. There’s no question in my mind” They pulled Octavia to them, their hands gentle but steady. “I do not know what the fates have in store for us but right now I do not want to leave.”