***
“No, Octavia! He can do this.” Bel’s words were a plea. They had so little concentration to spare as magic unspooled, long strands of it like luminous thread looped over their fingers and wrists. “Please.”
Her marks were glowing, a wildly random pattern that Bel couldn’t look at for long. “I’m here.” But Octavia’s voice was strangled as she held back on her desire to rush into the fight. The Rangers and weres were holding their own. One Ranger was unconscious nearby, having been thrown into a tree by a Dark Watcher. Two weres, a bear and a wolf, had dispelled another’s armor with their claws and were in the process of tearing its head from its neck.
And Octavia waited, trembling through the effort to hold back. She watched Roderick be jumped on and punched by Luther, his face bloody, and then Roderick’s hand shot up. It bent the vampire’s arm back at an unnatural angle and the sound of bone snapping sent a shiver down her spine. But she stayed, and watched.
Bel’s magic was building and twisted through their empathy and creation. It had been a clever design, the spell, using their talents in order to create doors behind which to lock away the portals. But it was unlike any spell they’d ever tried and even with the witches’ talismans and assistance, it would be draining. Meaning no distractions could get through. If Bel lost a moment's concentration, this would all be for naught.
They focused, intent on weaving the spell between their hands. Building. Creating.
And then could only watch in horror as a creature made of bark and feathers and tough leather skin materialized through the trees by Octavia to slice at her with one bladed hand aimed at her throat. Cackling the entire time.
***
It missed by a scant centimeter of air. The hunter in her had smelled the creature a moment before it appeared, giving Octavia a chance to move ever so slightly. In the shocked pause that followed, she dodged. Rolling across the ground to land on her feet, Octavia sprung up, grabbed the vial from her coat, and downed it. The feathered creature moved with a fluid grace that was borderline disturbing; as if her mind knew those animated bits of feather and bark weren’t powered by magic alone. Something almost human looked at her through those wide black eyes. Its power spoke to hers in a way that understood the animal buried far beneath.
She didn’t have the chance to move this time and the creature was on her in an instant, yowling and biting and clawing, feathers obscuring Octavia’s vision. The itch was back under her skin, power warring with logic, willing to scratch its way out to be released.
Octavia gave in. The control over the leash snapped.
She drove her elbow into the thing’s chin, sending it flying back. Then she was on her feet and advancing, biting so hard into her own bottom lip that blood flowed freely. She wanted this thing’s blood on her hands, she wanted to smear it down her face and lick it clean. To pluck its feathers out, then its eyes, for daring to invade her home. But she’d settle for ripping its spine out.
But the creature roared as it charged her. “My Queen awaits you, vampire!”
Octavia blocked the first blow but was pummeled aside by the next two. Every blow only stoked her rage, fueled her own hits. She and this thing were locked in a tight-clawed struggle, aiming talons and teeth at vulnerable parts.
From the corner of her eye she saw Roderick put a bolt through Luther’s chest then, with staggering calm and a black eye and bruised face, he flipped his crossbow around, hit the vampire with the butt end. Then stepped over the vampire’s limp form and stabbed it through the eye with his punch dagger.
Power jolted through her body, invasive but welcome. The enemy of her enemy. Her last bit of control failed. Octavia heard Roderick yell her name, then Bel’s. But she was not Octavia in the moment. Octavia didn’t fight like a rabid animal protecting its nest, and she didn’t revel in the spray of warm, black blood on her face. The squish of cartilage under her fingers.
She was an old thing long repressed, long told to stay in the shadows and never be given a turn. She was fanged death whose strength could not be denied by flesh and bone. When her hand punched through the wall of Bemora’s chest and wrapped around the thing’s vile heart, Octavia didn’t squeeze it until it burst raw and bloody in her fist.
But the hunter in her howled its triumph.
Nineteen
The final portal snapped shut. Bel could feel it happening long before but they were fighting against their waning strength and slowly shattering concentration. They felt frayed, moth-eaten, dizzy with exhaustion. And as the shimmer of reality on the far side of the battle began to curl and crackle at the edges, they saw her.
The Queen. Just on the other side. Gorgeous and horrifying, bleeding from dozens of black-red roses speared through her white dress. And then, bafflingly, the Queen turned away from the portal just as Bel heard the cry of the refugees they’d lived with for those two impossibly long years.
The barest glimpse of dark hair, a gnarled wood staff in hand, gave Bel the opening they needed. One final push of power, one more adrenaline and sweat-soaked weave of magic.
The portal slammed shut. Bel heaved a great breath, their entire body shaking, too cold and too hot at the same time. Then hands were holding them up, Roderick’s gaze intent on them. “Bel. Bel. Talk to me, please.”
Bel nodded, their head too heavy for their neck. Roderick got them both to the ground. “I’m here,” they slurred, tongue thick in their mouth. “Octavia?”
Roderick’s tone was wary. “To the other portals, to…..finish it.”
“What?” Bel rolled their head against his shoulder until the forest came into view. The ground was littered with shards of bone armor and many, many bodies. Blank masks covered some of the faces of the Dark Watchers but many were maskless, their severed heads like obscene trophies strewn about the ground. “Did she do that?”
“Not all of them. She….cleaned up the rest.”
Bel closed their eyes. “She’ll be okay.”
“You didn’t see her, Bel. It was….”
“I know. But it’s still her.”
His arms tightened around them. “I hope so.”
***
Octavia made it to the edge of the river before she could feel the dregs of the blood taking its course. Blood coated her skin, her hair. She wanted to get clean and not take any chances being around others, for fear she did something awful. How that blood beckoned to her, like greeting an old friend. Its power wanted to set up home in her, give her everything she ever wanted.
It would have been so easy to give in, to let the power take root. She could control it. She could. She’d simply have to hunt more often.
The touch of icy water on her skin shook Octavia awake. She was drenched in blood - hers, the Dark Watchers, the feathered creature. This wasn’t right. This violence, this deep, deep desire to tear and rip and consume wasn’t her. With every dunk of her head into that water, she felt a little bit more like herself.
Octavia Wilder was a protector.
She flashed back to seeing Roderick make his peace with a dagger through Luther’s eye, with a ferocity she knew he kept at bay. The gold and blue hue of Bel’s magic as they wove beautiful things into existence while defending those they loved. Both protectors. She was a born vampire, capable of great deeds of avarice and selflessness, of honesty and violence.
She chose to be as she was. The blood didn’t.
Octavia dragged herself from the stream, vaguely grateful she couldn’t experience hypothermia, and made her way back to Wilderwood. To home. It was a long, slow walk back and after a few minutes the communication device she shared with Gregory hummed on her finger. She turned the ring three times: I’m alive.
She found her friend standing over a pile of dead Dark Watchers as some of his clan heaped more bodies on the pile. The relief on his bloody, bruised face was evident. “Thank the gods.” He picked her up in a hug, squeezing her tightly. “You took off. I know why, Tavia but -“
“I know. I’m so
rry.” Her words were muffled against his chest. “It was too much.”
Gregory stroked her hair. “I let them know you were okay.”
The realization nearly took her to her knees. “Are they -“
“They’re all right. Bel passed out before Roderick got them inside but yeah.”
Octavia pulled back with a worried look. “How many did we lose?”
“Three. Two Rangers, a were. Got some Rangers who are pretty badly wounded and a few of the younger weres will be out of commission for at least several days. One from the Frederich clan’s got a broken back.” His grip on her was tight and she was so badly tempted to stay in the circle of her friend’s arms “I don’t think anyone would begrudge you staying with them, out of sight for a bit.”
“But - “
“Hush, you.” Gregory nudged her forward. “Go.”
Octavia barely staggered into the courtyard of Wilderwood Manor before Roderick was scooping her into his arms, helping her over the threshold, and carrying her upstairs. Bel was fast asleep, their body lax with exhaustion. Their hair had gained a few more white streaks but they were just as lovely. More so because they were in her bed, alive and warm and breathing steadily.
Gentle hands helped her out of her soaked clothes. In her daze, Octavia managed to pull Roderick to her, press their foreheads together. “You’re here.”
“I am.” There was a teasing arch to his brow. “I can go if you’d rather me -“
“Don’t you dare.”
Roderick laughed before pulling her down to the bed and putting her between his body and Bel’s. “Rest. We can go over all the ugly stuff later. What matters is we’re safe.”
***
Six months later
Roderick stifled a laugh as he turned around in his seat. “No. How?”
“I keep telling you that sheep is part fae.”
Bel snickered. “Well, whatever Beep Beep is, he makes a fine flower girl.”
The sheep in question was wearing a bright green bow around its neck and being led by Maribelle down the aisle between rows of chairs as the entire town and the O’Malley and Frederich clans watched in amusement. Maribelle had given Beep Beep a flower crown to match hers but the sheep was more interested in chewing on the trailing ends of bright red and yellow wildflowers to mind being walked on a leash by its favorite little human.
Sheep distraction aside, as a heavily perfumed spring breeze ruffled everyone’s finery, they watched Gregory and Stephan exchange vows before the great gardens behind Wilderwood Manor. The night would likely end in slightly drunken shenanigans, but it was a price Octavia was willing to pay to see her oldest friend be married. Gregory was resplendent in a dark green kilt, tightly fitted black jacket, Stephan wearing a matching outfit but in grey and blue; his clan’s colors.
Husbands-to-be exchanged clan pins and rings. Then beaming with affection, exchanged a kiss so sweet it took half the crowd’s breath away, several audible gasps making the newlyweds flush in embarrassment.
The grounds and manor were opened up for partygoers and as food and wine flowed, Octavia found herself snagged by the arm and pulled into the empty library. Then pressed between two warm bodies, velvet and silk sliding on her skin. “You two are insatiable,” she said between kisses. “We’re at a wedding.”
“In your home,” Bel said against her jaw. “I think we can do whatever we please as long as we don’t scar anyone.”
She moaned as clever fingers worked the buttons on the back of her dress. “I did tell Ruby to keep everyone out of the library during the party,” Roderick whispered against the back of her neck.
“Whatever will I do with you two?” But Octavia was laughing between hushed groans and the slide of fingertips along her spine.
***
Wilderwood is an idea. Or, it started out like that. Meant to protect, defend, provide safety and security and a warm hearth for anyone who never felt as though they “fit in”. Because what does it mean to fit in? Who is right to judge another’s worthiness? Is it some test of fitness, of humanity? Of the depth of a soul?
Or does being worthy mean loving, and being loved? I’d like to think that’s what separates us - all of us - from those who choose to destroy instead of create. Love creates safety and security. It defends and protects. So while it may be rather rote to admit, if Wilderwood remains, it is because love remains. Steady and true.
I am everything others believe born vampires to be, as we all are capable of strange and worthy deeds. The life I choose is my own, and that means until my dying day I will defend Wilderwood. Both the place and the idea. And I do so because of love.
- From the journal of Octavia Wilder, 1889. Six months after the battle for Wilderwood
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Wilderwood Page 20
