by Zoe Chant
It’s a unicorn. She’d run out of disbelief, and was left with the simple evidence of her eyes. There’s a unicorn standing in front of me.
It towered over her, tall as a racehorse, but even the finest Thoroughbred would have looked like a waddling pug next to that sleek, swift form. The light from its horn banished the night, burning away shadows—except where the nightmare stood.
Darkness still oozed around the monster’s skeletal, spiked form. Blue sparks hissed and snapped where its shadowy veil intersected the unicorn’s glowing aura. The two creatures faced off horn-to-horn, eyes locked, neither moving a muscle. They stood poised like sword fighters about to duel, an invisible conflict of wills shivering in the air between them.
It struck Candice that they were perfect mirror images of each other—light against dark, grace against horror. The monster was like a twisted, distorted shadow of the unicorn, a perverted mockery of its heart-stopping perfection. Even their eyes were opposites. The unicorn’s were a deep, brilliant emerald, uncompromising and steady, while the monster’s crimson stare seethed with frustrated hatred.
The monster made a lightning-fast feint, scuttling sideways like a spider on the knife-points of its hooves. The unicorn flowed like water, matching the movement. Its burning horn stayed fixed on the monster’s heart. The light intensified, pushing the nightmare back two stabbing steps.
The monster’s red eyes flicked from the unicorn to Candice. Its lips drew back in a snarl, showing long, needle-like fangs.
Foreign emotions washed over her like a foul, grease-slick wave. For a second, she felt the creature’s emotions: churning rage, bleak despair, and an empty, bottomless hunger.
The creature retreated, fading backward into the shadows of the trees. A final hiss, a ripple in the night—and it was gone.
The unicorn held still for a long moment, still poised for a fight. Then it raised its head, some of the tension draining out of its taut body. Light drained out of its horn too, leaving only a gentle moonlight glimmer.
The unicorn turned to face her, long silver mane flowing like water over its neck. It eyed her sidelong from those emerald eyes, for the first time seeming less than certain of itself. It took a single tentative step toward her, and stopped.
She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until all the air rushed out of her lungs. Her knees gave way, so abruptly that she very nearly sat on poor Fenrir. Flash twisted out of her slack hands at last, making another of those odd musical chirps as she bounded free.
The fawn pranced over to the unicorn. She was ridiculously dwarfed by its powerful form, but she stretched her tiny muzzle up in greeting without the slightest trace of fear. Solemnly, the unicorn bowed its head, touching horns with her in greeting.
…Wait.
Horns?
A hysterical giggle burst from her lips. Both animals jerked their heads up, staring at her in alarm.
“Sorry.” Candice scrubbed her hands across her face, and looked again. Nothing had changed. “Okay. Right. I give up. Of course you’re both unicorns. Why not?”
The two unicorns exchanged glances with each other. Two sets of pointed ears drooped. They both looked remarkably guilty.
“Well, at least that explains why you turned up,” Candice said to the big one. It was, she noted, very definitely a stallion. “I guess you must be Flash’s dad.”
Flash snorted. The stallion shook his head, mane rippling.
“And you can clearly understand me.” At this point, Candice would not have been surprised if the unicorn had opened his mouth and belted out a flawless rendition of ‘Shake It Off’. “Okay. Cool. Do you talk too?”
Flash snorted again, but the stallion hesitated. He eyed her warily, as though he was torn between coming closer or running away. One of his back hooves stamped at the ground.
“No, please, don’t go!” She dug reflexively in her pockets, sorting by feel through the animal treats she always carried. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any sugar lumps. Uh…dog biscuit?”
The stallion’s green eyes softened. He nickered in an amused equine chuckle.
“No, I suppose not.” The dog biscuit made her remember Fenrir, and she caught her breath as a piece of unicorn mythology surfaced from her memory.
“Unicorns can heal people, right?” She scrambled to her feet, moving aside to show the stallion the collapsed dog. “Fenrir’s hurt. Please, can you help him?”
The stallion’s horn dulled to a faint starlight gleam. His great head drooped low. Her heart twisted at his clear sorrow.
“That’s just a myth, huh?” He was standing close enough to touch. Greatly daring, she put her hand against his luminous hide. His fur was cloud-soft, far finer than any horse’s. “Hey buddy, don’t look like that. It’s okay. You’ve already saved all our lives. That’s more than enough.”
The unicorn rested his chin on her shoulder, just the lightest pressure. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent: Lilacs and spring rain, forest leaves and the faintest hint of smoke. It was a unique, wild fragrance, and yet somehow curiously familiar…
Fenrir stirred behind her, letting out a deep noise that sounded more like a man groaning in pain than a dog’s whimper. With a twinge of regret, she released the unicorn, turning back to the dog.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him,” she said over her shoulder to the watching unicorns. “You guys had better get going before someone sees you.”
Though maybe, she belatedly realized, people couldn’t. Flash had seemed like a perfectly normal deer to her, even when she’d been touching the fawn. Still, an enormous white stag was hardly inconspicuous.
“No, I mean it, scram,” she insisted, when neither unicorn showed the slightest inclination to move. “Wystan will be here any second. It’s going to be hard enough keeping my mouth shut about all of this. If he sees you and starts asking questions, I’m not going to lie to him.”
She cast a glance back at the distant camp, frowning. Smoke swirled around her trailer, but she couldn’t see any orange glow. The firefighters must have smothered the flames. There was still a great crowd of people swarming the site, but their movements were brisk and purposeful rather than panicked. The situation was clearly under control.
So what was keeping Wystan?
Fenrir stirred groggily, making that strangely human moan again. Although he seemed to be recovering, she didn’t want to leave him alone in the dark while she ran to get help. She propped his head up in her lap to make sure his windpipe was clear.
“It’s okay, good boy. I know I’m not your human, but he’ll be here soon. Just stay still until he gets here.” She rubbed reassuringly behind his pointed ears, shooting a glare at the distant, anonymous figures milling around her trailer. “Come on, Wystan. Where the heck are you?”
With a snort, Flash rounded on the bigger unicorn. She jabbed at his knees with her tiny horn, one front foot pawing at the ground angrily. Candice had the distinct impression that the foal was scolding the towering stallion.
The stallion hesitated. Then he took a step forward, his horn brightening. The light ran down to outline his entire body, his form wavering and shifting…
The silver glow faded.
“Candice,” Wystan said, holding out his hands. “It’s me.”
Chapter 14
By now, he knew Candice better than to expect her to faint. Sure enough, she just blinked at him, once, her expression barely flickering.
“Okay,” was all she said. She scrambled to her feet, gesturing down at Fenrir. “Can you carry him?”
“It’ll be awkward.” The hellhound was big enough to be a challenge even with shifter strength. “I’m worried about jostling him, but I don’t think we have any choice. We have to get him to safety.”
Flash nipped at his leg as he started to bend down. He winced—not from her teeth, but from the bright, urgent flurry of images that streamed into his head. It was difficult to interpret her wordless manner of communicating, but the underlying emotion was
clear. She was worried about the hellhound too.
“We’re going to help him, little one,” he answered her out loud, accompanying the words with a mental picture of himself tending to Fenrir in the first aid tent. “We just have to get him back to camp.”
Flash cocked her head to one side. She jabbed at him with her small horn, forcing him to take a step back toward Candice.
“What’s she doing?” Candice asked, as Flash herded them all together like a very small and determined sheepdog with a very stupid flock.
“I have no idea,” Wystan replied, busy trying not to step on Fenrir’s paws. “I think something must have gotten lost in translation.“
Flash gave him a rather exasperated look. A single, very clear picture filled his head: Candice and himself, both with a hand flat against the baby unicorn’s flank.
Flash’s mental tone was so firm, he found himself reaching out before he knew what he was doing. Candice did as well, as though she too had heard that telepathic order. Their hands touched Flash’s white coat simultaneously.
Light flared.
White filled his vision, rippling gently. It took him a second to realize that it was the wall of a tent. He met Candice’s startled eyes, their hands still side-by-side on Flash’s fur.
“Did she just teleport us all?” Candice said.
Someone yelped from behind them. They both spun around. A middle-aged woman was staring at them as though they’d just materialized from thin air.
Which, perhaps, they had.
“Candice!” The woman seized Candice, pulling her into a bear hug. Wystan recognized her as Candice’s colleague, the one who’d walked in on their first meeting. “You’re okay!”
“I’m fine, Bethany.” Candice returned the woman’s embrace, then held her out at arm’s-length to inspect her critically. “You didn’t get caught in the fire?”
“No, I was just on my way back from the showers when I saw the commotion.” Bethany’s eyes narrowed as she took in Candice’s state. “Clearly you did get caught in it, though. Or, more likely, threw yourself into the flames in order to rescue the animals.”
“Are they all okay?” Candice asked anxiously.
Bethany waved a hand, indicating their surroundings. “They’re fine. We’ve got permission to keep them here for now, until we can assess how much damage has been done to our own camp.”
Looking around, Wystan realized that they were in one of the first aid storage tents. Boxes of medical supplies had been hurriedly shunted aside to make room for animal cages. Discontented mews and squeaks rose from them, along with the pungent aroma of cats who had elected to relieve their feelings by copiously relieving their bladders.
“The fawn was the only one we couldn’t find, and I see you’ve got her,” Bethany said, nodding down at Flash. She did a double-take at Fenrir. “Good grief, are you rescuing bears now?”
“This is Fenrir.” Candice moved aside to give her colleague access to the hellhound. “We left him watching over Flash, and he…got hurt. He’s Wystan’s dog.”
*Not dog.* The mental voice was the barest whisper in the back of Wystan’s mind. *And not Icehorse’s.*
“Fenrir!” Relief surged through him. Heedless of Bethany’s perplexed look, he crouched down next to the hellhound.
*Icehorse.* Fenrir’s muzzle lifted a little. His copper eyes were unfocused and dazed, but his muscles tensed, his paws scrabbling weakly at the ground. *Icehorse! The night mare—we must protect the pack!*
“Hush, it’s all right, everyone is safe now.” Wystan put a hand on the hellhound’s shoulder, pushing him back down as he tried to rise. “What happened?”
Now both Bethany and Candice were staring at him—the former in increasing bafflement, the latter in slow-dawning realization. Candice’s gaze flicked from him to Fenrir. No doubt it was obvious to her by now that he was no ordinary dog.
*Was with the cub when attack came.* Fenrir’s telepathic voice was slurred and weak. *No warning. One moment wall, next no wall, and Night Mare filling the void. Barked fire at her.*
Fenrir’s memory flickered in his mind’s eye like a bootleg movie. He saw how the metal wall of the trailer had exploded inward, crates shattering under a blast of black energy. He felt how flames had boiled from Fenrir’s throat in instinctive reflex as he sprang to meet the threat.
Well, that explained the fire. Hellhound flames were as destructive as dragonbreath. They were unlucky the monster had managed to leap out of the way in time. As it was, Fenrir’s fireball had instantly torched the camp rather than his opponent.
*Night Mare flung shadow in return,* Fenrir continued. A pulse of remembered pain echoed down the telepathic connection, making Wystan’s own chest ache in sympathy. *Then, darkness. Next thing, was here.*
*You can thank Flash for that,* Wystan replied telepathically, though it was probably too late to avoid appearing like a madman to Bethany. *She appears to have unusual talents.*
He cast a glance at the baby unicorn. She was swaying on her hooves, head hanging. Whatever she’d done to transport them here, it seemed to have exhausted her strength.
He’d assumed that Fenrir had carried her to safety from the trailer, but now he suspected it had been the other way around. The little unicorn must have teleported herself and the hellhound to safety…only to have the creature catch up with them while Flash was still recovering her energy. It was apparent she couldn’t pull her trick twice in quick succession.
And how does she do it, anyway?
He set aside that mystery to ponder later. *In any case, we’re safe now,* he sent to Fenrir. *The creature fled. I think it sensed the others were returning. They’ll be here soon.*
He could feel the rest of the squad shimmering on the edge of his awareness. Rory and the others were still too distant to be able to join in the telepathic conversation, but they were on their way back as fast as their wings could carry them.
*Pack,* Fenrir said, also hearing that distant call. The hellhound dropped his head back to the floor, eyes closing in exhaustion. *Good.*
“You just rest,” Wystan said out loud. He smoothed the hellhound’s fur, silently sending his gratitude. “Bethany here will take care of you.”
Bethany eyed the hellhound’s massive bulk with wary respect. “Well, I will if your dog promises not to try to take my hand off.”
“He’s my colleague, not my dog,” Wystan replied. Fenrir’s tail wagged once, weak but pleased. “And he’ll stay still as long as you explain what you’re about to do, and ask his permission first. I know it sounds odd, but please, humor me?”
Bethany cocked an eyebrow up at Candice. “I can see why you like this one so much. Besides the obvious.” She shrugged. “Okay, sure. Hi Fenrir. I want to listen to your chest and have a look down your throat. Is that okay?”
Fenrir grumbled, but opened his jaws.
“My, grandma, what big teeth you have,” Bethany muttered, going rather pale. Nonetheless, her hands were steady as she set to work, pulling out a small penlight and shining it down Fenrir’s gaping maw. “I’ll take it from here, Candice. You get your butt over to the paramedics, stat.”
“I am a paramedic,” Wystan interjected. “I’ll take care of her.”
“I don’t need anyone to take care of me.” Candice scooped up Flash, who slumped gratefully into her arms. “Flash is the one who needs attention the most. I’ll look after her, then check on the other animals.”
Wystan caught her elbow, holding her firmly. “You must have inhaled at least a couple of lungfuls of smoke. I’ll see to Flash afterward, but I am going to take care of you first. Right now."
“Now I like him too,” Bethany informed Candice.
Wystan was fairly certain that Bethany liked him more than Candice did at the moment. His mate fixed him with a baleful glare. He held her eyes levelly.
It was a fiercer contest of wills than staring down the monster earlier, but Candice looked away first. “Fine,” she said grudgingly. “I guess
we need to talk, anyway.”
She let him steer her out, to the first aid tent. A couple of other casualties were already there, minor burns being treated by medics. The fire in the camp had caught everyone by surprise. Wystan counted himself lucky that he’d managed to escape with only a few minor burns. In the heat of the moment, he’d charged straight through the flames, forgetting all his training in the instinctive need to save his mate.
He dismissed his own injuries, shifter-fast healing already starting to take away the pain. He found an unoccupied camp bed and sat Candice down on it, then fetched a first aid kit. For all her bravado, she was shivering a little, her skin cold to the touch.
“Here.” He draped a silver emergency blanket over her shoulders. “You’re going into shock.”
“Am not,” she croaked.
“After what you’ve seen tonight, it would be bizarre if you didn’t go into shock,” he said firmly. He clipped an oxygen sensor to her fingertip as he spoke. “It’s a physical reaction, not a sign of weakness.”
“You aren’t going into shock.” She sounded almost accusing.
“This isn’t new to me.” He lowered his voice, casting a glance around to make sure no one else could overhear them. “I’ve seen creatures like that before.”
Candice cuddled Flash closer, holding her tight as if fearing the apparition might burst into the tent to try to snatch her away. “What—what was that thing?”
Wystan hesitated, debating with himself. But she was his mate. And he’d hidden enough secrets from her already. Keeping her in the dark wouldn’t keep her safe.
In fact, it could put her in mortal peril.
He looked down at the baby unicorn in Candice’s arms. “I think it was Flash’s mother.”
Chapter 15
“You think it was the baby unicorn’s mother?” Blaise said incredulously.
From the expressions on his other team-mate’s faces, she wasn’t the only one wondering whether he’d lost his mind. The flickering campfire illuminated various degrees of skepticism, ranging from Callum’s cool reserve to Buck’s outright disbelief.
