by Mima
Alaric snapped the chains but Donte never even moved.
“Quit rising to his bait. He wants us off-balance.” The man speaking wasn’t known to Donte, even by sight. He wore the sash of the Marten, but he was young, sleekly muscled. Well, well. At least the minor clan had had the guts to overturn their elderly Alpha. Maybe the bears would shortly follow their lead.
The Marten continued. “You say you wanted a key to a City. That means you imagine some sort of future for yourself.”
Donte inclined his head. “My life goal of the past year has been met. I hindered them at every possible turn and got out. From my information, you know of the four masters left, you know every cranny of their lair, and the spells they have to defend it. You know their travel routes, their supply tactics, and more details of their grand plan. This is why I went against the wolves who challenged me on my return. This information was worth my life and theirs. You don’t like my existence, but I’ve told you how to defeat them.”
Deliberately, he paused, letting the horrible reality of that perk through their brains. It got quiet pretty quick. They didn’t like being reminded of the devious final battle the darkmages had set in motion. He waited until the stink of fear began to overtake that of outrage and disgust.
“Give me a chance to prevent that final solution. I can get to them. You can worry about your old rules or you can let me go to work. I have ties to them no one else has.” After all, he was still their pet. The darkspell still slimed through his ribs, seeking obedience.
Wolf slammed the table with both fists, bouncing a mug and an inkwell several paces down the length of wood. He tossed back his head and howled. It was long and beautiful and echoed by the coughing, rib-rattling roar of the Sandcat. Donte’s ears were ringing at the end of it.
The snarling fight that passed between Dom and Wolf went on for a boring amount of time. Donte was impressed that it stayed verbal. Eventually, Dom got most of the Alphas and their Shields in the room to step back against the curved walls. He sat, although Wolf didn’t. Tremors ran through the man’s body, and Donte knew when he took whatever bodily damage they deemed necessary for the wolves’ lives—as if there were any suitable punishment besides death—the clan Alpha would want to deal it himself.
“Tehll uss whaat you’rre thinkinng.” Dom’s voice had the distinct sibilance of a lizzeed to it, but no one seemed to notice. They were probably passing it off as a sign of the high emotion in the room. More lies they told themselves.
Donte’s feet were going numb but he did not shift his position. Legs apart, hands clasped at middle, shoulders back. “I’m already a loss to you, but I’ve got more experience with darkcraft than anyone else and the means to access them. I’m a strong weapon.” Donte stared into Dom’s gaze, letting the weight of his knowledge aid him in holding the thing’s stare. It was hard.
Acknowledging the work Dom must have done in his favor, he called up the main point of contention. “The Queen wants to use me, so she’s pretty much backed you into a corner anyway. On top of that, you should take my mate as proof that I will fight against the darkmages, not with them.” They’d tossed around ridiculous words like ‘rape’ that he refused to acknowledge.
He’d laid out all the best logic, but he sensed the anger in the room would carry over reason. They were too personally bound up in the rules of honor to allow someone, especially someone like him, to bend them. It was time to pull out his final, secret showstopper.
His neck was tight as he uttered the fateful words, careful not to make it a request. “Name me your bone-shield.”
A moment of utter silence bloomed in the room, stopping whispers, growls, and breath.
Alaric yanked on his chains, succeeded only in rattling them, and spat, “Arrogant!”
The room erupted. Donte stood still throughout, waiting, but the minutes spun on as people gestured and gathered, shouting. Eventually, Dom motioned to his assistant Aidan and the white wolf came and took Donte’s chains from Alaric. Donte was led from the room. Snatches of the ongoing conversations came to him in a barrage.
“—would be my pleasure to blind him, and then expect him to battle—”
“—can’t possibly justify this to our council alphas—”
“—he wouldn’t last a day—”
“—we don’t need him—”
“—can’t use someone so tainted—”
The guard in the hall closed the door behind them. Ah, a hint of the river carried on the stronger breeze. The council chamber was on the ground floor and the fresh air was strong here, carrying to this hallway from the plaza. Donte knew that if he survived the clans, if this plan went forward and he then survived the darkmages, he’d spend the rest of his days in the Cities and never know the wilderness again. He felt a little sick at the yearning, but mostly the call of Moriko overpowered the lingering desire for freedom. She’d been like drums in his blood all fucking day. His erection thumped with it whenever he lost focus, like at this moment.
He’d imagined the Sanctuary’s river so many times in the fortress. He’d pictured the towering rock face opposite the flagstone terrace, the silver river flicking with light as it curled past the three arches, children playing in the waist-deep water of the fall. He listened hard, but he couldn’t hear anything beyond the voices in the plaza. No, the echoes of children splashing and laughing were in his memory.
Autumnal should have been underway a week now. The Council had ordered a delay that would likely become a cancellation. Remembering how he’d spent last autumnal’s weeks being the training target of the lizard-birds turned his stomach. He was out. Remembering how the autumnals before that had been tense and awkward as he gathered with the clan that no longer respected him made him feel sick. He was very, very out. Beyond his family, clan, wilderness, and captors. He was lost, with a woman he’d use badly, a gut-wrenching spell he couldn’t let go of, and a human Queen as a leader with some sort of agenda he wasn’t going to be able to fulfill.
Aidan, assistant to the monster, led him up the stairs back toward his cell. “Bold move,” he murmured.
Donte didn’t respond. No point. He’d laid his case, and now he’d wait to see when Dom stopped pretending their opinions mattered.
“I recognize the irony, you know.” Aidan turned into the hall that led to the cell.
On Donte’s mental plain, Bear started to rock in agitation. I know you don’t want to go back in, Donte soothed. It’s hard. They’ll haul us back out over and over today. Lots of pain coming. Save your energy for later.
Aidan continued to natter on. His whipcord pale frame and eerie silver-blue eyes went perfectly with the lush waves of thick, silky white hair. Donte’s own dark spikes were the total opposite.
“—clearly don’t realize you’ve continued to dedicate your life to the clans. If they just stopped and focused on what you’ve accomplished instead of the rules you’ve broken—”
The final rock door swung open and there was his miserable hole. His eyes zeroed in on the lump among the artful wrinkles of his blanket. The little leather ball was still there. His shoulders flexed.
Bear sat down and braced his front feet, resisting. The mental twist this gave as Donte walked in made his abs flex. Each step required concentration when Bear fought him. He went straight to the little ball and put one foot over it. The drive to protect the meaningless object was useless. Honestly. After all this time. He was so pathetic.
Aidan was droning on while he attached Donte’s chains to the walls. He stood and stared at Donte’s tightly linked wrists. “Might as well leave those on. They’ll call for you again soon enough.”
Donte stood still and quiet.
Aidan gave him a slight nod and left. The door sealed with a spell, making Donte’s ears pop. Bear sang a mournful cry, sighed, and began to circle.
“Aw, fuck. Do you have to pace? Just go to sleep.”
Bear grumbled and continued to circle.
So Donte pulled out all the stops.
“I really liked the look on Dom’s face when I mentioned the bone shield. I think he approved of the idea. And if he doesn’t, then Moriko will be coming to us. Soon, she’ll get us out of here and take us to the City.”
Bear stood, pulsing with eagerness.
Donte pretended to misunderstand. “Yes, let the hunt begin. We’ll find every one of their acolytes and rip them all to pieces.”
Bear still pulsed with eagerness and blew an exasperated breath.
So Donte whispered the truth to the other half of his self. “Yes. Soon, we’ll hold our mate.”
He fished out the ball, squeezing it, rolling it in his palms. Proceeding to bounce it off the ceiling and catch it, he sent his brain over his little speech to the council. He’d done a pretty good job. Probably shouldn’t have taunted them over Moriko. If there was one thing his brother trux were good at, it was protecting women.
Pushing himself, he began to toss the ball against the ceiling at an angle. This made him lunge to catch it. Sometimes he rammed into the wall hard enough to bruise himself up, but he didn’t mind. It was helping his reflexes. He quickly got better at stopping himself before he—
Bear came to attention when the pain hit. He tucked the ball into the pocket of his ragged, stained linen pants. Turning, he sniffed hard, listened hard, but couldn’t detect any change. The two guards in the lounge beyond his door were the same ones who had been here a dozen times. What new kind of attack was this?
Bear moaned, crouching, under the next wave of pain. Donte opened himself to it, tasting it. There was an undercurrent of anger, fear, and lust. It was so different from anything he’d felt before it shocked him. He’d been so sure pain held no more surprises for him. Staring down at himself, he studied his hands, turned them over. No, the pain wasn’t on his skin. It was inside, although it wasn’t after Bear.
Cautiously, he peered into the constant, grinding ache of the darkspell that tied him to Thad, the leader of the darkmages. It was intact, still calling to him, demanding obedience. This new pain was very different.
He’d always wondered what a spiritmage attack would be like, magescape to magescape. Was this it? Had they decided on his death and Quor had begun the execution? Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the pain, pulling it into himself. There was the hint of salt… earth… Moriko.
His eyes flashed open, his heart crunching small and painfully in his chest. His mate was under attack. From one moment to the next Bear filled his flesh, sharing it in the burst of form and power called battleform. His head came close to scraping the tall ceiling, and with one outlay of earthcraft, he crumbled the chains from their mooring. With another outlay, he melted the metal cuffs from his body, disregarding his lost flesh. They had never really been much of a hindrance to his physical form, nor had they been meant to be. Their true purpose was to halt his access to one particular spell of his third elemental craft.
His guards shoved open the door and stood staring at him in astonishment, but they were too late. Summoning his concentration, he used one of the most dangerous spells an alpha spiritmage had—the ability to sift from one place to another. What his people had created through fixed stone locations across Vladaya eons ago, a certain few could do with their own bodies.
And so with a rattling roar, Donte vanished.
Chapter Twelve
Moriko needed sex so bad she was dizzy. Since noon she’d weathered a visit from her screeching sister and a complete inability to do her job. People mobbed her whenever she stepped outside, and every appointment took three times as long as she answered her Guild’s questions.
Yes, she was happy with the Queen’s choice.
No, she was not going to be taken to the Beast caves, lost forever like the other adopted women.
She was not sure if she was considered adopted by the truxet.
Yes, the Queen was bold.
No, she had not planned her wedding.
And that set off a whole new slew of excitement and questions. The family hadn’t had a wedding in over a year. Royal weddings were a very big deal to a family that was steeped in tradition, and even though on a daily basis Moriko was just a particularly busy Guild worker, the wedding of the Royal Chatelaine was huge to the general population. Akisa was radiant with jealousy.
The crowds of people that gathered around her made her break out in a sweat, and Avis could barely stay by her side as they fought to talk their way through the throngs of curious well-wishers to their next appointment.
Moriko approached the large timber and brick laundry. She was late for her appointment and Silva would make a big deal out of it. Sighing, she tried the door. It was stuck.
“Are you going to wear a short dress or a long one?” asked Ru-Ling. She’d once had sex with him in the City Garden. Every time she looked at his golden eyes, she remembered the touch of cool flower petals on her back.
Laughing she shook her head at the chorus of “Short!” that started up.
She tried the door harder and it didn’t open. It wasn’t stuck. It was locked. Her brow creased. She shouted against the door. “Silva! It’s Moriko.”
The crowd laughing around her back continued to chatter questions at her.
“What flowers will you wear?” one woman asked.
And in the breathless moment where they waited for her to reply, she heard Silva call through the wood. “Go away, Beast Wife.”
The laundry master wouldn’t let her in. Moriko pursed her lips. The crowd held its collective breath, the mood changing from delighted speculation to shocked unease.
She took her key and opened it anyway, pulling Avis in through the crack. They both had to lean their weight against it as the crowd asked how long she’d be and she shouted good-bye. She managed to latch it.
“You old bat,” she snarled, dropping her social face. “Don’t you ever bar me from this work room again.” Her temper was coming dangerously undone. Her clit throbbed for attention and her breasts ached to distraction. She was twitchy and emotional. Donte’s bay taste haunted her mouth.
Silva drew himself up. “I attempt to do my best and with such interruptions—”
“This is our standing appointment, a fact you have worked into your schedule,” she roared at him.
The workers in the room were clearly shocked at her loss of control. In these daily clashes, they were used to her serene acceptance of Silva’s ire. They cowered back, stirring the steaming vats faster, which she took as a rebuke.
“You are clearly overwrought,” he sniffed.
Pushing off from the door where the mutter of the crowd was beginning to fade, she stalked up into his sneering face. “A fact you should pay more attention to.” Her voice had fallen to a soft caress. “Or I will put you on your knees, you rude bastard.”
As a princess, it was Moriko’s due to be greeted upon bended knee, something she had stopped for efficiency’s sake a month into her placement.
His jaw worked but he said nothing.
“Report.”
“Wu’s child played house in the chiffon drapes at the Queen’s cabana. They’re ruined, stained with strawberries and galeberries.” He studied his fingernails. “I’ll need permission to access stronger lye.”
That gave her a new piece of information. She’d taken control of the storeroom that held all dangerous substances, but hadn’t known if Patrice would hold to it. The fact she’d refused to give Silva any of the stronger corrosive lye meant she supported Moriko.
Moriko walked around the room, noting the amount of supplies she saw, the amount of work done and still needed. “You’ve got to be smarter than this, Silva. You challenge me and then ask a favor? The answer is, of course, no. Send the drapes to Adrienne. I’ll tell her to expect them.” The dye mistress would work magic on them.
“The Queen prefers white drapes.”
“She does. So move some white drapes from some other room and replace those with the newly dyed ones. You are short two workers.”
“They did not repo
rt this morning. I assume they are drunk on the gossip of your nuptials.”
“You should assume nothing!” Whirling, blood curdling with horror, she stared at the man, stricken. “You did not confirm their presence in the compound?”
Silva stared at her, gray eyes cold. “They are merely late.”
Moriko felt the tiles crack beneath her feet, her rage pooling down into the earth, responding to her craft. “With all of the ones we’ve lost to them, all the missing, all the suspected, you are so cavalier?” She turned to the two nearest stirrers, who were staring intently into their basins. “You and you. Go and find them. You have one half hour. If you cannot, report them missing to the guards.” As all citizens had been asked to do weeks ago. “Then come tell me. If you do find them, pass a message to me and return to work here.” She put a hand to her stomach. If they’d been taken by darkmages, it could well be too late for a search to save them.
“How do you expect me to get today’s laundry—”
“You are finished.” More tiles cracked, jagged lines reaching toward her old nemesis. “Get out.”
“I will not. My appointment is from Hway-di, and I have held it for thirty years.”
Moriko sloughed the earth up around Silva’s bony feet, encasing them. He shouted, straining, and scalding water rose up out of the tubs around her in call of his watercraft. The workers cried out and scattered.
“Avis, get the guards.”
Moriko dodged the waves, but couldn’t entirely avoid them. The water hit her with a sharp sting. She flung earth farther up his body, wrapping his torso. He spewed curses at her, but she moved to the far wall, and he wasn’t good enough with the water to get much of it at her. Still the splashes he drew over to her were like a whip of hot pain. He aimed at her face and she had to continuously raise her arms up to protect her eyes. And she’d worn a short-sleeved dress today.
Unfortunately, her own use of the earth had cracked one of the basins, and the water was sloughing away at the foundation she’d put around his legs. Inspired, she reached into the earth and cracked all the tubs, draining the water from his use. He’d only gotten one leg free, kicking madly at the casing around himself, before the guards burst in. A huge crowd waited outside in a close ring to the door.
