by Cecy Robson
I’m not certain why until Bren’s and Koda’s massive wolf heads poke out at the top, snarling as they stalk forward.
They’re healing. They’re better. But they’re still not as whole as they should be.
Johnny stumbles down the hill and heads right, shaking when Misha, Uri, and their families meet him head-on. A skeletal figure with fangs strolls with them. Her muscles, skin, and hair have not fully materialized, but I recognize Ileana right away. No one in her condition should stroll anywhere.
Johnny doesn’t give up or beg for mercy. He holds onto his side as he tries to return to the woods. His features reveal his surprise as he sees me, still alive. The dead expression he pegs me with matches those who watched their friends and family die. I don’t feel sorry for him, only those he’s made suffer. I suppose he knows that.
He swallows hard when I stop in front of him. Gemini walks to my side. His twin takes point next to Genevieve and the remaining head witches accompanying Destiny and Tye.
All these powerful beings, and I’m the one Johnny fixates on. “You would have done the same, Taran,” he says. “You—”
I don’t bother with what he has to say. He’s said and done enough. I release my lightning in one precise swoop. Johnny’s body collapses, his head rolling to a stop in front of Ileana. She lifts the head, biting down on the inside of Johnny’s neck like a slice of watermelon.
Johnny Fate dies quietly, like the sickly addict he turned into instead of the revered powerhouse he once was.
There’s no eruption of magic or deafening blast of sound. The world doesn’t split in two. The apocalypse never arrives. And Ileana doesn’t become anything scarier than she already is.
What does happen is that the night ends, and the sun rises.
Fate is dead, and Destiny takes his place. She hovers over Johnny, her arms and that of her octopus gown gathering around him and engulfing him. The dress limbs bubble and slurp as Destiny consumes Fate. I suppose she needs to. Still, it’s hard to stomach.
I turn away, relieved as the wounds and injuries inflicting Gemini and the others vanish at a faster rate. Whatever spell suppressed their healing abilities and infected the witches’ powers died with Johnny.
It’s time to celebrate, but it’s hard to celebrate living when far too many have died.
Gemini opens his arms. I’m ready to fall into his embrace and beg him to take me home when he turns me carefully.
My body trembles at Celia’s approach. Her hair remains damp, and her small body is wrapped in a blanket Aric holds carefully around her. Shayna and Emme shadow her, their faces blotchy from the tears that continue to fall.
Celia wipes her eyes with the edge of the blanket when she sees me. “Hey,” she says.
“Hey,” I stammer.
I want to throw my arms around her and cry with her. I want to tell her she’s my best friend, that I love her, and that she can never die without me.
Instead, I stagger forward and fall at her feet on one knee. She reaches for me, trying to help me stand, as does Aric, who clasps my elbow to steady me.
I stay in place, taking a long shaky breath. Gemini takes a knee beside me. He bows his head as his palm finds the small of my back. My mate knows me well and understands what I’m about to do.
“I, Taran Wird, mate and wife to Tomo Gemini Hamamatsu, swear my loyalty to you. No one will hurt you or your child in my presence. No one will tempt my loyalty. Nothing shall ever steer me away.”
My promise doesn’t come out as strong as I want, my voice quakes and tears riddle each word. It doesn’t matter. The vow I make is real and there.
Gemini joins me in his promise to keep Celia and her baby safe. Misha kneels on my opposite side, Uri to his right, Ileana just behind them. Genevieve and the witches follow, Destiny and Tye, too. The weres gather, as does everyone who survives, taking up every inch of space on that hilltop.
One by one, each being pledges their loyalty to Celia and her baby as the sun breaks through the horizon, and a new day begins.
Epilogue
I didn’t feel well for a long time. It was more than the way I killed Johnny. Although I’ll admit, his end cost me. As angry as I remain at him for all the atrocities he committed and every life he took, I can’t help but remember that he, like everyone else, just wanted to live.
Johnny was always a scared little boy who wanted love. I insulted and accused him of being weak. I meant what I said and believe it was right to take his life. He wouldn’t have stopped until Celia and Aric’s baby were dead. And if he’d achieved his task and become a shapeshifter, Destiny would be gone, and Johnny would be unstoppable.
I think my struggle is with the word weak. It’s what he was. Except, all my life, I protected those who were weak. It became our unspoken motto, mine and my sisters.
Until it wasn’t.
Until I killed Johnny.
He was a Fate. I get it. An entity more powerful than me. But deep down inside, he remained fragile and scared. It was that part of him I was supposed to help, and I guess, was supposed to save. I think that’s what screwed with me, why I’ve felt so sick and why I haven’t eaten much.
But as I stare at the tiny stick on the bathroom vanity, the one with two lines, I realize I’m sick for a different reason and am reminded that life goes on.
I sniff, smiling through tears. Yes, Johnny was weak, so weak-minded he always hurt more than he helped, killing and destroying families and taking down anyone who stood in his way.
I’m one of the lucky ones who made it home and who…I lift the stick…gets to start and have a family of her own.
The smell of bacon and eggs waft into my nose as I step into the hall. My stomach gives a little lurch, for all the right reasons that have nothing to do with guilt.
Gemini’s voice, as well as Aric’s and Koda’s, drift from the kitchen. I don’t have to guess they’re at the table, making plans to keep the world safe.
Celia looks up from where she’s perched on Aric’s lap and smiles softly. “Good morning, Taran.”
I offer her a rather awkward wave. She tilts her head when she sees my face. I look away.
Destiny watches Shayna and Emme closely. They’re teaching her how to make pancakes. Step number one should have been to remove the rainbow-feathered crown covering her tight bun. Yellow, blue, green, and hot pink plumage flutter down and into the batter. “Like this?” she asks.
Shayna takes one look at the first rainbow-colored pancake and throws her head back, laughing. “Yes, queen,” she says. “You’re getting it.”
“It was an excellent first try,” Emme tells her. She pats her back encouragingly, careful to avert her gaze from Bren, who can no longer keep his eyes off her. Tye doesn’t seem to notice, tearing into the biscuits and honey like it’s his job.
Gemini leaves the table and kisses my cheek. “Feeling better?”
I nod. “Hmm.”
Should I take him aside? Do I make a formal announcement? How exactly do weird girls like me do this thing?
He frowns, knowing there’s something I need to say. I point to the map spread out along the table. “What’s up?”
Gemini wraps his arm around me. I fall into his embrace. This is love, peeps. This is real. And damn it all, it’s fucking amazing.
He leads me closer to the table as Aric points to sections of the map where marks are made in red. “Nytes, or something like them, were spotted here, here, and here.”
There’s a cluster of red dots near New Mexico. It makes sense. It’s not that far away. There are some in Colorado, the home state of the wolves.
What’s strange is there’s a single red dot in Pennsylvania, where a large Amish population resides. I know, because it’s near where our father grew up.
“Koda, I’m entrusting you and Shayna to strategize with the Dens throughout Montana and Colorado.
Koda lifts a piece of bacon from the plate Shayna offers. “On it,” he replies.
“Gemini and Taran,
I want you to take the New Mexico territory. My gut tells me this is where we’ll find the answers to what’s happening.”
Gemini squeezes my hip and nods. “We’ll be there.”
“Actually,” I say, stumbling over the word. “We won’t.”
Gemini stiffens. “Why won’t we?” he asks slowly.
Deafening quiet overtakes the room. The coffee Emme made finishes brewing, and the oven timer goes off. Still, no one moves, and I can’t speak.
“Are you pregnant?” Gemini asks. My silence is answer enough. A smile, so full of devotion, spreads along my husband’s wonderfully handsome features. His hand cups my belly. “Are you?”
“Yes.”
The sting of happy and frightened tears casts along my eyes. I sort of laugh, sort of cry, and probably screw up a perfectly lovely moment.
Gemini lifts me, kissing me hard. “I love you,” he murmurs against my cheek. “God, I love you so much.”
My body gives into his, absorbing the strength I’ll need for what’s to come. I want babies, lots of them with this amazing man I was blessed to find.
Shayna’s jaw is down to her toes, and Emme is covering her mouth as if her lips may fall off.
“You’re up, girls,” I tell them. My voice is a mix of all the emotions I carry. Instead of fighting beside my sisters, it’s their time to shine alone.
Celia leaves Aric’s lap, the shock on her face reflecting everyone in the room. She stops just in front of me, torn between hugging me and crying. “Taran, you’re going to have a baby.”
I start to cry with her. Destiny stops me in my tracks. “No…she’s not,” Destiny says.
Her brows draw tight as she walks to my side, her deep knowing gaze fixed on my stomach. More plumage drifts from the peak of her bun before she speaks again, ignoring the tension surging throughout the room.
Everyone expects doom and destruction. Chaos. Anarchy. Crazy shit. It’s what we’re used to.
Destiny doesn’t disappoint. She glances up, beaming. “She’s having two. Congratulations, Taran. You’re expecting twins.”
This book contains an excerpt from Of Flame and Light, Taran Wird’s first full-length novel in The Weird Girls Urban Fantasy Romance series by Cecy Robson. The excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the published novel.
A Weird Girls Novel
Cecy Robson
Chapter One
You know it’s going to be a bad day when you wake up in the morning and the first word out of your mouth is “fuck.”
My right arm―or should I say my new arm generated after my real one was chewed off by a psycho werewolf (no, this isn’t a joke) ―buzzes me awake. That’s right, buzzes.
I do my best to hide my limb. Not just because it’s as white as alabaster. Or because of the fluorescent blue veins that run its length. But because it’s doing things I can’t control, like, interfering with my magic, glowing like a light saber, and now, making noise.
I lift my head, half-asleep, wondering how a wasp nest found its way beneath my pillow, but too exhausted to run away screaming, yet. If you were familiar with my life and world, you’d understand pissed off wasps in my bed wouldn’t be the craziest or scariest thing that’s ever happened to me.
My eyes narrow at the quivering pillow as my haze clears. Maybe I’m tired, or maybe it’s because I’m bitter as all hell, but I can’t help thinking that the arm and the pillow are laughing at me. I pull my glowing and buzzing arm from beneath the fluffy white pillow and swear.
“Really? Really?” I ask it. “What’s next, singing and origami?”
Apparently, my incandescent light saber arm isn’t a fan of sarcasm and proceeds to flicker on and off like a twisted strobe light. I shake it hard and smack it against the mattress, for all the good it does. “Knock it off,” I tell it.
It’s not that I think it listens, or that I manage to control it. There’s simply no controlling this thing, but somehow the glowing recedes and so does the noise, and my arm resumes its “normal” death-like tone.
It quiets, no longer casting light. I should be thankful, right? I should be happy, true?
Oh, I wish.
The color is startling and contrasts horrifically against my deep olive skin. But its eerie tone and its unpredictability aren’t the only things that trouble me. There’s something wrong with this limb. It doesn’t belong on me. And in a way, it doesn’t belong in this world.
Maybe, like me, it’s something that wasn’t supposed to be.
I sigh and clutch it against me. It feels like my old arm, the skin soft and smooth. It moves like my old arm. I’m not limited with either fine or gross motor skills. But it’s not…human.
When I lost my real arm, the Squaw Valley Pack Omega, created this new one using ancient werewolf magic. If I were a were, I think things would have been fine, peachy-keen, and all that good stuff. But I’m not a were, or human, or witch, or vampire, or anything. Not even a little bit.
My sisters and I may look human, but nothing like us have ever existed on earth. And, because of it, Earth’s ancient magic seems to really resent helping a weird girl like me.
I used to wield fire and lightning with ease and catch glimpses of the future. I used to be a badass. I’m no longer a badass, and the only things I catch now are odd glances cast my way.
“Are you the punishment for my sins?” I ask my arm.
I don’t expect it to answer, but it does. Sputtering light and buzzing before abruptly ceasing its response and sinking into the mattress.
To anyone watching, this whole thing might be funny. To me…nothing’s been funny in a long time.
For a moment, I simply stare at it. There’s a part of me that wants to cry, wondering what it will start doing next. But I’ve already cried too long and hard for what it has cost me.
Or should I say, who it cost me.
I scan the room. Nothing of Gemini remains. Not his clothes, not our pictures together. I even deleted and blocked his number. For all my arm disgusts me, I never expected it to disgust him more. After all, this was the werewolf who claimed me as his mate. The same male who swore he’d love only me forever.
I suppose forever only counts so long as I didn’t change, so long as I remained perfect in his eyes. But I never claimed to be perfect, even if many believed I’d looked the part.
My arm flickers and zings, the electrified charge is strong enough to startle me and slap any remnants of sleep away. Yeah. No way am I perfect. Not by a long shot, especially with this thing constantly mocking me and reminding me of everything wrong in my life.
A sharp rap to the door has me glancing toward my right. “Taran?” my perky sister Shayna calls. “I heard your alarm clock go off. Want some breakfast?”
I lift the bane of my existence and sigh. Alarm clock? I suppose that’s one word for it.
“T?” Shayna presses. “I’m making waffles.”
She semi-sings her last few words which is a very “Shayna” thing to do.
“I’ll be right out,” I answer.
“Cool!” she responds. “I have plenty.”
It’s not that I want to eat. It’s that I know how worried my sisters are about me. So I sit with them when I can, and plaster on a smile when I need to, but even that’s burdensome, which sucks. I don’t want my time with my sisters to be a chore. I love them. But I’ve learned some things can’t be helped.
My arm fires with its haunting glow. Case in point.
With a groan, I slip out of bed, pulling on a fresh pair of panties and a bra before heading to my bathroom to clean up. After a few swipes of mascara and some lipstick, I yank on a form-fitting red dress and shove my feet into a pair of platform pumps, doing my best to strut and not collapse back in bed. Yet even though I’m almost to the door, there’s one more thing I need. Most women won’t leave their homes without their cell phones. I can’t leave my room without my elbow-length gloves. It helps me hide the ugly appendage and the li
ght show that accompanies it.
But now that my arm’s buzzing…
I pause with my hand on the doorknob. What am I going to do about this thing?
I take a breath and wrench open the door, tugging on my gloves as I walk down the hall and into our large kitchen. Shayna abandons the waffle iron when she sees me and skips forward, her ponytail bouncing behind her.
She throws her arms around me like it’s been months, not hours, since she’s seen me. “Hey, T!” she tells me brightly.
I pat her back, wishing I could hug her for real. But real hugs lead to my very real tears, and I can’t keep doing this to my family. “Hey, princess. Wow, everything smells great.”
It’s the truth, yet my comment sounds phony and forced, even to me.
Her arms fall away slowly. Although she keeps her grin, I sense the worry behind it, as well as her fear. “You look hot,” she tells me, punching my good arm affectionately.
No. I look acceptable. I used to spend over an hour styling my dark wavy hair and applying my makeup. Now, I do enough so I don’t resign myself to sweats, watching made for TV movies, and stuffing my face with potato chips.
“Thanks,” I manage with yet another forced grin. I make a show of taking in all the breakfast foods, including the freshly baked muffins. “Yum. Do you need help setting the table or anything?”
“No. It’s all good.”
She says nothing more which is unusual for Shayna. Either she’s waiting for me to speak or she’s debating what to say. I can’t take another pity party so I lift a pan filled with eggs and plate stacked with waffles and bring them to the table. “Where’s your puppy?” I ask. Or in other words, where’s your gigantic scary werewolf husband, Koda?
“Oh, he already ate and left. He’s doing more at the Den since Celia’s been needing more ah, time with Aric.”
Okay, now I really grin, and so does she. Time with Aric is a mild way to describe what Celia desires from her husband.
Our youngest sister Emme walks out of the laundry room blushing, which tells me she’s heard us discussing Celia. Shayna’s grin quickly turns into a laugh. Emme’s shyness has that effect on her.
