by Sara M Zerig
Attempting to control the growl in his voice, he raised his lids just enough to watch her kiss-bruised lips. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Chloe bit her lip through rapid breaths, and Ritt knew she had no answer for him. The pain was probably gone now. He was hard and thick inside her, stretching her, and absolutely still. It was more than either of them could bear.
“Don’t stop,” Chloe panted out.
Ritt should have ignored that but didn’t. He moved within her slowly, and she arched into him. Ritt growled, picking up his pace. He didn’t stop until she clenched tightly around him, moaning his name, her nails raking down his back. His release came swiftly after, and they slumped to the floor of the stairwell, spent.
Ritt focused on controlling his breathing. If his eyes had changed, they would be changing back soon. He buried his face in Chloe’s neck then moved to her shoulder, feeling dangerously close to marking her.
Rational thought took over unkindly, highlighting his colossally bad judgment. And hers. What had she been thinking? She knew she was a virgin. This was not how her first time should have gone.
“Fuck, Chloe, what have you done?” Ritt ground out.
The sound of a door opening two stories above jolted them both into action. He released her, and they wrestled to get their clothes back into place. She refused to look at him. A maintenance man came trotting down the stairs, and Chloe bolted.
Chapter Four
Aidan St. Cyr had no more children. He and his wife focused on their obligations to the Coven Realm. They focused on raising Aaron. The first decade had been the hardest. Those years dragged by with little to distract them from the loss of their daughter. The year Aaron turned fourteen and discovered his talent, everything changed.
Aidan had found Aaron with Cara in the garden. His wife commented that her flowers needed rain, but there hadn’t been a cloud in the sky for days. In jest, Aaron threw his hands up to the skies. “Give my mother rain!”
Charcoal clouds billowed overhead from all directions, and water gushed down. They rushed inside, his wife and son laughing at what they thought to be coincidence. Invoking a storm was not a warlock talent, yet the more time that passed with no change in weather, Aidan began to wonder if Aaron had been the cause.
“Can you stop it?” Aidan finally asked his son.
Aaron was shocked by the request. “Father, I could not have done this!”
Aidan opened a window and beckoned to Aaron. “Try.”
The young warlock crossed to the window. He closed his eyes and bowed his head in concentration for several minutes. The rain did not let up.
“Clear your mind, focus your intention, and try again,” Aidan instructed.
“I am telling you, I cannot.”
“Try again.”
“Aidan, you are putting too much pressure on him,” Cara chimed in. “If Aaron did summon this storm, he did so without half the concentration you are expecting of him now.”
Aaron had regarded his mother thoughtfully before turning back to the window. He reached an arm through it, and the rain ceased instantly. The storm clouds rolled away, dissipating in the far corners of the golden sky. Within seconds, sunlight streamed through the window again.
“Well…” Cara was first to find her voice. “We had better alert the council.”
Soon thereafter, other clans reported the discovery of exceptional talent in warlocks and witches alike. Seers with more detailed visions, healers who could mend wounds in half the time it took their mothers, young protectors who could outmuscle and outrun their fathers. Aaron would further develop his gift to harness the power of a storm in his hands and redirect it. Not since the Age of the Xxyryn had a generation of Coven people so remarkably outshone the generations before them.
The story of the Xxyryn was passed down through the generations to explain the origin of the magic realms and warn children of the danger of abusing their power. A warlock whose powers were a gift from the universe, the Xxyryn was said to be a divine answer to the prayers of the witches and warlocks who had been persecuted by the humans. Legend had it that the powers of other witches and warlocks of the Xxyryn’s generation were also more pronounced.
When the Xxyryn grew to master his gift, the magic people implored him to destroy the humans, but he refused, seeing some good among them. Instead, he commanded the creation of new realms, best suited to each magic race: the Shifter Realm, hot and dry; the Coven Realm, cool and densely forested; and the Elven Realm, humid and tropical. The world they left became known as the Earthen Realm, where humans would remain forever, their magicless blood preventing them from traveling to any magic realm.
Over time, the Xxyryn grew bored and restless and began to abuse his powers. He controlled others through compulsion for his own amusement and even willed a young witch to fall in love with him. In response, a small group of the most powerful witches and warlocks formed a council to protect others from the Xxyryn’s frightening power.
The once revered Xxyryn began to lose his powers to the Coven Council’s binding spells. First, he lost his ability to command the feelings of others. Then, he lost his ability to compel the actions of any Coven Council member. He escaped to a newly created realm where the binding spells could not affect him. In the end, the Xxyryn would die alone in his unreachable realm.
Now, centuries later, a new Age of the Xxyryn appeared to be upon them. Although the Xxyryn himself had yet to be identified, the Coven Council was quick to prepare for him. Laws had been updated to account for his talent. Powerful binding spells had been written to limit him. Councilmembers followed the training regimen of the original council to strengthen and protect their minds from his commands. For years, the anticipation of the Xxyryn was virtually all-consuming for Aidan and the other councilmembers.
Then, she came to visit. Uninvited and unannounced, the elderly female at his door was a stranger to Aidan. He sensed she was a shifter but estimated her to be about five feet tall, which was peculiarly small for that kind. Long, silver hair fell down her back with a few thin braids laced in. Her skin was deeply tanned, like other shifters, but she dressed her elderly form modestly in a long, blue silk robe. Her dark eyes shone warmly.
The Coven and Shifter Realms coexisted amicably, sharing many of the same values. Although more prone to violence than other races, the Shifter Realm consisted of generally peaceful, organized communities with a deep sense of family and honor. But any shifter, no matter their age or size, could be a dangerous enemy. Contorting from man to beast in seconds, shifters produced razor-like claws and teeth made to dismember even large prey. Aidan did not know why he welcomed her into his home so readily.
“Oh yes, yes they would like that very much. Like for me to come in, you see, to chat with you and another. Yes, there is someone else I must speak to here.”
Another oddity. Shifters were creatures of fewer words, with deep voices and an almost halting accent. But this one spoke more like a witch, with a lilting, soprano voice and more words than necessary.
She moved across the white marbled floors, past the grand staircase that curved into the foyer, to the ivory velvet loveseat in the formal sitting area. Aidan took a seat in a wing-backed chair across from her, the gilded coffee table between them.
“Who?” he asked.
“All in good time … not just yet, not yet.”
Aidan caught himself staring back at her rudely. “Who are you? What is your name?”
“My people call me Wisp. And they smile and they nod and they give me a place to sleep and food to eat and let me go about my way. But you see, sometimes, I have something to say that interests them very much. This is when they listen. And you will too, warlock; you will, too.” Her eyes took on a distant look. “You have something to know … something hidden … but it isn’t your spirits who will reveal it to me. It is someone else’s. It is hers.”
“Hers?” Aidan tried to sort through the babbling. “My wife? Cara?”
Her at
tention was drawn just past his shoulder. “Lovely one, isn’t she? But not to be crossed. No, that would be a terrible mistake.”
Aidan glanced behind him, half-expecting to see Cara there, although he knew she was not home.
“No, no, she isn’t there.” Wisp waved a hand behind her in the direction of the front door. “She’s here.”
As if on cue, Cara arrived in the foyer. Peering into the room where Aidan and the old shifter sat, she gave Aidan a curious look. He waved her forward.
“Yes, yes, it is you. Oh my, the spirits are in quite a fuss over you! Such a terrible wrong to be made right. They crossed realms to come to me, and this is very rare, you see, even for me.”
Cara raised questioning eyes to her husband, who inclined his head back toward their guest. “Her name is Wisp, from the Shifter Realm. She has been waiting to speak with you.”
“Name?” she rebuked Aidan. “Wisp is not my name. Wisp is what they call me.”
“I see,” Cara said patiently as the shifter’s head swiveled left and right at a dizzying rate. Her eyes widened and then softened.
“Oh no, oh my ... yes, quite tragic. Yes, I see … Still hope, still hope … gifted one, I see. Yes, yes! I see her now.”
Wisp focused on Cara and straightened, adding another full inch to her height. Reaching forward to grasp Cara’s hands, she said, “Listen carefully. You have been misled. Your daughter is alive—alive and thriving.”
Cara gasped and pulled back. “How—are you certain?”
Shrill words poured out in a rush. “It was no trick of fate that you labored so quickly—the morning tea was tainted to induce the birth. Tainted by a realmless! She sought to harness your daughter’s powers for her own use, but the infant became a burden. She released the witch into the Earthen Realm.”
“A realmless?” Aidan asked. “How? They cannot travel here.”
“She had help.” Wisp scanned the air as if searching for the details of the answer to his question. “A rogue shifter.”
“My daughter,” Cara cut in, her voice a hoarse, broken whisper. “She lives?”
“Oh, yes!” Wisp brightened with the happier news. “You will know her at once—white hair, like yours, and black-green eyes like her father.”
“How do we find her? Where?” Aidan inquired.
“You will find her soon.” Wisp mumbled something that sounded like slow down into the air. “Very soon … Chloe.”
“Chloe,” Cara tested the name on her tongue.
“Where in the Earthen Realm?” Aidan pressed. “How will we find her?”
Wisp’s shoulders sagged. “I have told you all that I can.”
Aidan and Cara stood open-mouthed as she walked away from them. It was as if a force physically kept them from following her. The shifter saw her way out, looking all about her at nothing and rambling as the door closed behind her.
“It cannot be … can it?” Cara’s voice trembled with a desperate hope.
“If it is true,” Aidan resolved, “we will find her.”
Dane knew the St. Cyrs would arrive within minutes of receiving the invitation. An invitation he and his nephew, Colton, sent not long after they had learned of Wisp’s unprecedented visit to the Coven Realm. The ball was rolling, and it was all going very quickly, except for the good thirty minutes it took to decipher Wisp’s ramblings.
When the elders finally understood what she was saying, they still didn’t comprehend. There were frustratingly few details in the old female’s account, but she had a way of knowing things no mortal shifter could know. Hence the reason she was called Wisp—for Walks in the Spirit Place.
One of their own had had a hand in the disappearance of an infant witch two decades ago. They did not know how or why or even the exact who. But Wisp was insistent that the culprit came from the very dwelling that he and Colton led. The message from the elders of the other dwellings was unanimous and clear: Fix it.
Dane’s intent was to keep the meeting amicable. He had known Aidan for decades and knew him to be a fair and just warlock. But even the most reasonable person would be tested with the loss of a child. It was disturbing to think that one of his own could be capable of such an act, but the First Dwelling had grown over the past century such that Dane could not intimately know everyone in it.
The two warlocks arrived directly before Colton’s home, their expressions grim. Unmistakably father and son with dark hair and glimmering green eyes, the younger one was a bit taller and less broad than his dad but thick with muscle. Aidan St. Cyr was a powerful protector, but the more dangerous of the two was the son. Aaron could invoke any kind of storm from the sky and even harness its power in his hands.
Unlike warlocks, shifters were prone to settling disputes through violence rather than reason, and the average height of male shifters was a good half-foot over that of warlocks. The two species rarely had cause to fight, but both had a healthy respect for each other as potential adversaries. Each had an alternative to their already impressive forms—shifters in their predatory animal form and warlocks in their possession of stronger magic.
Having responded immediately to the invitation, the warlocks were no doubt already uncomfortable in the heat. Their fitted leather pants and long-sleeved tunics were better suited to the climate of their own realm. Fortunately, their meeting would be in cooler quarters.
The four of them moved wordlessly through a tunnel into the red rock wall that both surrounded the dwelling and housed its people. The air cooled the farther they went into the dimly lit caverns, curving up a slight incline to Colton’s den. Daylight brightened the room from crude windows carved high into the stone walls.
Weathered, gray-wooden tables and chairs made up the only furniture in the room. On the far wall, a thin rectangular table boasted the correspondence box used to send messages between dwellings and realms. A round table at the center of the cave sat six. They each took a seat at the table, Aidan and Aaron side by side across from Dane and Colton.
“I wish this visit was under better circumstances,” Aidan said flatly.
“All elders have been alerted,” Colton offered.
“And yet you two are the only elders here,” Aaron observed.
Colton shifted in his chair before responding. “Wisp feels someone from this dwelling was involved.”
“We are very interested in who that is,” Aidan said.
“We are too,” Dane assured him. “There is a dwelling meeting tonight.”
“Building awareness is a start,” Aidan acknowledged. “And we are taking action as well. Our wards have been increased to prevent visits from anyone who intends to break our law. We suggest you do the same. The Coven Council is ready and willing to lend assistance to the shifter elders.”
It wasn’t a bad idea, Dane thought. The wards of each magic realm allowed for only purebloods of other magic realms to pass through for the purpose of meetings and trade. The update in protection was a sensible one.
Aidan went on. “Additionally, our realm will allow for only escorted access by pureblood witches or warlocks.”
Colton sat forward, asking, “Is this not extreme?”
“It was an extreme incident,” Aidan returned.
“And trade?” Colton pressed.
“We are open to continued trading in the Shifter Realm and will allow escorted access for those transactions that must take place in our realm.”
Dane remained calm while Colton became increasingly agitated. “How long?”
“Indefinitely,” Aidan told him.
Aaron added, “In order to reevaluate, we would need to know the details of what happened and who was involved.”
“And what the elders intend to do about it,” Aidan tacked on. “We are operating under the assumption that we will be alerted when the responsible shifter is found.”
Guessing where he was going with that, Dane said, “Extradition is not guaranteed.”
There was a visible flexing of Aidan’s jaw, but Aaron asked
reasonably, “Are you ruling it out?”
“No,” Dane conceded. Both warlocks seemed to have expected that, so Dane moved on to another matter. “We can help—in the search for your daughter.”
Aidan and Aaron exchanged a weary look.
“We appreciate the offer,” Aaron said finally.
“You do not want help?” Colton asked, perplexed.
“Until we know who we can trust, no,” Aidan confirmed. The warlocks stood to leave.
This is not good, Dane thought. Anger, he could understand. A bloodthirsty battle cry for vengeance, he could appreciate. But a search in the Earthen Realm was a big endeavor and having shifter connections there would be a great advantage, as the Coven Realmers well knew. This unwillingness to accept help was not a good sign. A general mistrust between prominent members of the two realms was not good for anyone. Colton rose to argue, but Dane raised a hand, indicating he should let them go.
“Now what?” Colton asked once the warlocks had left.
“We work on increasing the wards. Tonight, we will offer them Wisp. They trust her, and it will be harder to refuse help as the search begins,” Dane said.
His nephew sat back and absorbed that. Colton had much to learn, but he was a smart shifter and doing better than he realized. His instinct to mend this rift quickly was dead on. Timing would come with experience. One day, Colton would be selecting a younger co-elder, and Dane would retire. Alone.
Dane had been blessed in this life in many ways. He had close friends and family. He had been given unusual speed and strength, even compared to other shifters. He had been given a strong sense of reason and patience that was uncommon for his race. He was well-respected by all the dwellings as a leader. But despite all this, he was missing one crucial aspect of a shifter’s life: his mate.
It was a rare occurrence, maybe one in a few hundred. And no one, not even the wisest of elders, knew why. It could be that the ancestors denied him this for balance, having granted him so much else. Or maybe his mate had passed on to the spirit place before they could meet in this life. These were reasonable possibilities but not comforting. Dane’s young nephew and fellow elder may still be learning how to lead, but having found his mate, Colton had everything that mattered.
