by H B Lyne
'Yeah,' she murmured. What he described was like the empathy she had shared with her pack before Unchained Lightning granted them telepathy. A frown creased her brow and she tugged free of his embrace to stare into his eyes. 'Yeah, it is like that. That's weird.'
She placed a hand on his face and stared into his eyes. They were totally open to her, no barriers now like their had been in the beginning. She reached into his soul, digging through darkness for a light. When she stumbled upon it it was so bright it almost blinded her; his love for her was his inner truth right now. She withdrew from inside him and managed to smile.
'Have you ever felt this sort of connection before?' he asked.
'Yes, with my pack. You?'
'Never.'
His pack were slaughtered before he ever changed, he had never been connected to other shifters the way she was.
'I wonder what it means. I don't think you've joined my pack without me realising. Have you?'
He laughed and shook his head.
'No, I haven't. I don't feel anyone else, only you.'
Stalker nodded. Her connection to her pack was intact.
'It's like I have two packs now. Them and you.'
'I think that might mean we've claimed each other,' he said tentatively. 'As mates, I mean.'
'Oh.' She nodded. That's right. A soft voice inside her head whispered with a gentle jingle like wind chimes. 'That's right,' Stalker said out loud, smiling. Rhys leaned in and kissed her softly. Her eyes closed and she allowed herself to fall into the moment, releasing everything else.
That evening, after sunset, the Lightning Lords made their way to Crescent Park. Gathered on the grass were all of the Hand of God; a formidable sight. First Strike stood with Crimson, both dressed all in black. Stalker didn't really know the other four, they were all muscular and fierce-looking. Last-Breath-Echoes had been something of an oddity among their number, being petite and ethereal.
Crimson nodded at the newcomers, who stood awkwardly at the edge of the lawn. Scribe-of-the-Fallen emerged from behind two of the Hand of God and made straight for the Lightning Lords. He looked drained, he was even more pale than usual and had dark circles under his eyes.
'Oh god, Scribe. Have you slept at all?' Stalker asked. She pulled him into a tight embrace and felt him shaking slightly.
'I think so, maybe a little.' She released him and he wiped his clammy hands together.
'Are you up to this?' Wind Talker asked softly. 'I could help.'
'Thank you, I think I'll be all right.'
Wind Talker nodded, but exchanged concerned glances with Eyes and Weaver.
The shifters formed a circle around a small coffin and Scribe handed everyone black candles. Stalker held back the tears that threatened to fall. The last funeral she had attended had been that of her old pack, and Last-Breath-Echoes had been there to help Scribe lead the ritual. This ritual was for her. Scribe went through the motions, his voice cold and detached. When he invited them all to place a hand on the coffin to imprint it with their memories of their fallen friend, his voice broke and a tear fell down his cheek.
The wooden box took on the impressions of those around it, covered in scrawled writing and pictures. Stalker remembered the little scratches that Echoes had left on the door frames at Grove Street and silently vowed to make sure they were never covered. She thought of the Scroll Archive and the help Echoes had given in tracing her shifter family. Scrolls and tally marks appeared on the wood around her palm.
'She was the best of us,' Scribe said softly as they all stepped back. 'She won't be forgotten.'
The coffin shone brightly before being sucked into the ground to be buried in the underworld where no one could find it.
Stalker stared at the space the coffin left. Another hole in her life, in all of their lives, because of The Witches and the Furies. Let them come, let them try and take this city. We'll be ready.
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About the Author
H. B. Lyne has always lived close to the dark side, never quite mastering the ability to force choke but contemplating it during dark times. Black eye liner was a permanent fixture in her bag or back pocket during the goth years. Lighter moments have included a fascination with unicorns and firm belief in faeries well into adulthood. Jotting down these observations in multiple forms has always been a habit.
Juggling bean bags, fluffy poi and an adult-weighted hula hoop have all had their brief place in recreation, but all are now consigned to the land of lost treasures. These days, when not chasing two chaotic munchkins around, Holly somehow engineers time to write fantasy.
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- H. B. Lyne
Coming Soon, the final instalment of
Echoes of the Past
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
