Werewolf Forbidden

by Christina E. Rundle

  He approached the windows with caution, though Chancellor told him nothing harmful existed in those surrounding worlds. The brief history she gave was another aspect about the room he’d never forget. If she wasn’t fabricating, the very existence to the Gods existed right here. If there was time, he’d explore, but Mercer’s unaltered body and spirit couldn’t handle the demon venom.

  Hera’s Nectar was a brass egg sitting in the center of a black pillow. There were no lasers or glass case protecting it. When he clasped the egg, nothing moved.

  There was nothing fragile about the heavy, brass egg. It was solid and almost golden in color. He brought it to his nose, sniffing the metallic elements. Underneath the mineral scent was something far sweeter in nature; honey. It warmed in his grip, reminding him of its potential. It would cure everything from the venom in his system to the top layer of skin made numb from his continuous use of herbs. It would also restore parts of him he wanted to keep altered.

  He held the egg in his clenched fist as he rematerialized in the ritual chamber. There was one pillar of light still flickering and the Mission gathered near it with their fallen in front of them. Mechanical parts from the destroyed bugs crunched under his foot, drawing their attention as he approached. Mercer’s head was cradled in Wyatt’s lap.

  He was hot around the collar from the attention, but he kept his eyes locked with Wyatt’s as he knelt down and pressed Mercer’s jaw open. He held the brass egg over Mercer’s mouth and blew on the oval top. His warm breath released the bottom hatch and amber liquid trickled into the alpha’s mouth. It was a small amount, but the smell washed the sulfur and incenses from the air. The space was instantly cooler, like the Rainbow room.

  “The werewolf is using fey magic!” Tamerlane accused.

  “Stop him,” Ajani ordered. His heavy accent distinguished who gave the order.

  Wolffey instantly stood, but it a strong grip on his wrist pulled him back to the floor. Mercer sat up, possessively pulling him closer. The tension was tight. He caught the alpha’s hand; pressing Hera’s Nectar into his palm and leaned in to whisper against his ear. “Keep it safe. I’m sending someone to pick it up.”

  Mercer immediately dropped his hand to his pocket. It wasn’t the smoothest transition, but he prayed the limited light and their angle kept the Mission from seeing the exchange.

  “Will I see you again?” Mercer asked.

  “If you’re lucky, no,” he answered.

  When Mercer let him go, he took the opportunity to stand and put distance between the Mission and him. His brothers weren’t blocking the Mission or their betas, but no one was fighting to get past them, either. It was possible the fight took a great deal of their strength and they were wary about their limitations.

  Mercer stood with limited help from Wyatt. “I won’t accept your answer.”

  “You don’t have to accept it, but it’s the truth. Can you get everyone home?” he asked.

  Mercer glanced at his wrist and nodded. Before the alpha could touch the Roswell Amulet, Wolffey stepped out of the circle of light and into the gloomy space between. The werewolves were gone in a blink and he let his air out slowly, focusing on what waited at the Hill. When he got there, he had to find Aire’Si and tell him about Hera’s Nectar. It was the only way for him to heal what Sayen-ael did to him. With it, he would be able to take his seat at the throne.

  TWENTY-NINE

  The underground wasn’t without its familiar comforts. The plum of orange blossoms mixed with antique lace and wet earth. Will-o-wasps danced along the dirt walls lighter in color than the torches that burned at the sides of Sayen-ael’s dais.

  The room was filled with guards dressed in golden brown vests and pants. The Gold Guard was at the bottom of the three guard ranks. They never guarded Sayen-ael, yet they were present and Aire’Si, Captain of the Black Guard, wasn’t in attendance. Dugald stood in Aire’Si’s spot, wearing a captain star pinned to his shirt. He swallowed his anger. Dugald didn’t deserve his position; he was loyal only to himself.

  Sayen-ael sat in her throne in a black laced dress. Her hair was pinned in a severe bun that drew the eyes to her sunken cheekbones. He steeled himself against the chill that crossed over the back of his neck. This was her territory and she knew how to manipulate the air.

  Glamour, he reminded himself, though she possessed Aire’Si’s power, which meant she was capable of doing more than a few mind tricks. Sayen-ael stood, and the air in the room turned chill. He braced his feet, but the cold went straight through his tired limbs.

  “You challenge my authority, Wolffey. You’ve disrupted the balance between my society and that of the smaller fey sectors. Treason is death.”

  He swallowed, but it wasn’t enough movement to feel anything in his mouth, including his tongue. It was the nearness of death that made him brave, or the fact that there was nothing left to lose. The Beithir blood was dissolving his insides. “What the werewolf has promised is done. I’m present.”

  He took the collar from the back loop on his belt and held it out for her to see. Her eyes never drifted to the collar in his hand. She stared him down until he looked away first; unable to stare back when his immunity to the fey glamour was weak.

  “You want me to believe the werewolf influenced your decision to return?” Her laugh was sharp and short, mocking to the core. “Put on the collar child of Topside.”

  He drew the collar to his throat, immediately hating the brush of leather against his skin. It was constraining and stiff, even with the latch loose. The leather immediately heated once the latch was in place. He dropped his hands, not defeated, but exhausted.

  “It is done. Release the werewolf of his obligation,” Wolffey said. He kept his eyes downcast. Acting humble after everything he’d done seemed like a stretch.

  "When did you start calling the howlers, werewolves? Do you have a soft spot for fur now?"

  Wolffey frowned, but there was no denying the flutter in his chest when he thought about Mercer. "No."

  Sentries came up beside him. He stiffened, unsure if it was a response to the authority surrounding him, or the pill wearing off.

  “I’ll do one better, my dear assassin, I will kill the howlers. I don’t want them returning,” she said.

  Wolffey jerked forward and strong hands grasped his shoulders and arms, yanking him back between two Gold Guards. He hadn’t heard them move. Dugald came down the steps to stand in front of him. His stomach dropped. Dugald was the last person he wanted to deal with. Their history was devoid of pleasantries, but he wasn’t that same timid young boy from training. He wouldn’t let Dugald back him into a corner without a fight.

  “The werewolf wanted one thing. He has it. He won’t come back here,” he prayed that was true, but Mercer was resolute.

  “I don’t leave things to chance, Wolffey. You’ve made a mockery of my court. I won’t permit other howlers do the same,” she said. She flicked her hand. “Take him to the healer and prepare him for surgery.”

  He dug his feet into the ground as the sentries tried to pull him back. “That’s genocide! You can’t kill an entire species.”

  “Enough words, Wolffey,” she said.

  His jaw tightened, he couldn’t open it to respond so he thrashed against the hands that pulled him into the hall.

  oOo

  Aire’Si stood against the wall trying to regain his logical thought. When the room was empty, he stepped through the curtain. “Sayen-ael, I’ve never questioned your undertakings, but this is excessive. You can’t kill an entire species. It won’t go unnoticed.”

  “Do you think I’m daft, Aire?” she hissed, turning to stare him down. The dais gave her the advantage of meeting his gaze. “I’m pissed, not injudicious. You are going to find that alpha werewolf and put the Reverse Sleeping Beauty on him.”

  Her words sank in slowly. He turned away, weighing the situation. “A glamour spell that vast and strong would take ages to perfect.”

  Her eyes narrowed. �
�You do think I’m a fool.” She leaned in, her breath sweet with the grapes she consumed. “You are not as limited as you pretend. I can feel that spring of energy within you.”

  “You are talking about Skin Walkers. They have a high tolerance to earth magic. I can’t alter his memory,” Aire said. His anger was building.

  “You will do what I say, Aire Sinsael and place your spell on the werewolf,” she ordered.

  The metaphysical collar tightened. His brain disconnected with his body. The order drove him with single minded purpose. He passed from the Hill to the alpha’s farm. No one stirred in the wee lingering night hours.

  The smell of fur saturated every breath he took. It should’ve been disconcerting, but he found comfort in a scent that was similar to Wolffey, though purely unadulterated. It was a mistake bringing the werewolf into the Hill, one that he stopped regretting half a decade ago.

  Aire kept a hand on his dagger as he moved up the staircase. If a werewolf found him now, the whole house would be awake in a matter of seconds. People would die, and even if he placed the glamour spell on the alpha, the Skin Walker had the ability to wake himself from it. What that required from the alpha, he wasn’t certain, but the earth magic was strong in his Native American blood.

  The alpha’s door was cracked, and he pushed it wide enough to slip through. Moonlight spilled from the open window that drew in the sweet floral smell of summer. The alpha was alone in bed, making his burden easier. He slept above the covers at an angle that made it impossible to share the bed.

  Aire stopped at the edge of the bed and leaned down. The alpha slept on his stomach, leaving his black hair draped over the expanse of his bare back. His brows were furrowed. Even in sleep, he was distraught.

  Aire leaned close and the alpha’s nostrils flared, taking in the proximity of the new scent. Not giving the werewolf a chance to wake, he whispered in his ear. “Forget that in which you seek. Forget the scent of the faeries.”

  The alpha’s hand twisted the sheets. His skin broke out in sweat. He didn’t wake, but he fought the spell. A thought struck him hard and it brought an emotion he was sure he was above; jealousy. He refused to let the sentiment take shape. The assassin didn’t belong with the fey. “Forget Wolffey. Forget the faeries.”

  Aire pushed the Skin Walker’s hair away from his face and used gentle persuasion to coax his mouth open. He leaned in close; the alpha’s breath was warm against his lips. He inhaled it, concreting his words. He held the breath in his chest and blew it back into Mercer’s mouth.

  “What you know, you have forgotten. Wolffey never existed. Kivah is dead,” he whispered.

  The alpha released his breath and with it, his hands went lax against the sheets. His teeth unclenched and his face softened. The spell worked. The Reverse Sleeping Beauty charm could be broken with a kiss. He doubted Wolffey would be coming this way any time soon, which gave him time to fix the situation.

  He stood; prepared to leave when something long and white caught his attention on the dresser. It was half a bone quiver with the sharp arrow tip still intact. He crossed the room and picked it up. It was an Unseelie arrow. The etching on the side was Wolffey’s calling card, something the alpha shouldn’t own.

  The moonlight entering through the window was changing in frequency, it was time to leave. Just as easily as he invaded the farm house, he left it and the werewolves permanently behind. No one would remember what transpired as long as the object of his spell remained under the influence of his magic.

  Sayen-ael waited for him outside the healer’s door, knowing where he’d go first. She stood at ease, pleased. His action spoke loudly. His presence at the healer’s door showed his interest in Wolffey.

  He gave a curt bow, though respect was the farthest from his mind. “It’s completed.”

  “There was a time when I wouldn’t have needed to use such force on you, Aire’Si. This causes me to question your loyalty.”

  He forced his eyes downcast, not wanting to aggravate the situation or worse, for her to see his true sentiment. She was family, and she was his queen, but his loyalty to her was always questionable. Until now, he’d been bidding his time, waiting for the opportunity and strength to make his move.

  “My apologies,” he said, bowing again, this time deeper.

  His eyes caught the sticky, dark fluid that pooled around his leather shoes and slid into the grooves between the flooring. He followed the source to where it flowed out from underneath the healer’s door. It was too much blood for a person to lose and still be alive. Dumbstruck, he turned to face her.

  She remained indifferent. “Your concern for the werewolf is disturbing. Do you have feelings for him?”

  “He is a strong asset.” He steeled his thoughts, determined to keep her from reading his spirit like she had in the past. She would not let this go if she knew his sentiment towards the werewolf.

  Her upper lip curled into a sneer. “I’ve been watching you around him. He’s not your child and he is not more important than me.”

  A child was not what he saw in Wolffey. She jerked her pointed chin at the door. He took the handle and shoved it open, surprised by the number of beings crammed into the little hovel that served as the healer’s space. The healer stepped back from the table with a small bone knife in his bloody hand.

  “What have you done?” Aire’Si stepped closer to the table, aware that blood soaked into his leather shoes. His heart dropped in his stomach. Wolffey moved, his finger twitched; he tried to draw his bare leg up, but couldn’t due to the leather straps around his ankles.

  “If I stop now, he will die,” the healer snapped, addressing Sayen-ael.

  “Continue then,” Sayen-ael answered.

  Wolffey’s skin was gray from blood loss. A cut ran from the bottom of his chin and down his chest. His lips were blue and his pupils blown wide with fear. His jaw shuddered as he dropped his head back against the table and watched the healer.

  “I need to break his ribs if I am to get to his heart,” the healer spoke to the creatures helping him.

  Wolffey gurgled in response. Blood pressed along his tight lips and drizzled down over his chin. His eyes drifted to the ceiling, his breathing was shallow. It would be a blessing if he would black out from the pain, but he wasn’t sure if Wolffey would. The assassin was trained under severe circumstances. His body could take tremendous abuse before it surrendered.

  Aire turned back to his sister. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Wolffey understands the need for body modifications. This will add to the many talents he has been privately building for a while,” she said.

  One of the creatures stepped through the door with a black, beating heart on a bronze tray. It was slightly larger than a human’s heart. Beyond the stench of blood and fear was the distinct smell of sulfur. He looked back at the ground. There was more blood here than a human would have in its body.

  The tray was passed to the healer and Aire grabbed the carrier by the shirt, dragging him into the hall. He slammed the creature against the wall and his head smacked the stone. The smaller fey curved his shoulders and pressed both hands into the air in defeat.

  “How did you get a demon heart?” he demanded.

  “Du-Dugald,” he answered.

  “Let him go, Aire’Si. He does as I tell him to do,” Sayen-ael ordered.

  He released the fey and turned to her. “Do you have no boundaries? You brought a demon into our realm?”

  She scoffed, shrugging her shoulder, knowing full well there was nothing he could do. “I am improving on what my assassin has already done to himself. He has made his body and wits indispensable.”

  Aire pushed the coiling sickness down. He wasn’t immune to loss or sorrow and Sayen-ael had a way of dredging up these feelings. She could never know how attached he was to the werewolf.

  “He won’t survive a transplant from a demon. No one has.” His jaw line ached with the force of his barely suppressed anger. This was sheer madness. �
��Stop this. Let the werewolf suffer no more at the hands of the fey.”

  Sayen-ael flicked her hand and the lesser fey rushed down the hall. It was the reflection in her large, obsidian eyes that told him her Golden Guard joined them. Their ability to move silently would’ve given Dugald and his men the advantage. He adjusted his stance, ready to brawl with Dugald, though he didn’t acknowledge the lesser captain.

  Sayen-ael stepped forward. The cloy scent of rotting roses closed around him, but it didn’t hide the faint smell of sulfur. “Are you giving me orders?”

  “He’s done. Even if he survives, you’ve altered him too much. How are you going to control a werewolf with demon influences?”

  She braced herself. “Do not question me, Aire’Si.”

  The guards moved in and she raised her hand stopping them. His fingers remained wrapped around the dagger’s hilt.

  “Don’t touch him,” she warned the sentry. Dugald didn’t immediately step back.

  “Why are you doing this?” Aire’Si questioned.

  “Is it not obvious, brother? This werewolf has modified his chemical makeup. He has physically made himself a weapon. I want to add to his alteration. He will always be my assassin.”

  The door opened and the healer stepped out. His clothes were dampened with blood. “Some of the Topsider’s skin is badly damaged from the Beithir venom.”

  “Transfer the demon’s flesh,” Sayen-ael ordered.

  Aire held his breath. Their kingdom was going to be in ruins if any sector found out. “What are your plans for him?”

  “Do not interfere with these proceedings, Aire’Si or you’ll find yourself in the dungeon. Until this is settled, you will stay away from the werewolf. I will use force if it is necessary.” She left the hall, but Dugald and his guard waited.

  He went in the opposite direction, needing the quiet to think.