by SJ Himes
He sat up too fast and his head spun, forcing him to grab the bedside rail. “Where’s my stuff? The necklace? I was wearing it last night. Did I lose it?”
“Hey, easy. It’s right here,” Jameson stood and reached into his pocket, pulling out the pendant by the leather cord. The blue gem caught the light and sparkled. Rael sighed in relief and slumped to the bed. Jameson hesitated, then carefully, watching Rael the whole time, he leaned over and gently dropped the cord over his head, letting the pendant rest on top of the hospital gown. Rael grabbed it and was happy to see it was unscathed.
“I hoped you’d like it,” Jameson murmured, and Rael looked up at him, feeling absurdly happy to see Jameson gazing at him and not the gem.
“I really do, thank you.”
A finger gently brushed along his jaw and was gone before he could lean into the touch. “You’re welcome.”
Dr. Cranston came into the room at that moment, carrying a metal stool and a thick file. Rael sat up nervously, trying not to panic. A warm hand gripped his again, and Rael held on as tight as he dared. Scylla left the bathroom and came to hover at Jameson’s shoulder. Dr. Cranston sat on the stool he’d brought at the other side of Rael’s bed.
“Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” Rael replied. “I’d like to know what’s going on, please.”
Dr. Cranston nodded, and opened the file. “I’m not sure how much you know about practitioners, but there are some genetic markers that are indicative in humans of the ability to use magic. This isn’t a widely studied phenomenon, as one practitioner can easily identify another just by being in their proximity. For instance, I can tell you have magic, even without examining your aura—which is unshielded, I might add. I’m a practitioner, and I can feel your presence in the ambient magic field in this room. If you had any training in accessing your magic, you would be able to recognize me in turn.”
Rael just stared. Dr. Cranston gave him a tiny smile and continued on with his explanation. “When you came in last night, we did blood tests. You’ve got the markers for a practitioner, and we used the medical protocols for a practitioner who is experiencing overexertion of their magical reserves. I can’t tell you what your affinity is, or why you’ve never presented before, but I think it might have something to do with which side of your nature was going to be dominant. Human—the practitioner bloodline—or the werewolf side of your genetic makeup. Humans and werewolves mixing isn’t rare—but a werewolf bloodline mixing with a practitioner bloodline is rare enough that the medical field still doesn’t have a good baseline on what to expect.”
“He’s never shown any magical talents before,” Scylla interjected.
Dr. Cranston held up a sheet of paper from the file. “Looking at his blood workup has given me a clue. You’re on a wolfsbane tonic to mitigate the effects of the moon-call, right?”
Rael nodded. “I took the first one yesterday morning. I need it the week building up to the full moon.”
“The tonic suppressed your werewolf side enough that when you experienced a life-threatening situation, your magical abilities instinctively reacted. I think without last night’s incident your affinity would have presented itself soon regardless. Practitioners learn their affinities in their late teens and early twenties, so the timing lines up. This is, in my opinion, just a lucky combination of events leading to your magic and your affinity presenting simultaneously when you were in danger. And without any training or stamina built up, your breakout event exhausted you, leading to your collapse. I can tell your affinity is active, but I’m not able to tell what type it is.”
“I don’t know anything about magic,” Rael whispered, and he struggled to fit magic into the vision he had for his future. He was feeling less and less like a werewolf every moment and was afraid to look at his mother. He had no idea what she was thinking and was afraid to look, afraid to see worry or shame or condemnation or any emotion for that matter on her face.
Practitioner children were taught from a young age how to use their abilities, and many went to specialized private schools as teenagers to finalize training. Rich families paid for highly sought-after tutors, especially once their kids’ affinities presented. Full-blood practitioners and full-blood werewolves all became aware of their powers and abilities at a younger age, and it figured that Rael would be stuck waiting until a near death experience forced the magic out of him.
“Luckily, you live in the best city for this to happen in,” Dr. Cranston smiled, though Rael could only stare at the doctor in shocked dismay. “Boston has the highest concentration of practitioners in the country, and there are more schools of magic in this city and the surrounding areas than half the states combined.”
Rael could only lay there and stare.
“Any questions for me?” Dr. Cranston asked, standing, clearly done. “Scylla knows how to reach me, and I will be leaving a list of contacts for training with the nurses to include in your discharge paperwork. As long as you eat enough calories to replenish and stay hydrated, you should be feeling better by tomorrow at the latest. You’ll be discharged today after lunch, so make sure you eat everything they bring you. Good luck, Rael, and Scylla, I’ll see you around. Have a good day.”
Dr. Cranston left, taking his stool with him, heedless of the bomb he’d detonated in the middle of Rael’s life.
Chapter 6
Scylla dropped the house keys on the small table by the front door and Rael jumped at the sound. He shot his mother a quick glance but bolted for his room before she could say anything. Jameson drove them home after he was discharged from the hospital, and the ride home had been fraught with tension. Though Jameson made every effort to be kind and patient, Rael was having trouble figuring out everything in his head. Scylla didn’t say much but she did hug him and tell him she loved him, which helped calm his emotions a bit. She spent the ride home lost in her own thoughts, upset and trying to hide it from him.
Rael sat on his bed for at least an hour before he worked up the motivation to move. He was sweaty and dirty and hadn’t brushed his teeth since he got ready for his shift the day before. His mom was talking on the phone and Rael took the chance to grab his shower kit and a towel and head for the bathroom. He thought she might be talking to the police, but he had no answers for them or his mother, and he was selfishly reassured to know she was handling it. He took the world’s fastest shower, brushed his teeth, shaved, and then got back to his room without his mom seeing him. She heard him, but he hoped she was distracted by whoever she was talking to on the phone enough to give him some space.
It wasn’t even 3:00 pm yet and he thought about crawling into bed and hiding under his pillow, but he felt trapped and wanted to move. He had no idea where he should go or what he should do. He got dressed and checked his messages. A text from Saoirse telling him he had the night off and to come to work tomorrow at his normal time. Which meant Scylla called her and spilled the entire ordeal. Having the time off was a relief, but he could use the hours. Rael sighed, adding it to the growing list of stressors dismantling what was left of his life.
Rael paused at the door of his room; his mom was still on the phone, using her talking-to-strangers voice, and he figured he was safe to leave without her screaming at him to wait. He made sure he had his wallet, phone, and keys, and then left the house as discreetly as he could.
He ran smack into Jameson, literally. Rael bounced off Jameson’s chest and strong arms caught him before he landed on his ass on the stairs. He looked up and couldn’t help the shy smile that crept out of hiding at the blatant heat and affection he saw in Jameson’s eyes. He was never going to get used to seeing that. Ever.
“Sneaking out?” Jameson teased.
Rael shrugged. “Kinda.”
“Come with me,” Jameson said, and Rael could only nod eagerly. Jameson leaned into the house and called out. “Scylla, Rael’s with me for the evening. I have my cell.” And then promptly shut the door and tugged Rael after him toward the curb.
Sure, he was eighteen, and Scylla wasn’t a helicopter mom, but he still felt like a kid sneaking out in the middle of the night, breathless and excited and eager for the future. He hoped he would survive the next month without getting his heart broken.
Jameson opened the door of the BMW for him and Rael slid inside, Jameson shutting it once he was settled. Jameson got in and started the car, the engine purring in a deep, subtle growl that made Rael grin.
“Where are we going?”
Jameson sent him a cautious glance then focused on driving. “I went by the scene of the accident before I came back to get you. I don’t know the scent markers for whoever that was who attacked you last night, and the trail died off at the end of the alley where they got into a car and left. They were injured, and I will know their scent if they attack again or I meet them in their human form. I will find out who attacked you. They won’t get another chance.”
Rael looked ahead at the roadway, trying not to think about what happened the night before. He tried to control his riotous emotions, and feared he was failing, then Jameson took his left hand and squeezed, resting their joined hands on the center console. “Don’t worry about it right now, yeah?”
Rael nodded once. “Yeah, sounds good.” Rael also noticed Jameson hadn’t answered his question, but their destination became easy enough to guess the more they drove. He squinted at their surroundings. They were heading southeast and would eventually hit the shoreline. He was right, and Jameson turned onto William J Day Blvd and headed toward Castle Island. A popular tourist spot, it was the site of Fort Independence and sat on a small peninsula that poked out into the innermost regions of the Cape. Pleasure Bay was a small, oddly shaped, somewhat circular, nearly enclosed waterway with Head Island locking it in to the south and Castle Island with the fort near the northeast side of the bay. The roadway was busy with tourists but being a weekday, the congestion was tolerable.
They parked in the visitors’ lot, and Jameson grabbed an insulated lunch bag from the back seat before they strolled slowly toward the point, the gray walls of the fort and the rolling green lawns surrounding it bright under the clear, blue sky. The sea waters were choppy, the wind blowing strong across the surface and over the peninsula, and the air was thick with the scents of hot stone, warm grass, sunscreen, and people.
Together they went into the fort, the thick stone walls offering blissfully cool shade for a moment before they entered the wide grassy courtyard. A shaded table along the south wall was unoccupied, and Jameson led him over to it. They sat side by side, people watching and breathing in the sea breeze. Gulls squawked and fought over a few bits of trash, a few tourists foolishly tossing bits of food for the birds. Rael rolled his eyes when a tourist in a floppy sun hat lost their granola bar to a swooping seagull that decided it wanted a bigger piece.
Jameson opened the lunch bag and offered an ice-cold water to Rael, and he gratefully drank some down. Replacing the cap, he eyed Jameson and nudged his side with an elbow. “Nice spot. I haven’t been here since a field trip in middle school.”
Jameson chuckled. “I jog out here sometimes in the evening after work. It’s closed by then, but I jog the perimeter along the shore and then head back home. I like it. It’s peaceful.”
Right then, a seagull shrieked and a tourist family at the next table over screamed and yelled as their table was overrun by birds attacking their picnic. A woman nearby in athletic gear with a smartphone strapped to her upper arm paused in her jog next to the chaos. A flick of her wrist, and a tangled sphere of silvery white energy shot over the table and smacked the birds. Feathers rained down as the seagulls retreated, the flock dispersing over the wall of the fort. Neither birds nor people appeared to be hurt, though there was plenty of embarrassment to go around. The jogger gave the tourists a wave and then resumed her trek around the interior of the fort walls.
Rael felt like the earth beneath him had tilted and he was falling. Without thinking about it, he leaned over and rested his head on Jameson’s strong shoulder. A kiss landed in his hair, and he sighed, suddenly tired. Dr. Cranston was right—they lived in the city with the largest concentration of practitioners in the entire country. Hard to avoid magic.
“We don’t need to talk about it if it’s too much,” Jameson said softly.
Jameson wrapped an arm along his back and a big hand rested on his hip, so he took his chance and snuggled right into Jameson’s side. Jameson encouraged the snuggling, and he had to remind himself that they were in public surrounded by dozens of people. “I don’t know what to do,” Rael said in a small voice.
“Hmmm.” Jameson hugged him gently. “Can I be there for you while you figure it out?”
“I like that idea,” Rael replied, closing his eyes, listening to the beat of Jameson’s heart and the petulant cry of seagulls in the distance.
Chapter 7
The next morning had Jameson at the Alpha’s house. His uncle was less than pleased to see him, but Jameson ignored his uncle’s ill mood and entered the mansion, heading for the living room. Bertram grumbled and shut the front door with a solid thud.
Jameson turned and waited for his uncle. Bertram glowered then sat in his favorite armchair and waved at Jameson. “Sit down, boy, don’t tower over me in a foul mood.”
He sat on the couch opposite, though begrudgingly. He kept his emotions off his face and focused on Bertram. “Rael was attacked the night before last by a werewolf. He managed to fight off his attacker. Their identity remains unknown. I’d like to know what you know about what happened.”
Bertram grew red in the face. “Are you accusing me of something, pup?”
“Your hatred for Rael is well-known, and until I interceded, you were willing to kick him out of the pack for a matter outside his control. My intervention must have embarrassed you, and while I am sorry for that, I won’t apologize for keeping Rael and Scylla safe.”
Jameson refused to back down. Bertram growled low in his chest, and his eyes went yellow for a moment before fading back to human. “I gave you the month. Got no reason to attack the little punk. I think you’ll come to your senses before then, anyway. That mutt has no place in this pack.”
“Watch how you speak of him,” Jameson warned.
“Every word out of your mouth is a challenge, boy,” Bertram’s eyes went bright yellow.
“I will defend Rael against anyone who insults him or threatens him. Anyone.”
“You would tear this pack apart for that… human?” Bertram changed out the insult he was going to use.
“Yes.”
The room was quiet. Bertram stared at him uncomprehendingly. His uncle shook his head and his eyes faded back to human from belligerent yellow. The part of Jameson that couldn’t stand his uncle was rueful that yellow was so damn common a color for werewolves’ eyes when emotions ran high. It would make things so much simpler if Bertram was the culprit hiding behind a scent-masking spell.
He was capable of defeating his uncle in a challenge. He just really didn’t want to take the whole pack, and he wasn’t sure if Bertram would tap out. There was no way he wanted to kill his uncle, and Bertram was stubborn enough that submitting to his nephew in the fight was not an option. Bertram’s pride approached hubris levels when the pack was watching. Half the pack were willing sycophants to his uncle’s brand of leadership—overbearing, bigoted, greedy, callous—and there was no possibility of guiding people to better behavior when they enjoyed treating others like shit. People only changed if they wanted to. Forcing people to change only fostered resentment and backlash and a deeper entrenchment.
Jameson was seriously contemplating leaving the pack regardless. Forget challenging his uncle for leadership—he would move his company to Cambridge and help any of his employees move if the commute was too much. He’d need to negotiate residency rights with the local Cambridge pack, but that was the least of his worries. Jameson wouldn’t make a decision until he and Rael came to an agreement.
Or not.<
br />
“Any new werewolves in the area stop by to notify you that they’d be in town? Strangers, or tourists who’ve notified you they’d be here for a quick visit?” Jameson asked, and Bertram took the chance to dial things back.
“No one new.” Bertram replied shortly. “Abigail’s parents and brother arrived from Worcester last night. The Lauders are staying here. The baby is due soon.”
Jameson’s suspicions rose at that bit of information but accusing Bertram’s in-laws of attempted murder was bound to end up in violence. Abigail hated Scylla to an irrational level that bordered on obsession, and Rael caught the overflow just by being Scylla’s son. The Lauders moved to Worcester after Abigail graduated from high school when her father got a new job, and they came and went regularly. Jameson didn’t know them well, so he might not know their scents well enough to ID them if one of them was Rael’s attacker. He would do some discreet scenting, though if any of them bought some scent blockers he was out of luck. If they were in the house, he might be able to narrow it down to one of them, but there were too many people in and out of the alpha’s house on a daily basis for him to parse the scents sitting in the living room. If he could get upstairs, he’d have a better chance.
“I’m glad her family could come visit so close to her due date. Are they coming to the pack run later this week?” Making idle conversation was killing his self-restraint. He wanted to barge upstairs and see if any of the visiting wolves were responsible for attacking Rael.
“Lauder Senior and her brother Chad will be attending, but Mrs. Lauder will be staying here with Abigail. She’s too far along to transform and run with the pack.”
“I’m sad to hear she’ll be missing the pack run. I hope the last few weeks of her pregnancy are trouble-free.” And hopefully she had an alpha and Jameson could gracefully bow out of the pack leadership dynamics. Hell, if this pack was more progressive, Jameson would bow out immediately to anyone who earnestly wanted the position of pack heir and was even halfway competent.
