Guardian by Blood

by Evie Byrne

  “What, did you compel him or something?”

  “Hardly,” she sniffed. “I just made him jealous. Oldest trick in the book.”

  Gunnar leaned against the wall, smug. “So, you admit he was jealous.”

  “Your point, Dr. Love?”

  “If you both like each other so much, why don’t you work together to figure out how to save us?” He dropped his attitude and let his fear show—and his heart, too. Just like Wat. “I’m only sixteen. I can’t do this. I don’t know where to start.”

  “Oh, Gunnar…” His distress made her stand up without thought and take a step toward him. He recoiled, and she stopped, remembering no one wanted to hug a Hand. “It’s fucked up. I know.”

  The sound of the front door opening made them both go still, listening. She heard Wat’s light, steady footsteps. Time was up. “I’ll try to make up with Wat, but I don’t have much hope. Truth is, there never was much hope. If anyone is going to save your people, it will be you. That’s what being a prince is all about. Even if you are only sixteen.”

  Wat threw open Gunnar’s door. He wasn’t burnt. Not one bit. He looked grumpy and grubby and tired and entirely alive. She grinned at him. Couldn’t help it. She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. Everything was falling apart, but her heart leaped to see him. It was that stupid and simple.

  Her grin literally rocked him back on his heels. It must have been the last thing he’d expected from her. He grabbed for the doorframe and held on.

  “What are you doing in here?” He asked, looking between Gunnar and her. “Didn’t I ask you not to hold private conversations with my ward?”

  Considering how their last conversation had gone, he was remarkably calm as he said this. Not only in his manner, but also his voice. It was soft and low and rough around the edges—not a bark at all. More like a damaged voice, or a bed voice, she realized. Was that how he would sound if she woke up with him?

  “Apologies,” she said. “I was just saying my goodbyes. I’m packed and ready to go.”

  That also surprised him. His suspicious expression grew more pronounced, and his gaze flicked around the room, looking for evidence of malfeasance. His hair stood on end, and he wore the same clothes as he had the night before. His jeans, his shirtsleeves and his down vest were all stained with ground-in dirt.

  “All right,” he said at last. “I’ll drive you to town.”

  “Thank you, but that’s not necessary.”

  “The road’s not good, and there’s some weather moving in. Shouldn’t hit for several hours yet, but you never know.”

  When she opened her mouth to protest, he cut her off with a gesture. “I’ve sworn myself to your safety. That oath holds until you rejoin your people.”

  She shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense. I’ve got to take my car. If you drive me, how will you get back?”

  “Leave your car here. You can pick it up later.”

  He meant she could pick it up when the fighting was done. They exchanged bleak stares. She’d have given everything she owned for a glimpse into his mind.

  Was there an opening here? “If you wish to continue talks, I am at your disposal,” she said carefully.

  Equally polite, he said. “Whatever we have left to say, we can say on the drive.”

  So there was something more to say? Hours alone in the car, without interruption—it could lead to a breakthrough. She’d always found long drives excellent for talking. At least she’d have some time alone with him. Time meant hope. She studied his face, looking for clues. He studied her right back, intently, as if he hadn’t seen her in a long time.

  Despite their courtesy, Gunnar watched them warily, as if they were loose tigers.

  All this staring was getting ridiculous.

  She finally broke the silence. “As you wish. But if you don’t mind, before we go, I’d like to stop by and say goodbye to Maren.”

  Wat gave her a few minutes alone with Maren while he changed his clothes and got the truck ready for the trip.

  “I wanted to thank you for your kindness,” she said, when they’d both settled in front of Maren’s cheerful fire. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better for you.”

  “Negotiations are over, then?”

  Eva nodded.

  Maren didn’t look surprised. That was depressing in itself. “I'm ready for what comes next.”

  “Where there’s life, there’s hope.”

  “If you can say that, you’ve never known true suffering. I envy you.”

  Eva opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of it.

  Maren paused to pour the tea into a bowl, a smaller bowl this time. She’d made women’s tea, and Eva was glad. She wasn’t sure if the tea she’d had the night before her encounter with Wat would do the trick. From what she’d gathered, it was powerful stuff. Still.

  “You really don’t understand, do you?” Maren passed Eva the bowl for her first sip. “Imagine someone locks you in a box and pokes you full of tubes to feed you. You know that you’ll never get out of the box. Never see the moon again, or walk, or feel the fresh air on your skin. Would you rather live that way or die on your own terms?”

  “That’s a ridiculous analogy.”

  “You’re right. I forgot to include a blasphemous element, because you want us to leave the True Path. You don’t feed from human infants, do you?”

  “Of course not!” Eva cried, shocked.

  “Oh, good. So then imagine you’re lying in your box, your trap, and the blood coming in via the tubes is the blood of babies.”

  Oh my god. “Maren, please. Stop with the drama. All I’m talking about is living in the city—which is not at all like being locked in a box—and accepting the gift of blood from enthusiastic donors. Or you could even live off of bagged blood, which isn’t tasty, but is very, very anonymous.”

  “Eva Padilla Sosa, this is not a subject we are ever going to agree on.”

  “I can see that, and it makes me sad.”

  Maren squeezed Eva’s shoulder. “Don’t take it so hard, girl. We made up our minds long ago, and we’re not a folk who change our minds once they’re made up.”

  “Which is why you’re all so insufferable.”

  Maren chuckled. She was ridiculously good-humored. They were a bunch of martyrs. Martyrs could fuck themselves. What counted was life. The struggle.

  Eva scowled, swirled the contents of the bowl, and took a long, deep swallow.

  Maren eyed her as she drank. “You’re awfully intent on your tea.”

  By way of answer, Eva said, “How long are you infertile after drinking a bowl? And do the effects start immediately? It sounded like it from what you said last time…”

  Maren nodded, her expression kindly. She wouldn’t probe. “One dose will close the womb for a good two nights, and yes, it will do it right away, but we drink it every day. It’s best that way. Would you like some to take with you?”

  “I couldn’t.”

  “After all, I won’t be needing it…”

  “Fuck me.” Eva put down the bowl. “Stop it. Stop this stupid, stubborn thing you’re doing. If you and the other women went to Wat, he’d listen to you.”

  Maren just smiled and passed her a small, hand-sewn muslin sack filled with dried leaves.

  Eva took a deep sniff. It was a bit like mushrooms, a bit like sage, a bit like soil. That smell would always remind her of this place, of Maren and her friends.

  A knock sounded on the front door.

  “There he is, and you must be going. That’s all the tea I have in the house. I wish I could get some more for you, but there’s no time. Maybe your scientists can figure out what’s in there. The secret is not just the plants, but the way of making it and the words said over it. I hope they can figure it out. It’s a shame how you womenfolk live down South.”

  Maren showed her to the door, hugged her goodbye, and gave her a firm push to send her off. Eva wiped her eyes on her sleeves and took one last look around the hou
ses shrouded in snow, their front windows glowing with warm light. Chimney smoke tangled in pale wisps across the black sky. It was a beautiful night. No sign of the storm Wat had been threatening her with. Looking up, she said goodbye to the stars.

  She turned one last time and framed Wat against this landscape, locking him in her memory. This was how she wanted to remember him. His solid stance, his broad shoulders. He seemed to grow out of the ground. The porch lights picked out the gold in his hair, and, to either side of him, the forest stretched like a pair of vast, black wings. The wind rippled the long, fine fur on the hood that sat on his shoulders. His own thick, tousled hair did not move as much. An owl hooted in the distance, sharp and plaintive. He looked back at her, his expression calm, his canted eyes strangely serene. He tilted his head, looked as if he might say something, but didn’t.

  She followed him across the village, a little numb in body and mind. The truck waited in the secret parking lot, running, its exhaust billowing. It was a white Ford and looked to be at least fifteen years old. It had seen some action in its time, but the engine purred, and it had impressive tires. Wat opened the door for her. Her bags were already stowed behind her seat. One of the village dogs jumped up onto the passenger seat before she could climb in, tail wagging, but Wat shooed it out.

  Truth was, she sucked as a Hand. A Hand didn’t make friends. A Hand swooped in, did the job, and then got out fast. That’s how she’d always done it before. If you thought about what you were doing, you’d go insane.

  Too late.

  She climbed into the cab, and he shut the door behind her.

  Wat steered the truck away from the village. Beside him, Eva stared out the front window, her dark eyes wide and searching. Not with fear, but as if she were trying to swallow the whole world with her eyes.

  Mother of All, I could love a woman who looked at my home that way.

  He thought back to a few days ago, how she’d worn a stone mask, how he couldn’t read her to save his life. What had changed?

  She broke the silence when they turned onto the main road. “What’s up with you?”

  “Funny, I was thinking the same thing of you.” He reached down for the gear shift. She tucked her knees toward the passenger door, away from his hand.

  “Where’s all the anger?” she said. “What’s with this calm and rational thing? As I recall, you’re pissed at me.”

  “I was. Maybe I still am. But it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Ah ha! I thought so. You’ve gone and turned fey.”

  He glanced over at her, raising his brows. “I’ve turned into a fairy?”

  “It’s one of Dominick’s terms. It means you’re courting death, wanting to embrace it like a lover. It means you’re already walkin’ on the other side.” All this she pronounced, unaccountably, in an Irish accent.

  “I don’t know if it’s gone that far. I prayed all day. I found some guidance—I think. The gods speak in riddles.”

  “You have gods? Plural?”

  “Twelve. But two, really.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “And those two are actually one, when you get down to it.”

  She whistled low. “Well, what did your twelve gods tell you?”

  “I don’t know that I can put it into words.”

  Actually, he could, but then he’d have to say, “I had this dream where you had a tail and I had horns…” but he wasn’t going to start down that road.

  Meditating on the dream that morning, he’d thought he’d untangled the salient points. The erotic nature of it he’d attributed to a combination of guilt and lust, though it was said that in dreams, sex symbolized partnership. What was more important was that he had worn the form of the Horned One, the hunter who is also prey. Also, Stag was his totem, so wearing the horns had signaled that the dream referred to his life-path. But Stag himself hadn’t appeared. Instead, Fox came into his dream through Eva, making bad puns and offering that cryptic line about blood. “The answer is in the blood,” Fox had said, or something like that. Wat didn’t know what to make of those words. Gunnar’s bloodline? Human vs. animal blood?

  Wat sighed. It hadn’t been the most helpful of dreams, and he really needed help. He gathered it meant that there might be a solution to this mess, if he could just stop thinking in his conservative, stag-like ways. (Don’t be such a dumb buck.) Eva was part of that solution; otherwise she wouldn’t have been in the dream. Fox had claimed her as his own, too. Which was very strange.

  It wasn’t much to go by, but it gave him some hope. Fox wanted him to think out of the box, and Eva was going to help somehow. Left to his own devices, Wat would defend his people and their traditions to the death. That’s what bucks did. They charged obstacles, or they fell under them. Foxes weren’t about making a stand. They liked to slink around stubborn obstacles—such as bucks. So if he left Eva around Gunnar, she’d be back to her tricks in no time.

  Both he and Eva had to be jogged out of their usual roles. He figured the time pressure would help. Besides, he couldn’t stand the tension anymore. Either they’d come up with something on this long drive, or they didn’t deserve a solution.

  “Wat? You still in there?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking about a dream.”

  “What kind of dream?”

  “It wouldn’t make any sense to you.”

  She put one knee up on the seat and leaned toward him, dropping her voice into its throaty register. “Was I in it?”

  He shot her a look. “I can’t believe you’re flirting with me.”

  She leaned back in her seat. “Sorry. Spinal reflex.”

  He cleared his throat. “The gist of the dream was that we have to approach this problem from a whole new angle.”

  “I don’t know how you put a new angle on irreconcilable differences.”

  “There’s a path.” Suddenly he felt certain of it. “We just have to find it.”

  They spent the next hour or so hashing over various compromise scenarios, from the reasonable to the ridiculous. Eva had a finely tuned sense of the absurd, and she made him laugh as he hadn’t in a long time. They both laughed a lot as they tossed around impossible ideas, and, strangely, it didn’t bother him that they weren’t coming up with any workable solutions. Her either, it seemed. Maybe they were just punch-drunk and tired at this point.

  All he knew was that he was enjoying her company more than he thought possible. Going head-to-head against a woman who was sharp-edged, mischievous, and whip-smart was nothing but guaranteed aggravation, but teaming up with her…now, that was something close to pleasure.

  Inevitably his mind drifted to teaming up with her in other ways—in many different positions, in fact. But he liked this easy balance they’d found and wanted to keep it going as long as he could.

  While they talked, snow had started falling in flurries. Nothing serious, but he was glad they were well on their way. He flicked off the headlights. In falling snow, he preferred to drive dark so he didn’t catch the glare of lights on the flakes.

  They launched, then shot down, the idea of transforming his village into a hunting resort for the elite of nocturnal society, and drove in companionable silence for a bit. Then she announced:

  “I lost my virginity when I was thirteen.”

  He turned toward her in surprise, and then whipped his head back in line with the road. Thirteen? “We’re you in love?”

  “No. We were just mutually curious. He was a human boy.”

  Again he had to turn to her, to make sure she wasn’t putting him on. “Really? Did he know what you were?”

  “No. But afterward I fed on him and used compulsion to make him forget the whole thing. I was hungry, and he smelled good. I couldn’t help myself.”

  That right there was why you raised children in the woods. But he bit his tongue.

  “It was his first time, too.” She added, thoughtful. “I took it away from him. That memory, you know. It’s only mine now. I feel bad about that.”

  He didn�
�t know what to say, or even why she’d brought it up, so he stayed silent.

  After a minute she went on. “See, sex never meant that much to me, even at the beginning. It’s a pleasant and necessary function. Very pleasant. Like feeding. And sleeping. And taking hot baths. But it’s never been deep for me. I want you to understand this.”

  He glanced her way, intrigued. “Why?”

  “Because that’s where my head was last night. It doesn’t mean much to me—so I didn’t think about what it might mean to you. Remember that day, on the hunt, you told Gunnar that sex was meant only for people in love? I thought you were just laying it on thick to keep him under control. I didn’t know you actually meant it.”

  “How do you know I meant it?”

  Turning in her seat she asked, very serious, “Are you saying you didn’t?”

  He turned his eyes back to the road, uncomfortable. He had meant it—then. Nothing was easier than preaching, but the very next night he’d broken his own rules. Why? Because he’d wanted her since he’d first seen her. Because she’d given him an excuse to act badly. Because he’d wanted to taste what he could never have. They were flying in opposite directions, spinning away from each other at incredible speeds. They had nothing in common, and the world was lining up to divide them further still. Yet sometimes—sometimes he imagined he could reach out his hand…

  And then he remembered who she worked for, and what she’d done last night.

  When he didn’t answer her question, she went on. “I bring this up to say I’m sorry. I’m trained to manipulate, but I like to think I have enough of a soul to do so in a considerate way whenever I can.”

  He frowned in puzzlement. “Are you apologizing for manipulating me or apologizing that you didn’t manipulate me subtly enough?”

  Her lips twitched, but she could not suppress a grin. “Both.”

  “Old Ones spare us!” Despite himself, he laughed. “Do realize how scary you are?”