The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Bones cracked.

  An almighty screech rent the air.

  Clarke covered her ears and winced. When she looked, Rush waded back to her with a grim look on his face and the blade was back in its scabbard. Behind him, the monster sank.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Rush had let his guard down, and it was unforgivable.

  How the White Woman had caught him in her web, he couldn’t say, but he knew with absolute certainty that the woman he waded back to had broken the spell. Unlike any human he’d ever seen, this one had the capacity for magic. And she knew little about how to use it.

  She was a recipe for disaster.

  He could deny it no longer. This changed everything.

  She reached out and helped draw him close. He searched her blue eyes. The only way to know how powerful she was would be to test her at the Order.

  She jutted out her chin and straightened her shoulders, but the contrary tremble of hands told Rush she barely held it together. This would all seem strange to her.

  “How did you do that?” he asked cautiously.

  “What?”

  “You know what I’m talking about. Peeling back the glamor the creature had cast. That was you.”

  “I meant, what, no thanks? No—oh, hey Clarke. You saved my life. Awesome.” Her lips flattened. She let go of his hand.

  He raised a cocky eyebrow. “Were you the one in there with the sword?”

  “You’re incredible. And I don’t mean that as a compliment.”

  “And you’re avoiding the question. How did you break the spell?”

  “I, um…” She looked to the center of the bog where the monster had disappeared. Thick viscous bubbles popped on the surface. Clarke’s delicate neck bobbed on a swallow as she dragged her gaze back to him. “I don’t know. One minute, she was this woman in need of help, but then I saw through it. I saw the truth, but you couldn’t. And then I wanted you to see it. I didn’t want you to die. Something broke out of me… and…” Her eyes glistened. “What’s happening to me?”

  He wasn’t sure, so gestured in the direction they were headed. “We need to keep going.”

  The hairs on Rush’s arms lifted. His ears pricked. Ice slid down his spine.

  Something was wrong.

  The monster burst out of the muddy water, its sharp forelegs aiming for Clarke, snagging her cape. It happened so quickly. She was there, and then she wasn’t.

  “Clarke!”

  He dove into the bog, aiming for where she’d submerged. The bargain’s bond. He concentrated on it. Like the red string of fate, it bound his hand to hers. All he had to do was follow it through the thick, viscous mud. She couldn’t be far. His fingers grazed something.

  Soft skin.

  The monster’s had been rough and segmented.

  He grasped. He yanked.

  Her scream rose with bubbles and he hoped he hadn’t ripped her arm from its socket, but she broke free. They hit the surface, gasping for air. Both covered in mud and sludge and bits of forest debris.

  “Go.” He pushed her.

  Spluttering, crying, she didn’t think twice. She used her arms to windmill through the swamp, but the cape was caught. The monster. He used his dagger to cut the neck tie and then free her. He shoved her toward the shallows.

  “Get to the edge and out of the bog.”

  With his eyes still on her, something hit his right arm, tearing through his jacket. Fury unleashed, and he twisted, dagger in hand, aiming for its eye.

  But it had touched him. The sickness triggered. His arm became heavy, his weapon weighted. The dagger should have gone through its socket, right to the brain. It didn’t. It lodged halfway to the hilt. That’s when he saw it—blue glittering glyphs on the side of the creature’s neck. It was cursed, just like him.

  But who would track down a White Woman and curse her? For what purpose?

  There was no time to unsheathe Starcleaver. Gritting his teeth, fighting the blurriness dragging him under, he yanked the knife and stabbed again. Two things happened at once. His knife entered the creature’s throat, sinking to his fist, spurting fiery blood over his hand. And a burning slice of pain clamped his shoulder as a mandible chomped down. His energy waned. He only had time for one more blow. It had better be good.

  But the knife hilt got stuck on the collarbone. With his fist still lodged inside its body, his other hand held its pincers at bay. Defeat battered at the edge of his will, waiting for him to falter.

  The voice of his uncle rose to the surface, as clear as it had been the day he’d been cursed. You can’t even protect yourself.

  Fuck you, Thaddeus.

  One more push.

  He could draw on the last of his mana.

  He could ask Clarke for help.

  He could force her.

  No.

  Instead, he clenched his teeth and took a chance. He released the dagger, let go of the pincer clamping onto his shoulder with the force of a hunting trap, and gripped either side of the monster’s head. Agony screamed down from its bite. If this didn’t work…

  He twisted. Heard a crack. And exhaled.

  The monster was dead, floating on its back. The muddy water slowly reclaimed its body, but he gripped onto it, refusing to let it go. Those curse marks needed to be investigated.

  Too late.

  With no energy left in his body, he slipped. He searched through his haze for the shock of red hair that signaled Clarke. He found her. Near the exit path lined with Willows. She crouched on solid ground, watching him with a furrowed brow.

  “Clarke,” he rasped, reaching.

  Why was she just watching him?

  She stood up and shook her head, resignation in her eyes. “When I was in peril, instead of helping me, you made a bargain that put me in your servitude. Then you kept me tied up and forced me to reveal my darkest shame.”

  His eyes fluttered. His consciousness drifted. But he wouldn’t release her from their bargain. He needed her to act as his proxy. He gritted his teeth and shook his head.

  “Then why don’t you compel me to save you?”

  Body going limp, floppy, the mud enveloped his shoulders.

  Maybe this was how it ended. After all that.

  The gray around his vision turned black, and the last thing he remembered was a muttered, “Stubborn bastard,” before his face dropped into the bog.

  Rush walked along the dirt path that led to his old clan compound at Crescent Hollow. The fortress was nestled between the foot of a mountain range and the Whispering Woods. Only fools would try to invade based on location alone. But despite this, the buildings were made from thick stone. A high wall ran around the outside to protect the ten-thousand-plus residents inside.

  A heavy pat on Rush’s back jolted him forward. He turned to the grinning face of his Guardian comrade, D’arn Jasper. A tall and athletic black-wolf of the Mithras line, Jasper had shoulder-length brown hair tipped in black, and a pretty-boy face he hated being known for. It was the same as the king’s. To combat the similarities, the wolf had tattooed his body, but it wasn’t enough. His pretty face was something no Guardian let him live down.

  But there was a darker reason Jasper had joined the Guardians. Whilst he’d never spoken about it, they all knew he needed to escape the rumored culling of Mithras descendants by the Seelie King. For centuries King Mithras had ruled the glass palace. Hell, he’d built it. He was The King. The High King of the Seelie, including both Summer and Spring Courts. But with each offspring he bore, more paranoia crept into his mind, and when a powerful Seer foretold that one of his own would dethrone him, he executed them all.

  “Good to be back, yeah?” Jasper said, black brows quirking. “Even if we’re covered in monster guts.”

  Rush looked down at the black gunk covering him from head to toe. Jasper was the same, yet he somehow still looked presentable. That stiff royal spine was always present, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Rush growled low. “You know I hate this place.
”

  “Hate. Love. Same thing.” Jasper clapped him on the back. “Last time you were here was what, nigh on a year ago?”

  Rush flicked monster brain from his shoulder. “Bit less than that.”

  He preferred not to take jobs there, but when he had to, he did his duty and then spent the rest of time at the tavern, usually balls deep in some nameless female until he forgot about the haunting memories around every Crescent Hollow corner. The sound of his sister’s feminine war cry still echoed in his mind as she chased him through the fox-tail fields. And then there were their dares to get as close to the Whispering Woods as possible without caving to the call of the forest.

  “And so how much tax are we to ask for again?” Jasper asked.

  A heavy weight descended on Rush’s shoulders. He hated this kind of call out. “Shouldn’t you know this? You’re the senior Guardian.”

  “I may be older in age, but younger at heart.” He shot Rush an incorrigible grin.

  Damned joker.

  “It’s two red coin,” Rush said.

  “Balls,” Jasper muttered. “I hate these.”

  “The law is the law.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Jasper waved him down. “We exterminate the magical monsters. They pay for their gratitude. Pity none of them actually give a shit.”

  Rush gave a casual shrug. “When the monsters eat the children, they will.”

  “Maybe that’s where we’ve gone wrong. Should let a few of them get taken first.” Jasper broke off a piece of jerky he’d retrieved from his pocket and handed some to Rush. “Want some?”

  Rush screwed up his face. “After it’s been in your monster gut filled pocket? No thanks.”

  “Suit yourself.” Jasper popped it into his mouth with a wink. “All I know is that I’ll need the energy if I see that tavern wench again.”

  “It’s been months. What makes you think she’ll remember you.”

  Jasper blinked. “Everyone remembers this face.”

  With a snort, Rush turned back to the Crescent Hollow compound. Just outside the gate, a pregnant female was tied to a pole, strung up, and treated like a criminal all because a child grew in her belly. She must be in labor. Two midwives stood by, ready to take the child after she expelled it.

  Rush’s gaze darkened at the sight.

  Jasper spat out a masticated mess, then straightened his Kingfisher blue coat. “Looks like an unsanctioned breeding.”

  The two of them strode forward. With every heavy step Rush took, tension increased in his body. He knew the captive female. Intimately. Long silver hair, cherry cheekbones, round face.

  One night of passion, many moons ago.

  A glance down at her protracted belly was all the clue he needed to know the child was his. The timing fit, and he could sense it in her shifting scent. She smelled like kin. The rightness of it hummed across his skin. The child was his. Alarmed, he checked to see if his fellow Guardian recognized her, but he didn’t. Jasper just looked as undignified as the female most likely felt. No Guardian enjoyed seeing this kind of punishment, but with resources scarce, population had to remain in check. Well, that’s what the king told them.

  It had never sat right on Rush’s shoulders, but…

  “Not magic. Not our problem,” Jasper mumbled under his breath.

  Jasper didn’t recognize the female. He had been with Rush at the Laughing Den when they’d met, but he’d been upstairs, face between another female’s thighs at the time. Rush couldn’t even remember her name, he realized with shame.

  The two midwives sneered at the Guardians as they neared.

  “Relax,” Jasper drawled. “We’re not here for you.”

  A stout female wearing a scarf around her neck folded her arms and gave him the side-eye. “But you’re here to take our coin, no doubt.”

  Jasper shrugged, and Rush saw how callous it was for the first time. It was all callous. He looked at his hands, at his jacket… what was he doing with his life to be part of a system that brushed away a pregnant female’s plight like this.

  Why?

  Because the Prime said their resources were already spread thin. Because the magic of the Well was more important than caring about the affairs of the every day fae.

  The stout midwife gave the captive female a worried glance and then tugged her friend. “Let’s leave. The pup won’t come yet. We have time.” She gave the captive a gentle pat on the shoulder. “We’ll be back. Don’t worry, love.”

  Then the midwives scurried away.

  Rush’s ex-lover lifted her weary gaze and widened her eyes.

  “Find the alpha,” Rush ordered Jasper.

  Sensing something was off, Jasper’s ears twitched, but he nodded. The moment Jasper moved out of earshot, Rush turned on the female.

  “Why?” he asked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  He could have helped her. Could have done something!

  Guilt splashed over her face. “Because you would have told me to get rid of him.”

  Darkness unfolded within Rush. No he wouldn’t have. Then a single word in her sentence stood out.

  “It’s a boy?” Rush’s throat clogged.

  She nodded grimly.

  After joining the Guardians—a group of fae who rarely mated—Rush had given up on ever having his own family.

  “But you and I...”

  “Véda,” she offered with a small, defeated smile. “My name is Véda. Although I’m not even sure we exchanged those. I’ve always known where to find you but thought I could get away with saying I was… forced.”

  Blood drained from Rush’s face. “But I never.”

  “Not by you. Just someone I never saw. I thought they would let me go. I didn’t want you to know.” She squeezed her eyes shut as a contraction came over her. A keening cry of pain ripped from her lips. Rush tried to hold her upright, so she didn’t pull too much on her bindings.

  When it was done, she kept her eyes closed as she spoke. “It was my decision to keep the child. And I needed to know that if I was found out, at least one of his parents would be around to care for him. If no one knew it was you, then a Guardian would be the perfect protector—”

  “So the father is revealed.”

  Rush whirled to see his uncle, Thaddeus.

  Jasper stood by with a shocked, but stoic look on his face. He knew what this meant, what he’d have to do to both Rush and Véda. There was no way Thaddeus would let this go.

  A slow, slithering smile curved up Thaddeus’s mouth. “You can’t even protect yourself, let alone this wench.”

  Rush turned to Jasper who only flinched and said, “The law is the law.”

  “Wake up.”

  A slap on Rush’s face drew him out of the past.

  He blinked until his vision cleared. But the pain of his curse still crippled him. He could barely lift his head from the soil as air dragged in and out of his lungs.

  Clarke crouched before him, beautiful face crumpled with worry.

  A wash of emotions hit him—surprise, relief, disbelief.

  “You saved me,” he croaked. “Why?”

  Was it the bond? But he never compelled her.

  So why help him?

  “I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” she admitted. “The thought crossed my mind to steal your belongings and continue on by myself, but I didn’t. And the only reason I can come up with is that despite what happened to this world because of a mistake I made, I’m not a killer. I’m not a cruel person. Unlike you, I can’t stand by idly and watch another person suffer. You saved my life, and instead of forcing me to save yours through your despicable bargain, you didn’t. So I saved you anyway. I’m making the choice to be a better person.”

  Her words cut straight to the core of his guilt. His inability to do anything when Véda had died but watch her suffer. The way she’d accepted her fate was the bravest thing he’d ever seen. All for the life she grew inside of her. And Rush? He’d been a coward.

  This human w
as worth more than him.

  She stood, checked one direction of the path they were on, then the other. She dusted her hands and tugged her shredded shirt closed. And then she clenched her jaw with determination before locking eyes with him.

  “Why are you cursed, Rush?” He wished her away, but she kept talking. “I could guess, I suppose. You think I haven’t noticed that touching other things hurts you, but I have. You were surprised that first time we touched. You wince in reflex, as though you think it will hurt. And you looked in pain with the warada, and here you are in pain again.”

  He said nothing.

  “Fine. Don’t share. I mean, I’ll get close enough to the truth eventually, but once again, I’m not like you. I’ll never force someone’s darkest shame out without their consent. I’d rather you share it with me yourself.”

  “I saved your life three times,” he breathed.

  She sneered. “It’s all a currency in this world, isn’t it? Say thank you, and you’re in debt. Do a good deed, get one back. Doesn’t anyone do anything because it’s the right thing?”

  He had no answer to that. She was right.

  “See you around, Rush.”

  His bones were heavier than iron. All he could do was watch her walk away and know that this was what he deserved. He couldn’t save Véda. He couldn’t protect his son. And Clarke? She was the one who’d forced him to see the truth.

  He closed his eyes. Letting his guard down wasn’t so bad. It was keeping it up that hurt.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clarke strode with determination down the path leading from the bog.

  It was fine that she left Rush there. Completely fine. She’d pulled him out. She’d stopped him from drowning. She didn’t even steal his belongings. She didn’t need him.

  Surely she could get by in this new world without him. How different could it be? The urge to stay must be wrong because it was simply cruel to side with a fae who cared little about her dignity and more about whatever secret drove his need to hold her to their bargain.