“Halt,” shouted a Guardian from atop the gate tower. Made from reinforced leather, his helmet sat snuggly over his head so it wasn’t easy to determine what kind of fae he was. Rush liked knowing his opponents’ strengths and weaknesses before heading in. The guard lifted the visor to see better, and all became clear.
The olive skin was a dead giveaway for vamp. That he worked the day shift must be either punishment or part of his rigorous conditioning. Probably a rookie. No matter what fae race, a Guardian had to be equally reliable in all conditions. Night fae had to be conditioned to function in the sun. Day fae had to get used to seeing in the dark. Nobody enjoyed working on their weaknesses, but the Well had chosen them, so they had no choice.
The vampires in the Guardian cadres could operate at any time of day.
Clarke darted a nervous glance at Rush. “I want to hold your hand,” she whispered.
“You’ll do fine. Tell them your name and that you’re here to see the Prime.”
With a lift of her chin, she repeated his words to the guard.
The vamp surveyed her, scrutinized her hair, and then nodded. “We’ve been expecting you.”
Clarke relaxed.
But Rush didn’t. This was the first time he’d been back to the place that had been his home for most of his life. When Thaddeus had called for Rush’s punishment, the Prime failed to stand up for him. And Jasper, his partner, hadn’t stepped in at all. He thought he knew Jasper better than that. That the more seasoned wolf wouldn’t bow to the Prime’s wishes if she decreed something so heinous. Rush had reasoned away Jasper’s reluctance because he knew Jasper avoided any involvement with the Crown due to his heritage. But a part of Rush had always wondered. Maybe they weren’t good friends after all. It had done more to deflate his courage than seeing his uncle call for his execution. Jasper’s betrayal cut deeper than his thirst for vengeance against his uncle.
It was because the Cadre of Twelve were his family.
The Order was his home.
“Please step through the gate and wait immediately inside.” The heavily perspiring guard tugged the collar of his blue coat. It wasn’t snowing here, but it also wasn’t hot. He was probably at his limits for daytime exposure. The rookie pulled a lever. “I’ll be right down.”
The arched wooden gate dwarfed them. At least thrice their size, it creaked open on stiff hinges.
Following Clarke through, Rush tried to keep his surreal emotions in check. He saw the campus as though for the first time. Stone buildings with deep red-tiled roofs and high arches were scattered around. Academy on the left, Mage dormitories to the academy’s right. Straight ahead, the Guardian barracks housed the soldiers, and to the right, the armory and training fields bustled with activity. Majestically high at the back, lording over the entire campus, stood a moss-covered stone temple sparkling with glistening rivulets of water cascading down from the roof on rain chains.
Landscaped with lush green exotic plants and flowers, the campus was a beautiful sight. Rush could have happily stayed within the grounds most of his life. Many did, preferring the solitude of the library or engagement of the classrooms.
An almighty roar and gust of wind came from the training field. Instead of staying where she was told, as she should have, Clarke’s eyes widened in awe and she trotted over to the lawn field surrounded by box hedges.
Two experienced Guardians were in the midst of sparring under the watchful gaze of a group of spectators near the infirmary. A semi-naked crow in angel form and a larger than normal white wolf circled each other. Rush’s heart lodged in his throat. The wolf was his son, Thorne. Both had blood streaming down parts of their bodies. Rush narrowed his eyes. The dark-haired, tattooed crow-shifter had a wry smile on his face. One of Rush’s old cadre. The wind gust had come from him, either from his wings beating behind his body, or a shot of mana induced air. He half-paced, half-flew around the unnaturally large wolf and twirled his dagger in his hand. Cloud wasn’t known for honorable tactics, and the wolf seemed to like it.
Did he have a death wish?
The thought churned in Rush’s gut. If Thorne fought Cloud, then he’d joined the ranks of the cadre. Perhaps he’d been promoted to replace the position Rush had left empty.
“Who are they?” Clarke asked, nodding at the couple fighting.
He cleared his throat and folded his arms. “The wolf is... my son.”
“Wow.”
“His opponent is the crow I told you about who was trapped in Crystal City for a decade in his youth.”
“The thief?”
“Now the Order’s best assassin.”
“He’s very…” She lifted her brows, assessing.
“Cruel. Reprobate. Deviant,” was Rush’s immediate response. Cloud had never done as he was told. He was the unit’s nightmare. But he got the job done, and the Well had chosen him. They were stuck with him.
“I was going to say roguishly handsome, but okay, let’s go with that. Rep-ro-bate.” She made the word roll off her tongue.
A small rumble of possessiveness started in the base of Rush’s throat. His inner wolf scratched at the surface of his control. He had been restless since the mating. Normally when a wolf mates another of his kind, the two spend not only days together privately, but time running in the wild. That primitive part of him still wanted out. It wanted to get to know its mate, feed her and play with her. Another rumble of dissent came out of him.
“Oh, settle down,” Clarke chuckled softly. “I’m just observing.”
“Observe me.”
“Tonight.” She gave him a placating pat on the arm.
Flexing his fists at his side, he forced his instincts to calm. He would have happily stayed within that room at the inn for days. They needed more time together and until they did, his restlessness wouldn’t end.
Where was that damned Prime?
“That wolf is your son.” She whistled through her teeth as though impressed. “He’s certainly tenacious.”
Rush shifted his gaze back to the battle. The wolf had his sharp teeth locked around a black feathered wing. As the wolf tore through it, a collective gasp rippled through the spectators. Black feathers scattered everywhere as though a pillow had burst. Red coated the wolf’s jaw, and dribbled down his fur, but Cloud barely reacted. In one smooth motion, he twisted and shifted. For a blink, he wasn’t a dark avenging angel, but a crow, flapping and cawing in the air, dagger in its claws.
The leather pants he’d been wearing drifted to the floor.
Rush snorted. “Show off.”
“Why?” Clarke asked, eyes wide and fascinated.
“He’s shifting without being connected to the land. He’s showing the spectators, and his opponent, that his mana stores are high enough, he’s confident he doesn’t need to be connected to the land to shift back. Most fae need to be physically connected, but some of us Guardians can draw power from the Well from a few feet in the air. It seems the winged fae are best at this.”
The crow circled around the wolf and then nose-dived. Just before hitting, the air shimmered around Cloud, and he elongated into fae form, and plunged the dagger into Thorne’s white furry spine.
Clarke’s hand flew to her mouth.
She soon found panic was not needed. Wolves were quick. Guardians were faster. Thorne had sensed the attack at his rear and rolled on the grassed floor, narrowly evading the blade as it embedded into the ground. Just like Cloud, Thorne shifted back to fae form and used the advantage of his hands to tackle and block his opponent. Both male bodies tumbled, grunted, and wrestled. Cloud could use his air-magic to blast Thorne off him, but he didn’t. If memory served correct, Cloud was also adept with lightning. Perhaps he’d spent his cache of mana and hadn’t replenished. Or he could be saving it for later. The battle was a display of strategy, of untamed strength and a struggle for domination. Naked and covered in dirt, grass and blood, neither fae gave a damn about spectators watching them in a state of undress. Shifters rarely cared abo
ut such human sensitivities.
“Oh my sweet Lord, if Laurel could see this now.” Clarke whistled through her teeth. Then she tensed. Her eyes went white. “Rush,” she whispered. “I see… I see my friend.” She met Rush’s stare, her eyes bleeding back to blue. Then she darted a glance to the battlefield. “Laurel is destined for one of them.”
“Another like you will come?”
“I think… yes. Not just one, but many more.”
They both turned back to the sparring match. Thorne had inherited his parents’ silver hair, but unlike them, he wore it buzzed at the sides and a few inches at the top. With the battle, and the recent shift, the leather cord that held the hair out of his eyes had fallen. This was something Cloud was planning on taking advantage of—Rush could see it in the way his dark eyes kept darting to the strands catching the wind. Cloud, who had short black curls barely long enough to grasp, wasn’t beyond using dirty tactics to win.
Did Thorne see this intent in the crow?
A band constricted around Rush’s chest. He’d missed so much. It was a regret that thickened his throat every time he thought about it. All he’d wanted over the past few years was to get here, to this point, where he had the means to talk to his son. And now that he was here... he didn’t know what to say.
“Miss O’Leary.” The gate guard came running up, his hand holding the too big helmet on his head as it drooped to one side. “I told you to wait at the gate.”
She waved at the match. “There was something far better to do.”
“Be that as it may, the Prime is expecting you.”
“Can’t I just watch for two more minutes? Please?”
While Clarke engaged in negotiation, Rush continued to scope the spectators. The team leader and a healer usually oversaw a sparring session this brutal. But then again, the Twelve had done whatever they wanted with training. In front of the infirmary, Leaf, the golden-haired and golden-skinned elf stood chatting with a tall, blue-robed male healer with underdeveloped goat’s horns on his head.
So Leaf was still the team leader, Rush mused.
Continuing his search, he found another group watching from near the armory. And yet another group watched from near the forge on the opposite side of the field. The only of its kind in all of Elphyne, the forge produced the metal weapons the Guardians used to eliminate errant magical beasts. Among the watching fae, Rush recognized a good handful of his old cadre. The three Unseelie vampires, Shade, Haze and Indigo stood with their black leathery wings half out and their heads together. Knowing Indigo, he probably took bets on which Guardian would win the sparring match. Indi had only joined the Guardians because he thought it would be a grand adventure. Haze was the muscle of the group. With a shoulder span wider than brownies were tall, he’d joined the Order because he felt the incurable need to protect and he was quietly open with his mission. Obviously the Well had thought the same. Shade wanted power. Pure and simple. Rush was surprised Leaf hadn’t fallen afoul of some training accident that relinquished him of his team leading duties. But vamps were good at lying in wait.
The hairs on the back of Rush’s neck stood up, and every muscle in his body tensed in warning. A lack of sound came from the sparring match. The battle was done. He turned back to the field just in time to see Thorne lift his nose and scent the air in Rush’s direction. No, the battle wasn’t done, but interrupted. Thorne’s sharp gaze snapped their way, but it wasn’t Rush he locked his eyes onto. It was Clarke.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Clarke only had time to register Rush’s shout of warning when a large, white-haired and flesh toned thing collided with her, taking her to the ground. The wind knocked out of her lungs. Enormous snarling teeth snapped in her face and Clarke could smell the fresh blood on his breath. For the first time since arriving, true terror overwhelmed her.
The muscle-packed, heavy and very naked Viking lookalike pinned her down by the shoulders. Icy blue eyes glowed with adrenaline as he growled through clenched teeth, “Why do you smell like kin?”
But it wasn’t the fury from Thorne that terrified Clarke, it was the reaction in Rush. She’d never seen him so close in appearance to his wolf. His eyes turned animalistic, his teeth elongated, and he reached toward Thorne with claw tipped fingers. The blue glyphs on Rush’s face sparkled from the expense of his precious mana.
“Stop, Rush!” she shouted, tears in her eyes at what might happen. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
Please, don’t let him use up his reserves. Not on her. Not like this.
“I’m okay. He’s not hurting me. I’m okay.” She held her palm out toward Rush.
Thorne jerked as though pulled, but it wasn’t Rush who’d touched him. It was Clarke’s words. Rush barely held onto his restraint.
“Who are you talking to, human?”
“It’s him. It’s Rush. Your father.”
Surprise hit his eyes for a split-second, then he snapped at her and fisted the fabric at her chest. “My father is dead.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and wished with all her might. Please see Rush. Please see him.
“You had better come up with an explanation, human, or you’re—”
“Fuck me,” someone said.
She opened her eyes. A group of powerful fae loomed over her, including the one who’d sparred with Thorne. He’d redressed in his leather breeches but stood back with unmistakable hatred in his eyes. The vampire guard looked green and panicked. A golden-haired fae skidded to a halt next to Clarke, wary eyes on Rush.
They could see him! Whatever she had done worked.
“Get off my mate,” Rush snarled, eyes on Thorne.
Shit. This was not how Clarke had wanted this meeting to go. “Thorne,” she said softly and patted his solid chest. “Please… this will all go much better if you get off me.”
Thorne’s wild gaze darted from Clarke to Rush, and then to the surrounding crowd. A collection of three winged fae in Guardian uniforms flew in on a dark cloud. Air gusted as they landed. All with similar toned skin and varying shades of dark hair, the trio circled around Rush, prowling for a fight.
As Thorne’s grip eased off Clarke, she marked the similarities to his father. They were so alike it was uncanny. They both had a hard edge to their jaw, and a darkness to their eyes that told of untold heartache. But Thorne’s eyes were blue, and Rush’s were gold. Rush’s beard was full, where Thorne’s was trimmed close enough for her to see the dimples in his cheeks.
A lick of the unknown in the air had everyone looking to each other, and then at Rush with uncertainty.
“Ah,” came a confident female voice from somewhere beyond the male heads. “There you are, Clarke O’Leary. I’ve been waiting for you. Do get off the lady, D’arn Thorne. She’s our guest, and likely to stay for a while.”
Thorne’s face screwed up with malice. He shot Rush a dark look and then shoved off Clarke. It was hard not to see the clear anguish on Rush’s face as he bent to help Clarke up. Choosing between a son and a mate wouldn’t be fun. Nor was holding in his instincts when he just wanted to fight.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can’t protect you.”
“Because there was no need,” she answered firmly. “I’m fine. And… they can see you.”
Rush wouldn’t accept her words as an excuse and ignored those surrounding him, as though he’d mentally shut them out. Every hard line of his body betrayed his struggle. Tension in his shoulders. Jaw pressed hard. Fingers flexing at his sides. Finally, he looked at the fae. God, this must be hard for him. She wanted to reach out to him but didn’t want to make him look weak.
A brown-skinned woman with white feathered wings pushed through the circle of Guardians. Ringlets of never ending silver hair flowed around her shoulders. Her Kingfisher blue dress draped from the empire line at her bust all the way to dust the ground as she walked with grace. The white, the brown, and blue came together in such a striking way that Clarke had to pick her jaw off the ground. The fae was beautif
ul, commanding, and regal all at once. Round face, dark plump lips, large eyes, and a long, slender nose. She gave the appearance of looking down at you without actually doing so.
“You—” Clarke pointed. “You have round ears too.”
“Yes,” she replied matter-of-factly. “Not all fae have ears like the elves. But most of us have other defining features that distinguish us apart from human. I’m sure you have many more questions about this time.” She inclined her head. “We will endeavor to answer all of them.” She then turned to Thorne. “You’re dismissed. I’ll leave it up to your team leader to allocate a suitable penalty for your reproachable behavior here today.” She arched a brow at the golden-haired elf who had been watching, as stunned as the rest of them. His Guardian jacket was more embellished than the others in a way that gave him an altogether distinguished appearance. If it weren’t for his formal attire, the golden tresses and tanned skin made him look like he belonged on a beach with a surfboard in his hands. “I meant you, D’arn Leaf,” the female added. “And then be quick about the council meeting.”
“Yes, Prime.” He stared at Rush one last time and then gestured at Thorne. A gust of wind came from his hand and propelled Thorne back to the training field. Magic. Thorne stumbled, but tried to hold his position against the force of air. Leaf arched a brow. “I think you need to cool down first, Thorne,” Leaf said and then nodded at Rush. “You can talk with him later.”
From the look in Thorne’s eyes, he didn’t want to talk with neither Rush nor Leaf. He turned and walked away.
The Prime snapped at the rest of them. “Show’s over.” She clicked her fingers at the rookie guard. “Get back to your post.” Then she flapped her wings in irritation. “The rest of you, back to training. And you vampires, enough with the gambling on sparring matches.”
The last of them trickled off. She laced her fingers and met Clarke’s curious stare. “Right. Let’s get on with it then. Follow me.”
The Longing of Lone Wolves Page 19
