by Petra Landon
Tasia gasped awake, her heart pounding. She glanced at the clock on the stand beside her. The night light she was always careful to leave on indicated that it was one thirty. Tasia pushed away the covers to pad softly to the window. Outside, lights twinkled from the houses on Telegraph Hill. Tasia loved this view. She stared at the city as it slept, until her pounding heart had slowly returned to normal. The nightmares, while less frequent than her early days at the Lair, were more intense. The addition of the bear had ratcheted her resulting panic up a notch. Tasia suspected that the bear was merely a metaphor, a figment of her imagination to coincide with her eventual defeat after a long, lonely and futile struggle in the barn.
Once her heart had stopped racing, Tasia slipped back into the bed. While the last echoes of her nightmare had died away, so had any remnants of sleep. She lay down, her mind drifting over the events of the recent past, foremost amongst them the memorable walk by the pier in the Alpha’s company. That promenade had been memorable for two reasons. It was there, during a confrontation with the Blutsaugers, that Tasia had had an epiphany of sorts, an appreciation for the enormous change that the past months with the Pack had wrought in her. And, it was also where she’d glimpsed a different avatar of the Alpha: thoughtful, less guarded, more approachable, and less reticent. Before, everything with him had been starkly black and white — the gray areas had been a no-go, at least when it came to her. By the bay, he’d talked to her about his life before this Pack and San Francisco, and had admitted to a past that still affected him — something unthinkable even a few weeks ago. And, he had given her his word that he wouldn’t dig into her past anymore. This was a major concession from him.
It had Tasia wondering if her perception of the man had merely been a result of viewing him through the prism of her own subtle prejudices. Had she misread him before, or had this been a deliberate decision on his part to let down some of his guard with her — an overture, as he had called it, to signal his intent towards a better relationship between them. The man was a contradiction, in many ways, and the walls he had built around himself to keep the world at bay were formidable. Who better to understand that, after all, than a fellow Chosen who had a plethora of reasons to be guarded herself.
As she pondered him absent-mindedly, on the verge of sleep, an image of the Alpha rose in her mind — in his chair, leaning back, with booted feet up on his massive desk and a glass of Scotch in one hand. A curious kind of stillness about him, he gazed into the depths of the amber liquid in the glass. This was how she’d chanced upon him a few nights ago in the Alpha’s Room, after a particularly bad nightmare. But this time, unlike before, the gold eyes held an expression that gave Tasia pause.
As she absent-mindedly contemplated the image in her mind’s eye, subconsciously cataloguing the details, it took Tasia a few moments to realize that something was not adding up. She let her eyes wander over the handsome face with its strong features and the steely gold eyes. Those gold eyes were brooding now, the expression in them clouded with strong emotion, a curious mix of grief, torment and anguish. He looked haunted, in pain. Tasia sat up abruptly, roused out of her somnolent state, by what she had glimpsed in him. In another man, this would signal despair. But this was the Alpha. He didn’t do despair.
Was that a figment of my imagination?
She glanced around her room uncertainly, confused and mystified by the strange image of the Alpha in her mind’s eye. That had been no dream — she’d been very much awake. She might call it a vision, if she believed in such things. Could it be real, she wondered uneasily. Was the Alpha up in his study right now, brooding into his glass as she had pictured him in her mind? Very strange things had been happening to her recently, she reminded herself. The nightmares were certainly no less strange than whatever this last image had been.
I have to see for myself whether my mind is playing tricks on me.
Tasia wrapped a thin blanket around her before glancing at the copy of The Children of the New Forest by her bedside. Snagging the book, she made her way out of the room. The book was an excuse, just in case it had been a figment of her fevered imagination, she told herself, as she trod the stairs. The Lair lay silent. The heavy sound-proofed door to the Pack Room was ajar, but the vast room lay in darkness. The only light in the room came from the archway to the Alpha’s Room. Tasia made her way to the faintly illuminated doorway, her steps hesitant, fearful of what she might discover. She wasn’t ready for the troubling image in her mind to be true. The implications of a vision of any kind would be devastating. The nightmares already had her questioning the blurring of reality and dreams.
Tasia glanced cautiously into the Alpha’s Room, her heart beating wildly. In his chair, tilted back on two hind legs at a dangerous angle, with his feet up and crossed on his desk, he held a glass in one hand. Her heart sank inexorably. This was too eerily similar to her vision, with one minor exception. The remarkable gold eyes were fixed on the doorway, almost as if he’d been expecting her. If there had been any raw emotions bubbling to the surface before, he’d successfully stowed them away.
“Nightmare?” he inquired, as Tasia came to a stop by the door.
I’m in a world of trouble.
Grappling with shock, Tasia nodded mutely. The gold eyes searched her face as she stood rooted to her spot, stupefied and speechless. Had it perhaps been a lucky guess conjured up by her sleepy mind, she wondered with desperate hope. She’d come upon him like this once. Perhaps her mind had simply been playing over the time before, but her inner voice reared its head to remind her inconveniently that she had never before seen anything in the depths of the gold eyes that came remotely close to what she’d glimpsed in her dream-like state. Some imagination you have, the voice ridiculed her. Through her shock, Tasia noted that he didn’t seem particularly surprised to see her at his doorway.
Did he know I was on my way up to the Pack Room?
“I knew the moment you stepped into the Pack Room” he told her, the gold eyes hooded as they watched her.
“Oh.”
Of course. He’s a Shifter. His senses let him know who was in the Pack Room. If he’d been brooding before, he’s had time to put on his mask. That’s one mystery solved.
The gold eyes met her gaze, curiously blank with no sign of the emotion she’d glimpsed in her vision. Please, please let this be a lucky guess, not anything more sinister, she prayed silently.
“Want some company?” he inquired quietly, as Tasia stared at him silently.
“Yes” she assented. Unlike last time, her answer was unequivocal and prompt. Whatever else was going on here, she could certainly do with some company tonight. Plus, she wasn’t as leery of him as she had been before.
“Come on in” he invited. “You don’t like Scotch, if I remember correctly. Unless you’ve changed your mind.” He gestured at the bottle on his desk.
“No, thank you.” Tasia made her way to the couch at the other end of the room. He swung his long legs off the table to right his chair before striding off into the Pack Room. Tasia’s ears caught the faint thud as the steel door to the Pack Room sealed it off from the Lair, before he strolled in unhurriedly to join her across the couch she perched on.
Silence descended. Tasia placed her book beside her to wrap her blanket more comfortably around herself. As usual, the Lair was freezing. Her mind continued to grapple with the vision, dwelling on the mystery, even as she attempted to shove it away. She glanced around the room, desperate for something to distract herself from the dire thoughts running through her mind.
“You like the taste of Scotch” she remarked impulsively.
“Yes” he answered absent-mindedly, his eyes on the amber-colored liquid.
“Yet, you barely drink. I’ve seen you with a glass on multiple occasions, but you rarely sip from it.”
The gold eyes shot to her. “You’ve been observing me, have you?” There was a note in his voice that served to remind Tasia of the strange interlude at the Lair party.
Tasia fought to not flush. “I try to observe what goes on around me, yes. It’s a habit of a lifetime, something I’ve had to learn the hard way.”
“I’ve noticed.” He directed another penetrating glance at her.
Holding up his glass in the air before him, he said wryly. “This is an indulgence — one I find hard to give up. Alcohol plays havoc on a Shifter’s metabolism. I prefer to keep my wits about me, so am careful with it.”
“Control is important to you, I think” she commented daringly.
The tawny eyebrows shot up in response, though he didn’t seem very surprised by her words. “All Shifters have a thing about control.”
“Not like you” Tasia countered confidently. She’d seen enough Shifters up close now to know that for sure.
There was a short silence as they contemplated each other.
“Do you know why Shifters are obsessed with control?” he inquired eventually, his voice even.
The irony of it was that a few short weeks ago, Tasia would have had no clue. Now, she rather suspected that she knew why Shifters tended to be control freaks. The painful and terrifying reason for it. After all, she battled desperately in her dreams nightly to keep her beast under control. But Tasia wasn’t ready to talk about her nightmares yet, at least, not the specifics. The expressive gray eyes met his gaze as she shook her head mutely in response.
“A Shifter is two different beings in one body. Human and the beast, the human transforms into when he shifts. Both human and beast can and frequently have very different personalities with contrasting wants, desires and ambitions. A Wyr’s life is a constant struggle to hold the fine line. The human must always be in control. If the beast overpowers the human, the game is over.”
Tasia knew what came next, but she had to ask. “You mean, he’s …?”
Killed by his Pack.
“The Shifter is killed by his Pack” he said matter-of-factly.
Tasia felt an unexpected shiver run up her spine at the simple statement. She’d suspected for weeks now that this was why she fought so desperately in the nightmare. Her subconscious mind fought through the fog of pain, starvation, magic and silver to enable the human to hang on, even if by a single thread. It was as if an instinct for survival seemed to drive her during those desperate moments in the shed. The puzzling thing was that before the Alpha’s matter-of-fact explanation, Tasia had no conscious knowledge of exactly how finely a Shifter’s life hung in balance. Academic knowledge about the two forms engaged in a constant struggle was very different from experiencing it herself. There had always been whispers amongst the Chosen, of course, but the Shifters had never been open about this aspect.
A mix of confusion and conflict, conjured up by the Alpha’s explanation, was enough to transport Tasia back to the barn of her nightmares. Closing her eyes, she slumped back on the couch, assailed by the memories. The wind howled outside as her starving and weakened body shivered with cold, the weight of despair and hopelessness pressing her down. The beast growled abruptly, impatient to break free as it sensed her weakness. Tasia opened her eyes with a muted gasp. For a moment, the brightly lit room and the couch she sat on confused her, before the last echoes of the shed and what it represented to her could die away. She made haste to clutch her blanket more closely to her. The gold eyes watched her silently, his expression guarded. Eventually, reminded of her surroundings, Tasia glanced up at her silent companion.
“What’s keeping you up at night, witchling?” he asked, the words blunt but not without compassion.
Tasia hesitated, the nightmarish images mingling with her bewildering vision of him brooding into his glass with a haunted look in the depths of his eyes. If the vision was correct and she didn’t want it to be, he had his fair share of painful memories to grapple with.
“You told me that the Guardian doesn’t worry you” he continued, the gold eyes watchful. “Is that still true?”
Tasia nodded affirmatively and without hesitation, not yet trusting her voice. This was one query she could answer truthfully. Anderson didn’t terrify her. She’d lived with the fear of being discovered for so long that it was easy to compartmentalize the threat. But the intense and vivid nightmares were a different ballgame altogether, Tasia was discovering to her cost.
“Is it the leeches, then? Are you worried that Bianchi or his henchmen might uncover who your father was?” The soft voice was relentless.
Tasia shook her head mutely. Now, more than ever, she ran a higher risk of discovery by the Blutsaugers, because of her work with the Pack. Yet, the prospect didn’t cause her sleepless nights. Probably a result of how adroit the Alpha had proven when it came to watching over her.
“I might be able to help.” He was persuasive, the gold eyes sober. “I’ve my own demons to fight.” The admission was made reluctantly, as Tasia remained mute. “And, years of experience dealing with them.”
There was an unexpected, underlying vulnerability to his confession, and it was that glimpse of unguardedness that drove Tasia to share what was troubling her. Perhaps this big and fearless Shifter with the haunted eyes when no one was looking could help her make sense of the frequent nightmarish images from the barn.
“In my nightmare” she said hesitantly, trying to articulate the experience and sensations without going into any details of the disturbing sequence of events, “I’m a Shifter fighting to exert control over my beast” Tasia finished quickly, glad to have gotten the words out. Somehow, in this bright room with the Alpha watching her intently, it felt almost foolish to say the words out aloud. Her admission sounded crazy, even to her own ears.
Raoul straightened in his chair as the last of her words died out. Whatever else he had expected her to say, this had certainly not been it. He stared at her incredulously, lost for words for one of the few times in his life. How could she experience the worst fear of a Wyr, one that a Shifter lived with daily, he mused in consternation. She, who had barely even met a Shifter, until her association with his Pack.
Weirdly gratified by his speechless astonishment, Tasia provided a little more context. “At first, I didn’t quite comprehend what the dreams were about. All I would remember later was this combination of panic, pain, desperation and the fear of being overpowered by this thing trying to break free from inside me. Panic overrode everything else. Then, something changed. Suddenly, I knew what the dream was about. The last few times, I’ve been aware that I’m experiencing the struggle of a Shifter trying to balance his two forms. But in my dream, it’s no ordinary struggle. I … I’m very close to losing control.”
As the gold eyes stared at her, aghast and stricken, the mask came off his face for the first time since she’d known him. The usually impassive face went white. His strong reaction helped soothe Tasia, spurring her to share details from the nightmarish episodes that so terrified her.
“I hear the roar of someone in my head I don’t know.” She shuddered with the memories, even as the words poured out of her. “I’m terrified of losing control, even though I don’t understand the consequences of doing so.”
Lost in his own memories, Raoul stared blindly at her, struggling to break free of their hold on him. Her revelations had hit too close to home for him. Unlike most Shifters, he had intimate experience of what she talked about, along with the difficult journey back from the edge of disaster.
Drawn by the strangely unfocussed look on the Alpha’s face, Tasia opened her mouth to query him, when he seemed to come to sudden attention. He raised his hand abruptly in the universal gesture for silence.
“We’re not alone” he warned with a quicksilver glance at her. Cocking his head, he used a Shifter’s superhuman ability to listen intently. “The Spell Casters are in the Pack Room.” He brought his hand down.
Tasia was caught by the way he referred to Jason and Sienna. In the early days, he’d almost spat the word out to her as an epithet. Now, he used it matter-of-factly to describe the two Wizards who worked with him. Things had certainl
y changed in the few short weeks she’d been here, Tasia mused. Even his attitude towards her had undergone a subtle change — she couldn’t imagine sharing the details of her nightmare with him a few short weeks ago.
“What?” Raoul inquired quizzically, intrigued by the thoughtful expression on her face.
Tasia merely shook her head in response, glancing away with a half-smile.
“I guess the politically correct way to refer to those two would be the Guardian and his charge” he remarked blandly, a smile lurking in the depths of his eyes.
Tasia would not use those terms to characterize Jason or Sienna. She had never thought of Sienna as Jason’s charge in any way. Sienna was always so confident and sure of herself that it was hard to think of anyone watching over her. The only thing that ever seemed to shake her was the steady stream of revelations about her mother’s ruthless machinations.
“Hi guys” Jason greeted them from the doorway.
“Tasia” Sienna exclaimed, striding into the room impetuously, her concern obvious. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Sienna” Tasia tried to reassure her friend, unconsciously casting a sidelong glance at the man by her side.
“She came up here for a book and found me with my Scotch” the Alpha interjected, in response to the subconscious plea.
“Oh.” Sienna glanced at Tasia again, her concern overlaid by her curiosity at the odd couple these two made. A week ago, she had worried about Tasia being thrown out of the Pack by this man. Finding these two together, seemingly at ease in each other’s company, seemed incongruous.
“Sienna and I came up here to talk” Jason intervened tactfully.
“If you close the door to this room, you’ll be fine in the Pack Room” the Alpha suggested.
