by Petra Landon
“That blood sucker said your past had made you more susceptible to silver. But you seem fine, Shifter.”
“Your leech friend is wrong. My past gives me more immunity to silver” Raoul answered easily. “You’re going to rot away somewhere dark for a long time, Anderson. So, you deserve a measure of the truth. You can throw a lot of silver at me and I’ll still be standing. That’s why your plan failed in San Francisco.”
As Faoladh’s Shifters marched Anderson out of the building, he glanced back once more at the Alpha, his expression slowly transforming from confused to thunderous. The Alpha had not lost his temper even once, he seemed to realize. That he had not managed to rile the Alpha at all, despite his many attempts, seemed to make Anderson furious.
Some of the Guardians around Sebastian Thorne took a step towards the Alpha, only to be confronted by the grim countenances of Duncan and Atsá. One of them glanced at the others before he spoke up.
“The First Wizard is right. The Guardians stand shamed tonight. We owe the Alpha an apology for the attack on him. We should have been in control of the situation. We were not.”
Raoul studied the Guardian who had made the apology. No one said anything.
In the silence, the Alpha turned to Sebastian Thorne. “A long time ago, at a time of similar infighting within the GCW, another Guardian went rogue. I don’t know how many here know the true story of Lady Bethesda. She was accused of unforgivable crimes against Chosen. Then too, the GCW buried its head in the sand. Until other Chosen forced you to get your act together. But by then, it was too late. The GCW lost some of its best Guardians in the attempt to bring one of their own in. History is repeating itself.
“This time, the Guardians will not have the luxury of time to correct their mistakes. Nor will they find other Chosen willing to accommodate your traditions and way of doing business. Because what Lady Bethesda unleashed then is still alive and biding its time to vent itself on all Chosen. If you’re smart, you’ll make getting your house in order a priority. Otherwise, when the past comes home to roost, you’ll find very few Chosen willing to stand with the Guardians.”
There was rapt silence in the hall as the Alpha’s words died down. Consternation, astonishment, disbelief, anger — a toxic combination of emotions swirled within the gathered Wizards. Realization was starting to take root in the Wizards as the import and gravity of what had nearly been unleashed here tonight hit them. A war with Shifters was not anything to take lightly. The extent to which the coldly enraged Alpha would go to send his message home had not been lost on anyone. He had unleashed his Shifters for mere minutes on them. That had been enough to completely trash Headquarters, humiliate the Wizards, and show up the GCW before the Chosen gathered here. And that was when the Alpha was still in complete control. If he lost his temper to unleash a blood feud with the Wizards, the Pack might well obliterate them from the Chosen diaspora, before they were satisfied. It had been noted that Faoladh, the only Chosen with the power to restrain the Alpha, had not tried to reign in Raoul Merceau in any way.
“I’ve never been one to hand out advice” Raoul said, his tone wry now, less intense. “But I will say this. I’ll stay out of your way, as long as you stay out of mine. But the GCW has thousands of vulnerable Chosen who depend on the Guardians. I would hope that you don’t squander their faith in the Guardians without at least trying to find a way to work together.”
As Thorne and his Guardians stared speechlessly at the Alpha, it was Faoladh who unexpectedly stepped into the breach. “Well said, Raoul. I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
The Alpha signaled to his Shifters to withdraw. As the Shifters moved to exit from the hall, in a more orderly manner than they had entered it, Raoul turned to Sebastian Thorne and his Guardians one last time.
“A last warning you should heed, Spell Casters. One more attack like that on me, my Pack, or another Shifter, and I will hold the Guardians personally responsible. You’ve seen what my Shifters can do.” His eyes flickered to the damage around the hall.
He spoke softly, his words pointed and blunt, all shackles thrown off. “Next time, I’ll show no restraint. I won’t stop at damage to your Headquarters. You’ve heard the whispers about me. I have no compunction about shedding Wizard blood.”
Thorne found himself taking a step back from the cold-blooded and dangerous man confronting him. Someone gasped softly beside him.
“This hall you’re so proud of will be awash in Spell Caster blood, and I will bury the GCW like it never existed.” His voice was soft, implacable and without inflexion, but the look in the gold eyes belied his even tone.
The Guardians watched him warily as a collective sense of having escaped a calamity by a whisper seemed to dawn on them. This was a blood-thirsty and dangerous Wyr, threatening to unleash his savagery on them without check. He didn’t give a damn about any Chosen norms, traditions, rules or history, they realized. Just as Anderson had, on a night at the San Francisco Registry. The Wizards paled as it struck them what a superlatively dangerous enemy they’d made tonight, one who would allow no one, not even Faoladh, to hold him back from unleashing himself and his Shifter army, without any restraints to check them, if he came after them.
Faoladh spoke suddenly, his voice echoing in the foyer to hold the Wizards’ attention. “Raoul reminded you of recent history today. I’ve been around a while longer and would like to remind the Guardians of more ancient history. The very reason the GCW was given life was because of the depredations wrought by a ruthless, conscienceless, and blood-thirsty Chosen.”
“Black Mage.” Her name rose in a whisper amongst the gathered Wizards. Few Chosen from her time survived today, but they all knew the story. It had been a dark time for the Chosen, especially the Wizards whose leader she had anointed herself.
“Yes, the Black Mage” Faoladh reiterated, his voice hardening. “The GCW was given life to prevent another Black Mage from rising. Never forget that if the GCW becomes another Black Mage, the Chosen will band together to replace you with something that will safeguard the Wizards. This is a different era, one where the other Chosen will not stand by and watch the carnage simply because we do not interfere in Wizard business.”
There was absolute silence in the hall. Faoladh’s epic warning had been clear and unambiguous. The Wizards took it seriously, for it came from a Chosen capable of delivering what he threatened. Unlike the Alpha who merely asked them to stay out of his way, Faoladh was demanding that the GCW clean up its act, or he’d go on a crusade to replace it with a different body that did its work more effectively. They all knew about Faoladh’s crusades. He had singled-handedly brought the Council of Chosen into existence in the teeth of all opposition.
Chapter 16
Tasia gets a hint of the Alpha’s tangled past
The ramshackle shed seemed to close in on her when she attempted to raise her head. There was no food, she knew. She could barely remember the last time the witch had fed her. But there might be some water in the bowl. The silver in her shackles burned into her skin, though now it was a steady agony she’d learnt to live with. She shivered in the bare hay, her teeth chattering as her weakened body felt the chill in the air. As she attempted to roll to her side, the door banged open with a thud. She knew what that implied. The blue-eyed witch had come to check on her favorite toy. To check if she had succumbed to what the witch had anticipated for months. With the last ounce of her will, she raised her eyes to the witch’s face and felt the tingling of the witch’s dark brew skitter across her skin. Her beast roared in her head, the magic awakening it to demand immediate release. She closed her eyes, fighting to subdue the beast within her. It sensed that she was weak. The effort to hold it at bay had her emaciated body trembling, even as her shackled leg unconsciously struggled to free itself from the silver manacles holding her anchored to the floor.
Abruptly, without warning, she was transported from the shed to a darkened room. The poison in her body made for agonizing pain, cloudin
g her judgement. Her eyes opened but the witch was gone, as was the familiar broken-down shed. Instead, the bars of a small cage seemed to close in on her. A rhythmic banging coincided with the soft thuds against her leg. She ignored the noise to grapple with her beast. That was unchanged, despite the change in location. Her beast was awake, asking to be let out. But, unlike the past, the beast’s demand seemed less aggressive and more persuasive, almost seductive. The beast desired something from her, not merely its freedom. Unlike the barn. She reminded herself that circumstances were different now. In the barn, she’d been responsible only for herself. Now, she had responsibilities and people who depended on her. She could not afford to give in. As the silver burned through her body, she resisted its seductive pull, every ounce of her fighting to hold on. Her resurgent beast must be put to sleep again. Dimly, as if coming from a distance, she could hear a voice calling out to her. Someone was in the cage with her, she realized. She was not alone.
“Alpha, it’s Tasia. I need your help.”
Tasia awoke with a gasp, breathing hard. A mix of fear, confusion and shock paralyzed her. It was hard to separate her emotions from that of the nightmare. Everything seemed jumbled, she mused dazedly. She glanced around in the dim light, confused by the unfamiliar surroundings. In the darkness, she could hear the soft hum of a mechanical whir. Something restrained her, she realized as she attempted to stand up. Tasia struggled with the restraints, increasingly frantic to free herself.
“Something the matter, Tasia?”
Startled, Tasia flinched back as a large figure seemed to appear out of the darkness to loom over her.
“It’s Duncan” the figure reassured her, coming down on his haunches beside her.
Now that he was closer, she could make out the outlines of his face. Tasia stared at him, relieved to see a familiar face.
“Duncan” she sighed in relief. “Where are we?”
“On the flight to San Francisco.”
“The flight” she repeated mechanically.
“Yes. It’s late and many are asleep” he explained. “You fell asleep too, I believe.”
“Tasia.” Hawk materialized beside his Were-Alpha. “You okay?”
They were on the last flight back to San Francisco, Tasia remembered now. She glanced at the seat across her. Sienna slumped in it, exhausted after the long day. After Faoladh’s Shifters had taken custody of Guardian Anderson, there had been loose ends to tie up. They had all retired to the same hotel as before, where the First Wizard and some of her people had joined them. Sienna and she had waited for the last flight home with the others, Tasia at Duncan’s request. The Pack plane had already made two trips to San Francisco to ferry the Shifters and their guests, eventually coming back for them well after midnight. David Hamilton and his Wizards had left on an earlier flight but DiZeyla had stayed behind. As the sleep fled to clear away the cobwebs, Tasia recalled boarding the flight, only a quarter full for the trip home when passengers had crowded it this morning.
“Sorry” she apologized in a low voice. “I was dreaming and woke up in the dark. It confused me.”
Duncan, who could hear her racing heart, stood up. “There’re a few of us still awake. Come join us, Tasia” he invited.
“Yes, come join us, Tas” Hawk seconded, leaning down to unbuckle her seat belt before she could renew her struggles with it.
She followed them to the back of the plane, the floor lights in the aisle guiding her.
Roman Durovic, Jason and Luis hailed her as Tasia approached. She settled down to join the small group. The strange, frightening dream had knocked her sideways. This one had been very different from her usual nightmares, transforming from the usual shed into a familiar cage. And that had not been the strangest aspect of the dream — not by far.
There was talk of Chosen factionalism and the usual rumor mill, a powerful source of gossip for all Chosen. Tasia did note that no one talked of the momentous events at Wizard Headquarters, but there was talk of current affairs and contemporary world events. Tasia, listening silently, stepped in only occasionally to answer questions directed at her. Not quite ready to decipher her strange dream, she focused on the conversation to shove away the remnants of her nightmare. As she observed her companions, it struck her that between Hawk, Jason, and possibly even Roman Durovic, this group was young for Chosen. This new generation of Chosen were as interested in affairs around the world as they were in Chosen politics. After all, in the modern world they lived in, both affected their lives in equal measure. Duncan, although older in years, was young at heart. He was well read, articulate, and up to date on the issues of this generation. Luis was harder to read, since he was always so quiet. But Tasia liked the taciturn Were-Alpha with the mellifluous voice. If only she could help her friend sort out the issues with Luis, she mused.
As she glanced for the umpteenth time at the light that signaled the status of the restroom to the front of the plane, Hawk turned to her.
“There’s another one through the stateroom” he suggested. “You remember it, Tas?”
She did indeed. That was where the Alpha had shown them the security footage from The Vault the very first time she had travelled on this plane.
“Just follow the floor lights.” He made to get up. “I’ll show you.”
“I’ll find it, Hawk” she assured him, shaking her head at him with a smile. “I’m thirsty. Would you like something?”
Hawk shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks.”
Tasia followed the aisle lights all the way to the front of the plane. She knew where the meals and drinks were usually laid out by the young Shifter who doubled as co-pilot. As she neared the front of the plane, she collided with a hard body. With her eyes on the ground to track the lights, Tasia didn’t see him until she ran smack into him. His hand came up to steady her. When she glanced up to thank him, the hand holding her tightened around her. An acute sense of self-preservation kicked in. Tasia shoved at him.
“Let me go” she hissed furiously, not wanting to make a scene.
“But of course, witchling” he whispered as he let go of her.
Don’t call me witchling!
Tasia stepped back hastily to face the Shifter. Stefan Simeonov’s bright blue eyes met her gaze.
“Didn’t mean to startle you” he said, but Tasia noted the distinct lack of apology on his face.
“Excuse me.” She made to skirt around him.
“Not so fast.” He stepped forward to bar her way. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“To get a drink.” Her answer was reluctantly offered.
“Allow me. What would you like?”
Tasia straightened her spine to face him head on. “No, thank you, Were-Alpha. I’ve lived with the Pack long enough to both understand and heed Shifter tradition.”
Surprise flashed across his face, holding him rooted. Tasia seized the moment to make her escape. This particular Shifter made her wary. Had done so from day one. Though she could not quite put her finger on what made her uneasy about him. When five minutes later, Tasia retraced her steps, she was glad to find Stefan Simeonov gone. She made her way quickly to the stateroom and the attached restroom.
The stateroom was dark as before, when she exited the restroom. For the second time that night, she crashed into a hard body. This one was warm and, somewhat to her surprise, bare from the chest up. Like before, he clasped her loosely around the waist to steady her. Running on instinct, Tasia brought up both hands to shove at his chest.
“Oof” he grunted softly. “Let be, witchling. I did get shot a few hours ago, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Tasia paused immediately, ceasing her onslaught on the male chest she’d been pummeling with her fists.
“Sorry” she apologized. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Someone else?” he repeated, puzzled query in his voice as he studied her upturned face.
Tasia, without the benefit of night eyes like him, merely attempted to decipher his
expression, oblivious that she still stood loosely in the circle of his arm.
“Been getting violent with injured people tonight, have we?” There was an undercurrent of amusement in his voice.
It served to remind Tasia of where she was. She stepped back hurriedly and his arm fell away from her.
She could feel no blood on her palms — they had been shoving at his chest. Tasia narrowed her eyes, squinting to check his wounds. The subdued light from the open doorway silhouetted him but the large body blocked most of it from getting through to her. She could tell that his blood-soaked shirt had been discarded, but that was it.
“Looking at me?” he inquired softly.
There was a note in his voice that made her heart drum faster.
“I can turn on the light, if you like” he offered in the same low-voiced soft tone. “I’ve no objections to you checking me out.”
Tasia roused herself. “I’m not checking you out” she whispered indignantly. “I just want to see if you’re still bleeding.”
“From the bullets?” he inquired, seemingly unfazed.
“Yes.”
“Nope, not bleeding.”
Tasia glanced at his arm where a makeshift bandage encircled the muscular bicep. “What about from the knife?”
“That’s still bleeding” he acknowledged.
Tasia sighed, her sympathies aroused. “Was it silver?” she asked.
“The knife or the bullets?”
“The knife. I know the bullets had silver in them.”
He arched his eyebrow in a telling sign at her answer, but she couldn’t see it in the near darkness.
“Yes, it had silver.”
“How … how did you get it out?” she had to ask. “I couldn’t see because Hawk …” She stopped. He had seen her with Hawk. He knew how Hawk had shielded her with his body.
“Durovic pulled it out.” His answer was brief.
“He’s telekinetic” she muttered. That was how Roman had retrieved the locket enmeshed with Clan magic from around Sienna’s neck.
