In Deception's Shadow Box Set: Book 1-3

by Lisa Blackwood

  If all Elementals were as easy to coexist with as Silverblade, Beatrice imagined she would get along with the magic-wielders just fine.

  Chapter Twelve

  One part of his logical mind questioned his own motives in regards to the human. What right did he have dragging this fragile youngling into his problems? Even after studying humans for many moon cycles, he couldn’t claim to fully understand them. Although he thought he’d learned enough to judge Beatrice’s motives. Even though she was still far too young and trusting, she would be a loyal ally in his quest to destroy the acolytes.

  And she possessed a formidable power that not even the acolytes could withstand.

  As unhappy as the realization was, he needed that power.

  His mother would have taken him to task for even thinking about doing something as morally corrupt as to use the untrained youngling’s power for his own personal vendetta. He knew this, and it twisted his heart just thinking about it.

  And yet, another part of his mind said the acolytes didn’t care how young one was, anyone with magic was prey to them. This human—young though he’d guess her to be—still deserved a chance to fight for her future and her life, and who was he to say she was too young to make her own decisions. To judge by her attitude and confidence, she’d been making her own choices for years. If she wanted to help, it was not his place to tell her no.

  These unsettling, near-polar opposite needs swirled around inside the chaos that was his heart. Huffing unhappily, he decided that for now, he would take whatever help she offered and then see her safely out of this mess as soon as possible.

  Decision made, he turned to the next problem. This one was of a more immediate concern. Silverblade’s Larnkin was still very weak even after Beatrice had attempted to heal him.

  He hadn’t considered himself a prideful male, but he found himself reluctant to admit he needed more of her power. If she’d been a lupwyn, her pack instincts would have guided her to curl up next to him and their closeness would have strengthened his injured Larnkin. But even if Beatrice had a similar power, she was human, and they were…odd about such things.

  Yet Beatrice shared very few traits with her fellow humans. At least from what he’d gleaned of her personality so far. His gaze slid sidelong toward her, calculating. Dare he try?

  Mentally and emotionally, he knew he needed the contact with another being. Lupwyns were never truly alone. Even when he’d been physically separated while he scouted and spied, he still had the mental closeness of his pack bonds.

  The simple fact was that he’d heal faster with another body close to his. But if he tried to instigate the physical contact natural between lupwyns, she’d probably assume he wished to mate.

  Again, Silverblade glanced over at the human. The female was sitting and staring into the fire. The silence was a companionable one, not filled with tension, so he was content to just sit with her for a time.

  She made more tea and set the metal kettle between them, close enough to the small fire to keep it warm and then she glanced up at him. “We should be moving on soon, every moment we stay here increases the risk that the acolytes will find us.”

  He happened to agree with her words. Unfortunately, he was still as weak as a two-day-old pup. He wasn’t certain if he could manage much more than a slow walk for a candlemark before he would need to rest again.

  Beatrice had already proven herself surprisingly attentive for a human, so he wasn’t surprised when she glanced sideways at him, her eyes narrowing. A moment later, her magic flowed over him.

  “There is something else I can do to speed up your recovery, isn’t there?”

  Yes, he thought silently, but I somehow doubt you are ready to be brought into the pack. Instead he said, “My Larnkin is still weak, even with the healing and the power-sharing you did earlier. I do not wish to overtax your Larnkin, but if it would not be an inconvenience, mine would benefit from more shared power.”

  There. He’d said it. It was neither a lie nor a whole truth, but it was a truth.

  Beatrice didn’t respond with words. Instead she stood up, came around the fire, and then she sat next to him, close enough that their knees brushed where they sat cross-legged. With no hesitation at the sight of his large claws, Beatrice reached out and took his hand in both of hers. In the next moment, her mellow power raced over his skin and vanished into his body.

  It wasn’t the asking or needing help that made him uncomfortable, it was this—Beatrice’s absolute willingness to share of herself. As he closed his eyes and breathed in her scent along with her power, he knew she would be sharing more than just her power with him in the future.

  She was already sharing something more personal than just power; she was selflessly giving him a piece of herself and it fit perfectly—smoothly—into the hole where the pack bonds used to be. It was all he could do to not tuck his head under her chin and curl into her welcoming mind and body.

  The logical part of his mind knew his pack bonds weren’t really gone, that they would regenerate once he reunited with his pack in the coming days.

  But in the meantime, she was filling that gnawing hole in his middle, that craving which had nothing to do with food or mating, but was as important to him as breathing. As more of the healer’s power flowed into him, he knew her physical proximity would sustain him until he reunited with his pack.

  But once he was, would he give her up?

  Somehow, he didn’t think he would.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Silverblade had dozed for a time after Beatrice had shared more power with him, but now he was awake again, dressed in his newly cleaned—but still stained—buckskin breeches and Beatrice’s cloak. His breeches and boots were the only items of his to have survived both the acolytes and Beatrice’s healing.

  Sipping at another cup of the seemingly endless supply of herbal tea Beatrice made him drink, he sat and watched with interest as she packed away her few supplies and then went to pick up a large evergreen branch she’d cut from a tree earlier.

  When he’d offered to pack her supplies, she’d leveled him with such a look, he simply sat back down and watched. And if he was being honest, he’d always found her easy to watch. She moved with grace. Even mundane tasks were somehow transformed into a kind of graceful dance when she did them.

  She was in tune with the rhythms of the earth. Aware of them, she flowed with them instead of against them. Her passage through the forest and meadow didn’t once disturb the tall grass. Silent, graceful, a beautiful predator for all that she was a healer.

  Living with the land—it was a skill few humans mastered.

  While he’d been daydreaming, she had proceeded to wipe away almost all signs there had been a camp here.

  The hard ground aided her in her endeavor. Had the ground been soft, she’d never have been able to hide the gelding’s tracks.

  After a few sweeps of the evergreen bough broom, the leaf litter scattered into random patterns and hid the location of the cooking fire at first glance.

  Of course, if one looked with more than one’s eyes, there were other telltale signs, like the scorched earth and wet ash scent of the old fire. But most humans didn’t have well-developed senses and probably wouldn’t be able to find this camp by sight alone, not unless they were actively hunting for one.

  Which the acolytes likely would be once they regrouped. Whatever the mark on his chest was, it certainly had captured the acolyte leader’s attention.

  There was an even more disturbing thought: acolytes might not hunt by sight, or any natural sense at all.

  The Elementals just didn’t know enough about them and clearly capturing one and keeping it alive to study would pose a problem. And an acolyte didn’t need physical touch to feed, one just had to be in close proximity to a magic-wielder.

  Still, there had to be a way to capture one for study. Perhaps if the Elementals took turns, then no one Larnkin would need to sacrifice too much power to learn what they needed.
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  The idea had merit. He would mention it to an elder once he reached his people and reported what he learned.

  When Silverblade glanced back at the healer, he found her trying to coax the gelding closer to him. It was clear the gelding was almost as placid as his own mare had been. Equally clear was that the horse thought Beatrice asked too much this time.

  When Beatrice persuaded the gelding to approach Silverblade’s position, the horse would allow himself to be led for a step or two and then he’d halt, plant his feet, and refuse to move so much as a muscle in the stubborn way all draft horses had.

  Silverblade had experienced it firsthand a time or two himself with his own mare. His battered heart would have throbbed with yet more pain at the mare’s cruel death, but he was numb now to new pain, his own mother’s loss feeling like a piece of his soul had made the journey with her. The acolytes had much to atone for, and he planned to be the one to collect it from them. Mentally he added his mare at the bottom of the list. Before he passed from this life, he would make sure even his mare would be avenged. There were hundreds, if not thousands of acolytes after all. He’d see every last one dead.

  “Oh, come on! You great, obstinate horse,” Beatrice muttered as she attempted to coax the gelding a couple steps closer.

  With mild amusement, he watched Beatrice and the gelding from where he sat on the ground. The horse would lift a hoof, flare his nostrils, presumably catch Silverblade’s underlying lupwyn scent and then snort loudly and stomp his hoof back to the ground.

  Beatrice echoed the gelding’s snort with her own huff of impatience. “The wolf isn’t half as scary as what will soon be following our trail.”

  Silverblade wasn’t thrilled to be likened to a wolf, but he let it pass. Humans had likely called his kind far worse, and Beatrice had not uttered it maliciously. He’d enlighten her later and ask if she liked to be called little ape.

  She was a tiny little thing compared to the mountain of a horse. Even though she looked ridiculous trying to coax the horse to come and sniff his hand, he held his silence and waited. There wasn’t really a faster way to obtain the horse’s willingness. Silverblade continued to sit cross-legged on the ground, doing his best to look uninterested and as non-predatory as possible.

  Eventually, the gelding shuffled over and sniffed Silverblade’s hair.

  “Good boy!”

  The gelding twitched at Beatrice’s loud exclamation. Silverblade could relate—his own ears were still twitching from those two sharp words.

  He slowly uncurled from his sitting position, but didn’t look directly at the horse. The horse still pinned his ears and snorted in short, nervous blows when Silverblade slowly reached out and patted the powerfully muscled neck.

  ***

  It took another candlemark’s worth of coaxing, but at last the gelding suffered Silverblade to toss a leg over his back. After some nervous sidestepping, he obeyed his new rider’s commands and stood so Beatrice could hand up her pack.

  By mutual agreement, they had decided it would be easier to ride bareback, the saddle being too small for one of Silverblade’s size. Nor was the saddle designed for a second rider to sit behind the cantle.

  Once he had their bag of supplies resting over his thighs, he leaned down and held a hand out for Beatrice. Again, her lack of hesitation warmed him. The black claws that tipped each of his fingers—while not as large or as deadly as they’d be if he was full lupwyn—were still probably more than intimidating enough for a human used to blunt nails.

  “It would probably be easier if I rode behind,” she said as she eyed the back of the horse.

  Silverblade brushed back the concealing fabric of the cloak to reveal his tail. “I would prefer not to have things touching my tail. We’re a bit sensitive about that.”

  Beatrice glanced at the tail with a startled look, her expression saying she’d forgotten about that appendage until that moment. Then she grinned. “Hmmm, I think I can probably resist the urge to pet it. However…temptations. Perhaps it’s better I ride in the front.”

  Her dower expression lasted but a moment and then she broke out in honest, deep belly laughs. It took a moment, but then he understood the reason for her humor.

  They’d both been through a great deal—both physically and emotionally—in the last day. And likely further hardships awaited them in the future. Yet here he was, whining about something touching his tail.

  Her laughter had brought a smile to his lips for the first time that day. “I’m sorry. I was simply thinking about both our comforts during the day’s ride ahead. I did not mean to imply…”

  She cut him off. “Do not worry. Simply help me up and we will be on our way.”

  He nodded, but caught the merry look in her eyes and he had a sneaking suspicion she may already have taken liberties with his tail. His grin grew wider. He had a feeling once they became mentor and novice, he was going to have trouble maintaining a proper distance between them.

  He noticed she weighed almost nothing as he hoisted her up onto the horse’s back. After she tossed a leg over the gelding’s neck, she settled in place and he adjusted the cloak to cover them both from the few sprinkles of rain that were already starting to fall from the sky.

  Mentally, he made note to make sure she ate more once they were among his pack where food was plentiful.

  At his urging, the gelding started off down the trail at a trot. They’d been riding no more than half a candlemark when the sky opened up and rain fell upon them in earnest.

  He’d been in enough rainstorms to know getting wet wouldn’t harm him in the least, but adjusting the cloak around them both gave him the excuse to huddle closer to her and share in her warm healing magic.

  Even when she wasn’t actively healing him, he still benefited from her closeness. No lupwyn, pack animals that they were, liked being alone. He’d grown tolerant of it over time, but he didn’t like it. Besides, Beatrice smelled nice for a human—her magic had a sweet, woodsy, almost herbal essence to it.

  It still wasn’t a replacement for his pack bonds—not yet, but whatever was between them was growing stronger and he felt her thoughts drifting at the edges of his consciousness. If he’d been stronger, he was certain they would have come clearly to him.

  A new and profound thought entered his own mind and would not leave. Just what were their Larnkins to each other? Was he even now riding with his arm wrapped around his future bondmate’s waist? The thought stilled the breath in his lungs and all thoughts ground to a halt even as his heart lurched with excitement. While bondmates were rare among lupwyns, he was half-phoenix, and there were greater occurrences of bondmates between the fire Elementals.

  He very much wished his Larnkin was capable of communicating at that moment, but it would likely be days or even moon cycles before his Larnkin recovered from the damage the acolytes had inflicted upon him.

  “So…” Her voice flowed over him and drew him from his thoughts. “I know you’re old. I can feel that much. But how old, exactly?”

  She was making idle talk, he realized. When he drew in a deep breath, he knew why. Her scent now held a spicy essence to it—fear. It overlaid her normal warm, herbal scent. Did she fear him? Or was it the thought of the acolytes some unknown distance behind?

  He couldn’t do anything about the acolytes, but he could help ease any fears she might have of him.

  “Old?” He grunted. “You make it sound like I’m halfway to the grave.”

  “Well, how long do lupwyns live?”

  “I’m five hundred and forty-nine years old.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t interrupt.

  “As a lupwyn counts seasons, I’m not even middle-aged. Although, unlike dragons and phoenix, lupwyns are merely long-lived, not immortal. It can vary a great deal depending on the strength of one’s Larnkin. A particularly strong Larnkin can and often will extend its host’s life beyond the normal span.”

  “So you could live to see a thousand years?�
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  “Yes, easily, even if I was a full-blooded lupwyn.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” Silverblade gave a little shrug of his shoulders “I take after my mother to such a degree I’m able to shapeshift to other forms. My mother is…” He fell silent, his throat suddenly tight enough to choke off his words. It took three deep breaths before he’d mastered his emotions enough to spit out the words. “My mother was a full-blooded phoenix.”

  “Silverblade, I am sorry for your loss.” She stroked his arm where he’d wrapped it around her waist.

  As am I, he thought in the recesses of his mind.

  But even there he wasn’t entirely alone, and her sympathy flowed into him at the touch. If it was possible, his heartache worsened, but he found comfort in Beatrice’s warm caring as well. For all that she wasn’t pack, she acted very similar to how a fellow pack member would in the same instance.

  He leaned forward and pressed his nose into her hair. Eyes closing, he just breathed in her scent, thinking of nothing, merely existing for a few beats of his heart, and Beatrice allowed him those few precious moments.

  At last, he felt her draw in a breath and he knew she had something else to say.

  “I can do nothing for your pain, but I do promise to help you eradicate her murderers. You have my word.”

  He nodded to acknowledge her.

  Again he knew he should see to her safety before he embarked upon his revenge. She was too young to be bloodied in the battle that was sure to claim the land in the days or moon cycles to come.

  ***

  They’d continued in silence long into the afternoon. Throughout the day, Beatrice had been expanding her magic out into the world around them—hunting for signs of acolytes. He in turn had used his own dulled senses to track more mundane dangers that shared the forest with them.