To Tame A Wild Heart: A Zyne Witch Urban Fantasy Romance (Zyne Legacy Romance Book 1)

by Gwen Mitchell

  Many times his mother had sent Roderic as her emissary to bring Corvin back into the fold. She relished the idea of the shared power she could wield with her son by her side. Despite it going against Corvin’s very nature, Roderic had beseeched him to reconsider, to fall into line and do as his mother asked. It was then that Corvin had realized his bond with Roderic had been a farce. The man had cared for him because he’d had to. Because duty had called. Because Patricia Wright, head of the most powerful Synod Council in the West, had ordered it.

  Because he had no father to speak of, his mother had given him a slave.

  He’d said as much the last time Roderic had tried to deter him from his chosen profession, years ago. The schism that had opened between them that day had never fully healed, but it had scabbed over. As long as Roderic didn’t try to intervene between Corvin and his mother, the two of them got along well enough. Still, he preferred the company of birds. No secret agendas or unreasonable expectations, just the simple rituals of daily life and the freedom gifted to only the most homesick of souls—flight.

  As he rounded the last of the stairwell, Corvin summoned the memory of the airy joy that flight evoked. He channeled that energy into the injured eagle as a sort of psychic adrenaline shot. Her feelings snapped into sharp focus for him as she regained awareness of her environment, taking in the scents and sounds of the hundreds of birds that filled the mews. He ducked into the kitchen, which also served as the pantry, lab, library, and ICU.

  The crate fit in a tiny cleared nook of the oak dining table. Corvin moved about quietly for a few minutes, allowing the eagle to adjust to her surroundings. After lighting some calming incense, he gathered supplies. When ready, he stripped off his leather gauntlets and put on a pair of rubber gloves. The she-eagle did not panic as he approached this time.

  He lifted the thick bundle out of the crate as if moving in slow motion, very careful not to jar her, and laid her gently down on the tabletop. She didn’t struggle or squirm as he unwrapped her, and when she allowed his touch, Corvin made a true connection with her for the first time.

  Safe.

  The eagle quivered beneath his hand.

  Friend, he thought, and when he felt her accept the truth written in his heart, he went to work. His foremost concern was blood loss. Damaged feathers were like broken needles still lodged in a vein. He had to remove each one at the base and then cover the wounds with a cauterizing salve.

  She cried, long and hard and heart chokingly. Each scream made the blood well up anew, and he knew he had to work faster. He couldn’t hold back, even for pity’s sake. He absorbed as much of the pain as he could, trying to ease her burden. Sweat was dripping into his eyes by the time he finished. Once bandaged, re-wrapped, and bundled, the eagle fell almost instantly to sleep. He had to keep tapping her beak to wake her up to swallow the potion he forced down her crop.

  After he finally tucked her in to rest, Corvin collapsed into one of his leather armchairs. Smoke clicked his beak approvingly from his perch by the window and then hopped onto the chairback before landing on Corvin’s shoulder.

  Click. Click.

  Corvin lifted one eyebrow. Even that seemed an enormous expenditure of energy. He’d channeled a lot of magic into his patient. He glanced through the grimy window at the steadily brightening day and yawned. “That was too damn close.”

  Smoke bobbed in agreement and pecked him on the neck.

  “Yes, I know. I’m only resting a minute.” He dozed for two or three and considered returning to the bed he’d been roused from far too early. Smoke pecked again and hopped away, ever the incessant alarm clock. One had no need for a good memory with a raven around.

  Corvin rubbed his face and swept his unruly hair back, tying it with a scrap of suede.

  Though he would not disrespect tradition enough to leave his robe behind, he donned his gauntlets under the billowing black sleeves and left the hood down, showing off the bits of carved bone and feathers adorning his good side. He left the scars marring his right brow and cheek in full view. That way, either side of his face would pain Patricia, both bearing reminders of his deviation and her failure at motherhood. In case that wasn’t enough, he always carried his staff with him inside the Arcanum—an old tradition among falconers and a sign of his chosen station. A station his mother abhorred.

  Smoke rode on his shoulder as they cut a path through the woods directly to the fortress. The foliage opened up before them and then closed again, allowing Corvin to tread silently. The buzzing of the insects and the gurgling of the nearby spring could be heard over his footsteps. But the underbrush was more quiet than usual.

  Damn Hohlwen. Just their presence sucked the life out of a place and left an unearthly stillness in its wake. Corvin let out a shaky breath, outrage banked in his throat at the audacity of his mother to send the hollow ones into his sanctuary. Their taint would infuse the energy of the place for days. He chewed on whether he should say something about it and risk bringing down his mother’s litany of criticism.

  The brush thinned as he crossed the Arcanum’s outer wards. He walked between trunks as wide as he was tall. They stood in wisps of fog that might linger all day. The thick, loamy scent of the moss and mushroom carpet filled his lungs. He savored it for only a second, and then the back of his neck prickled. High above, shadows gathered like a gossamer web, filtering the already meager sunlight. The eyes of the Synod, always watching.

  He lengthened his stride.

  The entrance at the eastern tower came into view, both torches lit to signal free entry. Inside the outer fortress walls, he met the sweet tang of crabapple and marigold, familiar scents from his childhood. Smoke flew to a nearby yew tree and pecked at some berries as Corvin crossed the courtyard to the inner doors—ten-foot panels of pounded, scribed copper, also lit with two torches. They swung open as he approached.

  Two Kinde guards stood as sentries inside, silent and yet imposing in their customary tailored black suits. Corvin tapped his staff twice on the marble floor, calling to Smoke, already thinking he would simply take his mother’s advice, whatever it was this time, so he could go back to bed as soon as possible.

  The thought of soft sheets and a cozy blanket evaporated when an alarm sounded—three short wolf howls in quick succession. His shoulders slumped. He’d momentarily forgotten about the new recruits and the ensuing circus. Rest would be hard-won the next few days, peace and quiet a mere memory.

  The guards beside him snapped to attention, startling Corvin, but then neither of them moved another muscle. They stared ahead with completely blank expressions. Something had always rubbed him wrong about the way Kinde had to follow orders to the letter, even against their better judgment.

  Giving the one on his right an annoyed look, he clacked his staff again, louder. Why did he spend so much time waiting around for that good-for-nothing featherbrain?

  A door down the hall slammed open, and a confusing puzzle of body parts burst through it, some rolling, some sprawling, some running. Some running directly at him…

  Corvin blinked, looked to the guards on either side of him, and barely had time to throw one hand up as a blur of grungy cotton and wheat-gold hair bowled him over.

  His staff clattered to the floor. He landed flat on his ass out on the steps, with the back of his robe wrapped over his head. He stood, shaking the offending fabric away, to see his attacker streaking through the courtyard, leaping over bushes, rocks, and ponds rather than taking the circuitous cobbled path. Two wolves glided past him silently, barely disturbing the air, sleek black bodies gracefully eating up their quarry’s narrow lead.

  Before they could head her off, a streak of shadow arrowed out of the sky and flattened her. She went down hard, eating dirt.

  Bitterness filled Corvin’s mouth, and his sternum ached in sympathy. He picked up his staff.

  The Hohlwen who’d taken her down stood above the girl, his boot pressed tauntingly over her lower back as she struggled to get up. The wolves clo
sed in on either side, and her horrified scream echoed off the walls of the keep, shriveling Corvin’s insides. He walked up to the overexcited beasts, uttering the low command to stand down.

  The wolves obeyed, but the Hohlwen sneered over his shoulder. He yanked the girl off the ground and gripped her by the back of her neck, shaking her like a doll. “The alarm was called. She was fair game.”

  Smoke chose that moment to come forward, issuing a guttural warning call as he landed on Corvin’s shoulder. The girl—no, woman—stared at him unblinking. Her crystal-blue eyes sparked with fury as a steady stream of blood dripped down her chin. Could have been from her scalp, nose, or lip. The rest of her was too covered in grime and bruises to tell much other than that she’d obviously been through hell.

  Corvin put the Wright tone of authority behind his next words. “Let her go.”

  The Hohlwen blinked his empty black eyes and smiled, all dazzle and false seduction. “Why should I? I’m just detaining her. Aren’t I, sweetheart?”

  He turned to face her, and she bashed in two of his startlingly white teeth. Black blood spurted. The Hohlwen backhanded her too fast for any defensive action, and her body toppled through the air and landed ten feet away. Corvin reached for the Hohlwen, but he faded into shadow and reappeared over the blond wildcat, lifting her by the throat as if she were made of paper and he could crush all the air out of her with a flick of his wrist. Her nails scratched seeping grooves in the Hohlwen’s flawless skin, and she landed a few solid kicks that made Corvin cringe.

  He had to admire her gusto, but her struggle weakened quickly as the Hohlwen sapped her energy, feeding on her life force, possibly intending to drain her to death.

  The wolves whimpered, chafing against Corvin’s command. He slammed his staff into the back of the Hohlwen’s skull. The girl fluttered to the ground like an empty husk.

  Corvin spun the staff around his body once to gain some momentum, then whirled and put his full weight behind the next blow, which landed squarely in the Hohlwen’s stomach and knocked him off his feet just long enough for Corvin to mutter a word of power and charge the end of his staff with a stunning spell. He pointed it directly at the bastard’s chest.

  The Hohlwen rubbed the back of his head and brought his fingers away smeared with black ooze, which quickly smoked away. He flashed his teeth, which were already filling in the hole in the front. “I have killed men for less.”

  “I’ve seen your kind banished for less than that threat.”

  The Kinde whimpered again and then suddenly broke rank.

  Smoke cawed, announcing Roderic’s arrival.

  Corvin kept his staff trained on the Hohlwen. The immortal’s demeanor morphed into something less otherworldly and more composed as the captain of the guard approached.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Roderic asked, the twin black wolves trotting contentedly at his side.

  “I caught the girl after the alarm had been called, sir. She gave me quite the fight. Bird-boy didn’t like how I handled her.”

  Corvin scowled at the elegant, unconcerned expression on the Hohlwen’s perfectly blank face. He lowered his staff and looked Roderic directly in the eyes. “It’s true. I didn’t like it at all.”

  Roderic glanced from one to the other, expression utterly closed. They stood in silence, waiting for his judgment. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully and said, “What girl, exactly?”

  Corvin glanced at the spot where the wildcat had landed in a seemingly broken heap, then whirled on his heel toward the outer gate. She appeared to be lying facedown in the dewy grass at first, but after a moment he saw that she was… crawling. One painful inch at a time.

  “Perhaps we should secure her first,” Roderic said. The wolves’ ears pricked, and Corvin instinctively gripped his staff in a ready stance.

  “No.” He let out a deep breath and said, in a very reasonable tone, “I’ll get her.”

  He didn’t wait for permission. By the time he reached her, she was nearly fully unconscious. Surprisingly small, considering the wallop she packed. He lifted her and could tell she was underfed. The burden was somewhat awkward with his staff in one hand. Roderic appeared at his side, and he shifted her to the other man’s arms. Though he trusted the captain not to hurt her, his nerves felt strangely unsettled handing her off like that. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension as he followed Roderic into the keep.

  The wolves had dispersed, probably to run off their change. The Hohlwen had obviously been dismissed. Corvin wanted to raise issue with the captain’s managerial methods but decided he could only fight so many battles before breakfast. He glanced at the frail body curled in Roderic’s massive arms. A curtain of golden hair swayed back and forth as they walked, and his stomach clenched tightly. As the last rush of the fight seeped away, his temples began to throb.

  He should have gone back to bed.

  Smoke landed on his shoulder as he crossed—once again—the threshold of the Arcanum, over wards that probed you down to the roots of your soul. The raven gave a tired ruffle of his feathers. Corvin resisted the urge to say I told you so and instead focused on the familiar patterns in the marble floor. “What does Madame Councilor want this time?”

  In answer, Roderic led them past the training hall where the new recruits were gathered, toward the servant stairwell that led to his mother’s private office. Corvin grumbled to Smoke under his breath.

  Roderic paused on the bottom step. “She intended to make you choose an initiate to mentor.” He shifted the bundle in his arms, drawing Corvin’s attention to the woman’s face. Her eyelids fluttered in the restless sleep of the Hohlwen’s energy siphon. The memory of those eyes, the burning intensity in her gaze, did something to his heartbeat he didn’t have words for.

  The captain’s lips twitched in the hint of a smile—the closest he’d come lately to the real thing. “But I think your choice is obvious.”

  Chapter Three

  Audrey tumbled from nightmare to worse nightmare. She dozed fitfully, feverish and expecting to open her eyes and find herself still wrapped in that goddamn straightjacket. What other explanation was there besides some drug-induced slip from reality? There was certainly no way she’d actually been through the past few hours as she remembered them, though her body felt the punishment as if it had all been real.

  Absolutely none of that could be real.

  She blinked her one good eye open. Lights from the chandelier overhead starred in her bruised vision. Her head was throbbing so hard she wished she could just pop it and release the pressure. Her jaw felt as if it had been dislocated and then put back in place. Her throat had clogged with dried blood. She wheezed, then coughed, and then groaned as the coughing moved her ribs. Yep—broken.

  A shadow blurred her view, and she shrank back, almost passing out again.

  “Water,” said a low, gravelly voice. Not soothing, but not threatening. She rubbed at the eye that wasn’t swollen shut, blinked a few more times, and saw that the lumpy shadow was holding out an expensive-looking glass.

  She accepted and drank a few careful sips before swishing the taste of old blood out of her mouth. The thought of swallowing made her almost gag, so she spit it back into the glass and set it aside to investigate her newest nightmare.

  The lumpy shadow was actually a very large, very mean-looking tower of rock-solid muscle. Heavy jaw, tight mouth. A salt and pepper buzz-cut and bushy eyebrows framed a bone-grey stare as lifeless as I-80 over the Bonneville Salt Flats.

  Trouble, no question, but Audrey was distracted by the argument brewing at the other end of the room. Though it went against principle, she turned her back on the Unfriendly Giant and keyed in to the discussion taking place before the room’s large windows.

  Large enough to jump through, if I had a running start…

  “With all due respect, Councilor,” the man facing away from her said, “we both know this is well outside the duties prescribed to my post.” His hands were locked b
ehind him, shoulders relaxed, but Audrey could see the muscles in his back bunch beneath his black robe with each word. Yet somehow, when he spoke, he sounded calm and completely in control. He had a nice voice. An honest voice.

  On the other side of a desk with more square footage than Audrey’s last few residences, a petite brunette, also draped in black robes, gazed through the beveled glass, as if she could actually see something through the haze of fog. “Your post is irrelevant. It is high time you start earning your keep and contributing to our cause.”

  “Your cause,” he corrected.

  The woman’s mouth turned down into a deep frown. She was beautiful, in a fairy-tale queen sort of way. As if she’d heard the thought, her eerie lavender gaze swiveled directly to Audrey. “We can speak of this later, Corvin. Sleeping Beauty awakes.”

  Audrey wished as hard as she could to be invisible. She yanked and yanked on the panic cord inside her, but nothing happened. Desperate, she lunged to get up, only to have Gigantor shove her back onto the plush sofa. A thrust of power that would normally send him flying into the bookcases produced…absolutely nothing. She was just waving her hands and squinting like an idiot.

  What? No!

  “I’m afraid it was necessary after your antics earlier.” The woman stalked toward Audrey like a sable-haired cat, looking almost bored. Though her body was small, there was no question who was in charge here. “Your powers have been bound, Audrey Helen Taylor. An ancient sanction that is quite unbreakable, though not irreversible.”