Legacy Awakened

by Tamar Sloan

  Copper eyes tell me my honesty just triggered something. “Because you and something else in my life can’t exist together.” He shifts back, his hand slicing through the air between us. “And I don’t want to lose that other thing.”

  I blink as I try to wipe away the sting of his words. For the most part, they don’t make sense. But I get the general gist.

  He doesn’t want me here.

  The hurt from the day we met flares like a banked fire, except this pain is cold and full of shards. It’s the sort of hurt that has you breathing shallow for long seconds and you can’t think straight. The first things that filter through the haze are two copper eyes, churning like a maelstrom. Hunter is watching and waiting and fighting some sort of battle of his own.

  It’s that realization that has me pausing. For someone so angry, he sure looks conflicted. And conflict means uncertainty. For some reason, it reminds me of Achak. A beautiful, wild animal who ultimately just wants to be understood.

  And uncertainty and conflict are exactly what I’m feeling.

  What is it I can’t reconcile? This stay-the-heck-away guy with my hearts-beating-as-one wolf? My hope that the existence of some sort of magical connection made me special? The belief that at least the threads don’t lie?

  I realize I want answers. If I’m being brutally honest with myself, I’m hoping that maybe there’s something extraordinary happening here. Dawn always did say I was a hopeless optimist.

  I look away, needing a break from the hypnotizing effects of his intensity. I’ve already had a taste of the pain this boy can cause me. A smart, self-protective girl wouldn’t even consider this. As I flick my hair over my shoulder I discover I’m neither smart nor self-protective.

  I shrug one shoulder, feeling my hair shift around it. “I can respect that.”

  Hunter blinks. The storm in his eyes seems to settle for a second and I wonder what that means. But then he looks away, taking in the horizon. I wait long moments to see what he’s going to say next.

  He clears his throat. “We might as well get going then.”

  Why does that feel like a win? I know it’s pathetic, but I decide to give myself a talking to later. “Let’s do it.” He holds his hand out and my heart hiccups again, until I realize he’s waiting for me to pass the vet bag. I lift it from my shoulder and hand it over.

  Hunter leans back and opens the compartment on the back of the quad. He pulls out a helmet before tucking the bag in. He seems to pause before he holds it up for me. I take it as I process what this means.

  We’re riding the quad. Two people. One bike. A whole lot of driving.

  What have I done?

  Hunter clears his throat again. “So, you’ve definitely never ridden one of these?”

  I shake my head. “Ah, no. Shouldn’t you have a helmet, too?”

  Hunter’s gaze is almost challenging. “I ride these things all the time.”

  Is that another dig about my fragile, part-human status? I yank up a smile. “Thanks for looking after my safety.”

  There’s that blink again. For some reason, I like those blinks.

  He turns around and faces forward. “We have wolves to vaccinate.”

  We certainly do. Pulling on the helmet, I brace myself. I hadn’t banked on so much physical contact so soon. As my butt touches the leather seat I wonder whether I can hold myself back a little, maybe maintain some distance.

  Hunter is very still as I settle myself down and I wish I could see his face. The thread between us shrinks as our bodies come closer. It feels like a rubber band tightening and pulling, but I fight it. Digging my feet into the pegs I push back, trying to secure a few inches between us, except I hadn’t considered that thing called gravity. My knees brush his thighs. The Were warmth radiating from him is like a magnet. I’m not sure where I’m supposed to put my hands, so I awkwardly reach back and clamp onto the metal that the compartment is strapped to.

  Long seconds pass and nothing happens. Hunter is like a statue, body tense, breathing almost nonexistent. Is it possible he feels it too? This heightened awareness, the sense of familiarity, the exhilarating newness?

  I decide to take the opportunity to slip off my helmet. I grew up with Weres, living like a Were, and I’m not about to act like some fragile flower. I slip it behind me and strap it to the vet pack.

  Hunter shakes his head and mutters something that if I had Were hearing, I probably would’ve been able to decipher. Reaching down he starts the engine and the vibrations instantly rise through me. Excitement and nervousness become my only thoughts.

  With a contraction of his arm we roll forward, starting off slow. It still feels like a jerk as I tense my arms, using my hands as anchors. How in the world am I going to stay on like this?

  Accelerating, the wind picks up and I discover my next hurdle—how to do this and not breathe. Hunter’s scent is thrown straight back at me, and the deep inhale is reflexive. He smells of wild outdoors and spiced heat. If my wolf had existed, would he have smelled like this?

  Picking up more speed, Hunter glances over his shoulder. He’s about to turn back when he does a double take. He just realized I don’t have my helmet on. He frowns and I do all I can do in that moment as the wind whips at my face and hair and clothes—I smile again. This time, as we zoom across the tundra, it starts to feel genuine.

  Blink. He turns back and my guess is he’s frowning again. Hunching down in a way that just emphasizes his shoulders, he accelerates again.

  Summer in the arctic tundra is a place of contrasts. It’s so bare and vast, but as I squint I notice the beauty in the details. In the distance are the harsh snowcapped peaks you associate with this area, but here on the flatlands, it’s green. Actually, it’s shades of green layered with bronzes and reds and flashes of yellow—all grasses and wildflowers blooming as quickly as they can in the short summer season. It’s known as one of the driest places on earth, but intricate little streams trickle in any crevice they can find, trapped on the surface by the permafrost not far below. It’s a place of life and light, but also a place of endurance and extremes.

  I find my head moving from side to side, trying to take it all in.

  I’ve lived a loved and protected life, and for that I’m grateful. But this, riding across the landscape I feel so connected to, whether in my dreams or not, is a taste of freedom. A taste of freedom that I’m relishing.

  “Faster,” I say quietly, but with anticipation. I know Hunter will hear me, but what’s he going to do about it?

  To my surprise, his glance back almost looks like it’s been sprinkled with a smile. “You’re not wearing a helmet.”

  I release the tight hold I had behind me and lean forward. “Neither are you. Plus we have wolves to vaccinate, remember?”

  Another raised eyebrow glances back and I wish I could have held that look longer. I couldn’t tell if there was a challenge in those copper depths or unimpressed frustration.

  All of a sudden, the quad spears forward. My arms instantly shoot out and grasp, straight onto Hunter’s waist. I feel the jolt, but I can’t tell if it’s me or him or the air between us, but there’s no way I’m letting go. We gain more speed and I discover I may have unleashed more than I bargained for.

  In seconds it feels like we’re flying over the rutted ground. My hair is a sail behind me, probably becoming a tangled mess, but I don’t care. It’s like this sense of excitement and exhilaration is bigger than me, like it comes from both within and without. I shake my head—the cold air is probably freezing my brain.

  As the ground begins an irregular rhythm of sloping up and down, an arctic hare startles from behind a rock. It darts away with amazing speed. I mentally apologize for frightening it just as I notice the faint thread that connects it to Hunter. They must have come across each other before.

  When Hunter reaches out to point I follow where he’s indicating. I gasp and push up a little off the seat—it’s a herd of bison! Big and burly, they look like hunks of movi
ng fur. Their heads rise as they hear the quad, and they’re on instant alert. Like a consensus has been reached, they turn and head for the horizon.

  “Wow,” I breathe, not sure if Hunter can hear me but it doesn’t really matter. He wouldn’t know what I’m amazed at anyway. It’s the gossamer network of threads that just came to life that has me wowed. Despite the isolation, they’re everywhere.

  Hunter can’t see them, but threads show how deeply and irrevocably he’s connected to this area. The bison run, but they’re still part of his fabric just like everything else around us.

  He heads east and I hunker down. Intensely aware of the heat and muscles playing under my hands, my excitement contracts as I try to get my head around this. There are too many contrasts and contradictions.

  How can the frowning, silent guy who doesn’t want me here, be the same person who’s a lifeline to this island?

  Ava

  We drive over rocky hills, across plains of deep greens and stunted shrubs, progressively climbing higher. When we reach a mesa-like plateau, Hunter comes to a stop. Killing the engine, we sit in the strange new silence.

  I clamber off, head spinning with everything I’m learning, but somehow sensing that Hunter’s strange defenses are going to be on high alert. “This is where we set the first trap?”

  Climbing off the quad, he barely glances at me. I’m not sure if I should feel disappointed or pleased that I predicted that correctly. “I set the traps last night.”

  “Oh, right.”

  Which means there could be a trapped wolf nearby.

  Hunter strides away. “I’ll check. Wait here.”

  I do exactly what he says, for as long as it takes him to power several feet ahead. He looks like he’s heading toward the center of the plateau where some scrubby bushes have sprouted up. I grab the vet pack and sling it over my shoulder, heading out after him.

  He hears with me within moments, spinning around to face me. “I told you to wait by the quad.”

  “I may not have Were hearing, but you said it loud enough.”

  He takes a deep breath, trying to get something under control. “Go back, please.”

  I walk forward, closing the distance. “If there’s a trapped wolf, we’ll need to vaccinate it.”

  “I’ll let you know. The wolf is going to be angry and scared. It may not be safe.”

  I roll my eyes as I walk straight past him. “Which is why you need a Fae.”

  “I’d prefer a Were who can get away if they need to.”

  As much as I wish those muttered words don’t have an impact, I still falter for one step. It’s the slightest pause, a stumble of my center of gravity, and I recover quickly, but it’s there nonetheless. Hoping he didn’t see it, I keep going.

  Changed or not-changed, I can still do my bit.

  Hunter quickly catches up but I don’t look at him as he walks beside me. If I’d met this wolf before, there would be a thread that would appear once we’re close enough and I’d have a sense of where it is. But I haven’t, so I realize I’m walking without knowing where I’m going. I slow a bit, glancing at Hunter.

  He’s staring ahead, eyes pensive, lips tight. For some reason I feel like he’s sad, which isn’t what I need to see right now. Empathy and anger can’t exist simultaneously, and anger is far more self-protective.

  “The trap’s just up ahead.”

  “Where the sura bushes are?”

  He glances at me before looking away. “Yeah, the sura bushes.” He frowns. “But I can’t hear anything.”

  I cock my head like I have some sort of Were hearing. “Is that a good thing?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  We’re both quiet as we approach the diamond-leafed willow, its fragile, stunted branches losing the last of its fuzzy flowers. Hunter stops several feet away, releasing a breath. “It’s empty.”

  I look at the soil around us. “I can’t see it.”

  Hunter points to an area at the base of one of the bushes. “It’s buried over there.”

  I squint, seeing two rods of metal just jutting from the ground. “A leghold trap?”

  Another glance. “Yeah, a leghold trap.”

  “I’ve been involved with captive breeding most of my life, you know.” I’ve seen my own share of trapped wolves.

  “What about knowing the name of the bush?”

  I shrug, although there’s a smile wanting some air time at the understatement I’m about to deliver. “I’ve studied this area a bit.”

  “Why?”

  I pause, I’d banked on Mr. Antisocial ending the conversation at that. Turning, I start walking back to the quad, but Hunter is by my side like he can feel the thread that ties us together. I hoist the vet pack, giving myself even more time to come up with an answer. Because I wanted to learn the names of all the plants and animals I believed I’d already seen? Because for the past two years, I’d felt this area was my second home?

  I still haven’t responded by the time we’re back at the quad, and I focus on strapping down the vet pack.

  “Why, Ava?”

  I look up to find Hunter watching me, arms crossed, face unreadable as always.

  I shrug. I could say I did some quick research before I headed up here, but lying isn’t something I see much use for. “The area fascinates me.”

  I tilt my chin as I stare back, wondering what he’ll make of that.

  But Hunter looks away, and I’m not afforded even the effort to try and disentangle his look. He swings a leg over the quad and climbs on. “Come on, the second one isn’t far away.”

  I climb on without answering, deciding it’s pointless trying to figure it out. Right now, we need the next trap to have a wolf, even though I always hate seeing them caught in one. For a wild animal, being captured like that is a deep violation.

  Hunter was right, the next trap is only on the next hill. We must be deep in the wolves’ territory if they frequent here.

  I hear it the minute Hunter kills the engine. Growling driven by fear and anger. I climb off and unstrap the vet pack. He’d better not try the whole ‘stay here’ thing again. But all he gives me is a warning glance before taking the lead. I catch up quickly, even though it means half-skipping to get there. Hunter’s going to learn that we’re in this together.

  This trap is in a rocky outcropping, one that feels far more familiar than any place we’ve been. I don’t have time to wonder about it though, because I can see the wolf. Snow white like they all are, the male frantically yanks over and over at the metal jaws holding its foot. I ignore the sense of recognition that slips through my consciousness.

  There’s no time to wonder whether it’s real—we need to do this as quickly as possible so we can release it.

  Stopping yards away from the wolf I open the vet pack. The tranquilizer gun is sitting on the top, just like I packed it. Loading the pre-prepared syringe, I look up at Hunter. “You a good shot?”

  “I’ll probably be able to do it from further away.”

  Thanks to his better eyesight, but I don’t think that was a dig. Hunter is focused on the animal desperately trying to escape the trap. The yanking looks like it could dislocate something if he keeps going.

  I pass Hunter the gun, we need to do this as quickly as possible, and without stressing the poor animal any more.

  I find myself holding my breath alongside Hunter as he holds his arms out, braces himself, and lines up the sight. The single shot spears out with a pop and embeds straight into the wolf’s chest—close to his heart for maximum effect. It leaps, only to be yanked down by the chain holding it to the ground.

  Hunter lowers the gun. “Now we wait.”

  I flick my hair over my shoulder. “Good shot.”

  There’s the briefest of blinks before he frowns again. “You always so positive?”

  I glance back at the wolf, who isn’t showing any signs of slowing down, not realizing that all that movement is just going to pump the tranquilizer faster around his body. I
’d always considered myself an optimist, someone powered by hope, but in the face of someone who defines me by my flaws? “I’m learning more about myself out here in just a few days than I have in seventeen years.”

  I don’t get to see if that prompts a blink because I’m watching the wolf. The tranquilizer is working quickly. He’s already slowing, shaking his head, legs a little wobbly. Hunter’s shot was a good one, and despite all these weird ‘don’t come near me vibes’, I’m glad I acknowledged that. It makes me genuinely like who I am, which I hadn’t realized was a feeling I’d been missing for quite a while.

  “You’re very honest.”

  I smile. “I kinda am, aren’t I?”

  Hunter grunts, turning back to watch the wolf. “You get along with my sister, don’t you?”

  My smile does something I didn’t expect—it grows. “We bonded over Mocha Munch.”

  The edge of Hunter’s lips twitches, like a teeny-tiny thread is trying to pull them up. Of course, they don’t, but Achak didn’t let me see his smiles for the longest time either.

  Well, not until I’d shown him that we had more in common than he realized.

  The wolf’s hind legs collapse and he struggles to stay upright. But he can’t fight the chemicals in his bloodstream and a few moments later his front haunches drop too.

  I pick up the vet pack. “Let’s do this.”

  Hunter’s arm shoots out but stops before it connects with me. “Hang on, it’s too early.”

  Glancing back, I raise a brow. Watch this Mr. I-Have-No-Idea.

  It doesn’t matter whether the thread between myself and this wolf was born the minute our eyes connected, or whether it had already been seeded long ago. I tap into our universality, finding his fear and his anger. Sending him soothing tones I keep walking forward.

  “We just want to help.”

  My mother and all the Fae I’ve ever met talk to animals in their head, using the threads like a telepathic link. But I’ve never seen the point in keeping it hidden. I believe anyone could achieve a fraction of this if they tried because everyone has the threads.