by Mac Flynn
I wrinkled my nose. "No, why would I?"
The woman chuckled. "He is, or was, much sought after by other women."
I glanced around us at the empty halls. "I don't see much of anyone, much less women. You and that Lady Greenwood are the only ones I've seen."
"We are fewer than the men, and raise our sons in our homes," she explained.
"What about the daughters? Humans kidnap them as revenge?" I quipped.
Her face fell and she looked straight ahead. "We have no daughters."
It was my turn for my face to show confusion. "No daughters at all?"
"We're here," she announced. I glanced ahead and saw we stood in front of a pair of large wooden doors.
Heather opened them both and presented me with a full view of a large library. The room encompassed two floors of the rock-hewn Old Den. Two metal-wrought spiral staircases on opposite sides of the room led to the upper balcony and floor. Rows upon rows of dark oak bookshelves were set against the dry stone walls. They wrapped around the walls behind and in front of us. The lower floor was stone, and the upper was of wood darkened with age and countless layers of sealant.
Light came from a domed ceiling high above us and from large oil lamps. The lamps were cylindrical in appearance, and were a foot wide and as tall. They hung from hooks that stuck out from the walls beside the bookcases. The flickering flames hung onto wicks and cast dancing, haunting shadows over the large tomes that sat on the deep shelves. Long, thick wooden tables stood in front of the bookcase, and on their tops were stacks of books. Some lay open, others were closed.
My 'mate' stood behind one of the winding staircases, and in his hands was a dusty tome wrapped in a dark-brown cover. He looked up at our entrance and frowned. "What is this? Has breakfast finished already?" he questioned the servant.
Heather bowed her head. "Your mother wished for your mate to be brought to you."
"I'm busy. Return her to my-"
"Your mother says I'm not to return Mrs. Greenwood to her," Heather interrupted.
Greenwood slammed shut his book and glared at us. "Very well." He turned his attention to me and nodded at one of the chairs at one of the crowded tables. "Sit there." I grudgingly plopped myself in the hard wooden seat.
"If you will excuse me," Heather spoke up. She bowed and left us.
I tilted my head back and inspected the dome over our heads. It showed a dark sky, and I glimpsed a splattering of rain on the glass. I jerked back when a book flew past my shoulder and landed with a thud on the table. I whipped around and glared at Greenwood. His back faced me and he fetched another book from a shelf.
"Are you always such a jerk?" I growled.
"It's excusable. I'm under some stress," he returned.
I faced forward and folded my arms across my chest. "You and me both, but I'm not tossing books at people."
"I'm doing us both a favor by looking through these books," he argued.
"Forgive me if I don't thank you," I quipped.
"You may if I find out how to break the bond between us," he told me.
I spun around so I was seated in reverse in the chair and raised an eyebrow. "I'd jump for joy if I understood this 'bonding' thing."
He closed the book in his hands and tossed it onto the table. "It is a joining of two like werewolves through a blood contract."
"But I'm not a werewolf," I pointed out.
His eyes traveled along the shelves of books and he picked up a new one. "You weren't before the Choosing, but partaking of my blood changed you."
I raised a hand and inspected my normal fingers. "I'm not seeing any difference."
"The physical changes come slowly. The first obvious sign is the mark on your shoulder. You bear the sign of my house," he explained.
My eyes widened and I lifted my dress sleeve to inspect the marking. The moon shone back at me. There was no more heated pain, only a dull bruising. "So what happens if I try to get this removed?" I asked him.
"It will return on the new skin. Every time," he told me. Thud went another book onto the table.
"So besides a permanent tattoo, what else does this 'bonding' thing do what to me?" I wondered.
"You will develop the urge to procreate with your mate and will become protective of them," he informed me.
I swept my eyes over him and wrinkled my nose. "I can't deny the first part, but I don't think so much of the second."
"Thinking isn't involved. It's now an instinct inside you," he argued.
I slumped over the back of the chair and sighed. "And what else?"
"Besides your growing abilities as a werewolf, nothing," he replied.
"Those are enough. . ." I muttered. I watched him take several books off the shelves on at a time, and each in succession was browsed and tossed onto the table. "So what exactly are you looking for?"
"Any clues to break the blood bond. This library is as old as the settlement, and if there is a way to release us from this curse it will be here," he explained.
I leaned back and allowed my eyes to browse the ancient, dusty spines. There were hundreds of books, and many of them didn't have titles on their bindings. "You got a computer system we can do a search through?" I wondered.
"No."
I raised an eyebrow. "I'm really surprised you even know what a computer is."
"Then it may shock you to know that I can use one," he commented.
"Shocking," I quipped. I watched him rummage through a few more books. At the rate he was going this search would take half my lifetime. I slid off the chair and sauntered over to a bookshelf close to Greenwood. I grabbed a book from a shelf and opened the cover. On the pages was a language I'd never seen. The letters were mostly English, but the order of the letters didn't create English words. "Um, mind telling me what this means?" I asked him as I turned to Greenwood and held the open page towards him.
He turned to me and his eyes brushed over the page. "It's in Old Lycan."
I furrowed my brow and glanced at the page. "Old Lycan? Is that like Italian or something?"
He turned his back to me and resumed his searching of the shelves in front of him. "Something like that, but with more Slavic influence in its grammar," he explained.
"Come again?"
He looked up from his book and sighed. "Old Lycan has Eastern European origins. That is why werewolf tales are more likely to come from the east. My ancestors were originally from that geographic region and migrated here to avoid extermination."
I shrugged and put the unreadable book back on the shelf. "I guess that isn't earth-shattering information."
That's when the earth began to shatter.
The tremors started as small vibrations, hardly enough to rattle a teacup, but they increased in strength and graduated to shaking the bookshelves. Books vibrated off the shelves and dropped to the floor in piles of papers and bindings. I grabbed the nearest shelf and watched cracks form in the floor between my feet. The chairs and tables danced across the stone floor, and some toppled backwards.
I heard something groan and spun around in time to watch one of the large bookshelves fall forwards towards me. Greenwood's strong arms wrapped around my waist and pulled me from harm's way. The bookshelf, with its hundreds of pounds of books, crashed to the floor where I just stood.
I buried my face into my savior's chest and tried to stop my body from shaking as violently as the library. After a few more seconds the tremors slowed and stopped, and I looked up. Greenwood held me tight against his hard chest. His narrowed eyes glared at the fallen bookcase behind me.
A blush rose to my cheeks when I realized how close and warm was his body to mine. "You. . .you saved me?" I whispered.
He released me and stepped away from me. "It was merely the instinct of the bonding," he defended himself.
I folded my arms across my chest and rolled my eyes. "I guess I was giving you too much credit." Greenwood ignored me. He leaned down and slipped his fingers beneath the fallen bookcase. I frowned. "Y
ou can't lift that, it probably weighs-" He raised himself, and the bookcase, and walked it back so the piece of furniture once more stood against the wall. My mouth dropped open and I pointed a finger at the bookcase. "What the hell do you eat for breakfast?"
"I am a Lycan," he reminded me.
I frowned. "All right, Mr. Lycan, explain to me what that earthquake was about. You guys make some ancient hairy god mad or something?"
Greenwood frowned and tilted his head up to look at the second floor. "None that I'm aware of."
"So this is a typical day in the life of a werewolf?" I quipped.
He shook his head. "I can't recall there ever being an earthquake in this area."
"The earth doesn't usually do a jig," I retorted.
He ignored me and walked over to the nearest metal staircase. It stood askew from its original position. A small bit of rubble from the upper balcony sat on the steps. "This wasn't a mere jig, and another such quake and I will have to save you from more than just a bookcase." He directed his eyes at a point beneath the balcony.
I followed his gaze and my eyes widened when I noticed a crack in the wall behind the bookcases that stood beneath the balcony. I walked over to him and nodded at the damage. "You guys got a big band-aid?" I asked him.
He turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "Why do you care what happens to the Den?"
I winced. "I. . .I don't, but I don't want it to come crashing down on me, either."
Greenwood looked away and frowned. "It will take some time to repair the damage, and that is only if another earthquake doesn't occur."
"So crossing our fingers?"
"No, we will find the source of the problem, but first we will see how the rest of the island fared." He strode past me, snatched a cloak off one of the tables, and moved to the entrance. Greenwood paused at the entrance and glanced over his shoulder. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes when he spoke. "Unless you wish to remain here should another occur," he called to me.
I crossed my arms and planted my feet. "Maybe I won't be here when you get back," I countered.
"I thought perhaps you wanted to be useful to your friends. Am I wrong?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Useful how?" I asked him.
"The earthquake might have been powerful enough to effect all the islands. If it happens again some of them may be injured, or worse," he pointed out.
Lillian. She was probably terrified right now. My face fell and my shoulders drooped. "I'm coming. . ." I grumbled.
Chapter 3
I followed Greenwood into the passage and towards the dining hall. We passed the empty eating room and climbed a set of stairs just past the arched entrance. The area was still modern, but all these stairs and passages had me lost.
"Who designed this place? A madman? It never seems to be the same twice" I quipped.
"The architect was quite mad," he agreed.
I rolled my eyes. "Of course he was. No sane person would deal with werewolves."
Greenwood led the way through the rat maze and to the rear of the large, modern building. We passed through a few rooms with desks and filing cabinets, and I even saw nameplates on some of the desks. There was a scent of printing paper and disinfectant in the air, and the empty halls were no longer empty. We passed several men in dress shirts and pants. In their hands were bundles of paper, and their faces showed the strain of an office life.
"Finally, the twenty-first century. . ." I mumbled.
"Unfortunately," Greenwood spoke up.
I snorted. "You really need to get out of the dark ages."
"I don't need technology to know that the more things change, the more they stay the same," he countered.
"And that means what?" I asked him.
We rounded a corner and found ourselves at the final rear hall in the New Den. The passage stretched down the entire rear of the building. Our hall connected to the center of that rear passage and showed a pair of doors on the wall opposite us. The doors were open, and inside I could see the room was a large council room complete with uncomfortable chairs for the audience. At the far rear of the room was a curved row of tall chairs curved for those who presided over meetings.
The sounds of voices reached our ears. They were loud, frightened voices. I glimpsed men pace the floor in front of the row of chairs.
Greenwood's face twisted with disgust. "It means that people never change."
Greenwood strode forward and I hurried after him. We entered the large meeting room and I noticed Lord Greenwood sat in the center chair. The wall behind the chairs was covered in a painted mural. The scene showed the view I'd seen from the old dock. There was a cloudless night sky with a full moon over the dark silhouette of the island. The only odd bit to the picture were six stars that encircled the moon.
Something in front of the mural moved and caught my attention. In the shadow of the lord's chair stood Lady Greenwood. She smiled as we entered, but I noticed her face was pale and there was darkness beneath her eyes.
Four of the six other chairs around Lord Greenwood were empty, but I counted a number of men equal to the number of chairs in the room. They were all older individuals. The youngest couldn't have been less than fifty, and they wore elegant cloaks over their broad shoulders. Some of the men paced the floor in front of the chairs, and two sat on either side of Lord Greenwood.
"What if another happens? What then? Some of us don't have as much land as others and can't move our houses," one of the seated men squawked. He sat two chairs down from Greenwood and wore a cloak of black with canary-yellow lining.
"Then we will handle the situation in a calm manner," one of the standing men quipped. He was tall with silver hair at the temples and a firm chin.
"We can hardly expect everyone to act that way. Next time there may be a panic, and then we'll see how well your land policies work," the seated man pointed out.
Lord Greenwood listened to the conversation in silence with his chin rested on one fisted hand. He raised his eyes and his head when we entered, and the others turned to us.
"What's happened?" my guide asked the men.
"What would you care?" the squawking man argued.
"I care because the islands are my home," Greenwood snapped at him.
"Quiet, both of you," Lord Greenwood ordered them. His narrowed eyes swept over the group of six men around him. "These panicked what-ifs do nothing to alleviate the fear in our people, and your swiftness in fleeing your own islands for the safety of the Old Den doesn't help matters."
"We sought only reports," the gray-haired man argued.
"And brought none of your own, Deacon," Lord Greenwood scolded. He leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips. "What we need are reports. Where is Teagan?"
"Here, My Lord," a voice spoke up. I turned in time to see the leader of the cloaked guards sweep into the room. He passed to the chairs and bowed to Greenwood. "My men have reported that several buildings were damaged, but no lives lost. There are some minor injuries, but nothing serious."
"And the reason for the earthquake?" the lord questioned him.
Teagan shook his head. "We can't find the answers, but my men are still looking."
"Have you asked the Diggers?" the young Greenwood spoke up.
"'Diggers?'" I repeated.
Deacon raised an eyebrow and sneered. "They're nothing more than animals. What could they know about the root causes of earthquakes?" he argued.
"Even animals have their uses. They know the underground of these islands better than any of us. We should at least approach them and see what they might know," Erik insisted.
"If you're so eager to have someone speak with them then might I suggest the young gentleman go himself?" Deacon challenged him.
Lord Greenwood stood and glared at Deacon. "Are you suggesting my only son go into the unstable bowels of the Old Den to speak-"
"I will do it," Erik spoke up.
The lord frowned at his child. "We don't know the extent of the damage in those anci
ent halls, and another earthquake may occur."
"Then right now is the time to act before another earthquake happens," Erik insisted. He swept his narrowed eyes over the group of men. "I'll leave the talking to you gentlemen, and keep action for myself. Good day." He bowed to the men and strode from the room. He left behind him a wake of sneers and angry men. Some of them turned their narrowed eyes on me. I sheepishly smiled and slipped from the room.
I hurried after Greenwood and caught up to him halfway down the hall. "You must be popular around here," I quipped.
His eyes didn't even flicker to me. "Hardly," was his reply.
"So who were those guys?"
"They are the new government, called the Council by some. Each delegate represents one of the larger islands and is allowed a say in the decisions," he explained.
"Sounds messy," I mused.
"And an exercise in the futility of electing leaders who's ambitions rival only their cowardice," he commented.
"Speaking of cowardice, is this suicide mission something I need to be a part of or can I go back to planning my escape?" I asked him.
He stopped and spun around to face me. I shrank away from his blazing eyes. "Is that really what you want?"
I gathered my courage and scowled at him. "Um, yeah, it's what I've been trying to do since I got here," I reminded him.
"Haven't you noticed you've had several opportunities to escape this morning?"
I rolled my eyes. "When I've been surrounded by-" He held up three fingers between us.
"You haven't tried to escape from any of your watchers, you had ample chance in the conference room to slip away, and even now you followed me rather than flee."
"T-that's just-well, I didn't see them at the time-"
He lowered his hand and shook his head. "I believe you did, and yet you stayed."
"But I don't want to stay!" I insisted.
"You have no choice. Our bond compels you to remain here, and even now you follow me like a lost dog," he argued.
My cheeks reddened and I balled my hands into fists. "Well, what about you?" I growled.
He pursed his lips. "What about me?"
"You saved me in the library, you wanted me to go with you to the conference room, and you're teaching me all about this whole messy place. You wanted me to follow you, and you want me to stay here," I pointed out.
