by D. Fischer
“Didn’t anyone tell you?” I question with a quirked brow.
They shake their heads as one, and at the same time, wind pummels the side of my little home. The teepee’s thin wooden beams groan in complaint, and for a moment, we remain silent, watching the structure, unsure if it’ll stay upright.
I sigh. This might be a longer conversation than I want to endure. I might as well get straight to the point. “Right. Well, she’s a dragon.”
Kenna gapes. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“This explains everything,” Brenna murmurs, glancing at Kenna. “There’s no way a normal witch could have done what she did the night we were attacked by vampires.”
Flint’s face softens, and then he rolls his eyes when his mind visibly draws on a conclusion. “It’s the secret Irene’s been obsessing about.”
“Your mate can hold onto a secret like a squirrel with a nut,” Brenna mumbles in a grudging growl.
“It’s complicated,” I mumble, glancing at the feeble doorway. There are many ears around if the chatter, song, and children’s laughter is anything to go by. I don’t need anyone overhearing this conversation, and I’m reluctant to tell a tale that’s not mine.
They’re silent with icy gazes, expectantly waiting for a more in-depth depiction of all things Katriane DuPont.
“Dyson, who is she to you?” Evo asks in a gruff tone.
I look Flint straight in the eye, avoiding Evo, and search his dilated pupils. He’s my best friend. I used to tell him anything and everything. Naturally, he’s the comfort I seek first because he’ll understand my situation better than anyone else.
The skin pulls around my throat as I swallow with apparent difficulty, willing my thoughts to register in his mind. He’s been through something similar with his own mate, though she’s a Shifter and not a hybrid witch.
Flint tilts his head to the side and grins dazzling white teeth. “No. No that’s impossible.” The expression on his face completely contradicts his words.
“What?” Evo asks, his tone full of authority.
“They’re – He’s – She’s –” he splutters, pointing at me and then gesturing with a twitching hand as though the shock of the situation settled in his joints.
A small, brave breeze trickles in from the hole above our heads, and Kenna rubs her gloved hands up and down her arms. “Mates,” she mumbles, her teeth chattering. She stiffly rotates to Evo. “Oh my god, they’re mates.”
I suck in a deep breath, the cold air burning my teeth while I wait for the inevitable outburst.
“No, they’re not,” Brenna blurts in denial, fixing me with a hard stare. “That’s impossible.”
The flaps of the makeshift door open again as someone enters, and a blizzard made of big flakes quickly follows. The crystals melt on the fur, shrinking before they thaw to beads of dew.
“Our kidnapper is back,” Flint mumbles.
“Erline,” I correct him in a quieter tone and turn to face the woman in question.
“Of course, she has a name,” Flint responds sarcastically. “But kidnapper fits better. Or maybe Majesty of Destruction.”
A blonde, almost white haired and slender woman with curves in all the right places, and wearing nothing but a flowing pale blue dress, glides in. Her hands are clasped in front of her, fingers neatly puzzled together. She’s strikingly beautiful, and her hair flows in one wave down to her waist. An authoritarian air moves about her, impossible to dismiss. This is the famous Mother Nature, Erline.
The door sways to a close but the remaining snow she brought with her continues to swirl in the increasingly small shelter. Add any more bodies in here, and we’ll need a bigger teepee.
She blows in the offending flake’s direction, irritated at the pesky blizzard who had dared to follow. We watch, hypnotized and rigid. A small trickle of wind whistles between her red lips and the flakes obey her wordless command, gathering as one and quickly darting out the hole at the top. Her eyes are just like Kheelan’s, black pitiless orbs, and they slowly sweep my group of shifters.
“Snow is not my favorite thing,” she admits when the reticence to her display of magic becomes uncomfortable. “Even if it is needed to restore balance in my realm’s atmosphere.”
The group snaps back to reality when she finishes, her tone a demand despite her choice of conversation.
“How?” Brenna asks Erline. “How is a dragon his mate?”
The woman ignores Brenna’s question, her face sweeping across the space with her gaze until she looks upon me. Moments tick by, and our hot breaths gather in the space around us while we wait for her truth.
“Little wolf, nothing is the same as it once was.” She glances at the pack to my back. “It is best if each of you grow accustomed to this anomaly. Since Katriane DuPont shifted each realm, impossibilities have occurred. I am to blame for part of that.” She closes her eyes, consumed by obvious guilt, then opens them. They’re etched with sorrow, soft and jagged at the same time. “I am Erline, fee of the Earth Realm.”
“We know,” I mumble, and then I clear my throat, embarrassed for my rude interruption.
Honestly, there’s no need for formalities. The situation we’re finding ourselves in is far past good-natured manners. If she can explain it better than I can, then I’m hopeful she’ll persuade them how Kat is what’s best for me. At a time like this, needless introductions grate at my nerves, and immediate action and explanations would best ease my anxiety.
She takes a step closer, her mood switching like an unruly toddler in need of a nap. I gulp at her stiff demeanor. It’s not that I fear for my own safety in the presence of basically a god, but I worry all the fee have an unchecked temper. I had witnessed Kheelan’s, and it was far from admirable or desirable. I worry, too, what their unpredictability truly means for the future safety of the realms and those they’ve created.
“She is your mate,” Erline continues, clipping her words to discipline. “And the one who saved your heart.”
“My heart?”
“Oh yes,” she says gravely, taking the last step and gently lifting a hand.
She presses her cold fingers to my chest, my heart jumping at the chill of her skin through my thin button-down shirt. “The beats of your heart were owned by Kheelan. He called it back to him when you arrived at the Guardian Realm. I suspect something tipped him off to your whereabouts, Dyson, but I know not what.” She pauses, hesitant. “The beats are now tied to Katriane’s. She saved you.”
Kenna curses behind me, and the shuffle of feet indicates she’s begun to pace. I stand, still and statue-like, hanging on Erline’s every last word. This must be the feeling I felt when I woke. This is why I feel no ties to my old Alpha and pack.
“As your creator, I sense the tie she constructed to keep you and the sandman alive. You are tethered to her, wolf. In more ways than one.” She pauses when my head snaps to attention. My wolf’s green glowing eyes shine against her pale skin. “Yes, I feel your wolf’s need for her. What matters now is what you do with it. How far will you go to keep her safe?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
TEMBER
GUARDIAN REALM
“Where’s Kat?” I ponder aloud, approaching the fire I saw roaring to a high flame just minutes ago from inside the forest. Jaemes walks to the gathered group with me, his stride silent and predatorial despite the crunching noise my steps make in the snow.
A freshly killed zipra is slung over his shoulders. The blob of creature had been lumbering through the forest as we wandered in search of fresh meat to feed the hungry elven children.
In secret, I believe we both had desired to get away from the smothering hostility of the village and had quickly volunteered to do so. None of the elves want us here despite the fact that James and I have moved past our differences. I just wish everyone else would as well. It would make this stay more pleasant.
We had bantered during the entire hunt, hushed words slung under our breaths, but I know without a doub
t I can trust him with my life. He’s proven that time and time again even if he uses mockery to justify his intent.
We each had hoped to get the first kill, and the friendly competition was welcome as we prowled from tree to tree and tracked prints before the falling snow could bury them. We had one condition: I wasn’t allowed to fly, in order to keep the odds even, and I had grudgingly obeyed this rule. Now, I wish I hadn’t.
I had hoped the victory would have been mine to gain favor. I need every piece of leverage to show these creatures I mean them no harm, and the best way to do that would be to feed the village. But Jaemes had carried out the striking blow and smirked openly about it.
According to Jaemes, my kind has been stealing their food source for sport. He felt it justice, in a way, that the zipra wasn’t slung over my own shoulder in seeming victory. The words had stung, but Jaemes was completely oblivious to my plight, or he chose to dismiss it, needing someone to hold accountable and blame over their stolen goods.
The animal’s hooved front legs sway at the small of his back, its leathery skin loose and covering his entire shoulder. Tribal songs are being sung in beautiful harmony throughout the village. It’s as though they’re using the tune to calm the edge of their nerves.
When we saw the flames reach higher than the teepees, we looked at one another and rushed back on the path we travelled. I was worried the entire village would be consumed by the time we returned, and several twigs had caught and torn my clothes in my haste. It would make sense the village used their music to calm their people. We had slowed our trek to watch a few of the elves dance once we saw it wasn’t burned to the ground.
Their arms had swayed, and their horned-heads hung with their eyes closed as they breathed in tune to the music and allowed it to flow through their limbs. It was a beautiful dance, one which resembled the graceful swing of the tree’s top branches pushed by the wind. Together, the blizzard, the moving trees, and the dancing elves were a breathtaking sight.
Now, as we approach, Dyson, his pack, Erline, the sandman, Mitus, and Erma, all hovered around the fire, chat in fervent voices.
Erma whips her head toward our approach at the same time Mitus’ dangerous expression lands on Jaemes. The rest take their time to look us over with little interest as we add our bodies to the collective circle.
“Where’s Kat?” I repeat again.
“She marched into the woods,” Erma exclaims, puffing her cheeks and running a hand through her short red curls. She’s beautiful when she does that, an action so innocent despite her powerful position and carefully diverted truthful emotions.
The heart in my wrist pumps, driving me to her as though she’s the antidote to the ache in my chest. I keep my feet firmly planted, however, and grit my teeth against my internal struggle. Now isn’t the time.
“It’s dangerous in the woods,” Jaemes explains, passing the slayed zipra to another elf’s awaiting arms. The elf is flocked by children bouncing from foot to foot with pure glee sparking in their eyes and punctuated with giddy giggles.
“I know,” Dyson growls, tugging on his earlobe. His eyes shine a brilliant green, illuminating the falling flakes.
His wolf is dangerously close to the surface, and I frown at his defensively stressed posture. Why is he so protective over the mention of Katriane? Is this part of the repercussions of their tied lives? Overprotectiveness, perhaps?
A pang of jealousy rocks me where my chest aches for Erma. Kat should be my responsibility to fret over. Not an emotional wolf shifter’s.
Jaemes and I step over the circle of logs surrounding the embers and trespass into the circling group, shoulder to shoulder.
“Why?” I ask, my eyes on Dyson.
Mitus and Jaemes begin a heated argument spoken in their native tongue while Erma watches them closely. Their attempts at a hushed tone are laughable, their voices and deep baritones carrying anyway.
An array of expressions flick across Erma’s face, understanding every word uttered from Mitus’ shrewd lips. Whatever they’re saying, she’s not agreeing with but is choosing to allow Jaemes to endure the argument alone.
Jaemes has proven he can hold his own. The fact that he is openly challenging his father and leader of the Igna Tribe’s prejudices in verbal brawl is proof. He will make a great leader of his own someday. With his authoritarian straight back and piercing eyes which dare a challenge when he isn’t mocking those beneath him, he’ll surpass his brothers for the head seat.
I know he doesn’t desire it, though. Jaemes would rather be a protector - a warrior - than a leader. But those who don’t want the head seat tend to be the best at it, for they aren’t corrupt with greed and gluttony. Their rule will be fair and just. Jaemes is capable of such, and I believe, down to my bones, Mitus is aware of this. When his life comes to an end by battle, he will leave his place as leader in the capable hands of his youngest son, even upon his son’s refusal.
The sandman gingerly sits back down on the log, picks up a stick, and pokes at the flames with provoking jabs. His mind travels elsewhere, and he blinks rapidly like he’s afraid to leave the fire unattended for the mere second a proper blink would take.
I turn my gaze to Erline and glare, placing immediate blame. “Why is Kat in the woods, unprotected?”
Mitus scuffs. “She is anything but unprotected. She’s unstable. I’ve never seen such power in all my existence. Not even our legends mention something its equal.”
“Oh?” I say, quirking a brow at him. I do not enjoy the hostility behind his accented tone, and I sense Dyson bristle with me.
Katriane DuPont has power even the fee can’t comprehend. Though they’ve never said it aloud, I can see it in the fear in their eyes whenever her name is mentioned. She’s an unpredictable creature, now more so than ever. But still, I feel as there are many to blame.
“Who pushed her?” I growl. “Who made her feel the need for solace?”
Dyson whips his head to Erline, eyes narrowed.
“It was I,” Erline says simply. “She didn’t like the answers she bargained for.”
“And that is?” I fist my hands on my hips to hide my fingers. They’re twitching with the need to call Ire. Dyson snarls at Erline. Behind him, a large blond man grips his shoulders and mumbles softly in his ear. I catch a few of the words, and tense further when one of them graces my ears: ‘mates.’
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
The sandman, ominous in tone and tending the fire, recaps all he has heard. I listen, quietly seething. It feels like the wind is blown from my chest by the time he’s done, and I take a heavy seat on a log behind me, wings drooped in defeat. The madness never ends.
One particular statement ricochets inside my head: the fee can’t take a mate without sharing their power - without vulnerability on both parties’ behalf.
Is this why Erma has denied me? It would explain why she’s held back from what we shared when times were simpler, when sneaking was easier. Our relationship is on display for the entire realm, and more.
Corbin knows of it, too, along with all the angels. All the elves must be aware as well if the stare Mitus has directed at the side of my head is anything to go by. His gaze feels like daggers, twisting and turning against my cheek in hopes it will become uncomfortable enough that definitive answers will be revealed. I don’t plan to give him any. My business is mine alone.
It would also explain why Erma finds it all too easy to despise me. By keeping me at a distance, she’s effectively saved me and herself. Mates can kill their fee mates, but I can’t believe she’d ever think I’d do such a thing. It hurts more than I care to admit, like all the hope is sucked from my world.
Aside from that, if we were to mate and share what power she has, if the angels were to retaliate, it would destroy the entire realm. A mated couple taking on hundreds of powerful warriors would end in sure demise.
Fee mating isn’t common knowledge, nor are the repercussions of it, and to share it with this gr
oup must be hard for the fee. This is their weakness, a chink in a carefully guarded chain. Though it cripples me with despair, it can be used against our enemy.
I look to Erma, her hard eyes directly on mine. The black orbs speak volumes - fear, anger, aggression, wariness - but I see behind her exterior. She can’t hide from me. I’m tautly aware of everything about her.
Those eyes lack the one thing I search for, however. There may be an abundance of longing for what we once shared, but there’s no relief that I now know why we can’t be together.
“You all are tim-tato,” Jaemes mumbles at my side.
I shoot out a hand and punch the back of his knee, grateful for his distraction and outlet for my emotions.
Falling to the ground with an oof, his landing causes puffs of white fluffy snow to rise like dust. He surely called us an unkind name, but I’m used to it by now. I don’t need to understand his language to know he is calling us all crazy. His honesty and truth are irritating, but he’s quite right. All of this does feel that way - a hopeless impossibility. A tangled web.
I never thought the day would come when I’d find myself agreeing with him. Perhaps I’m spending too much time with this creature.
Erma stiffens without cause, and I glance up at her at the same time Erline calls her name.
“What is it?” Erline asks quietly.
Erma surveys the group, meeting each of our curious gazes. “Someone new is in my realm.”
“Who?” I ask, running a hand over my face. This is what true exhaustion feels like, and for a moment, I envy those who can sleep.
Neither Jaemes nor I have rested yet. Black blood and goop from our enemies are dried on our skin, and my clothes are close to tatters. I don’t sleep, but a soft bed would be welcome nonetheless.
“Friend or foe?” Erline asks, gripping Erma’s shoulders.
She smacks her lips. “Salty. It tastes salty.”
“Demon,” Jaemes grumbles, knowing that the creature’s realm is filled with sulfur. “Do you have any demon friends?” The question is rhetorical. A guardian never makes allies with a demon, let alone their creator. They’re too unpredictable, and just as vampires, their only goal is their next feed.
