Reborn

by D. Fischer

  When Reaper’s Breath had aided me before, it allowed me to bring some sort of peace to my soul. I had watched Flint destroy the one who had strung me. He had pushed the chair from under my feet and stood at my back as I struggled, my feet flailing, my nails digging at the rope, the blood trapped inside my face while every vein felt like it would burst. Zane felt nothing for my impending death. He was a willing slave to his leader.

  Flint challenged Zane, avenging me even though I wasn’t deserving of it. I was a traitor to my Pack . . . dishonorable. I had partially materialized, haunting Flint. He had seen me—our eyes had connected before he ripped the heart out of the enemy with his bare hand. But crossing like that—becoming partially manifested, haunting in the Earth’s Realm—takes a lot out of a shade. To stay visible for long takes far more energy than we hold—those mere minutes left me weak for days.

  I huff to myself. I don’t regret it.

  The fog expands up my arm before crossing my torso, swirling around my entire body in flowing waves. With no wind to direct Reaper’s Breath, it’s slightly unnerving. It’s one thing to see fog, it’s another thing to witness it move on its own. Even so, I know the creature means me no harm.

  As it moves, I take a moment, remembering what it felt like to be human. A gentle breeze across bare skin, a ruffle of my hair. What my Pack smelled like. I let my mind bring up their images, their faces, their pitches of voice. Flint’s goofy laugh flashes and I hold onto the sound with desperation, remembering every detail of its tone. His face comes closer and closer in my mind’s eye, and I dive into the memory of him. Relief floods me, momentarily taking over my grief.

  It’s working.

  *****

  I find myself hovering, invisible, in the familiar woods I once roamed within the Cloven Pack’s territory. This is home . . . was home.

  A patch of trees is still missing—a tornado had torn through not too long ago, though it feels like it’s been ages since. I was so angry back then, an emotion I’m presently regretting ever existed in my living soul. Life is too short, I know this now. It’s a lesson I learned too late.

  It’s still dark—the early morning light has yet to show.

  New trees are popping up through the soil, life blooming once more after devastation wiped the others from existence. I stare at it for a moment, knowing I won’t be able to bend and touch it, to feel it’s silk run through my fingertips. To feel a callus on my palm snagging at the rivets. I’m not here. Even now, the breeze passes through me as if I’m nothing, nonexistent . . . nobody. This is simply a haunting, my shade’s body left in the Tween to preserve energy. If I were to manifest, it’d take more energy than I have to spare.

  As a being of the dead, it’s the little things I miss. The comfort of home, the evidence of life—of a beating heart, a growing organism, a crisp smell, the hot baking sun. Everything was taken for granted when I could still breathe, when my heart still pounded within my chest.

  A canine bark echoes ahead before it travels through the trees. I know that bark, I grew up with that bark. My wolf perks inside me, his ear tilting at attention.

  Floating through the trees like a balloon directed by the wind, neatly trimmed grass spills into the clearing as I come to the edge of the forest. Flint’s gray wolf is bent forward, swishing his tail from side to side as he teases Kenna’s black wolf. Her wolf patiently waits, watching him bounce and prance before she strikes, tackling him to the thick grass. She’s always been fast. It ceases to amaze me.

  I float beyond them to the stairs that climb the deck. Irene, Bre, and Victoria sit, chatting amongst themselves, mugs of tea littering the outdoor table.

  Through the sliding glass door, I see Kelsey, her round, pregnant belly forcing her dining room chair away from the table.

  Jeremy, her mate, grabs cookies lathered in pink frosting from a jar and places them in front of her. He kisses the top of her red-haired head while running his hand over her stomach.

  A baby babbles in the blue highchair, his bright blond hair spiking in every direction as Evo feeds him yellow mushy food with a blue baby spoon. The baby opens his mouth like a new bird waiting for its mother to drop a slice of worm inside its mouth. His little arms wave in the air in anticipation for his next bite.

  I watch them for a moment until parts of the women’s conversation rips me from my sorrow.

  “Whatever happened to Katriane? How is she doing these days?” Brenna askes Irene.

  Irene shrugs underneath her large coat. I imagine this fall air is chilling. “I don’t know. She hasn’t been returning my calls.”

  Victoria shifts in her seat. “Remember that bonfire? Do you think what she said—about the Fee . . .. Do you think it’s all true?”

  Scratching her cheek, Brenna answers, “It makes sense. She spoke of Erline—is that her name?” Irene nods. “She spoke of Erline like she knew her.”

  Shrugging again, Irene averts her gaze back to her mate playing on the grass with our Alpha female . . . their Alpha female. “She does. I just haven’t gotten any answers from her yet.”

  Brenna bends forward. “You asked?”

  “Of course I did.” Irene crosses her ankles, grabs her mug, and takes a sip before setting it back down. “She won’t tell me a thing. Kat is hiding something, and I intend to get answers. Someday, anyway.”

  The women are silent for a moment before Victoria speaks, “How involved do you think she is with the Fee?”

  “Well,” Brenna begins, “she did say that witches are Erline’s daughters. I’m guessing she plays a big part with the world we never knew existed.”

  I tune out the conversation, my mind working frantically. Kat—Kat was the witch that conducted that mating ceremony last winter. Irene is a smart, educated woman. If she’s suspicious of her, enough so that she isn’t letting whatever Kat did, go, it stands to reason that there’s something more going on here.

  If she’s dabbling with the fee, could Katriane be the reason for the shift? It takes a powerful being to be such. Did she experiment with the dark? I don’t know much about witches, but I imagine there are consequences for such things. It’s worth investigating. For a moment, I find myself frustrated. How am I going to do any investigating in this realm if I’m stuck in the other?

  The sliding glass door swings open, Evo stepping outside with a bundled-up baby wrapped in his arms.

  “Coleman,” Brenna coos, sticking out her arms to her brother, asking to hold the baby.

  A ping hits my chest, filling it with consuming emotions. They named the baby after my last name.

  Denial, anger, sorrow—it rips through me like a shredder, even though I know I have no right. They still love me. They named their baby after me. I’m loved. I’m missed. And I’m stuck, dead.

  With practiced ease, I allow Reaper’s Death to pull me back to the Tween, my living Pack mates disappearing in the swirling fog.

  ELIZA PLAATS

  THE TWEEN

  My breath mists out in front of me, swirling and swaying in an unnatural, circular pattern. The fog is less dense, my vision clearer. I can now see the trees surrounding me, their sparse leaves blowing in the slight breeze, though I can only hear it.

  There’s a smell now. What is that smell? It’s rich. Earthy. Spicy. I can’t place it.

  “Hello?” I call out, the word rushing across my tongue. I turn around, searching for him, until my eyes land on the figure I just met.

  He stands before the rails of the train, his hands in his pockets. This time he doesn’t wait for me to call again before he lifts his head. His bright blue eyes shine a little brighter, his jaw less set—less hard.

  Those baby blues search my face in a scorching slow motion, seeming to soak in every detail passed down from my mother and her mother before that. I tilt my head when his eyes land on my lips, his lips parting, but a breath of mist doesn’t escape like mine does.

  I take a step forward and his eyes shoot back to mine, the hard, soulless stare seeing right th
rough me. His lips close, his jaw ticks, the muscles ripple in his cheeks.

  My mind flashes back to the corpse on my gurney. That muscle was dead, lifeless, no brain activity to construct its movements. But here he stands, a contradiction to the laws of life.

  I dip my head and take another step. The smell grows stronger as I move closer. My breath comes in heavier spurts, the mist clouding my vision of him. I take another step. His body grows rigid as he eyes me carefully. The square jaw at the edge of his face angles when he shifts his head, speculating, considering, unsure.

  One more step. I stand before him, taking him into my lungs, drinking in the aroma that’s swirling around my head, up my nose, and licking my taste buds. My eyes flicker shut, savoring the flavor.

  The lightest of touches brush my cheek, stroking me in places I never knew existed. It heats my insides, fogs my thoughts, flutters my stomach, and fills my heart.

  My lids twitch but I keep them closed for fear I’ll wake. This is but a dream. A lonely dream, but still a dream. I keep them closed for fear it’ll stop. I lean into it and he pulls back a fraction. I freeze and squeeze my eyes, the skin wrinkling around the edges as I pray for his hand to return.

  The pad of his thumb touches my lips, rubbing along the seam as he memorizes the texture. The breath I’ve been holding escapes, a relieved sigh. His skin brushes once more and my shoulders relax, a sense of comfort and ease taking over. My reason for being returns, his skin scorching into mine, reminding me who I am. Loneliness fades, replaced with a sense of belonging.

  His skin leaves mine, only to move to my chin. He grips it with soft but sure fingers, tilting my head back. I don’t hear him shuffle forward but I can feel him move closer. The slight vibrations of the breeze are now blocked by the man before me. I inhale, wanting one more taste.

  Slowly, with an ease I’ve never had, I open my lids. I can only see his eyes as he towers above me. The blue depths are clearer, more intricate, as I search within them for the reason of all this, as if those very eyes hold the key to my questions.

  Hunger, curiosity, wonder, float inside the still swirls of blue freckled with gray. He blinks, his lashes impossibly long. The sweet, delicious scent fans my face as he takes another careful breath.

  His eyes flit back and forth between mine, his face carefully blank. He leans forward a fraction, searching my face, my eyes, my soul.

  With tender ease, his eyes close as his lips brush against mine. Just one. Feather-like. Enough to make me want more.

  I need more.

  The heat in my lower abdomen is ablaze, swirling like the pits of hell with an insatiable need and an unquenchable desire. The thoughts in my mind are no longer heard. The flutters in my stomach an intense tickle. My heart pounding out of my chest, reminding me it beats. But his shouldn’t.

  Ignoring my sense of feeling so out of place, I move my lips against his as he brushes once more. Flicking out my tongue, I taste him. His hand reaches from my chin to my nape, tilting my head back and stroking the inside of my mouth. A gentle encounter, a careful massage.

  I sigh and place my hand on his hips. His body tightens, ridged under my cautious fingers, his tongue pulling back into his mouth. He breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against mine. My eyelids flutter open and explore the man before me.

  And I gasp.

  I can see through him. He isn’t real. He’s . . . he’s partially invisible.

  Just as I’m lifting my hand to touch his cheek, to see if my fingers would slip through his flawless, transparent skin, he speaks. It caresses my insides and my mouth parts once more as his breath fans over me. “It’s time.”

  My eyebrows knit together. “Time for what?” He doesn’t answer. He breathes me in before pain and anguish contort his angelic features. “Time for what?” I repeat.

  With one hand, he pulls the string of his hood from its hole. He wads it up in his fingers and places the string in my palm, folding my hand around it.

  His hand slips from my hair as I’m pulled away by an invisible force. “No. No, I don’t want to wake.” His hand remains, suspended in air, even after I’m a few feet away, before he stuffs his hands back into his pockets, watching me as I go against my will.

  *****

  My eyelids flutter open, taking in the detail etched along my ceiling. A hot tear falls from my cheek. I touch my lips, the kiss still burning my delicate skin. Another tear falls, creating a straight trail down to the curve of my jaw.

  I move my arm, my fingers twitching from their balled-up clench. Something smooth rubs against the inside of my palm and I open my hand. Knitted cloth nestled within the cup of my palm. What the hell is going on?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  MYLA’S PAST

  Corbin lifts the lid of the wooden chest I ran my fingers along when I first entered the bedroom yesterday.

  It’s dark outside, another day gone. I’ve been cooped in this house while Corbin did who know’s what and who knows where. He just came back, as if he didn’t abandon me, leaving me to fend for myself in a world I know nothing about. There’s no food in this house and my stomach growls it’s protest. I don’t know how to hunt, there’s no fridge, no microwave. I feel small and insignificant here. I want my modern day comfort back. I want to leave this place.

  Corbin crosses his arms over his chest. “These were Myla’s dresses.”

  I sniff, glancing at the fine fabrics belonging only to this time period, eyeing them with disgust. I note there’s nothing remotely black in here, and everything is a dress. I haven’t worn a dress since my mother was the one who dressed me. “And what do you want me to do with them?”

  He looks over his shoulder, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Wear them, of course. If you’re going to be here, you must blend in. Get dressed, I’m taking you to eat.”

  “I’m not wearing that,” I declare, backing up a step and curling my lip.

  Taking a step toward me, he sneers, “You will.”

  We hold each other’s eyes, neither wanting to back down, before my stomach growls so loud, his attention flicks to my abdomen.

  Rolling my eyes, I take step toward the chest, careful to avoid him. Reluctantly, I pick up the first dress, examining the dark blue fabric and running it between my fingertips. “Won’t they already know I’m not from here? It’s a small village. Someone is bound to notice a newcomer.”

  He straightens his spine, the man with all the answers, while unfolding his arms to wave a large hand in the air. “Don’t worry about such things. You’re my niece.” I turn my head, an eyebrow raised. “That’s the story.” His tone is final and not up for negotiations.

  “Right,” I state with sarcasm, my lip curling, before returning my eyes back to the dress. “And what do you plan to tell them about your disappearance before their eyes?”

  “Simple,” he says from behind me. “My wife was a witch who sent me to the woods.”

  I briefly shut my eyes, the memories of her death still haunting me, threatening to rip my soul from my body piece by piece. I wish I never came here, that I wasn’t forced witnessed it. I’ll be damned if this goes unpunished when I return.

  “Your eyes are glowing,” Corbin says, humor in his tone.

  ELIZA PLAATS

  EARTH REALM

  “Hey Eliza,” Dr. Cassandra Grant greets me, her face and thoughts distracted, as I walk into the Attending’s Lounge. Dark circles line her eyelids, as if she hadn’t had any sleep.

  The room is empty, but the coffee pot has a fresh brew bubbling inside, filling the space with a pleasant aroma. My fellow surgeons will be trickling in soon, just to consume that coffee. If I plan to have a cup, I better do it now.

  Cassandra glances up at me. “You look like crap. What the hell did you do last night?”

  “Didn’t sleep much,” I grumble, hooking the strap of my purse inside my locker. I grab my lab coat and slip my arms through it.

  She glances at me, eyeing me with spe
culation. She seems like she’s about to say something, her mind working frantically, deciding if she should or not. Her eyes relax as soon as she comes to a decision, whatever that may be, and her lips twist before she speaks, “Look, I know losing your mother last year was rough, and that guy you couldn’t revive . . . If you need to talk to someone . . .”

  I wave off her unspoken request. “I’ll be fine.”

  When my mom passed, she left me alone. I have no one left to call family. My job is consuming, leaving no room to date. I have no one. Nothing. The evidence of my lonely life is plastered on my face, the way I walk, the posture I hold myself in, the dreams my subconscious conjures, and the distance I keep from others.

  The petite nose in the middle of her face usually wrinkles when she knows I’m lying, but today, she’s distracted. For that, I’m grateful. “All right. But the offer is there if you ever need it.”

  I nod, turning my back on her as I grab my stethoscope and take a moment to breathe. I should ask her what’s wrong, but right now, I’m selfishly consumed with myself. “Were you on call last night?”

  “No, but I was called in.”

  I glance over my shoulder, seeing the fake smile on her mouth matching that of her falsely excited tone.

  “There was a pile up on 5th and 7th. Shortly after I arrived home,” she pauses and gulps. I almost ask her what’s wrong, but I figure if she wanted me to know, she’d tell me. Right? “I was called to return. They said you had rough night, and asked if I would take over for you. I’ve been in surgery most of the morning already.”

  “You should nap,” I mutter, before turning my body to face her once more.