The Siren

by Petra Landon

  Sliding off the bed, she ambled to the window to take in the distant lights on Telegraph Hill. Something about the vista always made her feel at peace. She loved this view and her room at the Lair. For the first time in a long while, the sentiment did not generate the surge of dread and panic in her it once had. Appreciation for the Lair or the Pack did not freak her out anymore. The Lair was slowly but surely starting to feel like home, albeit a heavily guarded abode with unwritten rules for its inhabitants. But Tasia understood and even appreciated the rules — they had, after all, contributed to according her the safe haven she’d subconsciously been seeking. Sara and Hawk’s friendship continued to nourish and enrich her, and her new Shifter acquaintances made her daily existence less isolating. No longer barred from venturing out, she did so frequently in the company of her Shifter escorts. Duncan, in charge of the arrangements, always made sure that Tasia’s bodyguards were Shifters she had a nodding acquaintance with.

  Not only was she finding her feet with the Pack, she was also evolving — learning their ways, and refining her instincts when it came to the unpredictable and difficult Shifters. In the beginning, barring Hawk and his twin, she’d tarred them all with the same brush — volatile, aggressive, perplexing and violent. Their Alpha, as the living, breathing embodiment of these qualities, had only reinforced her perception of the Wyrs. She’d worked hard to steer clear of them, sleepwalking her way through the days, determined to keep to the background always. Instinctively, probably subconsciously, she’d attempted to cohabit with the Shifters in much the same manner she’d lived amongst the Si’ffa. Not surprising, given that she knew of no other way to survive. But with each passing day, she blossomed; her confidence grew with her contributions to the investigation and her dealings with the Shifters. Gradually, she had learnt to separate the wheat from the chaff — discern which Shifter to avoid and who to look upon as an ally, which one to back away from and who never to back down from. Slowly, but surely, she was mastering the intricacies of the Pack, its subtle cues, complicated politics, and dangerous denizens.

  Yet, he continued to be the elephant in the room and her biggest conundrum. Despite the glimpses of the man under the Wyr Alpha, he was still something of an enigma to her. The irony did not escape Tasia. The Shifter who generated the strongest emotion and the most confusion in her was also the only man she trusted with her secrets. Her mother had perished in the attempt to escape powerful adversaries, while her father had sacrificed himself to shield Tasia from the same Magicks. And during her years in hiding from these Chosen, she’d faced many choices — split-second decisions whose outcomes would decide whether she lived to fight for another day or whether the legacy, of blood and ugly compromise, that had birthed her was laid bare before her brethren. Yet, despite the many difficult choices along the way, the Alpha was the only Chosen for whom she’d compromised some of the rigid guidelines she was forced to live with — a set of inflexible and exacting principles, drummed into her to ensure her survival where others had failed. Arguably, in the beginning, he’d given her little choice in the matter — it’d been a matter of survival for her. But later, she had willingly broken the ground rules to put her faith in him.

  But tough as the early decision to trust him and throw her lot in with the Pack had been, the quandary confronting her now was infinitely more complicated, with far-reaching and catastrophic consequences if she made the wrong choice. To make matters worse, she could no longer trust her instincts or emotions to guide her. Her heart, the old friend that had seen her through hard times galore, sang a vastly different tune now — a mad refrain that urged her to throw all caution to the winds for once in her life and reach for the stars. All it entailed, her heart whispered insidiously, was to take a step forward and meet him halfway. Would it be that terrible if the worst came to pass, it hinted. He was a Wyr. He could not possibly possess the magic to unlock what was coded into her blood. Did she really want to benumb her heart and sacrifice her shot at happiness for something that was unlikely to ever come to pass? Despite the traitorous voice inside her, Tasia fought with everything in her from giving in. Her heart was compromised, she reminded herself fiercely, and this was a decision better left to her head. But each passing day made it a little harder to suppress the call of her heart. What stopped her from giving in was the knowledge that going to him might bring the fragile house of cards down around her head. Such a collapse would be fatal, not only for her but for many others. While she could justify such a gamble for herself, it would be selfish of her to risk the others.

  A picture of him rose in her mind. A long-limbed, tall Shifter leaning back against the huge desk in the Alpha’s Room, to listen intently to Duncan. The gold eyes were impassive, with no hint of the formidable brain behind the inscrutable Shifter facade. As usual, there was a stillness to him, as if he held himself in check with unalloyed will power. This fiercely guarded and coldly restrained man was what the world saw. To Tasia though, it merely signified the calm before the storm. Occasionally, she wondered what storm it was that had the fearless Alpha leash himself so from.

  Her cell beeped abruptly to interrupt her musings, the sound loud in the silent room. With a sigh, she gave up the lovely view, to make her way to the nightstand.

  Think of the devil.

  Have a solution to our little problem.

  For a moment, she stared blankly at the screen.

  What problem?

  The response was immediate.

  Christ, woman, how many do we have?

  Tasia summoned the will power to stop her teeth from grinding.

  This man … aargh.

  But she was to face more provocation as the phone beeped once more.

  Book the training hall for noon. An hour, this time. Don’t want the whole Lair walking in on my business.

  CHAPTER 3

  The Guardian comes to town

  The next morning, Duncan strode into the Alpha’s Room with Roman Durovic in tow. Raoul, in conversation with Jason LaRue, broke it off to address the duo.

  “Trouble?” he asked.

  The way things were unfolding, Raoul knew it was only a matter of time before trouble came looking. Though by his calculation, they were still a few months from all hell breaking loose.

  Duncan shook his head, closing the door to seal the room. “Roman has news.”

  Sprawled in the single chair by the desk, Jason looked hopeful. “The third sister?”

  “ElDarZin” the Ancient intoned.

  The pithy word had everyone in the room springing to attention.

  Duncan’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought he was dead.”

  “Probably is” Roman acknowledged. “Though no one seems to know for sure. I’ve been trying to track down old colleagues and friends, anyone that knew him before he went to work for the Lombardis.”

  “And?” Jason prompted eagerly.

  “I found one. He’s Setik, like ElDarZin. That makes it easy. I reached out to him through intermediaries and he’s agreed to talk to me.”

  “When?” the Alpha inquired.

  Roman met his eyes. “Soon. I don’t want to scare him away and if I show up with a bunch of Shifters in tow, I won’t get much out of him. But if it’s just you and you leave most of the talking to me …” his voice trailed off, leaving the decision up to the Alpha.

  “Go for it, Durovic” Raoul agreed without hesitation. He had no qualms about Roman pumping ElDarZin’s friend for information about the First One. With his vast array of connections, Durovic continued to push their investigation forward whenever it was stymied by a lack of leads or information. TorElnor’s heir was surprisingly adept at digging into the past, to unearth obscure clues that translated into real leads they could follow. “Where is he?”

  “Greece. The isle of Corfu.”

  “That puts you near Italy, Raoul” Duncan interjected. “Faoladh’s investigators could update us on Venice. Kill two birds with one stone that way.”

  The Alpha concurred. �
�Then, on to Belize.”

  “I’ll work out the dates” Roman asserted.

  “After Sienna’s Guardian visits us, we should squeeze DiZeyla and David in for an update” Raoul reminded them. “I don’t want to delay our outreach to the Ancients any longer. She’s getting restless — we must work fast to build a coalition. My gut tells me we don’t have much time.”

  “Sienna needs a day to fly home and pick up her passport, and I must do the same” Jason chimed in.

  “I’ll work with Roman on a schedule” Duncan said to the Alpha. “And rope in Luis for the arrangements.”

  Any stop outside their turf meant advance notice to the local Pack, per Wyr custom. It was a careful dance that had to be choreographed in advance or it could go very wrong.

  “Faoladh has offered to pave the way” Raoul said. “Let’s take him up on it, Duncan. At such short notice, his arrangements will beat anything the Pack can swing.”

  “I’ll get in touch with his people” the English Shifter assented.

  Roman turned to the Guardian. “Any news from San Diego?”

  Jason shrugged. “I’m out of the loop. I hear occasional snatches of gossip from the corridors of power. But I’m persona non-grata right now.”

  He frowned. “Why do you ask? Have you heard anything, Roman?”

  “ElThor is enraged about what went down. Faoladh informed him of San Diego even before TorElnor had a chance to talk to him about it.”

  “Let’s hope ElThor does something about it” Jason remarked somberly. In his heart, he knew it was likely that the First Ones would choose to stand by the sidelines, as they always had. Taking sides in Chosen affairs was anathema to the Ancients. But since this particular brouhaha involved the Wizards and the Shifters, perhaps the First Ones would bestir themselves to calm the waters. Or they might just leave it to Faoladh to sort it out, trusting in the Alpha Wyr’s instincts and decisions.

  The Alpha gestured at his shoulder. “Hit me with an L2 blast” he directed.

  Taken aback, Tasia stared at him. “L2s don’t have enough magic for a blast” she offered in some confusion.

  “Alright” he said equably. “Hit me with whatever you’re comfortable with.”

  Tasia targeted a focused blast of magic at his shoulder. He showed little reaction, and she felt compelled to ask. “Did you feel it?”

  “Something brushed my shoulder” he acknowledged.

  “My best estimate is that was L5” she explained.

  “Comes easy to you?” he asked.

  Tasia nodded. Level 5 magic was what she felt comfortable playing with. Any more and she must be hyper-vigilant to control it. She was ever conscious that what was in her had the potential to destruct and devastate.

  “I’ve been thinking about what you said at the last session” he mused aloud. “If L5 is easy for you, lets cap the magic to that. Use L5 on me, no more, and when I feel anything, even just a whisper of power brushing by, I’ll slow down. This way, you don’t use more power than you’re comfortable with when we train.”

  He’d given this a lot of thought, Tasia realized, both relieved and grateful to him. She wanted these training sessions. There was much she could learn from him. But not at the cost of inadvertently harming him. Even a Wyr could be injured. It would take monumental power and extraordinary ability to wound one but given what she was, Tasia did not intend to risk it. She was very averse to hurting this particular Shifter.

  “That work for you?” he pressed her, as she remained lost in thought.

  Tasia’s eyes shot to him. “Yes, thank you. It works. Just …” she paused.

  “What?” he prompted.

  “You’re so fast and this hall doesn’t allow me much room to maneuver.”

  “That’s what makes it perfect. We train for the worst case scenario, witchling. If you can best me in here, you’ll have a good shot with Chosen out in the open. The leeches are fast and some will come flying at you, unlike a Shifter.”

  Tasia knew he was right. Her magic gave her an advantage over Chosen, but only at a distance. The consequences of getting up close and personal with a Vampire would not be good for her at all. Within touching distance, she lost all advantage.

  “One more thing. What did you use in the woods to protect Nandini and yourself?” he interjected. “The leeches couldn’t touch you.”

  “It was similar to magic armor, except I anchored it to the ground around us, rather than on us. That way, Nandini and I had more room to move under it.”

  He grasped the strategy immediately. “Like a bubble of magic enveloping you” he murmured approvingly. “Very clever, witchling. Not only protects you, but also keeps your adversary at a distance.”

  “Yes” Tasia affirmed. In the woods, she’d wanted to avoid the complication of pushing back the Blutsaugers while they attempted to breach her armor. That would require a lot more focus from her. “Distance makes it easier to hold the magic. I can’t be distracted easily.”

  He cocked his head, recollecting their previous encounter. “Why didn’t you try that on me last session? I’d never be able to sweep you off your feet with a bubble protecting you.”

  “It takes time to build one” Tasia said slowly. “I didn’t have it, so I created a shield to guard my upper half — akin to partial armor. It was easy for you to slip under.”

  “Hmm … how much time do you need to create a bubble?”

  “A few minutes, if it’s just me. The more people I include inside the bubble, the more time I need. It’s not complicated magic, but I have to work it carefully. In the woods, you bought me the time to protect Nandini.”

  He pondered her words carefully, strategizing on how best to utilize her strengths if she came under attack. In the woods with Nandini, she’d done a fantastic job securing both the Ancient and herself. Barring the rookie mistake of letting down her guard too early. With a little experience, she would not make such mistakes in the future.

  “If I weave a bubble, no Chosen gets through the magic” Tasia asserted with growing confidence.

  The gold eyes flashed to her. “Then, your strategy should be to buy the time to weave it, witchling.”

  Chalk it out and string it together, piece by piece, while she held the ones circling her at bay, until her magic was ready and could protect her from their onslaught. It would take some doing and a great deal of practice but it was a worthy goal to aim for, Tasia recognized.

  “I can do it” she said to him, determination threading her voice. “But it’ll take some work to get the hang of it.”

  “No time to waste, witchling.” He strode to the end of the hall.

  Tasia eyeballed the space, drawing a mental picture of the room to chalk out a strategy for where and how to make a stand. If she was to successfully spin the magic piecemeal, she couldn’t afford to careen around the hall too much.

  Like before, he came at her as a fast-moving blur, zigzagging around the hall to steer clear of her magic blasts. The movements of her arm and pointed palms as she tracked him gave her away, Tasia grasped immediately. It was a huge clue to where her magic was directed. It came instinctually to her — this is how Wizards were taught to blast their magic. But she had an advantage over other Wizards, Tasia prodded herself. Her magic had rarely been deployed since her early days training with her father. Thus, unlike other Wizards, her blasts were not second-nature to her and she ought to be able to disguise them better. Tasia concentrated on changing her tactics, so as to make it harder for him to gauge where she aimed her magic. It was an additional aspect to master but she believed it to be crucial to successfully thwarting an attack.

  He came at her, time and again, tirelessly putting her through her paces. In the beginning, she lost every bout within moments. After a handful of attempts, she improved a tad, becoming versed at alternating between weaving sections of a bubble and targeting the fast-moving Shifter with her magic. But he was too preternally fast for her to successfully mark him, which left Tasia with little ti
me to construct her protective bubble before he got close enough to take her down. After a quarter hour, he called a halt. Tasia was breathing heavily, having been run ragged trying to pinpoint him and make contact. But she fancied that she had the hang of multi-tasking on the bubble of magic in between the blasts. Each unsuccessful bout helped her to finetune her game plan. At the same time, Tasia understood what a tall order it was to best the Alpha.

  “Take a few” he called, sauntering over to join her as Tasia slumped wearily onto the floor.

  Parking himself by the wall, he studied her. Tasia noted that unlike her, he wasn’t even winded.

  He couldn’t resist teasing her. “You’re out of shape, witchling.”

  Gray eyes clashed with his. “What I am is being run ragged by a Shifter” she huffed out indignantly.

  The gold eyes gleamed. “For a good cause. When I’m through, this Shifter will be the only one to catch you. No one else.”

  Tasia straightened, her weariness forgotten. “What makes you think you’re going to catch me?” she demanded.

  “You’ll let me, witchling” he responded imperturbably.

  Her eyes widened but before she could respond, he professed softly. “I will always catch you.”

  The words felt like a premonition. Tasia fought off a shiver, hoping the pledge was a portent of the future as the shadow of darkness slowly converged on their world to change it forever. And not a presage to confronting him across Chosen fault lines while they fought for opposing causes. It struck Tasia, like a bolt out of the blue, that her circumstances and prior avowals were not the only factors that stopped her from giving in to her heart. Her misgivings about what his Wyr loyalties might force him into, as their world descended into chaos, also played a significant part in her indecision. She trusted him. But she also knew only too well that some pledges were hard to keep, especially those complicated by commitments made in the past. His Shifter code of honor tied him to Faoladh with chains he would not find easy to rupture.