by D. Fischer
Evo lifts his head, finds Dyson, and calls to him. “Welcome home, Dyson,” he says, his voice booming. Dyson shuffles, slightly uncomfortable.
At the large baritone, each light flips on in the house mere seconds later. The front door is wrenched open, slamming against the inside wall, and the pack swarms from the house with beaming smiles.
“Go,” I whisper, nudging Dyson with my elbow. His body is vibrating with the need to meet and greet everyone he thought he’d never see again. This is his second chance, and I’ll be damned if my presence stands in the way of it.
Quickly, he pecks the top of my head, unfurls his arm from around my waist, and jogs to the pack gathered around the Alpha pair. Hugs and laughter are exchanged, tears well in the eyes of those who missed him, and pats on the shoulder jostle his frame.
As an outsider, a loner – a disowned witch – my chest pangs at the sight of so many embraces. I’ll never have this kind of welcoming home even if I, too, sacrificed myself and my future for someone else’s. I sealed that fate when I made a deal to save them. I knew the rules and I disobeyed them. I’d do it again in a heartbeat. When I find myself back at my coven’s home, begging them to fight for the realms, will my mother, Janine DuPont, shed tears for me the way his friends do? Will Astrid, my coven’s leader, shove me out the door as quickly as I enter? What kind of shame will I have to endure before my quest is completed?
“You are correct, daughter of my daughter,” Erline whispers like velvet.
Aware of my inner turmoil, of the discussion Mother Earth and I are soon to have, Aiden and Eliza, hand in hand, step away from the portal closing at our backs and join the shifters in greeting. I suspect Aiden is dragging Eliza along, so she can get over her human fear of these known predators. If only she knew they’re as cuddly as teddy bears . . . if you’re a friend. Eliza seems to always be jumpy, and I wonder if most of his irritation is because he constantly has to push himself not to feed from it.
Erline tucks my short hair behind an ear. “There is a hard road in front of you and pain paved behind.”
“When hasn’t there been. And, like the masochist I am, I still blindly stumble along it.”
Slowly, she leans in and kisses the top of my head. My sarcastic sneer slopes in a frown. She’s never showed such affection before. It’s always been hate and spite between us, festering wounds blistered so deep I would have never considered such kindness from her. Not directed toward me, anyway.
Despite my best efforts, my heart softens for the woman I once deemed malicious. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve endured, and yet, here I am, melting into the peck, in need of comfort from the only motherly figure around. The only motherly figure willing, I suppose.
“Your life, your fate, has been unfair to you. The world is cruel, little dragon. Harsh, dark, and full of so much hate, it can strip you bare if you let it. The goal isn’t to simply survive it. The goal is to find peace even when you’re so broken, so naked, that your soul is the only flame left to shine light where the darkness devours.”
“Peace is only a word until you experience it.” Just like love.
Love. Will I ever find such a thing? Will I know the deeper meaning behind just the word that doesn’t do it justice? I stare at Dyson and wonder if I can find room for him in the heart he’s pieced back together. Is it possible for me to feel for him the way I know he does for me? And perhaps I do. Perhaps the heat brushing across my cheeks, the hope gushing in my veins . . . I grip my stomach against the flutter squatting there. Maybe it’s exactly that: Love.
“Yes,” she says.
I’m quiet for a moment, watching as the shifters get their first real glimpse of a true demon. Most are rigid under Aiden’s inspection. Some back away, but Kenna, the stubborn woman that she is, has no such aversion for the infamous Thrice-Born. What kind of name is that anyway? In fact, I think she’s fascinated by him. What he can do is the opposite of what she can do. She can read others’ emotions, but he feeds from them.
The brunette Alpha female props her arm on Aiden’s shoulder, a large feat considering he’s exponentially taller than her. And as I watch, as I ponder, Eliza’s stiff shoulders visibly relax under the light pressure of shifter questions.
“Sometimes I’m not sure if the fight for peace is worth it,” I mumble. “There may be sprinkles of it here and there,” I admit, nodding to the circle of men and women on the lawn, “but only glimpses, slivers, if even that.”
Erline releases a rough sigh. “Life is always worth it. And now,” she points to Dyson. “Now you have something to fight for. Allow him to be the sturdy ground you walk on. Let him in. Find peace with your mate.”
I internally bristle at the term, the words oddly close to what Fate had given. Witches never marry. Witches never find love, none that last anyway, because men are never born a witch. Witches may find love in humans, but humans are either greedy and want the power for themselves, or they fear it once they learn the truth. I have no idea who my father is, and neither does most of the Demi-Lune coven. If there was such a thing as male witches, perhaps the species may find peace.
But I’m not just a witch. I’m more. The rules never seem to apply to me, either by sheer willpower on my part or fate on a divine level.
Could I really take this man and claim him as my own? This shifter, who is meant to be with another shifter but whom fate made a mistake and brought to me instead? Somehow, that doesn’t feel fair to him. He’s meant to have little shifter pups and mate the proper way. The way that all of his ancestors have done time and time again. He’ll never have a son from me. He’ll never have pure blood running in his children’s veins. How can I subject his future to such limitations?
Privy to my inner thoughts, Erline strokes the nape of my neck. “Don’t guess at the true feelings of his heart. Your feelings and reluctance are your own. You have no idea what he feels for you. Perhaps you should discover instead of assume.”
I mull over her words as the group heads into the house, their stomps echoing up the steps of the porch before they disappear in the bathing glow of the living room’s light. Over his shoulder and the last to enter, Dyson looks to me, a grin so brightly wide he appears ten years younger, carefree. Content.
“Are you staying?” I ask Erline.
“No. The realm I created isn’t meant to have me waltzing around in it. I’ll be listening, though. If you need me-”
“Just call?” I finish for her, smirking.
“Exactly.”
Turning, I fling my arms around her. She stiffens in surprise, but after a second of initial shock, she returns the firm embrace. It’s loving and full of hope for the future. “No matter how this battle ends, I want you to find true happiness,” she whispers in my ear.
I nod against her shoulder, feeling her cold skin against my still heated cheeks. The hug ends too soon, and she releases me, leaving goosebumps puckering along my arms. With an encouraging smile, she inclines her head toward the house.
“Go,” she says.
And I do. I turn my back from my past and step toward the future. When I’m halfway to the house, I look back and find Erline already gone. Licking my bottom lip and raking my teeth against it, I jog to the front door. The warmth of the living room seeps out before I enter, soothing my chilling skin.
“Are you okay?” Dyson asks, bending to brush his lips against mine. He nudges the door shut with his foot, and it softly clicks, banishing the cold, damp air from seeping further into the house.
“I will be,” I respond, consumed with the gentle, loving action. Foreheads pressed together, eyes tightly shut, we take a moment for only each other. Of breathing the same air and ignoring the chatter vibrating between the light blue walls. Of letting our worries, troubles, and insecurity seep from the swollen pockets of anxiety until the only thing that’s left is raw, overpowering emotion. My truth is revealed by the sag of my shoulders and the firm, sure touch of skin against skin as I weave my fingers between hi
s. His scent mingles with all the others, but I can still distinctly detect it, greedily inhale it. It fills me like its water pouring into a cup, replacing what’s been drained. I feel something for this man, something I’ve never felt, and it brims, touching the coldness of my heart. I truly can’t discount it, this attraction - the force of this powerful magnet. No matter how hard I try, this feeling I've denied can’t be ignored. And I don't know if I want to continue to pretend it isn't there anymore.
“Come on,” he says, hushed, and squeezes my fingers.
Leading me away from the door, we stride firmly into the living room. The pack members who weren’t on the Guardian Realm are dressed in their sleepwear, having been pulled from their beds, and everyone is dotted throughout the home. I hear laughter from the kitchen, see smiles in the living room, and feel joy caress my skin, inviting me to join in on the contagious laughter.
A whoosh leaves my lungs when I’m barreled into from the side, knocking Dyson’s hand from mine. Arms wrap around me, squeezing.
“Kat,” a familiar voice whispers with such longing, her chin digging into my collar bone.
After a mock grunt, a smile teases my lips. “Irene,” I say, relieved. My arms wrap around her middle so fast I fear I’ll break her. But she chuckles, and together, we rock back and forth in a tango of long-lost friendship.
Irene, a beautiful light-chocolate-skinned female wolf, is Flint’s mate. I knew her before I really knew this pack before Flint even knew she existed. We stumbled across one another at a very different point in our lives and managed to stay in touch, getting together for girls and gossip time. When I was exiled from my coven, she was always there for me, attempting to replace what I no longer had. She hid it well though, claiming to stop by the shop for herbs she may or may not have needed. And I had shut her out because of it. I shouldn’t have. I know that now. Secrets kept for the safety of others are sometimes what hurts them more than the secret itself.
I look to Dyson over her shoulder, vowing never to do that to him.
Flint stands in the background, his shoulder leaning into the railing of the grand master staircase which leads to the second floor. A smile rests on his face, smug almost, watching the love of his life adore his best friend’s destined mate. Deep down, he seemed to know this day would come. The utter faith he has in everything – in the way the world works – overwhelms me. I can see why Dyson idolizes him. Fate himself couldn’t have chosen a better friend for Dyson. Or maybe Fate did choose him. After all, his fingers seem to have dug deep into the thick of things lately. The thought makes my head throb, and I discretely rub my thumb over my eyebrow to sooth it.
Kenna’s feet thump as she descends the stairs, one at a time, Evo hot on her heels. In her hands is a sleepy, tousle-haired toddler, blinking tiredly. His parents must have woken him from his sleep. It’s what I would do if I were returning home from the disaster we went through, after the decimation of a single realm. That kind of stuff makes you hold the ones you love a little closer.
“Where’s my mom?” Kenna asks, peering among the crowd snug in the living space.
A redheaded shifter sits up straight, looks Flint directly in the eye, and blows a bubble.
“Victoria,” Flint warns. “Don’t you do it.” His tone is half blistering and half weak, and together, a few of us peer back and forth between the two. The bubble grows and grows, and when it pops, she grins toothily to Flint’s cringing.
She turns to Kenna, smacking her gum loudly. “The cruise, remember? Then, she’s off to God-knows-where next.”
“You’re going to regret waking Coleman,” Bre says, pointing to her from the spot she and her mate, Ben, occupy on the couch. Ben’s back is straight, allowing Bre to rest against his shoulder while a possessive arm is draped over hers. His fingers stroke small circles against her shirt.
Ben isn’t particularly handsome, not like Flint is. Where Flint is taller and leaner with a mischievous glint in his eyes, each of Ben’s bones are roped with impossible muscle, and his jaw is set in a serious sort of way. He plays the part of a strong beta to the pack well. Even in the low glow of the living room light, his head of short, cropped hair glistens the shade of a starless midnight sky. He seems more awake than the rest, but the evidence of his stress is there if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. I wonder how much sleep he’s had since his Alphas and mate left. Without Bre by his side, he had to have constantly worried. To them, it must seem like we’ve been gone for months. I suppose we have on this realm. When I went to the Death Realm, it was at the end of fall. We skipped winter entirely here.
My head thumps again at the insanity of it all, at the different way time moves on each realm. At least we don’t have to endure winter twice.
“Romaine has taken over the patrol,” Ben says to Evo, who had raised a questioning brow to him.
Romaine is an unfamiliar name, and a few here are, indeed, new additions to the pack. I double blink. It’s going to take me a bit to remember them. So many new people, creatures, and names lately. At this point, I’m surprised I haven’t dubbed anyone nicknames.
Kelsey, a redheaded spitfire of a woman, rounds the corner. Kelsey’s mate Jeremy holds a baby in his arms, a fresh little one whose head is adorned by the most adorable shade of orange fluffy strands. He introduces her as Sarah and the pack beams their pride.
Sarah is wrapped in a pink blanket, swaddling her arms and legs tightly to her torso, and blinks sleepily at the light. A disgruntled little frown scrunches her face, and I grin over it. I know the feeling, little one.
Carrying a plate of towering cookies, Kelsey sets it on the coffee table in the middle of the living room. The pack immediately digs in, and Irene finally releases me from her grip, only to slip into her mate’s arms. She leans into Flint and winks at me.
I watch as he gratefully holds her to his chest and dips his head to inhale her scent. His eyes close as though she’s the finest smell he’s ever had the pleasure of whiffing. And when his lashes flutter, he catches my stare and grants me a small smile, a reassurance. A wordless declaration of some kind of tolerance for me. It’s better than nothing.
Flint has never liked witches. Despising everything they represent, his aversion to me hasn’t gone unnoticed, though I doubt Dyson has picked up on it. But with this small smile, with this expression of kindness, I know this isn’t true anymore. At least, not with me. I’ve earned his respect.
Subtly, I incline my head to him, a slight bow of mutual respect.
The room feels smothering shortly after our truce, almost too much joy radiating in the growing-tight space. I never thought the presence of so many happy people would unnerve me. In fact, I had craved for it all those months on my own, exiled. It’s a far cry from the village of sorrow, and the emotional tug-o’-war between that and this is fraying against every resolve I have to stand there and endure it.
Booming laughter unfolds in the cramped space, and I flinch into Dyson’s chest. He tightens his hold even when his own body jostles with hilarity. Light footsteps refocus my attention and my posture bristles against the loud noises as I watch as Aiden and Eliza sneak from the room. Surprisingly, it’s not him towing her along but her tugging him.
The chatter drifts into stories of adventure as beers are passed around and cookies are snatched. I can’t take it. It’s too much. With a simple touch to Dyson’s arm, I say, “Water,” as an explanation for slipping out of his grasp. I stride from the room as quickly as I can, weaving between the warm bodies.
I enter the dining room first, and my feet, still wrapped in elf made shoes squeak against the hardwood. A large wood table with beautifully designed high-back chairs take up the space, and past the head chair is a massive sliding door overlooking the back yard and the trees beyond. The back-porch light is off, making it possible to take in the night’s details by moonbeams alone.
I stop and stare at the trees, and a brief memory of Irene telling me about a tornado whipping through the land
surfaces. That was the day she started questioning what I was keeping from her.
New trees have been planted, and with their short structure, a greater distance into the forest can be seen.
Tearing my gaze from the window, I turn toward the kitchen. A huge granite island, black with freckles of whites and golds, takes up the space in the middle, surrounded by many wooden cabinets. I study each grain on the wood-planked floor, remembering when I was here last. I had fought a vampire right here. I swear I can still smell him, still see those eyes promising death. The longer I stand here, the more the potent rotting aroma lingers, pushing forth from the pockets of my memory where I had buried it.
My power – Myla’s power – had erected vines through the boards, splintering them beyond easy repair. It’s been replaced since like nothing had ever happened. Back then, I was still relying on my witch’s magic coupled with Myla’s, which made it possible for me not to chant a single word during the entire ordeal. But lately, I feel like I’ve abandoned all witch magic in favor of flames and scales. It’s more convenient, quicker . . . deadlier, sometimes, too.
I fist my hands against the memory.
Aiden and Eliza sit at the island, and Aiden’s sparkling black skin matches the granite’s top in an artistic sort of way. The two lovers are facing each other, Aiden’s elbow propped on the edge of the counter while he watches me from under his hooded lashes, trying to be inconspicuous about it. Was the shifter welcoming too much for them too?
“Hey,” I call, heading straight for a cabinet in favor of a glass.
I turn and fill my newly-acquired glass at the sink’s faucet, and cold water splashes against my hand in my haste. The brief contact of clean water feels wonderful, and I sigh at it. Once done, I turn and rest my rump against the counter. I raise the rim halfway to my lips, my mouth already salivating before I stop and truly observe the two. Though this is the least otherworldly place you can get, they’re completely uneasy. Their bodies are rigid, their mouths hushed of any words. It’s odd, seeing them here, knowing they’re welcome, wanted even, but knowing they can’t possibly belong. Two people stuck in the in-between. Just like me. There’s no place that fits what we are. It makes a spot in my chest, just behind my sternum, sting.
