by D. Fischer
“The first move to war,” I mumble, and all eyes swivel to me.
“It may be the first move to war, but it’s a good possibility we can’t control the fire already spreading,” Flint says.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
KATRIANE DUPONT
EARTH REALM
The rest of the day goes by with orders barked and teams assembled by the Alpha pair. At no time is anyone allowed to stray from groups of at least three when attacking the vampires. Much to my dismay, we share each meal together, but by the time we have supper, I’m beginning to enjoy the banter between the shifters. Eliza, Aiden, and I watch on with interest while we eat. Except Aiden who doesn’t eat normal food. When the shifters notice his lack of appetite, they pepper him with questions, Kenna the most, about life as a demon. I think she is most curious because she can’t feel any emotion coming from him, which she reluctantly admits. She doesn’t feel it rude to probe though the rest of us wait on the edge of our seats to see how he’ll respond. He is gentle and understanding with his answers, and together, she and he carry on the conversation in depth while the rest of us switch subjects to something more pleasant than eating emotions.
“I can only feel something from you when you look to Eliza,” Kenna additionally admits when he brings his untouched plate to the sink. “It’s . . .” She frowns. “It’s like the burst of warmth when the sun comes over the horizon.”
“Love works in mysterious ways,” Kelsey quips, hovering over the sink’s bubbles while feverishly scrubbing pans. She shoots Kenna an annoyed look. “If love can’t prevail, then we’re all hopeless.”
Aiden doesn’t have to respond with Kelsey coming to the rescue and, instead, thanks the women for their hospitality and quickly exits the room. Like any man, he hadn’t enjoyed a woman picking apart his feelings and motives.
After, I help Irene and Dyson load the dishwasher and clean up the leftover splatters of Kelsey’s famous lasagna from every surface in the kitchen. Dyson had wondered aloud if she flung it everywhere in spite for getting no help in preparing it. Without voicing it, I wonder the same thing.
Once done, the three of us gather on the stools with cups of wine in hand. Except for Dyson who has a beer dripping with precipitation. It pools along the island in a perfect circle.
He takes a swig from the glass bottle and sighs contently. Lifting the bottle, he holds it up to the dangling light above the kitchen island, observing the foaming liquid inside. “I never thought I’d miss the taste of a cold beer.”
I swirl the wine in my glass, and the aroma wafts to my nose. There’s a sweet smell to this white wine, and bubbles pepper the walls inside the wine cup. Gripping the stem, I bring my nose to the rim and inhale like I would with a morning cup of coffee, wordlessly agreeing with him.
I’ve never been a wine drinker, but the current situations we find ourselves in calls for it. I just hope one glass can take the edge off.
Laughter booms from the downstairs theatre room, and I smile over the contagious sound as my top lip touches the cool glass.
“Flint,” Irene says with a grin. “I think he missed being home.”
I take a sip and let the caramelly taste slide over my tongue. The bubbles pleasantly tickle my taste buds, and I shiver. “He really knows how to handle himself. You should have seen him,” I say, referring to the battle in front of the Angel’s Ground. For a moment, the memory surfaces in my mind. I drink again, hoping the contents inside will take that edge off as well.
“He really can.” A dreamy sparkle glints in her brown eyes. “Evo makes us train frequently, and since Ben has given him Krav Maga lessons, his skills have only improved.”
Setting my wine down with a slight clank of my cup to the marble surface, I turn to her and change the subject that’s dabbling dangerously close to war – a topic I have no desire to dance with. “The shop?”
She holds up a free hand and swallows a large gulp of wine. “Your shop is in sound condition. I promise all four walls are still standing. There’s been a large number of traffic lately, but everything is running smoothly.” She grimaces. “Except for the dust bunnies. I don’t know how you kept those under control.”
I smirk knowingly. “I’d often spell the shop.” At their shocked look, I add, “It was only me for a while there, and even when Tember showed up to work, she had refused to dust. I had to do something.” I shrug, but it feels more like a guilty action than anything else. Twitching my lips to the side, I toy with a bead of precipitation perfectly settled in a tiny puddle on the surface. I pull the moisture this way and that, creating a pentacle before I even realize what I’m doing. I scrutinize the work with a deep frown – five points. Five points, five realms, five fee, five saviors. If I ever see a pentagram again after this is over, I’ll burn it to cinders.
I’m not oblivious to the fact that five powerful creatures have found themselves in the traps of the fee; Eliza, Aiden, Dyson, Tember, and myself. And now Tember is fee. Dyson may not be as powerful as the rest of us, and I’ll admit that it does cause me worry for his own safety, but his brain makes up for it in intellect. Down to the marrow of my bones, I know he was made to lead, not by muscle and strength, like a typical alpha, but by mindset. He cares, and his heart is full of so much love it practically bursts every chance he gets the opportunity to help someone, to care for someone. And he cares for me. . . But how much so? How strong is it? Because I’m notorious for ruining everything, for being shoved out the door because I can’t seem to follow the most important rules.
I look at him as my thoughts drift to the man he is, burning a hole into the side of his face while he stares straight ahead. Without any additional magic like the rest of us, he could just as easily die trying to protect his own people. And he would, too, willingly so, if his life could save a single person.
Irene takes my expression as something other than it is. She sets her cup down and folds my hand in hers. Our wet fingers slick against each other’s, pulling my gaze to our joined skin.
“I know you have a lot going on,” she soothes. “And I know you won’t have time to continue to run your business, but I don’t want you to think this is a burden to me. It’s been giving me something to do when I’m not midwifing. Plus, Kelsey has been helping, and I think she enjoys the change in pace.”
Dyson swigs his beer, and the quick movement causes droplets to dribble down his chin. “Cooking for this large of a pack isn’t easy.” He wipes at his face. “Not for one person.” Then, he looks at me, and I blush over the subtle knowing expression. He recognizes where my thoughts drifted to. He knows I was staring at him, watching, pondering, thinking of the future. His eyes smolder for a moment, tucked under his dark hooded lashes.
Under the heat of his stare, something blossoms inside me. Heat coils in my stomach before it washes to the rest of my organs. With my free hand, I grip the seat of the stool and squeeze the cushion. The wall I’ve built to protect my heart seemingly withers and waves in the flood of heat. My heart flutters from the exposure to his knowing, probing consideration, and in response, his lips twitch on the verge of saying something but stopping short when he remembers we’re not alone. We may be stolen touches and embraces and even kisses, but we have yet to dwell on what it all means.
Irene laughs. “Kelsey preps at least a week’s worth of sandwich meat at a time and quite often makes us fend for ourselves. I’m sick of turkey.” She pauses, curling her top lip with a faraway look of recollection. “And ham.”
He lifts one shoulder in a dismissive shrug and turns back forward. “Sounds like Kelsey.” Emptying his glass, he scoots back and stands, grabbing the neck of the bottle. The stool scrapes against the floor, and the squeal of metal against wood vibrates my ears. “I’m going to head downstairs and see what all the laughter is about.”
Irene smiles at Dyson as he glides around the island, places his empty beer bottle in the sink, and walks out of the kitchen. His eyes linger on me as he passes, and then he bends around the curv
e of the large dining room, disappearing from my sight. The warmth slithering through my bones at his close proximity leaves when he does, and my grip loosens on the stool. A short time later, we hear his muffled footfalls descending the stairs to join the others.
“How well do you know him?” Irene asks, pulling my attention from where my gaze still lingers to the dining room. I turn in my chair, almost too fast, caught off guard by her quiet, knowing words.
Clearing my throat, I return my elbow to the counter and toy with the rim of my wine glass. “Not well,” I begin. “Not at all, actually. I know nothing about him besides what’s been happening when we’re together.”
Bobbing her head in a nod, she pushes her black hair behind her ear. “He’s a good man from what I’m told. I’d met him before I joined the pack when the Riva and Cloven Pack gathered occasionally. He’s always been generous and thoughtful.” She frowns. “It’s like he isn’t from this time and, instead, from an era when chivalry wasn’t dead nor frowned upon.”
She’s certainly right about that.
“But?” I probe when she stops.
“But, he’s sensitive, Katriane. Either you love him or you don’t, but don’t toy with him. He won’t be able to take it.”
I double blink. It’s never been him I’ve worried about when it comes to the possibility of a relationship. I’ve only worried about myself and how I would fare if he decided he didn’t want me. Her words frighten me and make me question my own intentions. Have I been so wrapped up in myself that I haven’t stopped to think of how he’d feel if I were the one to deny him?
Dyson is wonderful, a gentleman, and he’s learned the hard way to never give up. But in the midst of being honorable, there’s also a rough edge to him. It’s secrets that lie below the surface, twined and twisted overtop one another. Perhaps this is what scares me most about having feelings for him – that I’ll be left in the dark throughout the entire relationship, only to have my heart broken in the end. But just as he is, I’m prone to have my own secrets as well.
“I don’t want to toy with him,” I say out loud, more for me than for her. And it’s true. Despite my efforts to remain independent, my stolen glances conjure images of a future I didn’t think possible for me, for a witch.
I tip my head to the side and jut my jaw. “But convincing my mother…”
She frowns and takes a lady-like sip. “What do you mean?”
“Witches don’t marry,” I mumble. Her precariously high eyebrow presses me to continue despite my reluctance. My shoulders hunch forward as I fold in on myself. “It’s a superstition. More like paranoia. We each are allowed one child with the humans, and then we get rid of the father for fear of his search for power. Even when we boot them out the door, pregnant, they never know we’re witches.”
She smacks her lips. “So you have sex, and then you dump them?”
I swallow at the crass question as the hair on my arms prickles. “Yeah.”
“That poor man,” she sighs. “Why only one child?”
“To ensure we only have girls. There’s never been a male witch in all our history. It’s a superstition to not chance fate by having more than one. Witches fear having a male witch for the same reason we don’t take a male as a spouse.”
“Power?” she asks, and I nod. She scoffs. “Well, your mother’s opinion doesn’t matter. The witches exiled you, remember? Cast you out and left you to rot.” She points a finger at me. “After you saved their lives.”
“It’s not how they’ll see it,” I mumble, reaching for the wine bottle and pouring myself more. The white juices slosh inside the wide goblet, and bubbles softly crackle to the surface. With my other hand, I catch the droplet that spills over the rim and bring it to my lips, sucking my fingertip. “To them, I’ll have further abandoned their ways. It’s not like I can keep it from them. We need them for the coming war, and they’re bound to discover my further betrayal. We need every magical being we can find who is willing to fight. Are you asking me to risk all that for an attraction?”
“Kat,” she whispers, drawing my attention back to her. “I don’t think you can classify yourself as a witch anymore. I think you’re beyond your past life. Their rules shouldn’t apply to you.”
“You might be right,” I say grudgingly, knowing I’m continuing to make excuses to keep me from seeking what my heart desires. I’m afraid of it.
As much as I miss the simplicity of a coven life, I’m also grateful I’m no longer held back by their chains. I can make a difference. I am making a difference. I just don’t know if that difference is doing more harm than good.
Our conversation quickly dwindles to less important matters, such as shop talk and tourist drama. On some level, whether she knew she was doing it or not, her change in topics helped ease my anxiety. Once the wine hits, I excuse myself for some fresh air before I fully retire to my appointed room in the second level of the Alpha’s quarters.
I shut the heavy front door behind me and lean against it. Sucking in a deep breath, I allow the cool night to ease my troubles further. I softly pad across the planked porch and let the wind ruffle my hair with invisible caressing fingers. A swinging couch dangles to my right, but I ignore it. When I reach the steps, I sit and soak in the moon’s glow that brightens my skin.
My thoughts quickly quiet as I watch the dark trees sway in the high breeze and listen to owls hoot to the crickets from their branches. I’m so lost in thought that I jump when Dyson sits himself next to me.
I place my hand over my heart, slamming my eyelids shut. “You scared me.”
He grins to the sky. “Sorry.” Silence stretches while he watches the moon, capturing its light in the sheen of his irises. “Do you –” He clears his throat. “Do you miss it?”
“Miss what?”
“Being normal. Or, at least, what you considered normal before everything changed.”
I suck on a tooth, running my tongue over it. “Sometimes. I miss the idea of belonging, but when I think back to my life as nothing but a simple witch, I can’t help but think I never fit in there, either.”
“What do you mean?” he asks, cracking his knuckles one by one.
“I was different.” I shrug. “More outgoing, more careless with our secrets, and my morals were much different than the others. I didn’t see species, not in the way they do. Instead, I saw more people I could relate to and didn’t deem it necessary to have any prejudices. Why limit ourselves to a single coven when wolves and witches could co-exist.”
“I wonder when the prejudices all started,” he says, more of a statement than an actual question for me to answer.
“What about you?” I ask, breathy as the depth of the conversation settles. He hasn’t looked at me yet, not even a side glance, and every part of me hums for him to do so, to lock eyes with mine, if but for a moment.
He laughs, throaty and without any amusement. “Being a shade?”
“No.” I grin. “Before that.”
His tongue slides across his bottom lip before his teeth bite down as he contemplates my question. “No. No, I don’t miss it at all.”
“Oh?” I quirk a brow. My body betrays my interest, and I find myself leaning closer.
“I wasn’t really anybody back then. Even if I had my place in this pack, this family, there was never anything special about me. I was the buddy, the pal, the one everyone thought they could rely on. I was weak and cowardly and only found courage minutes before my death. Would I change the past if given the chance? No. I wouldn’t change it for fear I’d lose everything I have at this very moment even if everything seems to be crumbling around us.”
The breeze picks up a notch and tousles his hair. I shamelessly take in his features, and without warning and of their own accord, I lift my hand and run my fingertips along the curve of his jaw, feeling the stubble scraping against my soft flesh and making a Velcro sound. He closes his eyes at my touch, and goosebumps rise on his skin, but again, he does nothing. There’s no indiffe
rence across his expression. It’s more of a basking in the moment of tender, wordless affection as though he fears if he moves, I may change the immediate future we both desire.
When he turns his face, my fingers move to his lips and trace the outline. Eyes still closed, he parts his lips. His scent washes over me as he breathes through his mouth. The pad of my index finger runs across the smooth bottom, trailed by my thumb, and catches at the corner, slightly tugging to expose his bottom teeth. With a soft exhale, he opens his eyes, and the glow of his wolf shortly follows.
“What you do to me . . .” he swallows thickly. “I have feelings for you, Katriane DuPont.”
“I know,” I whisper, completely sure of it now. His expression, soft and vigilant, holds so much truth it shatters my heart before knitting it carefully back together. “I do too.”
He swallows again, and I watch his throat’s movements. “Then what holds you back from me?”
The corner of my mouth tilts in a half smile, and I lower my hand, grasping his. I intertwine his fingers in mine, using the action to distract my attention from his probing stare. “It scares me.” My answer is just as honest as his declaration, surprising me as the admission pops from my mouth.
He huffs, his breath fanning the top of my scalp. “I’m nothing more than a man,” he admits, misinterpreting my confession.
I shake my head. “It’s not you, I fear. It’s me.”
“Says every woman at least once in their life,” he murmurs.
“No, Dyson,” I say, circling my thumb over the back of his hand. “You don’t understand. I don’t know what I am. Whatever I am scares me when it comes to a relationship. The fate of the realms scares me. The responsibilities on my shoulders scares me.” The shock of my own truth startles me, and I pause, allowing it to sink in. This is the truth of my real reason for denying what he offers me, for constantly finding reasons to ignore it. “How can I willingly add one more thing I can lose to that list? Look at Tember. She’s lost the one thing she loved most while trying to save her realm.”
