Shifter Situations: The Chronicles of Sloane King

by M F Adele

I walked about the sprawled-out pedmar, sinking to the ground to rest against the back of his neck. He used his trunk to ruffle my hair, chirping again when I swatted at him.

  My mage sat beside me, canting his head to recline on the curve of the pedmar’s shoulder. He looked restless, twitching his fingers where they lay on his thighs.

  I tried to block out his nervous behavior.

  Basking in the silence between Palmer and Pete wasn’t as welcome a change as I’d hoped. After all the hustling around we’d been doing, I needed the peacefulness of one moment to reset my mind.

  “What’s eating at you?”

  Palmer sighed. “I think I know how to rid myself of the tracker the angel put on me.”

  “That’s good news. Why are you so agitated?”

  He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. The delicate way he opened it had a sense of foreboding skirting down my spine.

  “What is that?”

  “A spell,” he murmured, passing the paper to me.

  “I’ve never seen anything so complicated,” I admitted, studying it for what felt like ages.

  I comprehended less than half of the runes and drawings and a portion of the Latin. The rest was a convoluted way to say set the flesh on fire.

  “Who is this for? Be specific, Mage. Are you asking me to do this?”

  He nodded, biting his lips together before saying, “I need you to use this spell on me.”

  “What? It’s not a spell, Palmer. It’s an idea, an experiment.”

  “It’ll burn his tracker off of me.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but it’ll burn you in the process,” I argued.

  He shrugged. “We have to do it before we go to Belfast, Love.”

  “It’s going to hurt you, Palmer. I can’t do this,” I stressed.

  “It’ll hurt worse if he shows up unannounced and catches us off guard.”

  I shook my head, whispering, “I can’t—”

  “You have to,” he interrupted. “It’s the only way.”

  The trek back to the patio was the wrong kind of quiet. I stewed over the spell, nearly begging the universe to give us another way to free Palmer of the tracking magic.

  He was positive there was no other way to do it short of politely asking the angel himself to remove it.

  I wanted to kill the fucking angel even more than before.

  I wanted to pickle his fucking head in a glass jar, preserve the look of defeat on his face when I tore him to shreds for being the reason that I—

  Godsdamnit.

  I wasn’t ready.

  How could I prepare myself to knowingly harm my mate?

  The spell didn’t call for a little heat. I needed a full-blown fucking inferno of hellfire to be rained down on him.

  I paced the yard, memorizing the Latin phrases as he prepped the runes and drawings from his paper. I hated this so fucking much, but I worked on settling myself.

  I would do anything for my mates.

  I was capable of the magic needed to complete the spell. I didn’t need to understand what he was doing; I just needed to get the words right.

  I could do that for him.

  But would I be able to live with myself if it all fell to shit because I messed up?

  He was confident, unwavering in his decision, so I took a deep breath and channeled his feelings.

  When everything was ready, he approached the patio, stripping his shirt off then unbuckling his belt.

  “What are you doing?” I asked, concerned I may have misinterpreted the Latin words.

  “Taking my clothes off.”

  “I see that, but why?”

  He grinned. “The tracker is on my skin, Love, or under my skin. I can’t have anything interfering with the magic, so I need to be naked.”

  “This is how I picture demon summoning rituals,” I mused with no humor.

  “Are ye ready?”

  “No.”

  “Come on, then. Let’s get it over with.”

  I groaned loudly, taking his offered hand so he could pull me from the chair I’d ended up in. The last hour was a fog of confusion in my mind, but I straightened my shoulders, anyway.

  I stood right outside the circle he’d drawn, and he smiled reassuringly as he recited the first line of Latin. We chanted in unison, our voices carrying around the expanse of the yard.

  The nape of my neck prickled with awareness as I felt the magic blanket over him.

  It was too late to back out now.

  The circle lit with a thin line of fire, each flickering flame no bigger than what you'd find on the wick of a candle. They didn't touch; the magic in the air kept them dancing until we finished the verbal portion of the spell.

  One last word.

  I was going to hate myself for this.

  We spoke together, his voice tight as he nodded for me to keep going.

  “Ignis.”

  I slung my arms up, pulling the flames from within me into my hands. Then I threw my hands down, feeling the milliseconds drag on as I watched the pillar of fire surround him, engulf him.

  Palmer didn’t make a sound, but I saw his mouth open in a silent scream.

  I closed my eyes, counting to six. He’d said ten, but seconds had already passed.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  I called the flames back to me in a frenzy, headless of the scorching heat as it entered my body. My eyes flew open, regret crushing my lungs as my gaze fell upon my mage.

  I collapsed onto the ground beside him, angry at myself for going through with the spell, knowing it would hurt him. In my head, I knew witnessing this would be something I would carry with me for the rest of my life. But I didn’t know it was going to be this bad.

  I hadn’t prepared myself for the extreme amount of guilt and agony that came with it, knowing that what I was seeing had been caused by me.

  Doubts spiraled around me until all I wanted to do was curl up and take his place. I wrapped my arms around my legs and rocked back and forth while I tried to think through the agony.

  Think, bitch.

  Calm down.

  I put my hands on his chest, shoving with all my might, trying to force the bond between Palmer and me to seal itself.

  I’d never paid attention to when exactly the bonds were formed, but they’d all been at intimate moments. And I couldn’t be intimate with him right now.

  His skin was charred and blistered, and I just…

  I couldn’t.

  My heart ached, feeling as if it was being ripped into strips.

  And I had done this to so many others before.

  Knowing that this was the final feeling they went through should have soothed me, in a psychotic sort of way, but all it did was make the floodgates open faster.

  What had I done to my own mate?

  Tears streamed down my face as I peered at his prone form through blurry eyes. I leaned over him, bringing my ear close to his mouth while holding my hair back. I was motionless as I waited for movement, some kind of sign that I hadn’t—

  I couldn’t feel him breathing.

  I… I couldn’t feel him breathing.

  Panic and pain clawed at my chest as I wheezed out a sob.

  I had to keep him alive.

  Think, godsdamnit. Think.

  Falling apart wouldn’t do either of us any good.

  I wrapped my hand around his, hoping to feel his fingers twitch, as I counted to ten.

  Nothing happened.

  His lashes didn’t flutter. His chest didn’t lift.

  His heart didn’t beat.

  All I could think about was how little time I’d had with him—with any of them—and how selfish that thought was.

  I wasn’t ready for him to die.

  I never would be.

  And I wasn’t going to sit by idly and let it happen.

  I‘d meant what I said when I told them that I wouldn’t let anything hurt them anymore. And yet, I’d done exactly
that, just as I knew I would.

  I’d told Palmer that I was a curse.

  That I was the punishment.

  But I could also be the godsdamn reward.

  How dare this bastard die on me!

  I fought to control my breathing through the excruciating pain, knowing I needed to center myself to get anything done. My cheeks burned as I wiped my hands across my damp face.

  My whole world spun on its axis as I opened myself completely to the chaos inside me. Any lingering trepidation left me in a massive wave of emotions.

  The rage would always be within me, but I’d suppressed the rest for too long. Slowly engrossing myself in them wasn’t enough, anymore.

  I wasn’t enough.

  Not without all these emotions.

  And they needed a controlled release.

  I could do that. I could make it work. There were no other options.

  I placed my hands on his chest, pushing as much power into him as I could possibly grab hold of. Then I threw even more at him, exhausting myself to a point where I could no longer grasp his hand. I couldn’t discern the pain from losing a mate and the pain from depleting myself.

  The power nor the agony mattered as I grew weak—weaker than I’d ever been before.

  But I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t.

  I thought of his laughter, his sarcastic replies, and the things that I didn’t know about him. I closed my eyes, focusing on all the little touches we’d shared, his hands roaming over my arms, his lips a breath away from my ear as he whispered to me.

  I wouldn’t stop until I had nothing left to give.

  My chest imploded, white-hot pain ricocheting through my body, and I screamed. Everything seized up for… Time. My breathing stopped. My heart didn’t beat. My muscles tensed, and I tipped over, curling into myself with my hand barely touching Palmer.

  This was the worst death I’d ever experienced.

  And it wasn’t even mine.

  The guys came rushing out of the backdoor, the sound of their footfalls freezing at the edge of the patio. That was when the dam decided to break. I began to sob uncontrollably, trying to explain what was happening, but I couldn’t make the words make sense.

  No one spoke, not that I would have heard them.

  Briggs wrapped his arms around me, pulling me off the ground and cradling me to his chest as I shattered beyond repair.

  Vaughn dropped to his knees, working his healing magic. His hands lit a light blue color as he pushed his icy fae power through my mage. When my fae rocked back on his heels, I saw his chest deflate as he sighed.

  There was no relief in that motion.

  I was too worried, too consumed, to even pay attention to what they were saying around me.

  I only had ears for an intake of breath, a faint heartbeat, my mage’s lyrical voice.

  A quiet whisper pierced the anguish in my heart—my mind. I sucked in a deep, shaking breath as I gazed down at Palmer. Scrambling out of Briggs’ arms, I landed on the ground with no grace at all, but I couldn’t care less.

  “Stop crying, Love,” he rasped, wincing as he coughed. “That’s not the kind of tears I like to see.”

  I put my hands on the raw, pink skin of his cheeks and tried to smile in relief, though I was sure it was more of a grimace.

  “I killed you,” I confessed, gasping for air.

  “Aye, I know,” he admitted.

  I rested my forehead over his heart, torn between laughing, screaming, or sobbing more. “Don’t ask me to do that ever again.”

  “I promise, but I don’t feel like I’ll need to. I think it worked.”

  My head popped up, and I glared at my mage, wanting to scowl and bitch too. I just didn’t have it in me.

  He grinned weakly, the slightest lifting of the corners of his lips as he held his hand out for me to take. I happily obliged, twining my fingers with his while being cautious of his healing skin.

  I needed to feel his warmth against me, to be surrounded by his leather and teak aroma, to see the storm clouds swirl in his gray irises.

  “What worked? What exactly were you two doing?” Stone asked.

  “Palmer wanted to get rid of the tracker the angel put on him,” Novak explained. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. They seemed like they had it all under control.”

  “We did,” I mumbled, dropping my head into my free hand to squeeze my temples. “Until he died.”

  “The audacity of you, Palmer,” Novak declared theatrically, squinting his eyes at my mage.

  I glanced around at each of them, feeling too raw, too emotional, to say more than, “You do not get to die. Ever. Any of you.”

  “It’s like she cares about us or something,” York whispered to Novak.

  “I fucking do,” I muttered.

  And then I contemplated strangling my vampire and my druid for trying to find any humor in the situation.

  Mild strangulation; nothing too severe.

  “We know, Love.”

  Palmer’s pained voice tugged at my heartstrings as he sat up. He swatted my hands away when I tried to help him, but then he grinned at me again, stronger and brighter than before. Relief flooded through me as the color returned to his skin.

  “Be creative with the vampire, Love,” he remarked quietly, exhausted. “He’d like being choked, and then ye’d be frustrated all over again.”

  “That’s true,” Novak commented, nodding. “I would, but I wouldn’t leave you frustrated for too long.”

  “Fine,” I acquiesced, narrowing my eyes at him. “You can go without sex for an undetermined amount of time, and York can be strangled.”

  My druid cocked his head, widening his eyes as he searched my face for an explanation. “Why am I getting strangled?”

  “It’s mild,” I divulged. “Nothing life-threatening.”

  “You still didn’t answer the question.”

  I huffed in mock annoyance, but I was thankful they weren’t mentioning what a wreck I was right now.

  “I was upset, and I may have briefly thought about wrapping my hands around both of your necks for making a joke…”

  I tilted my head to the left, grimacing playfully. “But in a kind, considerate way.”

  Palmer gripped my hand, chuckling lightly before coughing again.

  “Love, can ye at least pass me my boxers, or was there a reason for keepin’ me naked? Sitting in the grass on my bare arse isn’t my idea of a fun time.”

  “Why are you naked?” Vaughn asked.

  “I didn’t want my clothes to burn. I finally figured out how to repel blood.”

  “So, your skin is okay, just not your khakis. Got it,” York smarted.

  My mage pointed a shaking finger at my druid. “Don’t touch my fuckin’ kex.”

  I sighed, releasing some of the pent-up emotions that I wasn’t used to carrying. Palmer needed help to recuperate faster, and I couldn’t give him any more at the moment. I called out to Cronus mentally.

  The hounds rounded the corner with Pete a tail’s length behind them. The pedmar stopped, inspecting Palmer and me closely.

  “Hurt,” filtered through my mind, the voice deeper than any I’d ever heard. The familiar essence definitely belonged to Pete, but he’d never spoken to me with words before.

  “You’re hurt, Pete?” I questioned him carefully.

  He shook his head, his trunk flying to the left as his ears flopped. He padded to me, eating up the distance in two steps. Using his trunk, he gently tapped my chest before swinging his attention to Palmer.

  Cronus stretched out in the grass so that my mage didn’t have too far to reach. Palmer stroked his fingers over the hellhound’s ears, following the umber lines in his black fur. The soft contact was all Cronus needed to slowly begin seeping power into Palmer's skin.

  My legs wobbled as I stood, intent on moving closer to Pete. I rubbed my hand over the underneath of the pedmar’s neck and across his chest, wondering if he could speak or if I’d imagined the voice
.

  Briggs had walked back to the patio to grab Palmer’s clothes and was a few feet away when his cell phone started ringing. He pulled his phone out, shaking his head as he fished around in my mage’s pockets.

  “Answer it,” Palmer urged when my wolf showed him the screen. “Hurry. She never calls for nothin’.”

  “Hel—” Briggs began, cutting himself off quickly as he furrowed his brows.

  “Millie? Is everything okay?”

  Epilogue

  Miller Lynch

  Tuesday, June 9th

  Mid Morning

  Spending the day with Murphy hadn’t been high on my to-do list, but my twin had always been intuitive when it came to my feelings.

  I wasn’t surprised when he pestered me into going shopping with him. He’d given me two whole days to get over my latest breakup, and I was still in the dumps. That wasn’t acceptable for him.

  Palmer would have given me more time to mope.

  Murph had forced me to go to a few local shopping centers with him. I bought too many useless things, but the material objects made my heart happy.

  We argued over where to eat lunch, and decided to play a game of rock, paper, scissors. Throughout our childhood, Murph had constantly picked rock, and nothing had changed. His laziness never ceased to amaze me.

  I covered his fist with my hand, declaring myself the winner.

  We were on our way out of the pizza parlor when we were approached. The man’s eyes flashed from deep brown to yellow, but that was the only indicator that he was supernatural.

  Several species had changing eye colors, so I couldn’t pin down exactly what he was other than a pain in my arse. I had enough self-preservation instincts to know this wasn’t a coincidence.

  “Are you Miller Lynch?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Maybe.”

  My eyes cut to Murphy quickly before returning to the male in front of me. I wasn’t really sure what to do in this situation, but my gut said run.

  It wasn’t often, if ever, that a stranger just waltzed up and knew my name.

  His upper lip twitched as he bared his teeth. “The night witch?”

  “Who are you?” Murphy demanded.

  The male ignored him, hyper focused on me. “Where is Palmer Lynch?”

  I shrugged. “How the hell would I know? Do I look like his keeper or something?”