by N. D. Jones
Kalinda, at five-nine, wasn’t a short woman, but when she stepped into Marrok’s personal space, eyes boiling over with magic, she cast the shadow of a leviathan.
Marrok refused to back up or look away. Oriana had made him Cyrus of Steelcross. Facing down her mother, he wrapped his arms around the title, clutching it to his chest and stepping into the shoes given him.
“Are you telling me to leave?” Kalinda snarled, her teeth white, threat as clear as any werewolf baring his fangs.
“I’m asking you to calm down if you want to stay. This is my home, Kalinda, and Oriana is my mate. I know you’re worried about her but—”
“You pick now to grow a pair of balls. Where were they when those traitorous witches were nearly beating my daughter to death?”
The sun and moon had to be testing him. Why else would they put this egotistical, unhinged witch in his orbit? Every response he wanted to make was a statement he knew better than to let leave his mouth. So, Marrok snarled, permitting his fangs to drop from his gums. He didn’t know if his eyes glowed red, but he suspected they did from the step Kalinda took backward.
“Oriana fought twenty-two witches at once.”
Kalinda winced, as if she’d been struck, which someone really should do because, damn, if there was ever a witch who needed to have some sense slapped into her, it was Matriarch Kalinda.
“Oriana engaged in the drowning shatter ritual?”
“If that’s a witch ritual that had her creating a magic tornado vortex and fighting a one-on-twenty-two battle, then yeah, I guess.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you, Marrok, and do put away those baby fangs of yours. I can barely understand what you’re saying, although you’ve said little worth listening to. My question was for Solange, who thinks she can sneak away while I’m preoccupied with you.”
Marrok couldn’t fault Solange for taking advantage of what appeared to be an opportunity to get the hell away from Kalinda. He’d never seen this side of the matriarch. Fear wasn’t a flattering color on her.
Hand on the doorknob, Solange stopped. For a second, her forehead fell against the closed door, and her shoulders slumped. A sigh and a curse reached his keen ears, but she’d kept it soft enough not to be heard by Kalinda. Turning, she glanced first to Marrok, dark eyes beseeching him to intervene, and then to Kalinda.
Short of tying up and gagging his mother-in-law, Marrok didn’t know what in the hell Solange expected him to do. Kalinda was a force of nature who turned into a shrew when her daughter was hurt, and she felt helpless.
Oriana didn’t have internal bleeding or swelling on the brain, the healer had told them. “What she does have are abrasions, bruises, and broken bones, all of which will heal. Give her magic time to knit her back together. Three days, a week at most. She looks worse than she is. Matriarch Oriana will be fine.”
The healer had closed Oriana’s deeper wounds—the lacerations to her arms and legs. If not for her body armor, the damage would’ve been more severe. So, yeah, Marrok understood Kalinda’s sense of helplessness. But she needed a serious attitude adjustment.
“Matriarch Oriana cast an entanglement trap then engaged in the drowning shatter.”
“And you let her?”
“It wasn’t for me to question my matriarch. She wanted to give the guilty witches an opportunity to earn their place in the sun and among the stars.”
“They were traitors. They weren’t worthy of her mercy.”
“Perhaps not, but it was her mercy to offer. In the end, they’re dead and she lives.”
“Oriana is hurt.”
Marrok stepped around Kalinda, planting himself next to Oriana on the side of their bed. Touching the hand closest to him, he rubbed his finger from knuckles to wrist.
In a chair on the opposite side of the bed sat Bader. When Kalinda had arrived, Oriana’s father had been with her. They were dressed in evening finery—a black tuxedo for Bader and a red ballgown for Kalinda. Unless they had similar but separate plans, Kalinda and Bader had been together when Marrok had called the Matriarch about Oriana.
While Kalinda raged, Bader sat vigil, holding Oriana’s hand—his fear a quiet, simmering kind of worry.
“Did she kill all of them?”
With Bader’s eyes never leaving Oriana, Marrok didn’t know whether his question had been for him or for Solange. Apparently, Solange didn’t have the same confusion because she answered.
“All I transported to Elio Desert, yes.”
“What does that mean?” For the first time since arriving, Bader’s worry bled through in the harsh timber of his voice.
“Matriarch Oriana interviewed one data technician. The girl’s nineteen and afraid of her shadow. As soon as Oriana called her into her office, she burst into tears and out flowed the story. She pardoned the girl and sent her back to her mother in Ironmere. The only other Steelburgh-connected witches unaccounted for are Dr. Bhavari of Copper Vale, and Misae of Cobaltpass. Dr. Bhavari is primary healer at Crimson Guard headquarters in Steelburgh and the wife of Abelone of Copper Vale, while Misae is Dr. Bhavari’s assistant. My extraction spell included a mind enchantment spell.”
“What is a mind enchantment spell?” Marrok asked, turning so he could see Solange.
Kalinda answered, and not, surprisingly, as if she were explaining the phases of the moon to a man-child, but with informative thoughtfulness. “The mind enchantment weaves its way inside one’s brain and answers the spellcaster’s single question, such as: Were you involved in helping muracos escape from Steelburgh and/or covering up the escape?”
Solange nodded. “That’s close to the question I posed. I embedded that spell inside my extraction spell.”
“I get it. Only those witches whose enchanted minds revealed their role in the muraco escape and cover-up were transported to Elio Desert.”
“That’s right. But it didn’t transport Dr. Bharavi or Misae.”
“Why not those two?” Bader asked.
“My magic couldn’t find the healers.”
“I see.” Good for Bader, but Marrok didn’t see. “They are likely using an obstruction spell to block your attempt to locate them, which probably means they’re also using a camouflage spell to shield the muracos.”
Kalinda paced, reminiscent of a caged beast of prey. “Two witches aren’t strong enough to block Solange’s magic. There must be other traitors out there working against us.”
Now that Marrok understood. “How many witches would it take to prevent you from getting a read on Dr. Bhavari?”
As the center of attention, Solange had little choice but to return to the group she’d tried to flee. For better or for worse, they were in this together. With Oriana unconscious, he would speak in her stead, regardless of the objection of anyone, including Kalinda. So, he asked Solange a second question. “Do you think the unknown witches Kalinda mentioned are also hiding the muracos?”
Solange shoved the braids that had worked their way from her ponytail back into place, not that it helped much. They both looked as if they’d gone ten rounds with the desert.
“While I don’t know Dr. Bhavari’s magic skill level, any doctor licensed in the insertion and removal of rage disrupters has a high degree of mastery. They’re precise and patient spellcasters, in a way that Crimson Guards don’t have to be. Most guards are more blunt force soldiers. They’re trained to efficiently take down and eliminate enemies. No finesse required. As for Misae, her magic skill level is likely less than Dr. Bhavari’s.”
As if by mutual agreement, they walked away from Oriana and to the other side of the bedroom. They stood in front of the window wall. In a couple of hours, the sun would set. Common sense told him Oriana wouldn’t awaken by then to enjoy the sunset with him the way they did when time permitted. But common sense didn’t stop Marrok from hoping all the same.
“Kalinda knows Bhavari,” Bader informed them, his body angled in the direction of his mate. “If my memory serves, you handpick the healers who recei
ve the rage disrupter certification. Is that still the case?”
“It is. I do know Bhavari, although I haven’t had reason to speak with her in years. Misae is an unknown to me. To answer your question, Marrok, Bhavari is strong enough to block Solange’s locater spell, but only if she’s concealing a small number of people. Perhaps one or two dozen.”
Solange volunteered, “When dealing with werewolves, Oriana and I would normally track them by their rage disrupters, which you know, Marrok. With the escaped muracos, however, we were planning on using locater spells, which target a person’s bio signature.” Solange snatched the binding from her hair. Limp braids and pink sand fell onto her shoulders, a strange but pretty mix not matched by the witch’s expression. “When the healer was in with Oriana, Nahara and I used the time to cast a locater spell. Twenty, actually.”
“You’re too skilled to require twenty spells to do anything. I take it you and Nahara couldn’t find them.”
“Not a single muraco, Marrok, and we tried damn hard.”
The aku huffed. “This is bad.”
Marrok smiled at Bader, hearing Oriana’s voice in his head telling him he had a way with understatements.
“If we can’t track the muracos, where does that leave us?” Marrok had posed the question to the one person he hated asking anything of. Kalinda would likely view it as confirmation of Marrok’s inability to co-rule Steelcross instead of a smart decision to seek help from an expert.
Kalinda’s response revealed what he knew about Oriana’s working relationship with Kalinda—she kept nothing from her that involved the safety and rule of Earth Rift. “Oriana told me you believe the muracos are in one of the human regions, maybe Aphelion Umbra because it would’ve been a shorter magic jump, the region being within Steelcross Realm. But they could also be in Perilune Rille, putting them in Irongarde and closer to Janus Nether.”
“If I were a betting werewolf,” Bader said, “I’d wager the muraco are in Perilune Rille. I don’t think the witches helped them escape just to let them run wild.”
Neither did Marrok.
Bader continued, taking a quick look at Oriana first. “From everything we’ve heard from Marrok and Solange, the witches were upset over Oriana’s push to equally include werewolves into society. What better way to undermine her efforts than to drop a large number of muraco in the middle of Janus Nether? We know what they’ll do if they’re loose in that area.”
“Go straight for black werewolves,” Marrok said, a heavy feeling of foreboding in his chest. “They’ll try to turn as many as they can. Once they do, they’ll head for the seat of Earth Rift’s power—Kalinda and Irongarde City.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound worried about my safety.”
“Leave him alone, Kalinda. Your claws are bigger and deadlier than mine. Sheath them, please. It’s not Marrok’s fault Oriana is hurt, so stop blaming him. He didn’t have a lifetime of preparation for this role any more than I did. Marrok is doing his best. Everyone can see that, except for you.”
How a werewolf as self-possessed and kind as Aku Bader had married a witch like Kalinda, Marrok would never understand. But the werewolf must’ve been a bear tamer in a former life because Matriarch Kalinda nodded once to Bader before turning on her high heels and stalking away from them and back to Oriana. Claiming the seat vacated by her consort, Kalinda held Oriana’s hand, effectively withdrawing from the conversation.
“Don’t mind my mate, Marrok. Kalinda can govern a planet with ease but let someone she loves get hurt and she loses it.”
“It’s fine. I know Kalinda doesn’t like me.”
“It isn’t fine, but Kalinda dislikes anyone she’s forced to share her daughter with, including me.” Bader tilted his head toward Solange, who appeared as if she were contemplating her odds of making it out of the bedroom before Kalinda recalled she hadn’t received a full oral report from her. “Including Solange. The only exception is Keira, and that’s because Kalinda views her as an extension of Oriana.” As he’d done in Kalinda’s library the night of Keira’s birth, Bader hugged Marrok. “You’ll grow on her.”
“Like ringworm?”
Bader chuckled. “Yes, I’m sure Kalinda thinks of us all as fungal bacteria, as infections in need of treatment.” The aku grabbed Solange and hugged her too. The witch wrapped her arms around him with a comfort that came with familiarity and trust. “Thank you and Nahara for watching over Oriana. She chose this path for herself. The physical pain she’ll feel upon waking won’t compare to how she’ll feel on the inside after taking the lives of her sisters. Kalinda doesn’t understand, but I do.”
There was a hell of a lot Kalinda didn’t understand about Oriana. In fairness, Marrok also took issue with Oriana permitting herself to be physically injured. The witches had earned their fate. Still, he wasn’t the one responsible for following through with the death penalties. Would he view Oriana’s actions differently, if it were his hands used to usher people from life into death?
Bader released Solange. “Go, and take Nahara with you.”
“Are you sure?”
“You mean, will Kalinda be upset I sent you and Nahara home?” Bader shrugged. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. You’re tired. Go. Shower. Sleep. Tell your mother I said hello, and thank her for training my daughter so well she was able to survive a fight with twenty-two witches.”
Solange’s grin reminded Marrok of how young they all were, despite their grown-up responsibilities.
Solange wasted no time using her magic to jump from the bedroom.
“Smart girl. Listen, Marrok, I’m here, and Kalinda’s here. Go see Keira before she starts crying for her mother again.”
Kalinda had selected her consort well. Bader knew how to get his way without insults, guilt, or arguments. By appealing to the father in Marrok, he circumvented any protest to the suggestion that he shower, eat, or do anything other than wait by Oriana’s side.
“If Oriana’s condition changes, we’ll send for you right away.”
Even knowing he needed to check on his daughter, the way Oriana would want him to, Marrok paused, unable to make his legs move.
Bader pushed him toward the closed bedroom door. “We’ll take care of her.”
He knew they would. With a final glance to Oriana, Marrok left. After spending time with Keira, Marrok would try reaching Zev again. His brother had been pissed at him since he had married Oriana and moved to Steelcross. Because Zev had refused to visit, Marrok had to drag his ass to Wild Moor whenever he wanted to spend time with his oldest brother. That had gotten old real fast, but Marrok had put in the miles anyway.
When not talking about Oriana, the brothers got along—as well as anyone could with Zev. But his brother was being an asshole and, for some reason, not answering or returning his calls. Yeah, he would call him repeatedly until the jerk got over whatever had crawled up his ass and answered his phone. If Zev didn’t, he would wait until Oriana was feeling better then he would catch a Magerun transporter to Wild Moor. Either way, he would find out what was going on with his brother.
April 18, 2243
Perilune Rille
Apogean Tide Borough
Bhavari watched the werewolf on the operating table struggle against his wrist and leg shackles. The chains moored to the concrete floor and wall would do the job.
“The chains are made of steel. I’ve reinforced them with magic, and you’re in human form. You’re wasting both of our time. You can’t escape.”
“Fuck you. When I get out of here, I’ll slit your throat and drink your blood.”
Bhavari tsked from her seat in the corner of the room closest to the door. Her patience was almost gone. If this didn’t work, she would throw him in with the muracos and let them turn him. She had promised the animals two things—a black werewolf who would lead them into Janus Nether and open season on the witches of Irongarde City. If the black werewolf cooperated, she would fulfill her first promise.
As f
or her second promise, Bhavari tsked again. Matriarch Kalinda would have every muraco’s head mounted to her wall long before they stepped one white clawed foot into Irongarde City.
“Slit my throat and drink my blood? I was unaware werewolves enjoyed fantasy. Do you think yourself a supernatural creature of the night, slipping through the window and into the room of a helpless female, your vampiric scent an aphrodisiac she can’t defend against? Tell you what, if you’re a vampire, turn into a bat for me.”
“You’re a crazy soon-to-be-dead bitch.”
He snapped and snarled. Muscles flexed. After jumping him from that bogus clinic, Bhavari had used the werewolf’s shock as the perfect opportunity to jab a syringe in his neck, thereby incapacitating him. She had proceeded to strip him, relieved when she discovered he carried no weapon.
“I’m going to kill you. Kill you good and dead.”
Vulgar curses followed more pointless struggles. The chains rattled from his efforts, her magic a strong yellow glow that kept her safe and the black werewolf where she wanted him.
“You’re going to kill me?”
“Hell, yes. I’ll enjoy it too. I can already taste your blood and magic in my mouth, as I rip you to shreds.”
Bhavari wondered about the time, the day. This room, like the rest of the complex, had no windows. How long had she been there? When would Abelone arrive? They had known they would have until the date of the rage disrupter system’s biannual audit before the data technicians’ creative reporting would be discovered and the offline rage disrupters brought to Matriarch Oriana’s attention.
Abelone had assured her, “The auditor can’t be bribed, bullied, or brought into the fold. I don’t even want to risk going to her with our plan. She’s the type to run back to the matriarch. We can’t trust anyone but our small group. We’re lucky to have secured the help of the data technicians. They’re true believers, like us.”
