by N. D. Jones
Their co-conspirators had been true believers, except for the young data tech on first shift. Bhavari didn’t want to know what Abelone had said or done to the girl to change her mind. For their plan to work, they had required the allegiance of the three data technicians to cover all the shifts. Matriarch Oriana would’ve figured that out by now. The same way she would’ve concluded who the likely culprits were in helping the muracos escape Steelburgh.
But figuring out the how of a plan after its execution meant little. Matriarch Oriana was still five steps behind them and wouldn’t be able to prevent what came next. Bhavari and Abelone had received help from an unlikely source.
Bhavari swung her foot back and forth, the way Abelone did when she was nervous or agitated. Bhavari was both, alone with so many muracos, with only their benefactor’s magic keeping them hidden. When would Abelone arrive? She was better at handling schemes and werewolves than Bhavari.
“Have you exhausted yourself?”
The black werewolf snarled something at her, likely another inventive curse. She waited, giving him another three minutes. He wasn’t as bright as she had hoped. How could he have not noticed? Maybe he wasn’t smart enough to get the job done. Then again, she only needed him to point the muracos in the right direction. His reign as their leader would be short-lived. But he could serve their cause well, if he calmed down and allowed her to explain.
“Notice anything?”
“Yeah, come closer so I can tell you.” Sharp, deadly fangs slid against his bottom lip. “Close enough for a kiss, a taste, a,” —he snapped at her— “bite.”
Bhavari pushed to her feet, walked to the foot of the operating table and stopped. “Werewolves heal fast. I had to give you a little trim to get to the part of the scalp I needed, but your hair is already growing back. In another day or two, you’ll never notice.” She tsked again. “Not that you’ve noticed anything yet. I was in your brain, so I know you have one.”
He tried reaching for his head, but the chains held him in place.
“What the fuck did you do to me, you crazy bitch?”
“I gave you what you hoped to find in Apogean Tide Borough. For the record, the underground clinic that charges exorbitant prices to remove rage disrupters is a scam that dumb werewolves like you keep falling for. They would’ve taken your money, shoved something in your head or neck, I have no clue what, then sent you home, thinking you were free of your rage disrupter. That is, until whatever they give werewolves that temporarily interferes with the rage disrupter wore off.” Bhavari pointed to her neck. “Then you would’ve been right back where you started, with less money in your bank account and no legal recourse because you paid money with intent to break the law.”
“What are you saying?”
“I think I was clear. You came all this way looking for a fountain of freedom. I, on the other hand, was there looking for a black werewolf from Janus Nether. Specifically, I heard you tell one of the charlatans at the clinic you were from Wild Moor, which is perfect.”
“You were there? I didn’t see you.” He shook his head. “This is crazy. You’re crazy. Do you have any idea who I am? Who my brother is?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t car—”
“Marrok, Cyrus of Steelcross.” He laughed, a mix of snarl and mockery. “Yeah, I caught your scent change. Marrok’s my baby brother and consort to Matriarch Oriana. Now let me out of these damn chains.”
Bhavari’s eyes roamed his body—taut and strong. She could dissect him, beginning with removing his foul, annoying tongue. She had either chosen poorly or stumbled upon something quite delicious. Such sweet irony.
“If you were anything like your brother, I wouldn’t have found you in an underground clinic.” She touched his leg, hard and smooth, like the rest of him. “I don’t think you’re anything like your brother. I bet he doesn’t even know you came to Perilune Rille.”
He flinched, from her touch or her words she didn’t know.
“What does my scent tell you now?”
“That you’re crazy.”
“So you’ve said. But I have a plan. Interested?”
“Do I have any choice but to listen?”
“You don’t. But I think you’ll like my plan. I can only imagine what you wanted to do once you had your rage disrupter removed.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“What if I told you, if you agreed to work with me—”
“I don’t work with witches, especially ones who kidnap and operate on me. Go fuck yourself.”
“—that you’ll have over a thousand muracos at your disposal,” Bhavari continued, unconcerned with the werewolf’s hostility.
If he proved useless, there were more where he came from. She didn’t relish the idea of going back out on the street and to the clinic, though. Surely, Matriarch Kalinda would’ve dispatched her Crimson Hunter by now, which could explain why Abelone was late.
Bhavari shoved the unpleasant thought away. Abelone was late because she was taking extra precautions to ensure her magic couldn’t be traced.
“At my disposal?”
“That got your attention. Think yourself a leader, do you? Want to lead a rebellion? Kill witches? Make your brother, or yourself, Patriarch of Earth Rift?”
“Witches don’t kill witches or side with werewolves. What’s your angle?”
“Lead my muraco army or die on this table. Those are your options.”
“Not good options, but I’m listening.”
Bhavari laid out the portion of the plan he needed to know. When she finished, she realized two things about the black werewolf. One, when he smiled, it hid the vile creature he was at heart. Two, he intended to double-cross her. Bhavari would have expected nothing else from a werewolf, including his underestimation of her. His hubris would make leading him and the muracos to slaughter that much easier and more enjoyable.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah.” He yanked at his arm restraints. “Release me.”
“I will. What’s your name? I need to call you something.”
“Fine. Whatever. You can call me Zev, and I’ll call you Crazy Bitch. How’s that?”
“Nice to meet you, Zev.” Bhavari shook his hand, increasing the magic around his wrists until she heard a snap. The bone would heal in an hour or two. “Make that the last time you call me a crazy bitch. Now” —she snapped her fingers, breaking the magic and the chains that bound him— “let’s go. You have clothes to put on and muracos to meet.”
"Read that entry again, please.”
This was the second journal entry Oriana had asked Marrok to reread. He didn’t mind, though, because she was awake, talking, and “doing better,” she told him every time he asked about her injuries.
Head pillowed on Marrok’s chest, duvet pulled to Oriana’s shoulder, he was comforted by her nearness. She would be asleep before he finished the passage. Marrok held Oriana close with one hand and the tablet with the other.
“I’ve tried speaking to Kalinda, as has Tuncay. She refuses to listen. I’ve never met a more obstinate witch. Ironically, I’ve heard Tuncay say the same about me. But the conversation Kalinda keeps avoiding isn’t the same as my efforts with Bronze Ward or kissing experiments that still leave Tuncay sick and me feeling guilty for causing him pain. We should’ve never resumed that particular experiment. While I may be stubborn, Tuncay has proven that patience is the stronger character trait. Hence, my changed mind after so many years.
Yet, for all my stubbornness and Tuncay’s patience, we are no closer to bridging the divide between witches and werewolves. Magic and power are at the heart of the tension. I’m afraid that will always be the case. Worse, I’m worried about Kalinda. It couldn’t have been easy being raised by an “unorthodox matriarch,” as witches have called me for years. I never cared what closed-minded witches thought of me, so consumed with maintaining their place in the world they’ve ceased caring, if they ever did, about those less fortunate than
themselves.
Perhaps if Tuncay and I had given Kalinda a sibling, or spent less time focused on Bronze Ward, she wouldn’t use aloofness as a form of emotional shielding while also being covetous of the few people she’s let into her heart.
I need to help her understand that an egalitarian Earth Rift is our future. But first, I need to spend more time with my daughter. One day, she’ll be Matriarch of Earth Rift. I question if I’ve prepared her well. I fear I haven’t …”
Chapter 12: Blinders
April 21, 2243
Perilune Rille
Apogean Tide Borough
Werewolves were everywhere, filling up every inch of the warehouse with their hostile, impatient energy and near constant whining as to when they could “leave this place” and “kill some witches.”
Bhavari slammed the door, shutting out the incessant voices and locking herself in the room she used as her office. It was the same concrete space where she had kept Zev.
“I need to go home,” he had told her two days ago. “My family will be worried. And what in the hell did you do with my phone? It wasn’t in the stuff you gave back to me.”
She had fried the device, while he’d been unconscious. Trackers were standard on all cell phones. While she may not have known Zev’s connection to Matriarch Oriana when she’d abducted him, she hadn’t wanted to risk a concerned family member finding their hideout if they came looking for Zev.
“You probably dropped it or had it snatched. The clinic you went to wasn’t in the best neighborhood. A lot of unsavory people live and visit there.”
“Yeah, unsavory … like you. Anyway, I’m going home.”
“You can’t.”
“Yeah, I can. My brother, Alarick, knows I came here and why. He didn’t want to know, but I told him anyway. I’ve already been gone too long and, without my phone, they haven’t been able to contact me.”
She had considered jumping him to and from Wild Moor, ensuring his return to the warehouse. In the end, Bhavari had permitted Zev to go alone, taking the Magerun back to Wild Moor as he’d planned to do before she’d taken him hostage.
“I’m in,” he had said, wearing a deceptively innocent werewolf-next-door grin. “I’ll be back. When I do, I’ll have a list of the best areas in Janus Nether’s three cities to attack. The list will include places with a lot of strong but young werewolves. Young werewolves won’t put up as much resistance as older, more experienced werewolves.”
Oddly enough, when she had watched Zev slip through the steel gate enclosing the complex, a middle finger his classy goodbye, Bhavari had sensed she could trust him to return when he said he would. If for no other reason than the fact that Zev of Wild Moor was the biggest asshole she’d ever met with delusions of grandeur. He thought the world owed him—and all werewolves—things like trust, faith … and power.
Bhavari slid down the wall, knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Dropping her forehead to her knees, she fought the threatening tremors but couldn’t prevent her tears from falling. They were gone. She had no proof.
The warehouse was a big, storage space, solar powered but without the conveniences or comforts of a home or business. Bedrolls, ready-to-eat meals, and bottled water, those were in ample supply. The benefactor Bhavari and Abelone should’ve known better than to trust had convinced them to use the military surplus warehouse to hide the muracos.
“Our goal is the same,” she had told them.
Bhavari had no idea how the witch had learned of their plan to free the muracos, but she had, arriving at their home uninvited.
“Are your band of supporters true witches committed to the Matriarchy and maintaining our way of life? Are you, Abelone?”
Whatever apprehension Abelone had initially felt at having their plan discovered bled away with the questioning of her loyalty to the Matriarchy.
“I’m committed,” Abelone had assured, placing the palm of her right hand over her heart. “We’re committed. That’s why we’re doing this. The establishment of Steelburgh, approving a silver snare-free Janus Nether, bestowing a sun title on a werewolf … each action is a slippery slope that could once again have witches under the claws and fangs of werewolves. Those were dark times for witches.”
“They were indeed. I applaud your loyalty, as will Matriarch Oriana. She’ll come to see your actions as patriotism at its finest.”
“What about Oriana as Crimson Hunter?” Bhavari had asked.
“As Crimson Hunter she will do what she must. That cannot be stopped. You’ll be breaking planetary law, committing treason. Both will warrant action by the Crimson Hunter, and the matriarchs will be duty-bound to reestablish control of the muraco, whether that means returning them to Steelburgh or killing them.”
What had gone unsaid was that there was no escaping death for the witches. The Crimson Hunter wouldn’t cart them off to jail, after using a healer to inject them with a metal hardening serum, effectively preventing them from channeling magic. As a healer for the judicial system, Bhavari had performed the procedure on convicted witches. She’d never questioned that sentence. After all, adjudicators only cast down that penalty on the most reprehensible of witch criminals.
As Bhavari cried herself dry, head aching but not as painful as her heart, she would trade a magicless existence for one with Abelone by her side.
“You go first,” Abelone had told her. “We can’t all disappear at the same time. The captain of the guard needs to be distracted. She won’t be if we all go with you to the warehouse.”
“B-but …” Bhavari had sputtered, gut churning at the prospects of leaving Abelone and dealing with the muracos on her own. “Come with me.”
The smile she so loved transformed Abelone from a world-weary soldier to an idealistic revolutionary. Bhavari should’ve known she would never see Abelone and the others again. But she so wanted to believe Abelone’s lie and was desperate to ignore the very real likelihood that their plan wouldn’t succeed, and they would die along with the muracos.
No matter how many times Abelone had tried to prepare Bhavari for the fate that awaited them at the end of Crimson Hunter’s Ravagers of the Lost cannons, she still never quite accepted it as inevitable. She hadn’t been a naïve girl in decades, but she had acted the part well, holding on to her delusions.
Eventually, Bhavari had no more tears to shed. Now that she’d stopped weeping, a warmth suffused her body as her mind no longer focused on what she had lost but on how she could make the Matriarchy pay for taking Abelone away.
With her wife gone, she had no reason to continue with the muraco plan. Zev could do whatever in the hell he wanted with the white werewolves. Whether they listened to or had him for dinner, Bhavari didn’t care. The muracos wouldn’t stay confined to the warehouse much longer. Eventually, they would leave the protective magic enclosure to go hunting. Once they did, humans and witches would demand action from the Matriarchy. By the time all the muracos were rounded-up or killed, the damage to Matriarch Oriana’s push to elevate werewolves’ standing in society would be as dead as Bhavari’s wife and friends.
Shuffling to her feet, her long hair fell into her face. A sob tore through her as she pushed back the tangled wave and wished her hands were Abelone’s. The muracos were raucous behind the closed door—as usual. She despised every single one of them. But not as much as she despised the Matriarchy
One gave the execution order, while the other implemented it. Both were guilty of taking Abelone away from Bhavari.
Wiping her face clean with her shirt sleeve, Bhavari composed herself. She twisted her hair in a knot and opened the door. She had a small window of opportunity to act. Zev was slated to return before the day of the white moon. She could’ve attempted to work around Zev, but the risk of him figuring out her plan was too great to chance.
She would proceed with her new plan while she had the muracos to herself. If she succeeded, Abelone wouldn’t have died in vain. Bhavari had lost the love of her life. It was only
fair Matriarch Kalinda also lose the person she most loved.
Scanning the open room, muracos lounging everywhere, she searched for her accomplices. She would have the element of surprise, but there wouldn’t be another chance if she failed.
A crowd formed around three fighting muracos. Of course, they were fighting. Her hellacious day wouldn’t be complete without the animals going for each other’s throats. The three ripped into each other.
Barbarians. My accomplices. Perfect.
April 24, 2243
Steelcross Realm
Steel Rise
“Did Zev say where he’d been and why he didn’t return anyone’s call?”
Oriana kept her voice low, speaking over their toddler who slept on the bed between them. Oriana held Keira around her waist, his daughter’s back pressed to his mate’s chest. The sight of mother and daughter always tugged at Marrok’s heart.
He smiled.
When Keira was an infant, he could see much of Oriana in his daughter but little of himself. As Keira grew, passing her one-year milestone, she still didn’t favor Marrok, but he had begun to see traces of his mother, Lita, in his daughter. To his surprise, that revelation hadn’t bothered him the way it would’ve before Lita’s declaration of love. Since he’d married, Lita had begun to reach out to him. And not only to him, but to his brothers and father, as well. Alarick and Io had been receptive—especially Io, who smiled more these days. Zev, on the other hand, had ignored Lita’s overtures, claiming, “I’m a grown-ass werewolf. I don’t need a mother.” Thankfully, he had only said those words to Marrok and Alarick.
The new and improved family dynamics didn’t alter circumstances as much as Marrok would have wished. The problems that prompted Lita to leave and stay away hadn’t changed. Nothing would work for witch-werewolf families until they figured out how to get a handle on werewolves’ blood-and-magic lust. He and Oriana had been circling their theory, neither knowing quite what to do with their suppositions. After what had happened at Steelburgh and Elio Desert, they needed to act sooner rather than later. Yet, there were the thirteen hundred plus muracos still unaccounted for. Capturing them took precedence.
