
A Soulmark Series

Books 1-3

Rebecca Main

www.RebeccaMain.com

© 2017 Rebecca Main. All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Book 1-3 Contents

Coven (A Soulmark Series Book 1)

Midnight Scoundrel (A Soulmark Series Book 2)

Wardens of Starlight (A Soulmark Series Book 3)

Mr. Vrana Excerpt

# Coven

# Coven | Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Connect with Rebecca Main

Acknowledgements

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 1

Begin Again

"Congratulations!" I'm swept up into a hug before I can react, though my smile widens nonetheless at Ben's enthusiasm. My laughter joins his as he sets me down and kisses me sweetly on the lips.

"Thank you," I murmur, tucking away a stray curl of dark chocolate hair. It springs back into its wayward place almost immediately, earning a quick chuckle from my boyfriend.

"My superstar graduate!" he exclaims loudly, drawing amused looks from the other families congregated around us.

"Ben!" I try for something akin to a scold but find another giggle escaping instead, as he places another kiss on my lips. This one borders on PG-13.

"Now, now," comes a much sterner voice, "none of that nonsense." I pull back sheepishly, a blush heating me from neck to cheeks as I turn to face Gran. Her silver hair is kept neatly in its natural state, creating a halo around her face. "My baby," she coos, her arms opening to welcome me into her embrace. "I'm so proud of you," she whispers fiercely into my ear, pulling back and gazing at me with her all-knowing gaze. "Family is watching down on you right this very moment, Zoelle Renee Baudelaire. You haven't just made me proud. You've made them proud. I can feel it in the air. Their spirits are surrounding us. Their love reaching out to touch you—feel it, Zoelle. Close your eyes and feel their love, darling."

So I do, and for the most wonderful second, I think I do feel it. Three light pressures were reaching out to touch me and fill me with warmth and love. It's gone all too soon, but tears deign to come regardless of the fleeting feeling. Normally I don't agree with Gran and her notions, our bickering and teasing over our beliefs having softened in the most recent years, but today... today, it means something.

"How long has it been again, Zoey?" Ben asks politely, his tone gentle as he navigates his way into the conversation. I let out the breath I've been holding and dab none too discreetly at my eyes with a weak laugh.

"Fourteen years?"

"Fourteen years." Gran nods resolutely. "But enough of this talk. They're happy for you, and so am I!" she exclaims, instantly brightening the mood as she raises her hands with a lavish wave, her many bracelets tinkling happily along. "My granddaughter, a college graduate of the culinary arts! You've worked so hard for this day. I'm so proud of you."

Her nostalgic look almost has me tearing up again. "Gran." I warn with a laugh and let Ben tug me into his side. Pride shines through her eyes, and I stand a bit taller under her regard. Today I feel unbeatable, and beautiful to boot. Underneath my maroon graduation robe is a delicate white-lace dress that falls just above my knees. One I know will turn Ben's head with its open back and the way it pops against my deep brown skin. Like Gran, I wear my hair in its natural state. The springy curls have an extra bounce today from the black three-inch heels I sport.

"So, what's the game plan? How are we going to celebrate? It's not every day you get to celebrate a summer graduation and enjoy this kind of weather."

"You two," Gran says, her tone once again nonnegotiable, "go out. Have fun."

"But—"

"No buts! Go out and have fun I said. Tomorrow I'll give you your gift." I share a knowing smile with Gran. I'm a sucker for her presents. Well, presents in general.

"All right."

" _All right_ ," Ben suggestively whispers as he places a kiss on my temple.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Gran." She raises her eyebrow to my burning cheeks, but a smirk tugs at the corner of her lips regardless.

"Tomorrow."

+++

The thing about Ben is... well, the thing about Ben and me is—that is to say; the thing with me is that I don't know how to love him.

A fact I acknowledge is both odd and pathetic. Though, it doesn't change it. Ben is my safe spot. He's my comfort zone. Yet, I can't seem to plunge past hesitations and fears and doubts. Even if Ben is more than eager for me to do so. He doesn't push me knowing my last relationship ended on a sour note.

Initially, I resisted Ben's courtship. I wasn't willing to put my heart back on the market. Yet, Ben's genuine interest in me thawed my cold-shoulder treatment. His pursuit was laughable most of the time, but the cute coffee dates and study sessions were endearing. In the end, it was his understanding of my feelings and patience that stole past my defenses. Ben seems to know inherently what I need. Someone steady and reliable in my life. Someone I don't have to worry about leaving me.

A tightness develops in my throat. Feelings I've tried to escape dredging up.

Somewhere along the way as our relationship grew, so did my feelings for the beautiful man. And man, is Ben beautiful. He keeps his thick, warm-brown hair short. It's just enough for a girl to run her hands through while looking into his misty hazel eyes. A dreamy sigh escapes me. His fair skin is a lovely contrast to my chocolate brown. At least _I_ think it is. Ben is... perfect. A little too perfect sometimes.

But I'm not interested in getting hurt anymore. I'm not willing to risk it all on anything less than a sure thing. Not yet anyway. Maybe not ever.

There's not a thing wrong with Ben. He's handsome, kind, and has a wry sense of humor. And he respects the odd distance I try to keep between us. Though I suspect he's been holding off a more full-hearted pursuit until I finished school. A thought, I admit, that makes my stomach curl unpleasantly.

I gaze at Ben from across the table. His soft smile soothes my nonsensical train of thought. He's taken me to a nice Italian restaurant for our private celebration. An empty bottle of champagne and breadcrumbs spot the table, the rest having been cleared to prepare for our dessert. My lips tilt upward in reciprocation, and I reach for my champagne flute. I'm unprepared for Ben's cool hand to capture mine midtask. My eyes widen as I stare at him in silent wonder.

"I love you," Ben tells me earnestly, squeezing my hand for effect. My stomach drops.

"Oh!"

" _Oh?_ "

"Oh." I give a gentle smile in return. "Ben..." The words fall flat on my tongue as I try to regain my equilibrium. I feel my lips quiver uncertainly as they hold their shape.

He ducks his head and releases me to rub at the back of his neck. "Well, that isn't the reaction a guy hopes for," he says with a forced laugh, his eyes darting upward to capture my reaction.

"You're wonderful, Ben," I say, daring to meet his eyes, which are both hopeful and restrained. "It's just...."

"I know," he says with a slight cringe, sitting back in his chair and fiddling with his napkin. "Between what happened with Jamie and all the history with your family."

The thing with Jamie being that after three years of being together, I found out the last eight months of our "relationship" he had cheated on me. The thing with my family being that they are _dead_. They've been dead for the past fourteen years. I lost both parents and my older sister to an awful car accident when I was ten. I was the sole survivor.

_Talk about trust and abandonment issues_ , I think with bitter humor.

"Yes," I finally say, trying to hide the uncertainty and sadness I feel. "I just—I don't want to rush anything. I hadn't planned on being with anyone for a while and then—"

"I swept you off your feet?" Ben's charm comes back in full force, his dimples winking at me, his hazel eyes shining. "Dazzled you with my wit and intellect?"

"By sweeping me off my feet do you mean...?" Ben groans, head tilting back as he shakes his head with exasperation.

"I knock into you one time—"

"And knock me flat on my ass in the process."

"I'll never live it down." I shake my head, giggling as he leans forward across the table to steal a kiss, all awkwardness swept to the wayside. "Fine," he says, sitting back as a slice of chocolate cake is set between us along with a fork and spoon. We stare at the utensils and then at one another, the moment lingering a tad too long before our hands collide as we each reach for the fork. Laughter erupts between us, even as Ben holds the fork triumphantly.

"Ha!"

"That's not fair!" I say with a pout, "I'm the graduate, I should get the fork."

Ben rolls his eyes but relinquishes the fork to me and takes the spoon reluctantly, eyeing it with distrust. "Aw man, it's dirty. What kind of service is this anyway?" He looks cross, and rightly so, but the cake won't eat itself.

My fork breaks through the dessert with little effort. I can immediately tell it will be incredible. Something to savor and enjoy. I close my eyes as my lips wrap around the morsel, letting the flavor of it sink into my taste buds. The thin layer of fudge is what grabs my notice first, melting quickly against my tongue before the rest follows. I chew slowly, letting the bittersweet chocolate overwhelm my mouth. It's still warm, and so delicate and perfectly moist.

"Oh my God," I murmur, lazily peeking one eye open to see Ben staring at me with a mixture of frustration and amusement running across his face. "It's so good."

"I couldn't tell," he says dryly, frantically searching for the missing waitress. I take another piece, cutting the cake quickly and holding out the fork to Ben who looks at me in pure excitement.

"You're welcome. This is heaven. I am presenting you with one of the best bites of cake ever, and I expect your full appreciation later." He leans forward, mouth open and ready. "Seriously," I tell him, "you are about to enter the most serene state of mind as this chocolate hits you." He glares and opens his mouth wider. " _Seriously_ ," I repeat. My lip twitches upward.

"Zoey." Gone is his amusement as he sends me a hard glare. I smile brightly in response. " _Feed_. _Me_."

"Say please," I tease, inching ever forward.

"Ple— _oh my God_." His face scrunches and pulls in delight as he chews. I can't help but laugh and scoop another piece into my mouth quickly. "I don't know how you do that," he says, stealing the fork before I can protest.

"Do what?"

He takes a bite, fingering the fork thoughtfully. "You say some of the most bizarre things about food sometimes, how it tastes, how it makes you feel. Just now, before I even ate my food, everything you said perfectly described what I tasted and felt. I was fucking Zen that first bite." He takes another helping, passing me back the fork with a smirk.

"What can I say?" I spare Ben a dainty shrug while taking my turn.

"Whenever you decide to open up your restaurant—"

"Patisserie," I correct quickly.

"Patisserie," he amends, "I will gain at least 50 pounds." We laugh. I'm all too grateful for the break in our previous conversation and the delicious dessert before us. Ben, ever the gracious one, allows me the last couple of bites, his eyes focusing on me with a building heat. By the time I finish off the last bite, he can see the eagerness in my eyes.

"Check!"

+++

Ben drops me off with a kiss and wave in front of Gran's house, persuading me to leave the box of donuts we picked up along the way with him for his drive back to Missoula. The drive is roughly an hour from Deer Lodge where Gran and I reside. Even though it's still early in the morning, I'll need a considerable amount of luck to sneak past Gran to change out of yesterday's dress.

I take a moment before I enter our little home, closing my eyes to enjoy the breeze as it brushes against my calves and the back of my neck. The scent of lilacs is in the air. With a sigh, I feel my entire body relax at the soothing and familiar scent.

I did it. I'm a proud University of Montana graduate.

Even with starting a year late at nineteen, it's taken me six years to graduate as a half-time student. No more papers or tests. No more chopping and dicing my way to _A_ s. No more cramming study sessions between jobs. Only the terrifying prospect of trying to find a job.

"Child, get inside!" Gran calls from somewhere in the house, breaking my reverie. With a wry grin, I enter. The door gives its telltale creak as soon as it swings inward. My boxes litter the front room, and I cringe in apprehension at the task of unpacking my things. Living in a shack of an apartment for the better part of the last six years, I'm surprised I accumulated so much. Yet, proof stands before me, blocking my way.

"Hi, Gran," I call as I hurry to my room to change. When I find her minutes later in the kitchen, she is preoccupied with a batch of french toast.

"Come on, this food won't eat itself," she tells me, one brow raised in a superior manner. I hesitate in the kitchen's entryway, surprised to see even more boxes fill the room. "I didn't realize I had this much," I say with some unease.

"Oh, these aren't yours, sweetheart," she tells me with a snort, passing back a look to me. "Go on and eat. You don't want that food getting too cold on you."

"We ate on the drive over," I tell her, even as my hands move of their own accord to fill the empty plate in front of me. Bacon, eggs, and of course, one of Gran's mini blueberry muffins. She's working the pan to finish the french toast as I continue to dissect the room. When Gran takes a seat across from me, I level her with my most probing glare.

"Gran...?" She hums in response, avoiding my look effortlessly. _As usual_ , I think with exasperation. " _Gran_ ," I say more sternly, sliding the plate that holds the bacon out of her reach. She gives me a dry look in return. "Gran!"

"Oh, what?"

"What's with these boxes?" I ask in exasperation. "If they aren't mine, whose are they? Are they yours?"

"Of course they're mine. If they aren't yours, sweetheart, whose do you think they would be?" she responds tartly, snatching the plate of bacon back into her possession.

"Yours?"

"Yes. Mine," she tells me with a pointed look. "I'm moving."

"You're what!" In my surprise, I falter, somehow knocking my glass of juice down across the generous spread of food. Gran and I both let out surprised squeaks before groaning in despair.

"Now look what you've done," she says, her voice a gentle tease as we try to salvage my mess. "You've gone and ruined your graduation breakfast extraordinaire!"

"Was this my present?" I ask, instantly feeling even more remorseful. The blueberry muffins, much to my chagrin, are tinged an orangish yellow at their bottoms. They are the fatal victims of my impromptu spill.

"No," she says with a shake of her head, "this was." She moves quickly to and from the fridge, snagging a rectangular piece of paper. She presses it into my hand before I can protest.

"Gran—"

"Honey, you've given it your all these past few years. This is just a little something I've been saving for you. Use it for whatever you want. Go on a vacation! Buy yourself something nice for once. Enjoy yourself!"

I throw my gaze to the ceiling, blinking back the tears that surface as I take in all of the new information. "You're moving?" I finally say, looking her in the eye, just like she taught me when I was younger. Always look people in the eyes when talking to them. It doesn't just show respect, it conveys a person's strength and power.

"Yes, sweetheart, and I want to invite you along with me."

"But, Gran, I don't understand. Why? Why are you moving?"

"Oh Lord, now isn't that a question! Come on and help me finish cleaning this all up, then we'll have ourselves a nice talk."

We quickly clean off the kitchen table and take stock of breakfast's survivor: the bacon. Thank goodness. By the look Gran passes me, I can tell she's thinking the same. Her hand darts forward to grab one of the crispier pieces as I lay into one of the fatter ones.

"So...?"

Gran doesn't look pleased, but there is a resolute air about her. "I'm needed back home" she says finally.

"Back home? As in the Falls? Barns Falls?"

"Branson Falls."

I give a short shrug at my error.

"I've—sweetheart, when the accident happened, I knew Branson Falls wasn't the place to raise you," she says with graveness I'm unused to hearing.

"Was it not safe?" I hedge a guess.

"At the time, Branson Falls had been undergoing a lot of change in the makeup of its residents. We were growing. And not everyone appreciated that. We were a close-knit town and liked things just the way they were. It wasn't that I was so opposed to the change, but with all that negativity in the air." She scowls, then gives a grimace for good measure as if she remembers exactly the way it felt. "All that negativity, it bites at your skin. Makes a person uncomfortable, even in their home. There was no way on this green earth I would have raised you in such a place. It was out of the question, but I left a lot of unfinished business when we came here. Now, now. I see that look. And I don't regret my decision one bit."

"Oh, Gran, I didn't realize," I say, my words softly spoken.

"Well of course not, dear"—she reassures me with a slow smile—"and you weren't ever meant to, sweetheart. But the facts haven't changed, and now, now, it's time for me to go home. I'm needed."

"Are you going to go back to your job at the practice? Be the town's doctor again?"

"Yes."

"But can't they get a new one?"

"No."

I give a little groan of frustration at her petulant tone, snagging one of the crispier pieces of bacon off the plate in spite. It tastes like coal in my mouth. The flavor a bitter reflection of my feelings. Sometimes Gran gets this way, so obstinate, so stubborn. I know I picked up this trait from her, and on my worse days, I wield it like a flaming sword, but I never enjoy it. Not too much at least. "Why?" I grind out. I know how to play the game at least, readying myself to pry the answer from her.

"Because."

"Gran," I finish my bacon with a few quick chomps. "Why can't the town just get a new doctor? Why does it have to be you? You haven't been in practice for years now! Besides, you're retired. Retired people don't have to work, you know?" I withhold my smirk, knowing my last remarks will have her answering my questions.

"Zoelle, that town is a part of me. I owe it to the people I left behind to return now that you're grown." My bitterness dissipates. "I know the timing seems off to you, abrupt even. But it's been on my mind since you began your last semester at school. I've already contacted a realtor. As soon as this place sells, I'll be leaving. The only question is will you be coming with me?

"I don't know what the job market is like out there, but you know you can always work alongside me. I've always wanted to teach you things. Things every woman in our family should know," she tells me passionately, holding out her hands to accept my own. They are worn and warm, and a comfort to me instantly.

A shiver tracks up my spine as her fingers tighten around mine. Gran's impassioned words sparks something inside me—a flare of hope, perhaps? A hope for something greater, something far past my wildest dreams. My teeth sink gently into my bottom lip as I stare into her expressive eyes. They hold me captive, as if attempting with just a look to convince me to come with her. I release my bottom lip, eyes tearing away from her gaze to trail over her face. A multitude of fine wrinkles gracefully trace around her eyes and mouth. A tiny stack of deep red stones dangle from her ears. They stand out starkly against her silver hair, even though it's kept back with a thick black headband.

"I'll understand if you want to go off with that boy of yours, or try living on your own once more. But I think we both know _I_ would prefer the latter." An underlying amusement paints her tone, but I know she's serious despite it.

"I—"

"Just you think about it, sweetheart. I've already got a place lined up in Branson Falls. Everything is in order."

She gives my hands another squeeze and her eyes never leave my own. I feel a wave of uncertainty fill me as soon as she leaves the room, the kitchen having been cleared and cleaned. My hand goes to the necklace around my neck, fingering the long chain till I find its charm, a pearl-shaped piece of jade caged in gold. It was a gift, among a pile of others, from my parents on my last birthday with them. For some reason, I like to think it brings me clarity as it always makes me feel better in low times.

It doesn't take long for me to make my decision.

+++

"Thank you for helping," I say, my feet kicking at the ground as Ben walks past, a heavy looking box filling his arms. "Gran just has so much stuff, but she doesn't trust paying anyone around here to move her things."

"Does that mean I have her seal of approval?" He throws me a wink over his shoulder.

"Maybe." I smile and emit a light laugh.

He maneuvers the remaining boxes around to accommodate the new one, its contents tinkling in mild protest. His good mood, I know, is a fabrication. He is not pleased with my decision to go with Gran, my half-hearted reasoning falling on deaf ears. He hoped, or so he told me, that we could move in together. His face fell at my rather immediate, startled look and the following attempt to hide my dismay.

Ben and I had only been dating for a few months. We certainly hadn't been together long enough to consider moving in together. Well, at least not for _me_ to consider. Maybe I should have seen it coming after his profession, or rather his confession, of love. But Gran's moving is merely a kinder excuse than to tell him no outright. At least that's what I convince myself.

Maybe with time, my feelings could develop for Ben into something more. But three months? Well, that's asking too much of me.

"Benjamin, there's still a few more things in here, if you don't mind."

Ben tries and fails to cover his annoyed glance at our former home. It has taken only a few weeks to sell, and once the papers were signed, Gran rushed to pack up the place.

"I still can't believe she got the place to sell so fast." With his hands in his pockets, he shuffles his feet as he walks toward me. His head turns toward the house, a frown cutting between his brow before turning his full attention to me.

I meet him halfway, wrapping my arms around his waist and resting my head against his chest. "She said the people who bought it found it charming. Utterly charming." I dip myself backward to emphasize Gran's superior tone.

"Ben!"

He rights me and spares me a quick kiss before trotting into the house. I know he doesn't want to be here loading up the huge truck. Let alone drive the aforementioned beast all the way up to Branson Falls with us. It's a mighty task, and places me farther away from him. _From us_. I know he does it though because it will make me happy.

"Zoelle, come on, then, girl! We need your muscle on this one."

I hesitate.

My thoughts are suddenly racing around a million miles a minute in my head. I think about Ben and our relationship. What it is and could be. Of Gran and her big decision. Of me and my future. Of Branson Falls, and why, for the life of me, I feel like the town is going to turn my life upside down. My fingers glance over the jade between my breasts; oh yes, this move most certainly is going to turn my life upside down.

+++

Branson Falls is about a three-hour drive away. We make the trip without incident, but the butterflies in my stomach triple as we pass the See You Again sign exiting Branson Falls. Lucky for me, Gran trusts the people of the town enough to hire movers to help us unload. We see them awaiting our arrival as we pull up to the house.

"Gran, is this your old house?"

"Well, of course, sweetheart." Her eyebrow rises in an aloof manner. "Where else would I live?"

My eyebrows contract as my lips form the shape of an O. "I thought you sold it." _Like any other rational person_. "Have you been paying for two houses this entire time?"

"Oh please," she snorts. "It's been taken care of in my absence. You remember my friends Diana and Maureen." My eyebrows remain contracted as I slowly shake my head.

"You usually came to visit us, Gran. I've only been to your house a couple of times when I was younger... But those names are familiar." I soften my features, eyeing the house quizzically. "You talk to them on the phone a lot, don't you?"

Gran nods, satisfaction curling her lips. "I do. They've been watching over the house since I left, knowing one day I'd return."

I can tell upon closer inspection that what she says is true. They have taken care of it. The house sports a fresh coat of paint, and the yard looks well maintained. So, who exactly has been taking care of the house while Gran was away? I cast a curious look at the front door, and my heart gives a nervous flutter. It opens half a second later with a clatter; two older women push against one another to hurdle through the door toward us.

"Diana!" one cries, the faster of the two. Her hair is a pearly white and runs long past her breasts. Her icy-colored tresses and alabaster skin is quite contrary to her vibrant dress, which is full of purples and blues and greens. Her larger-than-life presence takes me slightly aback. The older woman quickly gains ground. Her collection of bracelets produce pretty jingles and chimes with each stride.

Gran goes to meet them, her arms outstretched and ready to embrace them. The second woman, still trailing a step or so behind, has skin the color of dark cocoa and keeps her greying hair back in a severe bun. She is outfitted in all black and dons more jewelry than both Gran and the first woman combined. Her fingers hold at least one ring each. Some small, others bulky, but none so gaudy they make her appearance or accessories unappealing.

"My Mo!" Gran gushes, pulling back and planting two firm kisses on either side of Mo's face (the woman with the pearly pale hair). "Lydia!" she cries as the second woman weaves her way into Gran's arms, a giant smile glued on her face.

"Right," I mutter to myself, "definitely not left unattended."

"Zoelle Renee, get your butt over here."

I walk toward them, my hesitant smile growing more genuine by the second as they open their arms to embrace me. It's impossible not to let out a laugh when they squeeze me tight and stare so lovingly at me. As if I am their grandchild, and not Gran's. Their love and joy at seeing Gran and me outweighs any feelings of awkwardness or unrest I might have.

"Maureen Clybourne. Lydia Stein. Meet my daughter's daughter, Zoelle Renee Baudelaire." The women smile relentlessly.

"It's nice to meet you both."

"It's wonderful to meet you too, my dear. It's truly a sorrow and shame what happened to your family. Thank the Lord she had you, Diana." Lydia reaches out and cups the side of my face, her green, cat-like eyes taking in the details of my face. "A Baudelaire, through and through!" Her exclamation garners a joyful laugh from Maureen, who bobs her head in agreement.

"Yes, yes! Now, come on, then. The boys should be here in another hour or so, so why don't we all just head inside. I'll make some tea and we can chitchat for a while," Mo offers, already walking back up to the house. I follow at a slower pace. They must have been the reason Gran had been persuaded to come back.

I'm stunned to a standstill for a second time once I step inside the house. What weak memories I possess come rushing back. Everything is the same. Of course, some new trinkets and photos decorate the front hall entryway, but from what I remember, it's all the same. My feet lead me forward to the old secretary desk that holds all manner of things: mail and magazines, notes and knickknacks. The picture of my family and Gran picnicking in the park one Fourth of July still stands in the right corner of it all, the stained-glass lamp sitting directly behind it. My fingers grace its edges before peeling back. Why is everything still here? How long has Gran been planning to come back?

Laughter sounds and I follow it to the back, knowing if I want answers from Gran, I need to play it smart. Hopefully, Gran's girlfriends will find themselves in a good enough mood to spill the beans if she doesn't.

"Zoelle, I must ask, what do you prefer? Zoe or Zoey?" Lydia stresses the hard "e" for the former and a silky "y" for the latter pronunciation.

I hesitate a moment, my eyes glancing away for a second before I answer. "Zo _e_." I tell them with a slightly forced smile as I enter the kitchen. "Wow, this kitchen has certainly changed... unlike the rest of this house." Good, that sounded casual yet inquisitive enough.

"Oh yes," Lydia says with a serene nod. "There was some water damage, and it needed to be fixed along with the bathroom up above. So, we thought, why not give it a little update. But everything else is just the way Diana left it. We knew one day she'd come back to us and wouldn't want a thing changed, but some things just couldn't be helped."

"I like it." The smile on my face grows. "Actually, I kind of love it." The women and Gran laugh along with me.

"You be sure to call us your aunties, all right, dear?" I nod my head in happy acquiescence.

The kitchen is alive with lovely green cabinets and white countertops. But my attention is stolen by a wall completely lined with plants. Jasmine, lavender, sage, mint, on and on the herbs and flora scent the room with their earthy notes. They bring me peace as I take a deep breath.

My chef's eye takes in the rest of the details of the kitchen. An informal table and mismatched chairs fit snugly near the bay window at the far end of the room. To my left, the wall is made up of three distinct sections. The first and nearest to me is filled with cookbooks. In the middle section, a wood burning stove, even though a perfectly modern stove sits snugly between fridge and sink to my right. Past the stove is a collection of photographs. Some bearing the face of myself and my family.

A wistful sigh slips past my lips even as a pang of sadness hits my heart. I avert my gaze back towards the plant wall near the dining nook. All that greenery spilling forth from the wall... it's like a hidden valley or distant meadow has chosen to grace the kitchen with its presence. _A hidden valley I can use for fresh ingredients, I think greedily._ "Love it," I say once more under my breath, coming to sit by them. "So, tell me more about what has and hasn't changed.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 2

The Inquisition

August is ending, and I'm feeling... flustered—and that is the nice way of putting it. Job hunting is fruitless so far, my brightest prospect, a barista. And even that has tight competition. I knew finding a job would be difficult after college, but I had hoped for something a little more promising than a barista. Until a job came through, I turned my concentration to unpacking. Somehow, the task was even more daunting than the former.

My eyes scan the mess I've made, critically sweeping the open boxes. Where had I put my books? Pushing off my knees with a sigh of frustration, I lap the room. My confusion grows as the cookbooks I search for remain out of sight. I enjoy the silence of the house as I wander downstairs to continue my pursuits. It's nice to have the house to myself for a change. It's proven difficult to find a moment alone, when everyone in town is determined to drop by to say hello. The constant flow of people doesn't bother me as much as the abrupt ending of conversations whenever I enter a room. Or the knowing looks my dear new aunties gave me. It's weird. _Really weird_. And unsettling. _Very unsettling_. I make my way into my haven, the kitchen. I've fallen in love with its wood burning oven and large cooking range, the stashes of fresh herbs, and the insane amount of tea hoarded in one of the tall cupboards. It's perfect. "Zoe! How lovely to see you! I'm just running through—got to grab a few things!"

"Hi, Aunt Mo." She zips through the kitchen toward the tea cupboard. A woman on a mission. "What are you looking for? It wouldn't happen to be my box of cookbooks, would it?"

"Oh no, sweetheart, I'm looking for some tea." She studies its contents, leaning back and forth with her glasses pitched halfway down her nose as she decidedly scoops out almost half its contents into the folds of her dress. "As for your books," she says with a pointed, sidelong glance. "I believe they're in the study."

Of course. "Thanks. I'll be sure to check in there."

"Good." She twirls around the room in her exaggerated way, smiling serenely at me as she goes for her mortar and pestle, spilling various containers of tea leaves onto the island as she does so.

"What are you up to?" I ask, roped in by her smile and wild eyes.

"I'm creating," she says with a flourish of her wrist. Her bangles and bracelets jingle merrily.

"Creating what?"

"Magic," she says with a laugh. "I know just the remedy to get Mrs. Clark's daughter to sleep through the night, allergies or not."

"Magic?" I ask with a laugh.

"Oh yes, I dare say even you can cook up a little magic in the kitchen," she says, reaching over to pat my hand.

"It's nice that everyone here seems to be so... friendly," I offer.

"Oh yes, we're all quite close around these parts. We like to support one another, and we make it our business to see this town thrives. It's how all communities should be. I don't know what your old neighborhood was like, but around here, we like to keep our noses in each other's business, if you know what I mean." She gives me a sly grin. "That way we can offer our help, even if you don't want it. It's just what we do."

"I see," I say, watching as she grinds down on the dried leaves. "It must be nice living in a town like this, then, with everyone so _cozy_ with one another."

"It's certainly something, although it wasn't always like this. Oh no, in fact, it was just around the time that you and your grandmother left that things around here got a little, turned upside down."

"Oh?"

"Mmhm," she says pouring her medley into a few pouches. "When you two left, a new family had just come to town. Wasn't too long after their arrival that a whole lot of their friends and family started to crop up and make themselves at home here too. And I mean a lot. Mind you, that wasn't too troubling. What stirred things up was them trying to get their people on the town council and police force."

"Wait," I say, as she bustles around me to put things away. "Are you trying to tell me they were trying to take over the town?"

"They were trying to do something," she says. Her keen gaze sinks into mine, and I fight the urge to squirm under her intense regard. "But we have a lot of strong-willed people in this town, who weren't about to stand for their antics. We weren't about to let some stray dogs"—she snorts, shaking her head—"come wandering into our town and piss all over it."

"Right," I say slowly, accentuating my vowel. "So, did you get them to leave? Are they still here? Have I met them?" My questions come out like bullets, one after another. Curiosity fully peaked. I play with my necklace, leaning more fully onto the kitchen island as I watch Aunt Mo finish her clean up. The small piece of jade is cool and reassuring between my fingers. I don't wear much jewelry, but this necklace... I never take it off if I can help it.

"No, we didn't." Her words ride on an exaggerated sigh. "Though many would have liked it to be that way. There's a large subdivision up north, near where the forest begins to encroach on the town. Almost all the newcomers live round there."

"Woof," I say. My reaction is better received than anticipated. Aunt Mo laughs for a full two minutes before we can continue.

"Oh my, you are a treat, Zoe. Hmm, now, where was I? Oh yes. They still live here, but I doubt you've met any of them. We ended up coming up with a truce of sorts. We keep to ourselves. They keep to themselves."

"I don't suppose any of them are hiring?" I ask.

"Ha! Don't go wasting your talents on them. They wouldn't know gourmet food from dog food."

"All right, all right! I can take a hint."

"Good," she says, letting her glasses tip downward again, giving me her signature look. "I'll see you later, sweetheart." With that, she departs, leaving me to mull over the only interesting piece of gossip about this town.

+++

Ben is here for dinner tonight. He's meeting the aunts.

It's the first time he's been to the house, our other _rendezvous_ occurring in middle ground towns. I didn't realize until the day before his arrival that I'm nervous about the meeting. Ben meeting the aunts is important to me and I desperately want their approval. They have quickly become family over the past few weeks. Almost seamlessly winding themselves into Gran and I's daily life.

My entire body feels flush, as if I'm running a fever, and my eyes dart anxiously to the dining room. Ben's face turns a deeper shade of red every time I cast a glance their way. My anxiety grows as I take in the aunts' somber façade and Ben's none-to-subtle glance for help. I let my shoulders sag in response. He'll need to protect himself until I finish dinner. I grimace and turn my attention back to my task.

"Oh, honey," Gran says with a snort, "if he can't hold up to them, then..." She sips her wine— _her third_ —and gives a not so discreet glance toward them before turning her knowing gaze on me.

"I thought you liked Ben."

"I do, I'm only saying—"

"Well, you don't need to say anymore," I tell her, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. "Let's just eat. Will you take the potatoes in?" When I open my eyes, Gran is halfway to the table with the potatoes, and I take one last moment to collect myself.

The lamb with its salt crust removed lies on the silver serving plate with juices seeping delightfully from it.

The homemade dressing drips artfully over the salad.

The _second_ wine bottle sits empty upon the table, begging for its replacement.

I'm as prepared as I can be, but Ben isn't. I should have prepped him more on Mo's eccentric behavior and Lydia's dry humor. I should have prepared him for the worst possible scenarios. Yet Ben laughed off my concerns, assuring me it would all be fine.

Except it isn't.

Ben is clearly flustered and so am I. My cocoa skin radiates heat from head to toe, whether from the heat of the kitchen or secondhand embarrassment I'm not sure. I know deep down it isn't just the aunts' approval I want, it's validation of this relationship. My eyes slip closed again with a plaintive sigh. _Tonight will go well, it will_ , I reassure myself. The dinner is cooked to perfection and the third bottle of wine will alleviate whatever tension has built up.

"Here you are, honey." Gran gives me a long, slow pour of the Bordeaux as I walk into the dining room. I set the salad between the olive oil potatoes and the hearty lamb.

"It looks wonderful," Ben says. " _You_ look wonderful."

The wine runs down my throat smoothly as I melt back into my seat, shooting Ben a sincere smile once I finish my lengthy sip. "Thank you."

"Who'll be cutting the meat, then?" Aunt Lydia asks, taking the carving knife and serving fork in her hands.

"Why Ben will, of course," replies Aunt Mo.

"That's all right, I can do it," I try to insist, but Aunt Lydia has already pressed the utensils firmly into Ben's hand.

"He's a big boy, darling, and after all that hard work you did in the kitchen, it's the least he can do," she adds with a laugh. Ben gives me a small shrug and a smile, standing and pulling the plate of lamb nearer to him.

My faces bears my chagrin, forehead crinkling as my lips gently purse. The knife she holds isn't the best for cutting the lamb, but it's clear I'm the only one who knows.

"Actually," I say, cringing as Ben stabs the lamb with the fork, "it should be cut with an electric knife. And _thinly_! I'll just take it back into the kitchen." I stand as well, much more hastily than Ben and jerk the plate backward. Ben almost topples forward, staring at me aghast. "Why don't you help me in the kitchen, Ben?"

"You should have just kept it in here to carve it in the first place," he tells me once we are safely in the kitchen. I search the cabinets until I come up gold with the electric knife kit.

"I didn't want to keep you in there any longer than necessary. Also, have I told you they can basically smell fear?" A nervous laugh rattles from my throat over the soft buzz of the electric knife. "Just remember the basics. No talking about politics and religion, and you should be fine. Oh no." My hand stops its sawing motion as my eyes dart to Ben's. "You didn't try telling your accounting jokes, did you?"

Ben's guilty look draws a pained whine from my lips. His frantic look in response doing little to ease my worry.

"It's fine. Save the jokes and answer every question politely, okay? Maureen can be a little much, and Lydia comes off a tad severe, but they're just putting you through the ringer, you know? They want to make sure you're going to treat me with respect." Ben nods and I continue my dissection of the meat. The lamb holds a delicious pink all throughout its center and I let pleased smile curl my lips. Until Ben snatches a piece, letting out an exaggerated moan as he chews and swallows. "Ben," I hiss as he goes for another bite, "I am going to cut off your fingers if you do not stop this instant."

He quirks a grin in my direction. "That's nothing compared to the threats your aunts have been making."

"What?" I gasp, nearly digging the knife into the delicate meat.

"Well, not threats, but—"

"They really do mean well," I say with a cringe. "I think. I don't know. I didn't expect them to act like this. They're usually much better behaved."

"Sure," he says sarcastically, though not cruelly, and swipes another piece of meat. He moans more softly this time.

"They just have this thing about outsiders—not that you are. You are not an outsider because you are my boyfriend and you love me, and they can't just ignore that. Right?" I can feel Ben's heavy gaze on me, my words continuing after a quick breath. "It's just there are these people who moved to the town not long ago and left an awful impression on them, so now their trust is all sorts of compromised and—"

"Zoey, it's fine. I can handle being put through the ringer. You're worth it." I stop cutting and grasp his face gently, pulling him into a sweet kiss.

"You are so wonderful, Ben, much more so than I deserve." Out of the corner of my eye, I see his fingers inch toward the lamb. "But if you try to steal another piece of this meat, I will tell them the most embarrassing stories about you, and you will not make it through this dinner in one piece."

He folds his hands quickly behind him, his grin turning impish as he maneuvers around the island. When I finish, he takes the plate and walks back to the table with me, presenting the lamb with a flourish. Gran is the only one to crack a smile, though she does so behind her glass of wine.

"Zoe, this meal is just perfect," Lydia comments after everyone has covered their plates with the fine food and taken their first bites. I smile in thanks, chewing happily on the potatoes, enjoying their savory quality.

"Every meal Zoey makes is perfect," Ben adds enthusiastically, taking a large bite of lamb. "I don't know how I lived without her or her cooking."

Aunt Lydia casts Aunt Mo a sly glance, to which Aunt Mo whispers something under her breath in return before fetching another bottle of wine. When she returns she fills Ben's glass and the room returns to its silence.

"Do you often cook, Ben?" Aunt Mo finally asks.

"Hardly ever," he replies oddly truthful. His wide-eyed expression implies his disbelief and shock at his honesty, but he laughs it off good-naturedly. "I could hardly compete with Zoey in the kitchen. Plus, I like to think I'm her best test subject when it comes to trying new dishes."

Gran nods her head, "I don't know about that Benjamin. I've had my fair share of Zoelle's crazy ideas." As she speaks she spoons another helping of salad onto my plate. I roll my eyes at her antics, but I'm pleased with her teasing.

"Surely you can do something of use in the kitchen, so she's not left with all the work," Aunt Lydia says once I have a fatty piece of lamb past my lips. I frown and immediately try to catch her eye. _Why are the aunts set on conducting an inquisition?_

Ben laughs, his neck shading red while he takes a quick sip of wine. "I can make toast," he offers, looking at me for some kind of help as I try to chew faster. "Zoey is a natural in the kitchen. I'm completely out of my element there, so I find the best practice is just to let her cook and reap the benefits, so to speak."

"Did your mother cook your meals growing up?" Aunt Mo asks.

"Uh, why, yes. She did."

"And Zoe cooks all of your meals now?" Aunt Lydia asks.

"Well, not all of my meals."

Aunt Mo shares another pointed look with Aunt Lydia, "A natural in the kitchen, he said Lydia. Tell me, Ben, is that where you think women are most comfortable. Where it's natural to find a woman... in the kitchen?"

"Aunt Mo," I scold behind my hand as I force the meat down my throat.

"Maureen." A warning settles firmly in Gran's tone. "Settle down now."

"I—" Ben's face has turned splotchy, a painful mixture of white and red. "I don't think that is a natural place to find a woman." He pleads. "I think _Zoey's_ natural place is in the kitchen." He elaborates to both his horror and mine.

"Ben," my voice takes on a squawking quality as I say his name.

"No, no, no!" he practically shouts, waving his hands in surrender. "I didn't mean it like that—I meant—"

"That her natural place is in the kitchen?" Aunt Mo offers dryly.

"No—"

"Like her rightful place is to cook and serve you your meals like your mama did?" Aunt Lydia asks.

"No!" his voice raises, face now completely red. "Zoey is... is _magic_! Anything she makes is out of this world. I couldn't imagine her doing anything else in this life other than cooking. It makes her happy, and I'm just the lucky guy who gets to benefit from her undeniable talent. A talent that I _encourage_."

"Is that so?" Ben nods sharply to Aunt Lydia's question. "Did your mother cook the meals in your family?" Ben nods reluctantly, his body held taut and ready for the next attack. "Interesting."

The room goes silent, and a small wave of relief rushes through me as the table remains that way. The inquisition is over. Thank—

"And do you see your future wife doing the same? Staying home to cook the family meals and tend to the house?"

All eyes fall to Ben, who, in an odd turn of events, loses all color. I feel myself do the same, eyes pleading with Ben not to answer. _Why did he keep answering_?

"Of course."

The answer slips from him, coated in remorse, and once more the room goes silent. Aunt Mo's pointed " _Hmph"_ keeping all lips sealed shut. _This is too much to bear_. I feel ashamed and horrified as I look at the scene before me. This is not the reception I wanted Ben to receive. This is not the way I wanted the aunts to react. This is not the way _Ben_ is supposed to act. For a pained moment, the wine rushes to my head. I stand, startling the table and nearly spilling the other glasses of wine that sit atop it.

"I've lost my appetite," I finally manage to say, picking up my plate as well as the bowl of potatoes. "Ben?" He stands and follows me into the kitchen. "I am so sorry," I whisper to him harshly, barely holding back the angry tears assaulting my eyes.

"It's all right," he says cautiously.

"No, it isn't," I correct him. Depositing the items by the kitchen sink, I stride back into the dining room and snatch up the salad and lamb as well, the aunts coolly assessing me as I do. Their regard fuels the rising well of anger in my stomach. _How could they_? Never, not in a million years, did I imagine tonight going so terribly. It's clear as crystal the aunts don't approve of Ben, and now I doubt Gran's feelings as well. After all, how many times did she truly try to intervene? Why didn't she mediate the discussion between the aunts and Ben when he arrived?

When I return to the kitchen, Ben is on the phone. He shoots me an apologetic look, but I only nod stiffly in return. He passes me a small smile and steps to the small kitchen table nestled near the bay windows. His face pulling into a frown as he nods wordlessly at the conversation that plays in his ear.

I methodically wash the accumulated dishes. The sound of the aunts and Gran's sudden laughter grating on my last nerves. Before I lose myself to my growing anger, Ben's presence appears behind me. The warmth of his body pressing along the length of my back, and he tugs me away from the dishes.

"Are you all right?" he asks. I turn around in his arms, my eyes wide in confusion as I stare at him. Ben pulls me more tightly into the circle of his arms, dropping his face to my collarbone to kiss it lightly, or rather the birthmark that rests a couple of inches beneath it.

Why couldn't the aunts have asked normal questions? Like what Ben liked most about me? What his favorite food was?

Ben pulls back, waiting patiently for my answer. "I'm so sorry," I rush to tell him, "I had no idea they would act like that."

"Well, it wasn't exactly what I expected either, I guess." He scratches absently at the back of his neck, cheeks turning pink. "I wasn't exactly a delight either, and while I hate to end the night on this note, I have to go. Abby needs me in the office early tomorrow, and the drive back is a killer."

"Oh."

He frowns, "I really need this job. It could lead to bigger things for me."

"I know, I know," I say feeling a swell of disappointment in my gut. I swallow it down and duck my head. "I guess that means you won't be staying the night?"

"No."

"When do you need to leave? The cake should be done soon." I cast my eyes upward to watch his reaction.

He shoots a longing look at the oven, but the furtive glance he spares the dining room tells me my answer. "Next time you come, we'll have dinner just the two of us," I whisper. Ben envelops me in a bear hug, his lips placing themselves firmly to my brow.

"Next time," he whispers back, "you come to me." His smirk teases, but there is a seriousness to his tone that cannot be mistaken.

"Deal." Cupping my face, he presses another kiss to my brow before moving to my lips.

"I love you." His words trail on the back of a hum, almost too soft to hear, even with our close proximity. A strange rush of emotion tumbles forth at his sweet declaration. But not love.

"I—"

"Ben." We both groan quietly at Gran's ill-timed intrusion. "Will you be staying for dessert?"

"Unfortunately, not."

"That's a shame. I was hoping to hear more about your work. We hardly got to talk, just you and me, this evening." She ushers him to the door as I follow at her heels. "I'll let you two say goodbye. Drive home safely, Ben."

"Have a pleasant night yourself," he tells her departing back, giving me a wide-eyed look at Gran's unusual behavior. "Before I go, I just need to know... did I do something wrong tonight?"

"Of course not" I exclaim quickly, though we both know that's not entirely true based on what he shared at the dinner table. A curl of despair tightens around my gut, but I plaster on a smile. "It must have been all the wine. But next time—"

"You come to me." I nod my head feverishly, and we kiss our goodbye. I close the door behind him with regret, desperately wishing the night hadn't gone so terribly. When a sudden bark of laughter bursts from the kitchen I feel my anger return.

I want so badly to go in and confront them. Yell and shout at how unfairly they treated both of us, but such heated conversations always end in tears, at least on my part, and I have no intention of letting them see me cry. _A run will clear my head_ , I think deftly. I take the stairs two at a time, ignoring the timer on the oven going off in the kitchen. _Someone else will take the cake out,_ I think bitterly _._ I rummage through my mostly sorted belongings and put together a suitable outfit to run on the cool autumn night.

As I make my way back down the stairs and toward the back door located off the kitchen, I steel myself. With a deep breath, I stride through the room, noting somewhat savagely that once again all conversation dies upon my entrance.

"We'll talk when I get back," I tell them with hardly a glance over my shoulder.

"Where are you going at this hour?" Gran asks, her voice harsher than I expect it to be. I halt, the door opened halfway and primed for my exit.

"For a run." My voice sounds back in a perfect mimic of her tone.

"It's late."

I scoff. "It's barely after seven. The sun won't set for at least another hour."

"Stay out of the forest, Zoelle. It's no place to be at night." Gran tells me sternly. I look back, struck by her flinty demeanor.

"I'll be fine," I respond tersely.

"I mean it, Zoelle, stay out of the forest. It's a full moon tonight and—"

"Seriously." I huff and jerk the door open wider. "It's a full moon tonight, Zoelle," I parrot, pushing past the hard lump in my throat. "Beware the creatures of the night for their beastly natures do arise."

A look of hurt flashes across Gran's face at my bitter words. "Yes," is her only reply as she sits down next to the aunts stiffly. "It's practically nightfall and running alone in those woods is just plain stupid. And we both know you're not that, sweetheart."

"Well," I respond with a brittle smile, "with any luck the moon will be bright enough to light my way. I'll be fine."

"Zoe—"

"I'll be back in a while. Don't wait up for me."

"Stay out of the woods!" Gran's words fall on deaf ears, the door shutting with more force than I intend as I scamper off away from the house and those who inhabit it.

+++

Gran's house is on the east side of town, and conveniently close to the forest that curls around the city. Out of spite and laziness, I ran straight to it. I don't anticipate running into any wild animals because I don't plan to stay in the forest long after dark.

My thoughts drift back to the short-lived dinner. The wine, which I naively assumed would create an atmosphere of ease, escalated the situation. Then there was the food, something I had been sure would bring everyone comfort once I finally settled on it. I thought Gran would help me cook, maybe the aunts and Ben as well, as all of us gathered around the kitchen island laughing.... Instead, the entire task of cooking rested on my shoulders, and between my anxiousness over Ben being comfortable and worrying over the aunts making fools out of themselves—let alone Ben—my food lacked the attention I normally gave it.

I still find myself stunned over the aunts' presumptuous and hostile questioning. Never have I seen them act that way around anyone, especially not in their home. I'm as disappointed as I am angry.

Tears cloud my vision. I blink them back forcefully. Why didn't Gran intervene? She's supposed to be my secret weapon; the one I can rely on to smooth anything over with a well-placed look or well-timed joke. Instead, she just watched. She did nothing! Nothing except drink her wine and let my dinner go to waste.

When my lungs begin to burn, I slow to a jog, veering left to avoid the fallen branches and debris that block the trail I've happened upon and check my phone's clock. I almost stumble as I register the time, brow crinkling in confusion as I stare at the numbers on my phone's screen. Had I really been running for almost 40 minutes?

I scan my surroundings, focusing on calming my breath and note with some dread that the forest seems to have grown thicker around me. The trees and bushes fit more snugly against the trail, and more and more debris seems to litter the ground. I turn in a circle. It's darker too.

_Colder and darker_ , I think. Time to go home and face the music. Turning sharply, I'm rewarded with a sharp stinging sensation that raps against my shin.

"Ouch!" I plummet forward. " _Shit_." The word is released in a hiss as I crash to the ground, hands shooting forward to catch my fall.

Bad idea. Bits of earth and rock dig painfully into my palms as I pull my knee snug against my chest to examine my shin more closely. "Just fucking great," I groan. Little rivulets of red stream down my leg past bits of bark and dirt.

I hold both hands to the wound, hissing at the immediate pain, but giving a small sigh of relief as the throbbing sensation dulls. I'll need to wash up once I get home to avoid any type of infection. Gran and the aunts will be head over heels with worry if they see me like this. Which will go along nicely with a side of 'I told you so' ready on their lips. _Ugh_. Sitting up, and feeling worse for wear, I let out a pathetic sigh. The thought of limping home in the dark is completely unappealing. I look up and gaze at the full moon peeking out from beneath a maze of branches. It is especially bright tonight and beautiful.

Then, it sounds.

A low growl that reverberates off the forest floor. Something deep and primal. _Something wild_. And it's coming from behind me.

My pulse skips a beat as I slowly flatten myself on the ground, eyes darting along the forest floor fearfully. "Shit," I rasp, spotting something large and gray some thirty feet away. To my horror, the animal in question stiffens and turns its head in my direction. _Oh, God. It's a wolf._ A very large— _very terrifying—_ wolf. _Oh fuck. Fuck!_ I flatten further, horrified when I see it sniff the air deeply. A slow snarl tumbles from its mouth as it takes a step in my direction.

_Well, limping home isn't on the table any longer_ , I think morosely. Maybe I can force myself into a sprint? Ignore the pain and just _go_.

I weigh my options as the second one appears. A sandy colored wolf barrels into the side of the first, and they tumble over the ground. Loud yips and playful barks ensue as they roughhouse, and a surge of hope sprouts inside of me. This might be just the distraction I need to get away.

With speed I hardly know I possess, I manage to stand and dodge behind the nearest tree to conceal my presence. The scuffling of the wolves still rings clearly throughout the trees, letting me know they're still near and distracted. I'll need to choose my next move wisely. Wait them out? Or run for it?

Building my courage, I ready myself to push away from the tree trunk. I just need to time it right. Run while they're still distracted with each other. I'm just about to bolt, when I hear a bout of laughter ring through the forest. The sound stills my heart, holding it hostage as I tremble in fear. _What on earth is going on_?

"There's nothing like a new moon, is there, brother!" cries a jubilant male voice.

"I'm not your brother," a gravelly voice responds. _Oh God,_ I think, my heart's going into overdrive as I take in a rattling breath. _How many are there_?

"Come now, Keenan. We're all pack. Therefore"—the voice trails off, laced with condescension—"we are _all_ family. Now, why don't you change?" _Why were these men out gallivanting in the forest with wolves_?

Slowly, I sink into a crouch and peek around the tree trunk. It's a weak view, but it's enough. The two wolves sit idly by the men, their tongues hanging out as they lightly pant. They seem... large. Much larger than what I imagined a real wolf to look like. I swallow, eyes drifting to the men.

The first, a man no more than twenty-five, stands tall and lean. His black hair is fashionably styled and his clothes are tailored to fit. There's no denying his handsome looks. His clean-cut jawline and the wicked smirk he wears, tells me he knows it too. I swallow with some difficulty. The 25-year-old stands with his arms crossed over his chest and a cavalier air about him in front of the other, older male. Though I can't presume to know why he looks so confident against the larger man. _Much larger_ , I think fretfully.

The second, slightly older man is intimidating, to say the least. Tattoos cover the length of his arms, some crawling up over his stout neck. He seems the direct opposite of the other. His clothing plain, a T-shirt and worn blue jeans, and his hair military short. _He's older as well_ , I think, _maybe in his early thirties_. When the larger man grunts and begins to strip I almost faint away.

I suck in a sharp breath, realizing belatedly that I've forgotten to breathe. _Of all the things to do,_ I think in a stupor, unable to tear my eyes away from the scene. The younger, cockier man watches without comment. His smirk only growing as the older man continues to strip.

What the _fuck_?

I'm more than prepared to look away, cheeks flaming hot in response to the flesh made bare to me, when a ghastly crack resounds from the now naked male. He lets out a snarl so terrible he begins to shake. Then he falls to his hands and knees, a shout of pure agony drawn from his lips. His body twists and bends. It _breaks_ , transforming into some kind of monster or beast. _Or wolf_. A wolf with fur as dark as night. The new canine lets out an ear-shattering howl. One loud enough to make me gasp aloud as I clasp my hands over my ears.

What. The. Fuck?

Hot tears spill over my cheeks. Too terrified to wipe them away, my hands shake as they brace themselves against the tree trunk. The two original wolves pounce on their new acquaintance and begin to scuffle once more, while the remaining male laughs at the display. His hands drag his shirt up over his sculpted abs, and by chance, his eyes catch mine. Several emotions flit across his face. Shock. Sharp anger. He takes a calculating step forward and lets his shirt fall back into place, his head tilting to the side. A more inquisitive look falls upon his brow, and then a grin. One full of sharp white teeth.

"Hello there," he says smoothly.

The wolves around him still and come to attention. My heart gives a strange rattle in my chest as I gasp once more. His grin widens, the moment between us hanging precariously before I finally snap into action, turning and sprinting away as fast as I can. I ignore the terrible spiking pain running across my leg and cast a fearful look over my shoulder. If by some miracle I make it home, Gran is going to kill me.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 3

Sealed

It's a shame time travel isn't a real thing. Although, if people can turn into wolves, I'll wager a guess time travel isn't _completely_ off the table. If it is, now would be the perfect time to wield it. Then I wouldn't be in my current predicament. My heart is ready to burst out of my chest, hyperaware of the damp and suffocating forest air, and of course, the threat of wolves and strange men that surround me.

Not that I can see any of them.

Once caught by that devilish man, I am quickly restrained, my clothing adjusted and straightened, and blindfolded. I wiggle my hands uncomfortably in front of me. They are roped together with the pretty boy's belt, and it digs unpleasantly into my skin. Thankfully my legs are left unrestrained. Not that that helps me. Any chance of outrunning the men and wolves are comically slim, and we all know it. I stifle a groan as the metal buckle sinks itself deeper into my flesh. It hurts like a _sonofabitch_. More than it reasonably should. Both of my arms ache painfully the longer I am made to wait for their next move. An ache that travels throughout the rest of my body, and slowly but surely, begins to make me feel faint.

I try to keep my anger and energy in reserve, hustling both to the distant corner of my heart where they shiver and quake in anticipation. Stupid legs. Stupid wolves. Stupid aunts and Gran. If it weren't for them this entire night would have played out much, much differently.

_Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt_.

"Ah yes, let me just—" Leaves crunch under foreign footfall, and then hands are quickly unfastening my phone from my arm.

Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt.

"It seems as though you have a missed a call from your... grandmother. Adorable," pretty boy says. I want to ring his neck, for he chased me down and caught me. He had pinned me easily enough, but just when I thought he would go in for the kill, he stopped.

And now—well, now I'm getting impatient.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it." My voice hardly quivers. _Good_. I need to show a strong front. I refuse to die a coward.

His laughter sounds close by, with hints of malice tainting the undertone of his delivery. "Fear not. I have no such plans for you tonight." I want to sigh in relief or cry, but his fingers brush along my collarbone like a phantom. I flinch, pitching myself back against the tree I'm made to stand before. "Ah, ah, ah," he scolds mockingly. "Do calm down, and keep any notions of running away out of that pretty little head of yours, will you? It will only excite them more. And I'd hate to have them ruin the surprise I have in store for my brother. And you will be a _marvelous_ surprise."

The wolves that surround me let off a chorus of subdued snarls that makes my skin prickle uncomfortably. They might not kill me, but there are worse things than dying. I grit my teeth and experience something coiled and stinging hot inside of me begin to crack at the seams. A primal, but foreign cry to take a stand. One we all possess. I take a deep breath, trying valiantly to still my shaking nerves. _There's no way I'm going down without a fight_.

"Playing with your food again, Ryatt? I thought we had spoken about this, brother." I straighten at the new voice. It's... different. Strong and heavy. His tone leaves nothing to the imagination. This man expects to be obeyed. His words roll over the forest like a heavy shroud, calling not just me, but everyone and everything to attention.

Hope swells inside my chest. Maybe he can talk some sense into these strange men. I will swear to forget this night and return home without a scratch. Well, without a scratch from _them_.

No one responds. It stalls my breath, and in the falling silence, I hear it all. The wolves stop their pacing. The insects and birds cease their chatter. Even the breeze seems to fade. And it's all for him. With every step he takes, I feel my resolve crumble. My hope diminishes. That coil inside me sizzles and pulls away as a sob threatens to sound from my trembling lips.

Maybe Ryatt and his merry band of wolves are just saving me for _him_.

"We have!" Ryatt exclaims boisterously after another long beat of silence. "I was merely out to teach these pups how to hunt when we bumped into our new friend here. You see, she saw a bit too much and tried running off. I chased her down—she's remarkably quick—but when I caught her, I saw something very peculiar. A way back into your good graces, brother."

"Enough, Ryatt. Kill the girl and be done with it," he replies gruffly. "Make it clean." Fear strikes at my heart.

"What!" I cry, "No! _No way_. This is absurd! You can't just go around kidnapping and killing random joggers. This was all just a misunderstanding. I was just— _mmph_!"

A warm hand firmly plants itself over my mouth, cutting off my frantic plea.

"I'm afraid I must side with the young woman here, Aleksandr. You'd be very unhappy with me if I did. She bares a soulmark, one of the pack's... your soulmark, specifically." The smugness in Ryatt's voice is grating, and the forest waits with bated breath for his brother to respond. As do I. The hand slips from my face, and a shuffling of feet sounds.

The blindfold, a ratty T-shirt, is pulled from my eyes and tossed to the ground a second later. I jerk to the side, crowding up against the tree for balance as I stare around wide-eyed.

The newcomer stands close to me, his eyes a mossy green against caramel skin. His hair is in disarray, his dark curls falling in waves carelessly in front of his eyes. He rakes back the long fringe without a thought, his muscles rippling in response to the casual action: abs, chest, arms. He's shirtless, _of-fucking-course_ , and my eyes are helpless to resist trailing downward. Dark hair twines together over his muscled chest and down, down, _down_. I inhale sharply and quickly avert my eyes.

Bastard.

Kidnappers do not get to look so— _so sexy_. They definitely aren't supposed to have been allotted sinful abs or hair that trials down from chest to naval to... well.... He reaches out to touch me, running his fingers along the underside of my chin almost reverently. _Almost_. By the smug look he sports, one eerily similar to Ryatt's, I close my mouth with a snap and level him with my best glare.

"Don't touch me," I snarl, feet itching to take me further back. But going back isn't an option. Not with the tree pressing so snugly against me now. I side step again, hardly gaining ground, but it's something. His wolfish grin dips deeper for just a second and a dimple appears. I hold my breath, heart beating painfully against my chest as I watch both grin and dimple disappear behind his stoic facade once more.

"Well, then, let's see it."

"It's just below her collarbone. You'll have to adjust her shirt to see it," Ryatt tells him cheerily. The green-eyed nods resolutely and crowds closer. Startled, I awkwardly attempt to side step, but he is swift to counter and traps me. One brawny arm bars either side of my head. His eyes sweep over my form, lingering on the belt that binds my wrists. "Iron?" The man tilts a look at his brother, who watches intently from the sidelines.

"But of course. Don't you recognize her, brother? It's Diana's granddaughter, the littlest witch—"

"Excuse me?" I utter impulsively. "What did you just call me?" The brothers share a look I almost miss, fleeting confusion, before the man's gaze returns to my chest. "Hey!" I shriek, "Eyes up here, asshole!"

Ryatt laughs as his brother flushes from my reprimand. But then his eyes harden, and one warm hand trails down my side to my waist, straightening and tugging down my shirt a few inches. Something akin to a growl rolls deeply through his throat. I can't help the cold fear striking at my belly, nor the way it quickly spreads.

Tears swim at the edge of my vision before he shushes me absentmindedly. He stares at my birthmark, now revealed. The little, curved sliver of pale-pink skin resembles a crescent moon. Green eyes meet brown, and he gives a smile that seemingly is meant to be reassuring but does quite the opposite.

This man is the real danger of the night. The one Gran had warned about.

His other arm drops as he leans forward, fingers caressing the bruises and welts that cradle the belt wrapped round my wrists. "Iron," he tells me, smile slanting just enough to become patronizing, "and witches do not mix well."

"I'm not a witch," I whisper back, ensnared by his intense gaze.

"I'd beg to differ."

Our glares collide in a standoff. Just as I prepare to defend my claim, he concedes, dropping his eyes to my wrists once more. His fingers quickly undo my binds, letting the belt fall to the forest floor with a soft thud. I groan in relief, eyes drifting shut in a semblance of peace as the ache in my bones begins to recede.

Manners ingrained in me long ago beg me to thank my captor, but common sense points out the obvious; _my captor_ will receive no thanks from me.

When his fingers languidly intertwine with my own, I buckle in shock and stare at him in astonishment. Words lost to his casual demeanor. The move is intentional, no doubt to stun me, and he takes advantage of my bewilderment slipping one steel-banded arm around my waist and pressing against me. I suck in a harried breath.

"This might be... unpleasant for you." He tells me, eyes half-mast as his gaze focuses steadily on my birthmark. "They say the sealing of a soulmark can be quite... intense. But what kind of pleasure is without its own pain? Hmm?" He releases my hand to scorch a trail upward and across my breast.

"Please." My voice cracks pathetically as his fingers inch toward my birthmark. "You're wrong. It's just a birthmark." My heart continues its erratic dance, but queerer still is the wild pulse now coming from my birthmark. "Don't!" But it's too late.

The point of his middle finger brushes against the mark, and I am gasping. Reeling. Hurtling toward darkness.

And then everything is gone.

Only he and I remain among the stars and trees and earth and air. A crushing wave of emotion and energy surges inside me. Finds every nook and cranny left unattended and takes root. _Rocks my fucking world_. Nothing has ever made me feel so... alive. It is as if my body is reclaiming some lost part of myself, and the soul-searing experience takes my breath away. All that's left in its wake is a sudden and all-consuming burning. A need. _A hunger_. I gasp, feel lightning strike at my very core, and watch helplessly as my entire world is turned and flipped. Wind whips around me. Rushes through me. Fills me so completely, I feel I might burst.

"Let it be known that thee are found," he whispers roughly, his head tipping to rest against mine as his hand presses flush against the birthmark, "and my soul awakened. The stars incline us"—we share a shuddering breath, eyes boldly meeting one another—"and so we are sealed." I stagger forward. Choke on the rush of power and heat as they barrel into me. Mercilessly. His scent and touch flood my senses. I feel him. Everywhere. Inside and out.

I push away from his embrace, breaking the blazing contact that is his hand to my heart. No. Not heart. Birthmark. The bark scrapes against my skin, reminding me of reality, but all I can hear is my blood as it pumps through my veins—screaming at me to move closer to this man. He leans forward. I cringe back.

"Don't," comes my hoarse reply. My breath sounds harshly against the night air as beads of sweat drip down my back. "What did you do?" He takes a step away from me, releasing me completely from his hold and my knees buckle comically in response. He remains near as I try to collect myself. As I try to douse the fire raging inside of me. Fill my lungs with air. Let my bones tremble in relief as the onslaught desists. But the blood that courses through my veins remains on fire. And the birthmark yearns for his touch.

I raise my eyes to his, and all I see is me. Right at their very center.

Faintly I feel my birthmark pulse with two beats instead of one. Somehow, I know—without a doubt—that the other beat belongs to him. Tears burst forth before I can stop them, and I hardly notice the way his hands find their way back to me in my distress. He inhales deeply, nostrils flaring as he watches me, a thousand emotions swirling behind his green eyes.

"What did you do?" I whisper roughly as I slump toward the ground, my energy leaving me in one fell swoop. My words are greeted with a frown and downward flick of his mouth. Before I drift into unconsciousness, his words sound a soft echo in my mind.

"I've got you."

+++

I never suffered a migraine before, but there is a very solid chance I am experiencing one now. Tiny hammers pound relentlessly against the back of my eyes. Scratch that, big hammers, and ones that mean business with bitsy little skulls imprinted on their sides in red. My brain is also attempting to tear itself loose from my skull and damn near succeeding.

Nausea rests at the back of my throat as I stare dumbly around my new surroundings. The room I'm in is not my own, but the bed is achingly soft, and I whimper from the small comfort it provides.

"You're awake." Oh, God. Not him. I find him easily, sitting in a chair at the opposite end of the room. His head is slightly bent, those mossy green eyes staring at me through half-mast lids. His dark shaggy hair casts shadows over his Roman nose and full lips.

"You're a kidnapper," I murmur, cringing at the sound of my voice, raspy and rough.

"There's tea just there. It should help."

I pull myself upright, battling down the bile threatening to rise, and lean weakly back against the pillows and headboard behind me. The tea to my right lazily billows steam. The smell is familiar—surprisingly so—and I take hold of it with both hands. A cautious sniff and delicate sip bring a pleased hum to my lips. It is familiar; it's one of the aunt's creations. I ignore the way it scalds my tongue and throat on the way down and relax into the almost instant relief it provides against the pounding in my head.

He's still staring at me. "Better?"

I clear my throat, setting down the cup. "I'll be better once I'm home."

He gives me a wry smile, "I'm afraid we need to have a small chat before you can see your grandmother. I hope that's not too much to ask?"

I hesitate to reply. I want desperately to refuse him but know that I'm not the one with the upper hand. With chagrin, I find I cannot read his body language. Everything about him reads false, with his put upon casual demeanor and smooth confidence. My fingers itch to reach for my necklace and draw comfort and strength from it, but I hold still.

Green eyes darken in my continued silence, and he stands, walking over to the end of the bed. When he smiles his dimples appear once more, yet still his expression is unreadable. "Xander."

He says it like an offering, waiting expectantly for me to respond in kind. We stay that way for some time until a cramp begins to form in my lower back. I adjust my seating, grimacing at the soreness that seems to pulse from my bones. Speaking of sore... my eyes flit down to my chest. The crescent moon birthmark seems much darker than before, more pronounced. I catch his expression as his eyes dip toward the mark as well, then back to my face. He seems... anxious.

"Zoelle, but everyone calls me Zoe."

"You bear my mark." Xander's voice is quiet but steady, and I find my hand traveling to just above my heart to shield the birthmark that lies there.

"It's just a birthmark," I tell him neutrally.

He snorts. His face is the picture of tired amusement. "It's my mark."

" _No, it isn't_."

He responds by roughly tugging his shirt over his head and baring his back to me. Sitting inconspicuously on his left shoulder blade is a dark mark in the shape of a crescent. My heart gives a sudden and painful lurch. The mere sight of my mark's twin makes my mouth turn dry. It has absolutely nothing to do with the way his muscles rippled and contracted in the dim lighting. "That's... just a coincidence. Loads of people are bound to have birthmarks like ours." He turns around to face me.

"And how would you explain what happened in the forest?" His regard is wicked when combined with the thick timber of his voice, and I turn my gaze defiantly away. He doesn't have to sound so smug. "Well?" he inquires. I take another sip of the tea. Stalling shamelessly as my heart begins to race slowly. I can't explain it, and he and I both know it. "My brother only kept you alive because he caught sight of your soulmark, Zoelle. Because he knew it matched mine. All lycans have soulmarks, but not all find their match. If they do... well, it's quite like finding your soul mate. Only better. Everything is so much _more_."

He smiles. Something real and genuine for once, and I find myself listening aptly, my gaze tentatively returning to his. "Bound soulmarks strengthen the pack because they are the heart of the pack. They are the reason we fight. They are our courage and strength. And you, Zoelle Baudelaire, are my greatest strength and weakness because of this. Yet, without you, I am weaker still."

"How do you know my last name?" I whisper, face surely turning ashen as a million reasons run through my mind. None of them good.

"Your phone," he says simply. "Your grandmother is Diana Baudelaire, is she not?" I nod reluctantly but feel the urge to slap the arrogant smile he shoots me.

I digest his earlier words, confusion and self-righteous anger rising forth as my migraine recedes. I lick my lips nervously. "Soul mates?" It comes out part scoff, part taunt. "You're joking, right?" I have been chased, captured, taken to some stranger's house with no remorse, and he has the nerve to spin me some bullshit story about love and soul mates?

"No, _soulmark_. Hasn't your grandmother taught you anything?" he inquires, seeming truly curious despite my hostile response.

_Apparently not_ , I think furiously. "Kindly leave my grandmother out of this and let me go. I'm sure everything can be forgotten, and charges won't need to be pressed—"

"No," he says calmly, cutting me off. His jaw ticks as he scowls down at me. "You don't seem to understand. You bare my mark, and I yours. We belong together. The first step has already been completed. We are sealed."

A shiver darts up my spine at the memory. The lingering sensations send goose bumps across my flesh. I begin to disagree, but he is at my side in an instant. _How could he possibly move so fast_? "I felt you. I felt your breath fill me, and suddenly you were everywhere: in my gut, in my lungs, in my throat. I touched your skin, and you rose up around me. Filled every part of me. You embraced me, Baudelaire.

"I've dreamt of finding my soulmark all my life. I waited and waited until one day I placed all thoughts of you to the far recesses of my heart. And now you're here." His eyes hold mine captive, a fire burning behind them to go along with his emblazoned words. "And you felt it too, I saw it. I saw it in your eyes. The way it consumed you, body and... soul. It may not be tonight, or tomorrow, or the day after that"—he laughs humorlessly—"but soon I'll be your every thought and dream as well. I promise you that."

A panicky feeling itches at my insides. Screams at me to leave. But I'm frozen in place. I take a deep breath, then breathe it out slowly and purposefully. "No," I say firmly. "If what you're saying is..." I pause unsteadily, let out a sharp bark of laughter, eyes widening as the panic crawls up the back of my throat. "... that we're—no. Just, no! There are no such things as soul mates. No lycans. No witches."

He raises an eyebrow at my show of hysterics. I glower in return. "You're still adamant that you're not a witch?"

"Of course, I'm not!" My hands jut upward and land in a flop at my side. "Are you crazy? I'm not a—a witch."

"I'm not letting you go, Zoelle."

"I'm not yours to do anything with, Xander. Your stupid seal be damned." I hiss back. He growls. Literally, _growls_. A deep guttural sound of frustration and intimidation. I shrink back, and he immediately softens.

"While this isn't how I planned our first encounter going," he tells me through gritted teeth, "there's no changing what has occurred. Maybe a chat with your grandmother will make you see sense, and afterward, we can talk again."

I sneer back at him before turning my hostile gaze toward the wall, but Xander growls once more. Taking me by the chin, he forces my face toward him once more. "Don't turn away from me, Zoelle. And don't show me your neck until you're fully ready to make that commitment—do you understand?" His fingers pinch painfully into my skin until I utter my compliance, and then they move, faster than lightning, to graze the length of my neck. I jerk backward and eye him distastefully. Taking in my expression, I note the flash of hurt that crosses his features, but it goes just as it quickly as it came. He exits the room without another word.

I'm shaking and crying when Gran comes in, my knees curled into my chest and my arms locked around as much of my body as I can.

"Oh, Zoelle." Her expression is downtrodden as she comes to sit by me.

"Gran, what is happening? What's going on? I don't understand. That... that man thinks I'm his soul mate! And there were wolves in the woods, Gran! Men who turned into wolves right before my very eyes. Oh God—" I let out a pathetic moan. "—and he keeps calling me a witch. A _witch_!" She pulls me into her arms, holding me tightly while I regain my breath.

"This is not the way I wanted you to find out," she whispers sadly in my ear. My entire body stiffens in response as she eases me away.

"What?"

"Sweetheart, what exactly has he told you so far?" I stare at her flabbergasted before detailing our conversation. Tears threaten to gush again with each passing word. She sighs once more, something laden and forlorn, before straightening her back. "You saw those men shift from man to beast? Transform?" I nod. Gran rolls her shoulders back, straightening before me. "It's true, Zoelle," she tells me, her voice unwavering.

"But, Gran—"

"Zoelle, you _are_ a witch. All of those things that man told you... they are true. There's a whole other world hidden right before your eyes, but it seems I can't shield you from it any longer."

A thousand stones land at the bottom of my stomach at once. I blanch. My nausea comes back full force for one terrible moment before subsiding. It can't be true. Things like this don't happen! Witches and werewolves don't exist!

Except I saw with my own eyes the transformation of man to wolf.

"Gran... this can't...."

"My darling girl, the women of our family all carry magic inside of them. Me, your sister, and mother included." My mouth falls open in wonder. "Aunt Mo and Lydia, too."

"Witches?" I whisper weakly. Gran nods.

"Our family is blessed. In each generation, at least two women are born: one to cast, and one to brew. The elder and younger respectively."

"I'm a brewer? What does that even mean?"

Gran sends me a wry grin. "Why sweetheart you brew just about every day, don't you? You cook. You impart your emotions into every dish, letting your diners experience what you want. It's a particular kind of influence that—"

"Wait." I hold up a hand and screw my eyes tightly shut for a second. "My feelings go into my _food_?"

"Yes, sweetheart. Your sister was a caster, as was your mother. They follow in my footsteps, but I've learned a thing or two about brewing with my age."

"And did you know about...." My fingers graze near my collarbone. Gran shakes her head.

"I promise you, darling, _I didn't_. I only knew that I didn't want you to be a part of this world. Not until I felt you were ready. There's so much more to tell you—" A knock sounds at the door before Ryatt pokes his head inside. His dark hair is styled in messy spikes and he sports an annoyingly crooked smirk as he steps into the room. He gives a moment's pause before placing a hand mockingly over his heart. His blue eyes are startling blue, a fact I'm surprised I missed before.

"What a touching scene."

"What do you want, _dog_?" Gran asks coldly. He pouts.

"My brother asked me to fetch you. Won't you follow me?" His hand sweeps out in front of him and waits for us to stand before exiting. We follow stiffly.

We walk down a long hallway. The walls painted a creamy white, decorated with large art pieces full of abstract colors to catch the eye. I try to lose myself in the work and detail of each color I pass, doing my best to choke down my thumping heart. Gran walks ahead of me, only a foot behind Ryatt, head held high. God, I still feel like I'm going to throw up. If only I had Gran's confidence.

We walk into a formal room, the walls a vibrant royal blue with white crown molding and gold accents. The room is fit for a king with furniture that looks much too nice to sit on, let alone discuss supernatural politics. Xander stands near a drink cart, pouring himself a glass of liquid amber. Near him, a woman sits in a high-backed chair. Her hair is dark and reaches well past her small bust. She eyes us without a hint of a smile. Ryatt makes himself comfortable in the other available high-backed chair, gesturing for Gran and me to take our seats on the small settee.

"You've spoken, then?" Xander asks, coming to stand near the woman in the seat. Glass clutched tightly in his grasp.

"Barely," Gran retorts. "Ten minutes is hardly enough time to explain the situation we find ourselves in."

"I assume you were able to cover the basics," he says unmoved, "the mark and what it means. I suggest we begin discussion immediately on the forthcoming nuptials to occur between me and your granddaughter."

"Whoa!" I cry, "Nuptials? Let's all calm down for a moment, all right? A wedding? That hardly seems necessary."

"Of course, it's necessary." The woman sneers, her pert nose stuck permanently in the air. "Honestly." She tut-tuts.

"Irina," Xander growls in warning. They must be siblings. Their eyes are the same intense green and chins so similarly cleft. Not to mention their glossy dark hair, a trait all three have in common. Her lips form a pout.

"Your impatience has certainly done you no favors, brother," she remarks, glaring at Xander with a beautiful scowl. _Scorn has never looked so good on the woman_ , I think mildly envious.

"You are here to observe and stand witness, Irina, not for your unamusing commentary." Irina releases a low-pitched growl; her lip beginning to curl when Ryatt barks out a laugh.

"These two are always at the ready to put on a show," he comments. "You'll get used to it."

_Oh no, I will not_.

"I'm sure some compromise can be found," Gran volunteers stoically. "Unfortunately, as circumstances stand, Zoelle has only recently been informed of her birthright and heritage. She cannot be expected to complete the bonding without all available knowledge presented to her. Nor will I force her into a marriage without her express consent."

Xander glares at Gran while the room stands silently at her statement. "How... unorthodox," Irina chimes after a minute. "Surely the standard courting procedure will do. The soulmark has already been sealed. It's only a matter of time before the marking and binding will be completed. Zoelle should live under our roof while terms of a treaty can be negotiated between our families."

I stare in a stupor at Irina, well aware that I am under her brother's scrutiny. "No deal." My firm response quiets the group. "If we're witches, can't we just undo this? With a spell or potion? Something?" I toss a helpless look at Gran whose face pulls into a frown.

"You cannot erase what is born, nor can we ignore the triggering of the seal," Gran tells me softly. "But you do have a choice in this, Zoelle. It is not unheard of for a soulmark to be rejected, but it will be uncomfortable to ignore."

"It will be impossible to ignore if I have anything to say about it." Xander all but barks.

"You will not force this upon my granddaughter," Gran retorts heatedly. "I'll be damned before allowing that to happen. And don't think for a moment the Trinity Coven will rally behind this union. Not if Zoelle doesn't want it. Remember wolf, if she does not wish to be found, we can make it so. Your soulmark be damned." The three siblings growl menacingly at the threat, but Gran doesn't back down.

"Surely an agreement can be reached. There's no reason for these two lovebirds to face the pain they are sure to endure by ignoring the mark," Ryatt finally says, all traces of joviality gone. "Think of the possibilities their union could bring—this town would need never know fear with our families and priorities aligned. Furthermore, why deny your granddaughter her soul mate? We both know she will find no other—"

"I have a boyfriend," I blurt out, face turning bright red as all eyes crash into me. "I... have a boyfriend. Who I love." My eyes find Xander's, pleading with this mysterious man to understand. "I'm sorry, but I just don't think this will work. Maybe we can be... friends?"

Irina snorts, her heading shaking in disdain. "In love," she mutters, "what you have now with your little boyfriend will pale in comparison to what you will have with my brother. Maybe you should be allowed more time to speak with your grandmother on the topic before she departs. Then we shall reconvene tomorrow to discuss the particulars?"

"I'm not staying here," I say after processing Irina's words. "I'm going home with Gran, and there will be no more—"

"We will speak on the matter more tomorrow, but I must agree with Zoelle. She will not be staying here."

Irina bristles. "Don't be ridiculous. It's customary for those who bear the mark to reside with the male's family. It's understandable that one might think these unusual circumstances might grant an exception, but I assure you, they do not." Gran stands slowly, eyeing Irina with disdain and her fingers begin to let off sparks.

I stare wide-eyed as the room holds its breath, the atmosphere charged with unrelenting energy just waiting to snap. Xander lets out a huff of annoyance, snarling sharply at his sister, who reluctantly tilts her gaze downward toward the floor, exposing her throat ever so slightly to her brother.

"Zoelle may leave with you for the night," he finally speaks, voice low and hard, "but I must insist on settling the terms of agreement on the morrow."

"Xander," Irina cries in distress, "you can't—"

"That's final," he snaps.

"You'll both suffer for it. You esp—"

"I said that's final, and I meant it." The room goes quiet once more as I stand quickly from the couch, hovering by Gran's side uneasily.

"You're aware of the consequences your actions may have if no... reasonable, compromise can be reached?" Ryatt asks pointedly of Gran, his voice ominous and face somber. Gran takes me by the hand and leads me out of the room, and out of the house, our answer clear.

My head spins in a daze the entire way home, my heart in my throat and feelings a blur as they cascade through me. Witches, werewolves, and soulmarks? What have I gotten myself into?

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 4

The Art of Negotiation

"So, let me see if I have this all understood. First and foremost, we are a family of witches." The words come out of my mouth without a trace of the bitterness I feel inside, and I mentally clap myself on the back. Considering I've been _lied_ to my entire life, I feel I'm displaying a great deal of composure. "They are werewolves, whoops— _lycans_ , who moved to town because of a dispute with another pack, and now the town is split into two territories, the witches and the wolves. Soulmarks are basically 'soul mates' but with matching birthmarks. And, I can cook up all my emotions into either fabulous or disastrous meals? I'm assuming I could _brew_ up a mean potion or two as well."

"Correct," Gran responds into the silence that follows my rant.

"Show me." Gran holds her body still, but her eyes move pointedly to the kitchen windows. With a graceful flick of her wrist, the windows fly open. Every. Single. One. _Holy shit_. "Thanks," I murmur in awe.

The aunts were shooed away earlier so Gran and I could chat, and I couldn't help but be thankful. I'm tired and sore. Leaden veins slow my movements and cause aches, which reverberate through my body. The fingers of the clock tick past one, and I know if our conversation continues—as it had for the past few hours—I'll never sleep.

"And," I say warily, "I might find myself in physical pain from not completing the soulmark bond—I mean, soul binding? Can you explain that bit again?"

Gran sips her tea before starting. "As you so aptly put, a soulmark indicates a person's one, true other half, or soul mate, as you like to say. It means your soul is split in half, with one half residing in you and the other in him." I nod my head along, feeling numb from her words. Words she has repeated a dozen times now. "To merge the souls into one, three steps must be completed: the sealing, marking, and binding. All happen in a similar fashion. Ancient spellbound words are spoken, and the mark touched by the other half. With each step, the souls are tied closer together. The bond between the two individuals growing deeper."

"I thought something different happened with each step?" I ask, voice quizzical as my brows pull together.

"The sealing happens with only the spellbound words spoken and mark touched. The marking involves an offering of blood, and the binding a reciprocation of words."

"And he sealed me?" Gran wears a troubled frown, before strumming up the nerve to confirm the horrid truth. My throat bobs traitorously. "What kind of pain happens if I don't complete the process? Cramps? Blistering headaches? Fevers? Maybe I should chance it."

"Fever, yes. Some hallucinations. An ache in your bones. A hunger for... more."

A shiver brings goose bumps to my arms and the nape of my neck. "And there isn't any helpful potion I could brew to avoid that is there?"

Gran looks contemplative, her silent reverie going on a bit too long for comfort. "It might be possible to conjure something, though there is no guarantee. Just know that—"

"Whatever I decide you will stand beside."

"As will the coven," she informs me.

"Gran, I'm so confused. How is it that I've never felt my so-called powers before? And if we're so magical, then why couldn't Clara and Mom save themselves when the crash happened? Shouldn't our magic have protected all of us?"

The questions tumble out before I can stop them. The want for answers is a deep pain inside me. "The necklace you wear was once your great-grandmother's. Did you know that?" I nod. "It's your talisman. Your mother wasn't wearing hers the day of the accident; it acts as a barrier of protection. Why she wasn't wearing it... well, she didn't want to be a part of the family business, so to speak."

"Then, why pass down the necklaces to us if she didn't want us to be involved in it?"

"Because, my dear, given the right opportunity you would have been told and left to make the decision yourselves. Regardless, the talisman was a sure-fire way to offer you two protection from harm."

"And Clara?"

Gran's sorrow shows on her face. "The paramedics either took it off of her or it broke off during the accident. Yours was kept on long enough while the paramedics and doctors stabilized you. By the time they removed it for your surgery it had done its job."

My fingers curl protectively around the jade stone. The urge to cry bubbles up—undeniable, but I hardly have any left to spare. My head throbs with all the tears I've shed, and Gran seems to understand, ushering me from the formal sitting room near the entryway and into the kitchen. She ignites a fire under the kettle with a flick of her wrist while she rummages through the tea cupboard. I stare in unabashed shock.

"Can I do that?"

Gran turns around back to me, a jar of pink, green, and white tea leaves cupped in her hands. "Of course, you can."

"Seriously?"

"Yes," she says, kind amusement lacing her words. "Which leads me to your other inquiry and why you haven't felt the magic within you. You see this cabinet here?" She pats the door of the tea cupboard. "These teas all cater to a specific purpose. The one you're about to consume will allow you to sleep without dreams and cloud your mind. Some in here will grant you foresight or luck. Others produce lust or rage. There's even one to... suppress certain feelings or urges or...."

The furrow in my brow deepens, "My green tea mix has been suppressing my magic?"

"Your _herbal_ tea has been." She corrects.

"But... it's not like I drank it every day."

"As long as you consume the tea at least once a week it does its job, sweetheart. I'm sorry to have kept it from you, Zoelle."

"That's all right, Gran," I say, followed by a sigh, "It was probably for the best." I give her a weak smile. "You don't suppose there's a spell to turn back time, do you?"

"Time is not ours to meddle with," Gran says while pouring our drinks. The front door opens and shuts. The aunts have returned. Their footsteps tread tentatively toward the kitchen entrance before Aunt Mo peeks her head in.

"Diana, is there enough water in there for two more cups?" Gran looks to me. My mind follows slowly behind.

"There is," I say finally, holding my mug with both hands and leaning into the kitchen island. The aunts bring their mindless chitchat with them, briefly explaining their outing to see Rebecca Germaine on Fourth Street who's trying to pawn off some of her bathtub gin.

"We brought back a bottle," Aunt Mo says.

"We brought back two." Aunt Lydia corrects. "One for each of us."

"That good?" Aunt Lydia snorts, raising an eyebrow impressively high.

"We'll be able to sterilize anything with them."

The room tapers off into calm silence, though I sense a small trace of tension in the air. I haven't felt this tired—this exhausted—since the accident. A wariness sinks down onto my shoulders, bending me to its will.

"Zoelle." Gran and the aunts look at me with varying degrees of concern, and finally, I see the peace offering. The chocolate bar in front of Aunt Mo, glides across the island counter without aide. My breath catches at the action and my eyes widen. The numbness I feel waivers as I pick up the treat and enjoy its rich, smooth taste.

"Thank you," I mumble past splayed fingers, still chewing.

"You've certainly gotten yourself into a pickle," Aunt Lydia finally says.

I groan. "I know."

"Have you told her about Melissa, Diana?" Aunt Lydia asks. Gran shakes her head, eyes hardening.

"The choice to move forward should be her own decision."

"Her decision should be made with all the facts present," Aunt Mo scolds, and for a brief moment, Gran looks away, ashamed.

"What is it?" I ask. My grip tightens around the steaming mug as my heart jumps a beat. Gran and Aunt Mo share a look before Gran lowers her eyes and gives her short nod of consent.

Aunt Lydia takes a deep breath. "It was a waxing crescent moon when it occurred. Melissa and her father were out collecting the violet oleander that grows wild near the Elder Creek when they happened across a young man. He said he followed a scent on the wind that led him to the pair. Once he saw Melissa, he knew without seeing her mark that she was his. Of course, Bart intervened, Melissa's father, and the mark was not sealed. This caused tension, and understandably so, between the coven and pack. Lines were drawn, the coven supporting Melissa's family in her refusal and the wolves pushing for completion of the mark.

"The coven ended up hiding Melissa. We kept her away from the boy whose name was Martin, Marcel—"

"Malcolm." Aunt Mo provides.

"Yes, Malcolm. But you see, the family held no love for the wolf pack. After all, it was only years before they lost a member of their family to a wolf pack in Troy. A town north of here. The very same town and pack the Adolphus pack came from. As you might imagine, the issue of the soulmark was always going to be contentious. Melissa held no desire to be bound to a lycan. But Malcolm grew... obsessed. Crazed. One day he was able to seal the mark, but the feelings it brought only scared the poor girl. The family refused to acknowledge it. Melissa refused to leave home. Refused to eat after a time."

"It was quite a shame. She had such potential. Such promise," Gran voices, her tea held close to her chest. "She would have made a fine healer, but it was not meant to be."

Aunt Mo nods, a gentle tilting of her head. "Indeed she would have. Malcolm did not take the rejection well either. He became easily enraged. Distraught. Manic some might say. As your grandmother may have told you, past a certain point after the sealing is complete the two individuals need to maintain a certain amount of physical proximity and contact. Lest either endure some form of heartache. It disrupts the physical well-being of both parties in the long run, but wolves are so volatile to begin with that they are by far, worse off."

Aunt Lydia takes a long drag of her tea, rolling her shoulders back as she leans against the sink. With a small sigh, she cradles the tea in front of her breast, holding it close while the small spoon resting inside of it twirls lazily in a circle. My eyes trace the movement, mesmerized by the effortless use of magic the aunts possess. And Gran, for that matter. When I catch Aunt Lydia's eye, she is staring serenely back at me, a faraway look in her eye.

Aunt Lydia's voice takes on an odd, unaffected tone. One that reaches miles away. "In the end, Bart killed Malcolm, though he lost his own life as well. The whole event was awful. Malcolm was practically stalking the poor girl. Had driven himself mad in his pursuit. The pack was constantly trying to negotiate some agreement but to no avail. In the end, neither family won."

"What about Melissa?" I ask tentatively.

"She's not the same woman she once was. And after the deaths, the most peculiar thing happened."

"What?" I sit up straighter in my seat, more alert than ever at the harrowing story.

"She moved in with the Adolphus family. Her mother was destroyed, so she left to go live with her sister in Vermont. Nobody ever found out why."

"Oh my God." Hums of agreement sound from all three.

"Drink the rest of your tea before it gets cold, Zoelle," Gran reminds me gently. I knock back the lukewarm liquid feeling an almost instant wave of sleepiness hit me. The aunts can see the effect it has and take my mug away. "Go to bed, Zoelle. Tomorrow we'll... we'll figure something out." I nod.

The motion is minuscule as my eyelids grow steadily heavier. I slip up to my room quietly. Ignoring the murmur of voices from the kitchen, I find myself asleep before my head touches my pillow.

+++

My thoughts torment me. All morning and afternoon, I skulk in my room until Aunt Lydia is brave enough to coax me out with a well-placed and all-knowing glare. There's no use in trying to avoid it because the situation can't possibly be ignored. I must make a decision. Tonight. But with so much information to process, I've only managed to work up a nasty headache. When I finally decide to eat something and join everyone in the kitchen, I'm greeted with sympathetic and pitying gazes. It makes my throat tighten uncomfortably.

"How are you, sweetheart?" Gran asks once I sit down with a bowl of cereal to quench my hunger.

"Tired. Confused. Kind of miserable and—" I take a large bite of my cereal, finding some pleasure in the satisfying crunch that resounds. "—scared out of my mind." I cover my mouth as I speak, my words coming out garbled, but understandable.

"And have you reached a decision?" Aunt Mo probes with all her subtlety. She has her long white hair braided like a crown around her head, with gaudy earrings tinkling with each minute movement she makes. I slowly nod my head, avoid eye contact, and give my cereal the attention it deserves. "And?"

"And I've made it," I snap back. A flush draws at the bottom of my neck. Heat rises on my tawny brown skin. Aunt Mo seems more put in her place than offended, a fact I'm grateful for.

"Well, I'm glad you've made it." Aunt Lydia chimes in. "Because Aleksandr will be over in a few hours to discuss the situation with you further."

I frantically find Gran's unwilling gaze. " _What_?"

"We made the agreement yesterday, or have you forgotten already?" she asks me rather harshly as I slump back in my seat. "Unfortunately, I will not be able to attend—"

"What? But you have to! I can't do this alone, Gran. Please"—my voice cracks on the word—"I need you there."

"Don't worry, dear. We'll be there to chaperon. Mr. Adolphus will conduct himself in a manner that we see fit," Aunt Mo says. With a flick of her wrist, red sparks ignite briefly from her fingertips, a smug smile playing on her lips. "No shenanigans."

Aunt Lydia nods her agreement, a similar smile etching its way across her face. "No _lying_." The tilt of her lips changes, slanting in such a way that sends a little shiver down my spine. With grace and confidence, she raises her palm upward, a sphere of crackling blue flame appearing, then disappearing, with ease.

_No shenanigans or lying, check_ , I gulp and nod along, my regard skirting back to Gran.

"Why won't you be there?" Gran turns her attention elsewhere.

"Business." Her response is the epitome of nonchalance and my back goes straight.

"What _business_?"

"The important kind."

"What's more important than your granddaughter practically being forced into some crazy, supernatural marriage?"

The air stills, but Gran does not answer. My heart plummets to the bottom of my chest, and I release a shaky breath. Standing, I grab my bowl and place it calmly in the sink before exiting the room and sulking back to my own.

The hours pass slowly as I wait for the clock to chime nine. During the excruciating hours, I grapple with my decision. Yes or no. Run or hide. Live or survive. I'm conflicted at every new thought that graces my mind until I'm reduced to a cool numbness.

Ten minutes before the fateful hour, the doorbell echoes throughout the house. A cruel shiver surges across my skin as anticipation and fear merge into one. I hear a pair of feet make their way upstairs. The old wood creaks with each step as they tread reluctantly toward my door. Would it be Aunt Lydia or Aunt Mo to get me? I shift in my seat, gently twisting a piece of paper in my hand before a gentle knock sounds at my door. I stiffen, my breathe suddenly switches to short, little bursts. The paper in my hand crunches in my painful grasp.

_Am I making the right decision_? The thought haunts me. I want desperately to run and hide from this situation. Avoid making any kind of decision until I calm down. Until I find my footing. And even then... I don't want the pressure of making such a huge choice. One that will affect my future irrevocably.

"Your guest has arrived." Gran's voice lilts. I stare at the door in astonishment, quickly rising and crossing the threshold to answer the door.

"You're still here," I say in one breath. Gran looks grimly back at me.

"Only long enough to set some ground rules. Come, dear." I follow behind her silently, dread beginning to push away all other feelings. The time is now, no matter how much I wish it had never come.

They're seated in the formal sitting room. Aunt Lydia and Aunt Mo sitting opposite one another in the matching set of floral armchairs, the ones too stiff for my liking, and Xander sits rigidly on the more comfortable loveseat. I eye the very clearly presented empty spot next to him with disdain.

"Now," Gran says, chin lifting as she eyes Xander from his seated position, "tonight will go as I instruct. Zoelle has questions. You will answer them. Honestly." She nods to the tea set before him. "After her questioning, you may present your case to Zoelle. After which she will provide you with her decision. Whatever it may be, the coven will support."

"Because that worked out so well the last time," he mutters, eyeing me with thinly veiled interest. "I'm sure we can work something out that is amicable to both parties."

Gran nods and turns to me, her hand squeezing my arm comfortingly. "Trust your gut, honey. We're all behind you, no matter what you decide."

I swallow and manage a nod in return, watching dispassionately, and not without a little heartache, as she leaves. The door closes with a quiet click, and I'm forced to look back toward the scene I am left with. Xander's eyes drift meaningfully to the seat beside him and then back to me with a look that clearly says, "Come now."

He has his hair styled back tonight. The dark locks held in place by some hair product that smells faintly of cedar. His strong jaw is clean-shaven, and eyes are still a piercing green. He's dressed rather formally. A crisp white button-down tucked into dark pants, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Everyone watches my slow inspection, waiting patiently for my next move. Just for spite, and a dash of curiosity, I let my gaze linger over the swell of his biceps and well-shaped shoulders. It's obvious Xander takes care of his body, a characteristic I like in men usually, but not this one.

Swallowing my nerves, I look Xander in the eye before turning and walking purposefully to the kitchen, returning a moment later with a stool. I place it near the staircase in case a hasty retreat is required. Xander frowns. The aunts can barely contain their glee.

_I can do this_ , I think to myself. I am a strong, beautiful, independent woman. My hands fiddle with the red headband I wear, as I take my seat. It takes all of my strength not to fidget with any other aspect of my appearance, though I am acutely aware of Xander's probing gaze.

Seated, I carefully straighten the crumpled paper I've been holding onto like a lifeline. It contains my _questions_. All three of them. "So," I clear my throat, "Aleksandr—"

"Xander. Call me Xander." Summer-field eyes cut through me. How can a person make one's tone soft, yet so firm? My eyes fall inexcusable to his lips, watching as his tongue quickly darts out to wet them.

"Xander." His name falls cautiously off my tongue. My honey-brown eyes lock with his as he leans forward. All of his attention rests on me. With more force than should be necessary, I look back down at the crumpled paper. "Are you sure that I'm—that is to say, uh,"— _just breathe_ —"are you sure you're right?" I blurt out, eyes immediately darting upward to see his reaction.

His lips purse before delivering a curt nod.

"Don't forget your drink, Adolphus." Aunt Lydia reminds him sternly. He heaves a sigh, irritation radiating off him as he drinks what is in front of him.

"Yes," he says firmly. "I'm positive."

My eyes linger on the tea questioningly. "What exactly is in the tea?"

"A little something to ensure the truth is told. _Lunaria_ ," Aunt Mo explains casually. "Your Ben knows its effects well."

_Ben knows it well? As in, Ben was dealt the same magical truth serum the other night?_ Anger simmers my blood, then stops cold in its tracks. _It means what Ben said was true_. When I turn an inquisitive gaze to Aunt Mo my anger returns. She looks anywhere but at my eyes, despite my growing glare. Knowing I can't stay in this standoff forever, I reluctantly push aside my hurt and anger. This isn't the time for _that_ conversation.

"Tell me about yourself. Your likes and dislikes. Anything." An unsteady exhalation escapes after my words. Question number two: check.

Xander cocks his head a small fraction to the left before leaning back into the couch. His eyes still heavy in their assessment of me. I fight a blush under his regard, feeling needlessly self-conscious over my looks. Maybe I should have put on more makeup? Or worn a different outfit. One that didn't fit so snuggly, showing off my curvy hips and slender waist. _Damn, athleisure wear for being so comfortable_. Xander's eyes flick down the length of my body, then back to my eyes, a façade of cool nonchalance drifting over his demeanor.

"I'm the eldest of three and alpha of my pack," he begins smoothly, and then pauses, as if reconsidering his words. "I assume your coven has informed you of when we first came to Branson Falls, but perhaps not the reason why.

"We come from up north, originally, and belonged to a much larger pack. The Wselfwulf pack. They hold very traditionalist values. A large portion of us found the traditional ways outdated and unseemly. When no change was made from our requests, my father led us in leaving the pack. Acting as my father's beta, I helped with the transition. For the most part, it seemed the split would be... amicable. We were wrong. With little warning the Wselfwulf pack's alpha demanded repentance for our slight." His lips curl at the word. Xander's feelings of loathing made clear. "And killed my father."

"That's awful," I whisper aghast.

"One day we will have our revenge," he tells me confidently. His chest expands as he sits straighter, straining the crisp white button-down against his pectorals. "Our pack is growing with those who defect from the Wselfwulf pack, births, and of course, soulmarks found and bound. Each strengthens my pack and me."

"Right." The word falls from my lips low and long as I process the information. When silence proceeds, the occupants of the room shift uncomfortably. I keep my eyes steadfast on my paper, a frown developing over my brow before I look at Xander again. "And, that's it? That's all you have to say about yourself?"

Xander's eyes widen in some confusion. He looks to both aunts uncertainly before returning his gaze to me. "Pardon?"

"I mean... I sort of knew most of that already. I was hoping more for—I don't know—what you do for a living, hobbies, maybe your favorite sports team?"

A light, melodious laugh emerges from him. It sends shivers down my spine and curls my toes. Suddenly he oozes confidence and certainty. Xander leans back into his seat as if he holds all the assurance in the world. As if he's already won this game. His deep-set gaze lingers in their perusal of me. I swallow and shift under the acute scrutiny, unable to control the flush that creeps up my neck.

He's going to be disappointed with my decision tonight.

"I work as a data analyst. It allows me to work remotely and create my own hours. I enjoy the outdoors: hiking, swimming, _hunting_." He says the word like it's some kind of secret, the word spoken with a languid air and an infinity of unspoken promises behind it. "I don't follow sports. I much prefer to be active and part of the action than sitting around and watching it happen."

"Oh." Xander loses some of his luster at my dismayed response. "Anything else?" I ask hopefully.

Shouldn't there be more to say to someone you're trying to win over? A little originality? Or is this bond between us just a means to an end for him to achieve more power? Am I just some possession to acquire and throw away later, when the newness of it all wears off? A wave of uncertainty turns my stomach. It urges me to flee to my room and lock the door behind me. _But I can't_ , I think disheartened. There is no reprise for me. I shake the sullen thoughts from my head, tired of running through them over and over again.

"I—" Xander's mouth opens and closes rhythmically, but no sound comes to pass. "What else do you want to know?" Anything. Something. A crumb that maybe, just maybe, there is something we share in common. A connection. Something other than this damnable mark. _Anything but this_.

"What do you want?" My words heavy with desperation. The question has him leaning forward again. Gone is his confident attitude, replaced instead with determination.

"You," Xander says calmly, his words smooth and controlled. "Your heart, your body, your soul. Everything you're willing to give me and more. I'll take it all and offer you everything in return if you would just consider...." It's all said with such gravity, and yet, his words have a lilting touch to them that enthrall me. Tempt me. "Jewels for your body, silks for your skin, a crown to place upon your brow. You would be an alpha. A queen with an army of wolves at your feet willing to serve your every command if you'll be mine. Bind yourself to me. Let me mark you as my queen. My alpha. My match."

The soulmark throbs between heart and collarbone, presuming once more to be in possession of its own will at his heady offer. With dismay, I realize that I too lean forward, my body unconsciously curling toward him. Dark lashes sweep down to cover my eyes, brushing tenderly against my burning cheeks. When I open them, he is still there. Along with his persistent gaze. He looks ready to leap across the distance between us and sweep me off my feet. _Goodness_. The beat of my heart will surely leave a bruise.

His offer is... too much. His entire presence is too oppressing and consuming. Everything. From the way he speaks to the way in which he postures himself is set to entice. A neat trap to pull me to his side without fuss, to come to heel, to lose myself to his will. Something inside me screams and shouts. Alarms sound off inside my head. Giving in now will surely be the end of me; the force of his will almost too painful to resist. But I haven't come this far in life to succumb to the will of some man.

"Zoe, your questions have been asked. Xander, your offer made. What say you, Zoe?" Aunt Mo asks, breaking the stillness with her declaration.

The words get stuck in my throat. The paper torn and crumpled in my now-closed grasp. It's now or never. "I think it's best if we remain... friends."

Xander snarls. His lips pulling back in disfavor as his eyes alight with renewed fever. " _No_."

" _Yes_ ," I respond immediately, sitting up straight and staring him in the eyes. "I have a _life_. I have a _boyfriend_."

"Then end it," he roars, standing. I slip from my seat as well, hands balled at my waist.

"No."

"Tell her," he demands of the aunts. "This is not acceptable."

"Oh, I think it's by far more than you could have hoped or asked for," Aunt Lydia drawls. Her eyes gleam with soft alertness. The lights flicker, a tinkling and small surging of energy pulsing through the room as Xander and I remain in our standoff.

_Just breathe_. "Friendship is all that I can offer you."

He rubs a hand over his face, raking his hand through his neatly kept hair as he lets out an indignant huff. "I would offer you the world, and it would not be enough? Is that what I am to believe?"

"I don't want—"

"You think your boyfriend will satisfy you more than I could? Is that it?"

I go stiff. "I love him."

Xander barely contains his scoff. "And you'll learn to love me, in time. And when that time comes, what then of your precious boyfriend?" I remain silent, jaw clenched tightly shut. "The forces that bind us together cannot be ignored, and I will _not_ let you ignore them."

"I'm trying to be fair, all right?" I finally yell, "What do you expect me to do? Follow you obediently around like some lovesick puppy? I have a life, and just because you've suddenly found yourself inserted into it doesn't mean you get to walk all over it. You don't get to push everything I care about to the wayside!"

"I wouldn't—"

"You would!" I shout over him and take a step forward. "You ask for everything, and I can't give you that." My earnest plea seems to cut through him, his shoulders dropping as his righteous anger fades. "I can give you friendship. That's... that's it."

He seats himself, his mouth narrowing to resemble something akin to a gash across his perfect face. "Friendship," he says tersely. "I accept."

"You do?" I cannot hide my surprise, the well of outrage suddenly tapped dry. " _Seriously_?"

He nods resolutely, "Yes." The room remains silent for a time, the aunts passing between them an unreadable look as Xander stares contemplatively down at the table in front of him. "And what are the terms of this friendship you offer?"

_Uh_...

"I don't know," I tread cautiously. _Terms of friendship_? "Um, just what normal friendships are?" I don't mean for it to sound so much like a question, but I can't help my uncertainty. This isn't what I expected to happen. I haven't prepared for this.

"So, the terms of the friendship are negotiable?"

Eyes turn to me expectantly as I weigh his words. Maybe having set terms to the friendship won't be such a bad thing. With ground rules in place, maybe things will play out more smoothly. "Okay," I finally say, taking my seat again, "Did you have anything in mind?"

He flashes me a grin, his dimple winking at me as he eyes me with renewed interest. "Only one, you must see me every day. As you know, going prolonged periods of time without contact can cause discomfort. For both parties."

"I'm sure we can manage a few days in between seeing each other."

"But at what cost to our sanity?" he counters quickly.

"Oh, I think I'll manage just fine," I respond.

"You think you'll be immune to the bonds ill-effects?"

"I think I'll handle it better than you." We both know the words to be true. I have an arsenal of teas and other magical medleys to help me get on. Surely some of them can offer me comfort. Xander swallows.

"Six days a week then."

"Three."

He scoffs, a frown deeply embedded between his brow. "Three days? You're being ridiculous." He all but snarls.

"Well, I'd hardly say that." Aunt Mo scolds lightly. His frown only cuts deeper.

"You were right when you said you would be able to handle our absence better than I," he concedes. "Knowing that, you may expect my attentions to be more zealous on the days we do agree to meet and spend time together. Bare that in mind, Zoelle." I frown at his use of my given name but let it pass. "If I am allowed to only be in your presence for three days, then I shall have you for the entirety of those day. It will be the only way to sate my sanity."

I worry the paper between my fingers, "Four days, and we'll spend afternoons together."

"Five and we spend the evenings together." I gape and a gasp escapes at his rebuttal. "Not overnight, Baudelaire, just the evenings. From five till ten I think should do. We can spend time together over meals and good wine."

"Six until ten. Four nights a week."

Xander heaves a rather aggressive sigh, mulling over my proposition until countering. "Four evenings of the week, from six till nine, and your Sunday mornings."

I avoid his eyes. "And is there a time limit for Sunday mornings as well?"

"Hmm..." His smirk returns. "Eight until eleven? Surely that's fair." He tosses the last word at me with a hint of a smile.

"Eight?"

He rolls his eyes. "Fine, nine till noon. What say you to that? Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Sundays?"

"For how long?" His gaze turns cold and unwavering, and by his fierce look, I know he will not dignify my question with an answer, not when I already know it. Forever. Even if forever was a dearly long time. "Not Fridays."

"Why not?" he asks tightly, his rigid posture somewhat more relaxed than before.

"Because." My retort sounds childish, even to me, and I cringe internally. I don't have to explain my reasoning to him. He smiles nonetheless.

"Agreed. Now let's talk about physical contact."

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 5

Rehashing Terms

Somehow, I manage to convince Xander to begin our "friendship" on Monday instead of Sunday. A feat I marvel at, seeing as how our discussion had turned into a tense standoff of compromises and deals. Did I come out with the advantage? I'm not sure. Last night I made decision after decision without hesitation. The behavior was a complete one eighty from my usual timid nature.

It's difficult to recount every aspect of our conversation and dissect it, but the final agreement between Xander and me isn't terrible. I'd written all of the "rules" down.

Meal Deals

Mondays — dinner at home with Gran & aunts

Tuesdays — dinner alone with X

Wednesday — dinner alone with X

Thursday — dinner at X's with family

Saturday — nothing!

Sunday — Breakfast

Physical Contact

Handholding — only at dinners with family present

_Hugs — maximum_ 2 _4/day_

_Kissing —_ NO _cheek & hands... okay _

_any other physical contact outside of the above can only be initiated by_ me

Sniff*

I frown at the paper, eyeing the last word on the page. Xander's last request is by far the strangest, in that I allow him to _sniff me_. My skepticism gave way once the aunts made him drink the truth tea and repeat his request, assuring me my scent calmed him. Vowing to keep it to a minimum and perform the act only in the privacy of our homes, I relented.

He left looking far more satisfied than I liked, his lips barely brushing my cheek as he retreated with a soft goodnight. I went straight to bed after the affair, not wanting to talk to dissect the night's exchange with the aunts.

I hardly have my mind wrapped around everything before Monday night rears its ugly head, and with it, one of the worst dinners I have _ever_ been party to.

The food I prepare is truly awful. Every bite bitter and tough to chew. The aunts do their best to alleviate the situation—Gran absent once again—but to no avail. The night ends in a slew of harsh comments and barbed words. When the clock finally struck nine, Xander bid his farewell hastily, dragging me from the table to escort him to the door. His hand held mine in a viselike grip before abruptly pulling me into a crushing hug, inhaling deeply, and leaving without another word.

Tuesday and Wednesday go a little better, both nights ending in their own heated confrontations.

Xander constantly scolds and lectures me for my unwillingness to cooperate. I growl back how I hadn't wanted any of this in the first place. That the proverbial race between friendship with _him_ or slowly going mad is a close one, but my self-preservation continues to prevail. He blanches at my caustic replies and agrees to end each night early. I wonder each night why I put up with the forced charade. Contemplating thoughts of going crazy more seriously, then switching back to self-preservation mode. If I end up continuing the "friendship" with Xander, there is a very large chance I'll still go mad.

It's Thursday night, which means dinner at his family's house. I stand outside his home. His very large home, I might add, hoping beyond hope that tonight will go better than the others. Maybe if nobody talks, it will go smoothly.

I knock only once before an elderly woman dressed in black gestures me inside with a wry, but excited, grin and leads me to a room down a short corridor on the first floor. Irina and Ryatt sit near one another with drinks in their hands speaking casually. When I enter, they each send me their own greetings from afar. Ryatt shoots me a salacious smirk. Irina raises her sculpted brow. I smile uncertainly back.

"Zoelle!" A smooth feminine voice calls from the other side of the room. It is an older woman with long dark hair and fair skin. She must be in her fifties, maybe early sixties, but she wears her years well. Dressed in a figure-hugging A-line dress, she strides toward me with purpose, her eyes alight with unspoken curiosity. "My name is Katerina," she says, her Russian accent a lovely purr as she pulls me in to place a kiss on each cheek.

"Our mother," Ryatt says, watching the exchange before coming over to greet me as well. "Drink? Dinner will be ready soon enough, but there's no need to head into the lion's den without some liquid courage."

"Don't you mean wolf's den?" I say. His low chuckle fills the room. "A drink would be wonderful, thank you." I step out of Katerina's light embrace and force my strained smile to remain.

"What's your poison?"

"Gin and tonic?" I ask hopefully, catching Irina shaking her head out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm afraid there's no lime," Ryatt tells me as he hands me my drink a few minutes later.

I take a tentative sip, holding back a wince at the sharp effervescence. "That's all right. Thank you."

"Zoelle!" I turn half way before I feel Xander's hand on the hollow of my back. His touch, warmer than the average human I've learned, sinks past the fabric of my dress to my skin. I take a sharp breath as he presses his lips firmly onto my cheek and much too close to my lips. They linger unnecessarily, so my elbow gently reminds him to behave. He takes the hint, but as he pulls away his hand drags lightly across my hip, and his eyes run down my body in appreciation. I step away quickly. Not bothering to hide my disapproving stare.

"I've been informed dinner is served. Shall we?" He offers me his arm, eyes bright and warm as I reluctantly place my hand on the crook of his elbow.

As the dining room is on the other side of the house, I am treated to a small tour. Paintings by renowned artists litter the hallway, bringing a stark contrast to the dark walls with their vibrancy.

"You have quite the collection," I comment once I'm seated.

"Indeed, we do. We house a few Chagall and Picasso on the ground floor, and some Monet and various impressionist paintings on the others. My grandfather was a collector you see, and he passed along to me his love of art and most of his collection," Katerina answers softly, humming in delight as our salad plates are placed before us.

The salad is crisp, with large pieces of nuts scattered heartily throughout it and a light pepper lemon vinaigrette to top it off. At least the food is bound to be good tonight. "Xander tells us you can cook?" Ryatt inquires.

"Oh, wonderful!" Katerina exclaims before I can respond, "I've always been of the belief that a wife should be able to cook for her husband, but, lucky for you, dear Zoelle, we have a chef on staff to fit our needs."

"If you don't mind Mrs. Adolphus, I prefer Zoe." She smiles back at me magnanimously.

"Then I must insist you call me Katerina." I nod and stuff my mouth with a forkful of salad in lieu of responding to her actual comment. I cast a discreet frown at Xander, who clears his throat but does nothing to correct his mother.

"I consider myself a foodie of sorts," comments Ryatt, picking up where his mother left off. "I love a good feast of the senses."

"An amateur cook then? How quaint." Irina chimes in before I can speak. I take another large bite of salad and await my turn. "Mother, I completely agree with you. I'm sure there is no greater joy than cooking for one's family, but it is true. The Adolphus women are held to a certain standard. There will be no slaving away behind a hot stove for any of us."

"No cooking?" I finally say once I've cleared my small salad. A swell of foreboding builds in my stomach.

"We'll need to do something about your overall look of course. Teach you the politics and ways of our world, that sort of thing. There won't be much time for your little cooking hobby I'm afraid."

"Wait, just—hold on a minute." I lean to the side to allow my salad plate to be replaced by a fine piece of halibut. "My cooking isn't a hobby. I've just graduated from the Missoula College Culinary Arts program. I'm a chef, and I certainly don't plan to give up on my dreams or plans to be some... some accessory."

"A wife is hardly an accessory," Katerina replies. "As the wife of the alpha, you must assert your position as the female alpha of the pack, which includes many responsibilities such as the care and well-being of the pack, maintaining our traditions, and being available to your husband."

I turn to Xander hoping he will interject only for Irina to speak once more. Somehow, I hold back my groan. "It will take some work, but mother and I will whip you into shape." Her teasing words are laced with too much condescension for me to bear.

"I think you're under the wrong impression," I say after allowing a small silence to sit at the table. "What exactly did Xander tell you about our conversation last weekend?"

Xander clears his throat, throwing an anxious look my way. "Nothing out of the ordinary, only that we had come to an agreement to see each other."

I ponder his words, frowning down at my plate before meeting his eyes. "An agreement to see each other?"

"I'll admit," Ryatt says with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "we were worried about the outcome of your little discussion. What with the mishandling of the soul binding those years ago no doubt weighing on your conscious. But tell us, how did my dear brother persuade you to be so... accommodating?"

"Ryatt." Xander growls in warning. "Enough."

"Yes, do tell us, brother. How did you manage such a feat?" Irina asks, jumping on the bandwagon. I breathe a sigh of relief as her gaze turns to her brother and off me. Her voice takes on an innocent air that fools no one. "I, for one, am not surprised at all. You're so good at charming every woman you meet. It's no wonder Zoe, here, succumbed."

"I said enough," Xander barks.

"Leave your brother alone, both of you. What on earth are you two trying to prove?" Katerina scolds, clearly confused by the sibling interaction.

"We only marvel at our brother's newfound emotional depth. You see, Zoe, Xander here has the emotional capacity of a teaspoon, and then you came along—"

"I suppose you would have me pursue love the way that you do, Irina? Wear my heart on my sleeve and pine away at every other woman who crosses my path? Never mind that they might have ulterior motives regarding our family."

Irina stands sharply, her gaze unwaveringly cold. "Don't be cruel, Aleksandr."

"Sit," he commands, his voice hard.

"Yes, sister, be a good girl and sit," Ryatt mutters behind his tumbler. She does so reluctantly, throwing biting glares at her brothers as her lips seal together tightly.

I feel a pang of empathy for the beautiful girl and let my frustration build. "I think," I begin slowly, pushing the halibut around my plate, "that you have misinformed your family about the conversation we had, Xander."

"Oh?" All eyes fall on me. Except for Xander's.

"We did agree to see each other. Five times a week for limited periods of time—with restrictions in regard to physical interactions."

"Oh," Katerina exclaims wide-eyed. Irina and Ryatt share a smile. "We agreed to be friends. Just. Friends. I will not be marrying your son, Katerina. And I'm certainly not going to give up cooking, Irina." Irina shrugs and scoffs at my response, but it doesn't have the same bite.

The table goes silent at my confession. Scanning the table for their reactions, I eat the fish in silence along with the others. Katerina is put out, shooting pointed glances at Xander, a small pout on her lips and a furrow in her brow. Ryatt quietly chuckles under his breath, a large smile on his face. Irina smirks victoriously, and Xander tenses furiously. His eyes bore into the side of my face imperiously as I continue to ignore him.

No more words are spoken as we finish our plates. I glance at my watch: 8:20 p.m. Only forty minutes more and I can get out of this place and go home. _Thank God_. Just as they clear our plates, a loud vibration hums through the room. We eye each other curiously around the table before a flush rises to my cheeks.

"I'm so sorry, would you mind if I...?"

Xander nods stiffly. "Of course, dear," Katerina agrees, shooing me away with a good-natured smile. I answer my phone once I've entered the adjacent room.

"Ben, hey!" I tuck a curl behind my ear. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I miss you!" I smile softly at his enthusiasm.

"I miss you too. When can I see you again?"

"Actually, that's why I was calling. I should be up near you tomorrow, are you free?"

"Yes, and if I'm not, I'll just move around my schedule."

"Perfect. I thought we could go out in the afternoon for a long walk, then grab something greasy for dinner."

"That sounds wonderful. It would sound even better if we could do dinner somewhere decidedly far away from my aunts. Let's work out the details later, all right? I'm out tonight with new... _friends_."

"Of course, of course! I'll text you. Expect me sometime in the afternoon, all right?"

"Okay."

"I love you," Ben says casually. As if he's done it every day since we've met. My heart does a flip, the words on the tip of my tongue.

"I'll see you tomorrow." I end the call, shoving my phone back into the pocket of my cardigan and slip back into the room that seems somehow even quieter than before. I take my seat, relieved to find dessert set out, a single scoop of shiny pastel green, mint perhaps or pistachio.

"Who called?" Ryatt asks, his mischievous smirk back in action. I hesitate, weighing the options of lying in my head.

I clear my throat. "My boyfriend." I don't dare look beyond the bowl in front of me knowing all eyes are on me once more.

My fingers fumble with the spoon before I take a large scoop of the dessert. I cringe at the frozen treat, cheeks pulling inward as I let out a stream of air. "Wow, that's really cold." I mumble.

"Boyfriend?" Katerina questions a frown marring her beautiful features.

"Yes," I respond once I've swallowed, still avoiding eye contact. "We've been together for some months now."

"Xander, you didn't say anything about another man being in the picture."

"I hardly consider it a problem," he tells his mother easily, a lazy sort of confidence underlying his words.

"Agreed," I snap back. "Seeing as how our agreement is in regard to friendship and not a romantic relationship. As such, I hardly anticipate our arrangement affecting my relationship with my boyfriend." I steel myself to meet his gaze and feel a flush of victory run over me as he stiffens.

"Shall we retire to the drawing room for a nightcap?" Irina drawls, standing with more grace than I could ever possess. Ryatt and Katerina stand as well, but before I have the chance to stand, Xander's hand stretches across the table and fastens around my wrist. I shoot a pathetic look toward his family's backs but receive no help. I yank my arm back toward my side and let out an exaggerated sigh.

"What?"

"Why must you defy me at every turn? Humiliate me in front of my family?" he asks, his voice deadly calm as a storm brews behind his green eyes.

"You're the one who lied to your family—"

"I merely stretched the truth. We have agreed to see each other. Was it so wrong of me to impart on them the same hope I have? That you will one day see that it is I, who is your match and not this boyfriend of yours? That we will be together?"

"You didn't even tell your mother about my boyfriend! How could there possibly be any hope for a romantic relationship between us, when I'm with someone else. Who, I might add, I may just end up marrying." The words spill out in anger and frustration, and a delightful smugness rises in me as his shoulders sag ever so slightly.

Xander takes a deep breath. "You'll see him tomorrow, then? In the afternoon?"

I swallow, glance at my lap, and wipe the imaginary crumbs from it. "Yes. We'll spend—wait, how could you possibly have heard? I was in the other room. I was being quiet."

Xander leans back into his chair and takes a small sip from his tumbler. "Yes, well, I am a lycan. We are entitled to certain, _heightened senses_ , above the average person. Haven't you spoken with your grandmother about this yet?"

"We've spoken a bit," I tell him, briefly looking away. "She's just been busy. So, you could really hear me?"

"We could all hear you," he informs me, eyes pinning me in place.

"Anything else I should be aware of? Weird shedding habits? Glowing eyes in the dark?"

"There's a wolf inside me," Xander tells me seriously. "All that he is capable of, so am I. I'm stronger and faster than any man you'll ever meet. Doubly so, as I'm an alpha. My senses are tenfold. I can smell your emotions." He pauses, taking in my astonishment and explains further. "Your emotions don't produce a smell on their own, but your body's natural reaction to your emotions does. It produces a recognizable scent from your sweat glands. My sense of smell is sensitive enough to pick up the differences. Fear and shame are similar. They're both bitter and harsh on the nose. Your anger is always so mixed with your increased heartbeat and flush of your skin that it's easy enough to recognize. Your arousal," he pauses, letting his next words sink it, "is by far the easiest thing to scent on you."

"Oh, and what do I smell like now?" I ask tartly, fighting down the blush of my cheeks. Xander sends me a lopsided grin.

"Angry and annoyed. A touch surprised. Your heart is racing as we speak. Perhaps you're a bit afraid as well." I shake my head and his eyes narrow, "Maybe you should be. I am hunting you, after all."

I swallow. My heart skips a beat and begins again with a stutter as his declaration sinks in. His eyes smolder back at me like a forest fire, and his voice, pitched low and refined, continues. "Everything you do, down to the smallest tick of your expression I catalog and analyze. Everything you say, I remember. All of it, Zoelle. There's a reason I said I wasn't concerned about your little boyfriend." He takes a long drag from his glass, a hiss slipping past his lips as the alcohol scorches its path downward. "He's no match for me. I'll have you at my side, Zoelle. It's only a matter of time."

I stare dumbfounded, unable to compose a response, split as I am between outrage and bewilderment. Among other things. "Um."

"Come, they'll be waiting for us." He stands in one fluid motion, hand held out for me to take. I gulp, not liking one bit how I am watched beneath hooded lids. Nor the cunning gleam that slips past them. I stand on my own, scraping the chair backward in my haste. Xander politely ignores my blunder, even as I refuse his outstretched hand and walk toward the door. His hand finds the hollow of my lower back, guiding me to the drawing room.

"We came to an agreement you and I, or have you forgotten?" He breathes against my temple, hand gliding across my back to hook around my hip. I swallow delicately and take a deep breath, willing my heartbeat to stay the course with its steady pace. My soulmark trembles against my flesh acknowledging the nearness of its match.

"I'm well aware of our agreement," I tell him smoothly, congratulating myself on my composed delivery. I remove his hold on my hip and lace my fingers with his. _Handholding_. Stupid agreement. His hand is rough and warm. The product of manual labor. _Or other things_ , I think unwittingly, imagining what manual labor his hands might do on my body. I try to wipe the image from my mind as quickly as I can, too aware suddenly of the way my body reacts to my reckless thoughts. Strong hands to pin me down. Or grab my hips. Or keep my legs spread wide open for him to—

I gasp, both ashamed and aroused to be thinking such things. My eyes dart nervously toward Xander's face, praying that he's holding his breath. I certainly am now. Irina's laughter rings down the hallway, and I pick up my pace, locking eyes on what must be the drawing room door, but Xander resists. A throaty groan drags from his mouth as he looks down at me, and then I am pressed between a Picasso and Degas. Xander's hips belay my escape. They fit themselves snugly against my lower stomach as his hand reaches up to cup my neck. The other to lean against the wall. When his head dives in, I let out a whimper that's covered by his heavy inhalation. His head rests on my shoulder, nose and lips fitted against the side of my neck.

"I would give anything to know what you're thinking. To know if the pull between us, is as strong for you as it is for me. I want that more than anything," he tells me roughly, drawing in my scent once more. "Tell me," he pleads. A thousand lies run through my head until I land on one, readying my reply as my hands fly to his chest, pushing him back with little success. He growls, the feeling vibrating through me and raising the hair on my skin.

"We had an agreement." His fingers splay, daring to brush into the hair curled there. "Don't be afraid," he murmurs, nuzzling further until his lips are ghosting over my skin far too frequently. I shiver in response, my traitorous heart racing a mile a minute as I endure his attentions.

The soulmark flares to life inches above my breast, pulsing eagerly at his intimate touch and bringing with it a feeling of intense satisfaction. One that I have never known before. Not even with... my eyes widen, and I push once more against his chest, my body suddenly weak and helpless to his embrace.

"Ben," I breathe.

His hot breath, which drifts past my clavicle, stops sharply.

A wave of self-hatred courses through me as a sudden warmth gathers between my legs at the sensation. I grit myself against the unexpected lust that pours through me when his breath lingers over the soulmark. I have a boyfriend. One I care deeply for, and this—this is wrong. These feelings are wrong, and so are my actions.

I take a deep breath, my thoughts coming back into focus. _It's only a chemical reaction_ , I tell myself over and over. Any man could leave me feeling this way. Hugh Jackman, Idris Elba, hell, even Ben if he was to be this... assertive. Xander stiffens, taking a few deep breaths before he pulls back, hands moving to hold my shoulders to keep me in place. His face torn between frustration and remorse.

"Damn your, Ben," he spits. "Why stop? I can smell your arousal. I can feel you come alive at my touch. Even your mark recognizes my touch. It's acknowledging the connection between us, as is mine." I stare steadfastly at the wall behind him, refusing to answer. "Deny it all you want, Baudelaire, but you want this. You want what I can give you, at least at a fundamental level. So, tell me why?" He inhales sharply, his features contorting into a severe scowl, "Ashamed of your feelings? Or is it me you're ashamed of?"

"We had a deal," I tell him weakly. "And I wouldn't read so far into my reactions if I were you. I was thinking of _Ben_ , and if you remember, you're only supposed to sniff me. Not grope me." I glare pointedly down at the hand that has found its way under my breast and hips that still press tightly against me. Along with something else. "This wasn't part of the deal. This isn't what friends do." He releases me at my reasoning, shoving his hands into his pockets. Xander levels a scowl at the floor.

"You're right. I over stepped my boundaries," he concedes with a sudden sag of his shoulders. "Please, accept my apology." The air feels trapped in my lungs as he raises his softened gaze my way.

"Your family is waiting for us," I tell him faintly instead of accepting his apology. A part of me is unwilling to allow him forgiveness. He nods as if understanding. It's obvious he wishes nothing more than to anchor a hand to me, guide my body into the room to stay by his side, but his earlier transgression restrains him. I'm thankful. We spend the rest of our time, what little there is, making stilted small talk. It's awful. I can't shake the knot of tension in my stomach. I can't shake the way Xander's presence leaves me unsettled and my overwhelming guilt at my reaction.

Though we barely touch the rest of the night, he makes sure to stay nearby, leaving but an inch between us. I hate the attention. Hate the way it makes me feel and this awful, dreadful night. When the time comes, I leave with clumsy haste.

+++

The next day with Ben is a welcome distraction and comfort. Though thoughts of last night linger in my mind, I keep the details of dinner to a minimum. There's no reason to drag Ben into all this supernatural nonsense. We eat lunch and explore the town. I show him all the places I've applied, but have yet to hear from. We walk the river's path. It's perfect.

There's no pressure with Ben. Everything we do is comfortable and without stress. It reaffirms what I already know that he makes me feel safe. He is safe. There's not an aggressive or wild bone in his all-American-boy body. It makes me appreciate him more, and as a result, I'm far more affectionate with him throughout the day. I can see how pleased it makes him, and he takes advantage of my fair mood, towing the line of what affection is appropriate to display in public. By the time our long day comes to an end, I feel myself already missing him.

"Don't go," I whine, holding tightly onto his hand as we say goodnight and goodbye on the front porch. I admire our entwined fingers, cocoa against creamy ivory.

He smiles down at me benevolently before placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. His fingers wistfully trail over my jaw before they brush my dark curls behind my ear. "I wish I didn't have too, but work is picking up speed. I don't know when I'll be able to come up and visit you again."

"That's okay," I say with a sigh. "Next time I'll just come down to you!"

He laughs, planting a kiss on my lips so sweet I curl myself into his body, wrapping my arms firmly around his neck until he responds in kind and deepens the kiss. I moan in response. His hand moves to my cheek, the cool metal of his numerous rings pressing against my flushed skin before his thumb brushes along my cheekbone. His tongue begs for entrance, running softly along my bottom lip. A warmth spreads out across my body, and I open my mouth shyly in reply, only to fall deeply into the rhythm of our kiss. He pulls back just slightly, hands cradling my face while he catches his breath.

"You are spectacular," he whispers. His hazel eyes stare down at me with reverence.

I smile dumbly at him, releasing another moan as his lips mark a swift path down my neck to my shoulder. With a jolt, I am instantly reminded of my moment with Xander. Flashes of the dark-haired wolf assault me as Ben nibbles at my skin, laves it with his tongue. I hold back a groan, not wanting to remember but unable not too. Behind closed eyes, it is Xander lavishing such thorough care to my skin. Xander pressing his thigh between my legs. Xander's fingers drawing artwork along my spine. I pull away with some effort, eyes opening to stare into Ben's hazel eyes. He grins down at me, swooping in to deliver another kiss. I fight with myself not to present him with my cheek and smile anxiously at him instead.

"It's getting late," I manage to say, putting on a tired face. Ben leans in to kiss me once more, unable to hide his disappointment, but he seems resigned.

"You're right. It's a long drive back, and the night has been coming on earlier with autumn approaching. Let's plan to Skype or FaceTime sometime soon, all right? Texting just isn't the same as being able to see you and hear your voice." I nod and offer him a chaste peck on the cheek.

"All right."

"I love you," he whispers, eyes closed and a soft smile haunting his lips. My throat tightens, the words trapped against the end of my tongue. I kiss him once more, more softly than before, and he leaves after giving me one last kiss and a sizable hug.

I'm inside the house a moment later, leaning my back against the doorframe as I hear the rumble of his truck start before driving off. _I should have said something. Anything. But what?_ My head hits the doorframe as my eyes search the ceiling for an answer to my question. _What_? How does one tell their boyfriend they are supernaturally attached at the hip for the rest of their life to another person. The person not being them. So I didn't tell him. I didn't tell him Xander kissed me. My tongue refusing to budge as I valiantly tried to force the words up my throat. Instead, I fed him pleasant stories of making friends with Irina and meeting her family.

_God, I'm pathetic_.

Tires crunch to a stop in front of the house and derail my thought process. My heart skips a beat, _Ben_. Breath fills my lungs, expanding them to their fullest extent before I release the air in a _whoosh_.

_I have to tell him about the kiss_.

There is no other recourse. The thought leaves my stomach feeling sour, and it bubbles up my esophagus and throat. I press my ear more soundly to the door to hear the soft sound of feet making their way up the driveway. No doubt Ben forgot something, or he wants one last kiss for the road.

Despite it all, a fond smile curves my lips. Back in school, Ben would say goodbye, drive around the block, then come right back to my door for a kiss for the road. Which is different than a kiss goodbye, of course. It's the sweetest thing. My eyes slip closed the same moment my smile falters. And now I'm about to tell him another man, _my lycan soul mate_ , kissed me....

A knock at the door breaks my reverie and causes me to jump forward. With a hand over my thumping heart I compose myself and open the door. A grin is painted over my lips to greet Ben. Except it isn't Ben. My breath releases in a shaky breath.

"What are you doing here?"

"May I come in?"

"No," I reply scandalized, closing the door a fraction more than necessary. He smiles, but it does not meet his eyes in the right way.

"May I come in, please?"

"What are you, like, stalking me now?" I try my best to sound contemptuous, cutting, but my voice carries the slightest vibrato that betrays my slight fear. His smile grows more disarming.

"No, though the thought has crossed my mind. I do, however, have some of my men watching you. All to ensure your safety, I assure you."

"Excuse me!"

He leans casually against the doorframe, eyes narrowing as they rake over me possessively. "Let me in, Zoelle. I'd rather the entire neighborhood not hear our conversation."

My fingers itch to slam the door in his face. "It's Zoe, and for your information, I don't want to talk. Or listen to whatever it is you have to say. I'm tired, and I'm going to bed."

The specks of jade in his eye darken to evergreen. "You're being awfully rude," he purrs. "Invite me in. I won't be made to stand outside. Come now, I'm waiting." He pauses, lips twisting in a way that raises my defenses. His voice _breathes_ authority. Clearly, Xander is unused to being denied, though I have certainly made a habit of it. I harden at his imperious tone, indignant anger rising as it so often does when he is around. Without another thought, I shove the door closed. Almost. His hand easily catches the door before it can close and forces his way inside in a single stride. The door closes softly behind him.

"This isn't part of our deal," I tell him, backing away toward the staircase. He scowls in return.

"I'm well aware of the details of our deal," he says, prowling forward.

"Then why won't you stick to it!"

He swears, a fierce growl surging forth, "You know why." And then his mouth descends on mine.

+++

I'm pushed against the stairway railing, my back slamming painfully against the wood driving the air from my lungs. His lips are unforgiving, kissing me hard and gripping me even harder. I should fight back. Should push him away, but he steals my breath; completely dashes away my senses, drowning me in sensory overload.

I tear my lips away with great effort, panting from the exertion. His wild eyes capture mine. They are flecked with gold. Almost glowing. _Oh_.

"What are you doing?"

"Something I should have finished last night," he tells me hoarsely, fingers burying themselves into my curls.

"No," I protest instantly. Stopping, he takes me in with a hunter's eye before drawing himself upward and inward. Almost every inch of his body presses against my own.

"You don't want me?" he asks quietly. I hesitate, mouth falling open in dismay. It's all the permission he needs, for my half-second hesitation is enough to betray me. His eyes gleam, the amber gold flashing brighter against his lush green irises.

His head dips, nudging my face to the side so that he can explore the length of my neck. I shudder a sigh, gripping the banister behind me with taught knuckles. I can feel the curve of his smile against my neck and instantly feel ashamed, but then his teeth rake themselves downward leaving goose bumps in their wake. His fingers tighten in my hair tilting my head further back as he sucks harshly against the abused flesh. His nails scrape against my scalp in delicious friction as he continues to assert his control. When he lets out a moan of his own, I feel myself grow hot and let my thighs tighten around his leg.

It is almost my undoing, for Xander counters with a sinful thrust that leaves us both gasping. His arm crushes me to him, and I marvel at his strength. The power that lies within his bones. His raw strength is both terrifying and electric.

_And so tempting_.

He lets out a small moan, my name falling reverently from his lips as they recapture my own. Though his lips are soft, his kiss is bruising, volatile. I whimper in response; a picture of Ben breathing my name as we lay together spent in bed crosses my mind. Before I know what I am doing, my hands slam into his chest and shove him away.

He eyes me incredulously and takes an uncertain step forward, hand outstretched. I snatch myself away and stare at the offered hand warily. All too aware of the way it makes my blood sing. Makes my mind go blank as my body succumbs to his persuasion.

"Don't come any closer to me," I tell him breathlessly. "Get out."

"No." He pants harshly, "If you let that _boy_ kiss you, then so will I."

"He's my boyfriend!" I shout back incredulously. "He's. My. Boyfriend."

"And what am I?"

I pause. The air between us grows tight and thick with tension. "An inconvenience."

Xander's face pales, but his eyes remain a turbulent storm. "I see."

"Where do you get off coming here, and—and, kissing me!"

He growls, the sound of low thunder, and paces the space between us. "You're my soulmark. Mine."

"I'm nobody's but my own, and you'd do well to remember it." I reprimand him harshly.

"Or what?" he asks, voice deceptively calm.

"Or you can forget our deal." If possible, his face goes even whiter, the storm receding from behind his eyes. "In fact," I say, my mind spinning around images of Ben and me together. "I think it best we take a small break from this little arrangement we have. You seem to have trouble keeping to all that we agreed on. I think you need time to reacquaint yourself with all our rules." _And so I can learn how to control this supernatural desire I have for you and pull my thoughts together_.

He takes a hesitant step toward me. "Don't be rash, Zoelle. You know what it will do to me. To us."

"It's Zoe!" I tell him shrilly. "And I mean it, Xander. I want you out. Gone! Do you understand me?" He freezes in his approach, swallowing with some effort. Outside a car door slams shut, and he cocks an ear.

"Your grandmother has returned," he tells me quietly. "Are you positive this is what you want... more time?"

"Time away from you? Yes." I tell him resolutely though I find myself shaking. _Why am I shaking_? His eyes close, a grimace following the action, but he manages to nod his head.

"Of course. A week then?"

My nose tips higher into the air. "Maybe more."

He exits as Gran and the aunts enter, his head kept low as he passes by them. The women take me in; eyebrows raised comically high. Heat floods my cheeks as I stare right back.

"Good night," I tell them through gritted teeth, darting up the stairs and locking myself in my room. There's no reason to doubt it anymore... I'm a cheater.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 6

Cookies are a Girl's Best Friend

There are several paths that I knew my life would never take me.

I would never be an astronaut, pilot, or professional skydiver, my acrophobia too daunting a fear to overcome.

I would never be an entertainer, my disdain for spotlight clear from an early age.

And I would never be a cheater. Or so I thought.

My fingernails dig into my palm unconsciously, a curl of guilt and shame twisting my stomach. _How did I let this happen_? Especially, after everything that happened with Jamie. Jamie who broke my heart after cheating on me for _months_? The heartache still lingers inside me, touting with doubt and fear.

An angry tear almost slips into my batter. I hastily drag the back of my hand over both eyes, letting out a long, slow breath before taking up my task again. I'm guilt cooking, and it is _not_ pretty.

My heart lies in neat little jagged pieces, and my emotions are a steady flow of remorse and anger. I'm drowning in shame, unable to come to terms with the way I succumbed to my body's desires. Even if for just a short amount of time. Even if the magical pull between Xander and I cannot be undone. _I should have done more to end the kiss,_ I think, gut clenching painfully once more, _and Xander should have never kissed me in the first place_.

I beat the batter with more force than necessary. The whisk scrapes against the bottom of the bowl with every flick of my wrist.

Who does he think he is?

My kisses, my body, _my love_ —they belong to Ben. Reliable, loving, sweet Ben, and while my mind tries to reconcile itself with these thoughts, another emotion continues to rear its ugly head: sadness. A deep, throbbing depression forging its way across my flesh and bones, and it stems from the soulmark. Unfortunately, there's no tea or spell that seems to dull its effects. My only therapy is cooking.

The kitchen becomes a balm to my bruised heart. An outlet for my thoughts and rampant emotions. Thankfully, the aunts and Gran seem to understand and steer clear, when they hear me inside. A fact I appreciate. I need the time alone to figure out how to break the news to Ben.

I slow my whisking, thoughts turning a mile a minute in my head. If Ben leaves me, then nothing will stand in Xander's way from pursuing me full force. For a moment I struggle to breathe.

_Full force_...? I coerce my traitorous lungs into taking a deep breath. To think he isn't doing so now is... _unnerving_. I quell the shiver rising on the nape of my neck.

My cooking stops altogether as I duck my head, a furrow coming to my brow. How can I possibly explain to Ben the forces that draw Xander and I together? How can I tell him I'm _trying_ to be faithful to him, but oh so slowly, I feel the center of my world edges closer towards a man I've only just met? A man who is half wolf? And that I am a _witch_? I will try harder to keep Xander at arm's length if it means I can keep Ben. I'll just need to learn to deal with the soulmark's negative effects. My teeth sink into my bottom lip. I squeeze my eyes shut as I take in a shaking breath.

God, _what do I do_? _Can I really ignore the soulmark_?

All of the warnings, everything I have been told and read, pale in comparison to its power. I feel him. His drive, his passion, his hunger—hunger for me. My eyes snap open as my resolve hardens. I need to tell Ben about what happened in person. He deserves that much.

I push my thoughts to the task at hand, when a strange pull at my heart distracts me. It's Xander. The current of his emotions trickle through the soulmark. I do my best to force them away, but they still manage to thrum at the back of my mind. He's angry. Angry because Gran placed a spell on the house, barring him entry.

It's a spell Gran promises to teach me, so that I may take on the burden. But I've only mastered simple spells of levitation and will binding _once_. The former is a novice-level spell but contains elements similar to will binding in that they both require clear direction of power onto inanimate objects.

Gran gives me a small book of enchantments and spells to study, allotting me till week's end to gain some level of control over my magic. The pressure weighs dauntingly on my shoulders, but it can't snuff out my excitement.

The spell book, with its sage words and illuminating enchantments, easily steals my attentions. I feel connected to the family heirloom, and in turn, feel more connected with the magic inside of me. The scrawling script speaks to me. The written words call my magic to attention and leave me breathless time and time again. It's odd, certainly. But somehow, so right.

Simple spells and enchantments are woven between thoughtful verses of lecture on best practices to connect the mind and body with magic. How to clear the soul and think with the heart to better capture a spell or enchantments intent. Because intention is everything; and in knowing yourself, the magic inside you will grow all the more powerful. And with age, it professes you will only learn to know yourself better. Hence, with age, a thoughtful witch gains more power.

How, after twenty-four years with all the things life has thrown at me, am I not wise beyond my years? Yet, this supernatural world leaves me second-guessing everything I know. _How can I possibly know myself when I'm torn in so many directions_? I desperately wish for an easy solution, but know all too well, time can't be rushed.

Though the book calms and excites me, it's also a thoroughly frustrating affair. My progress is nonexistent, and nothing I do seems to help. Of course, my frustration bleeds into my guilt cooking.

+++

Sunday

It's difficult to "think with my heart" when it is flooded with guilt, let alone "clear my soul."

Everything seems inconsequential compared to the bruising pain I feel when my thoughts wander to Ben instead of focusing on the levitation spell, _resurgemus_. Gran has tasked me with learning the spell as a precursor to the barring spell I must take over from her, adding another burden on my mind. An ominous presence lurks around my shoulders, leaving me rattled and second guessing myself. I can't stand it.

I lean back in my chair, eyes narrowing with contempt at the chopsticks resting on my dinner plate. Dinner had been a beautiful balsamic chicken pizza with caramelized sweet onion and crispy bacon. A tried and true favorite of mine to make when my head is muddled with too many thoughts. The methodical treatment of each ingredient always managed to aid in sorting my thoughts.

Unfortunately, it hadn't worked, despite the ease with which I executed the meal.

With one bite I knew it to be rotten. The entire pizza felt disjointed, none of the elements complementing each other as they normally did. The balsamic tang tasted sour and spoiled. The chicken chewed like tough rubber. And the bacon left a bitter taste on the back my tongue.

Dinner turned into an order of Thai food, with the chopsticks now acting as the test subject for my spell.

"Resurgemus." The word is gently spoken. Barely audible. My palms face upward, identifying the direction in which the chopsticks should move. Nothing. " _Resurgemus_ ," I attempt once more with feeling.

Nothing. " _Dammit_."

+++

Monday

Monday lives up to its reputation and proves to be a tiresome day. Nothing goes right. I find a stain on my favorite white blouse. I don't have enough money for the ingredients at the grocery store— _why hadn't I just brought my debit card_? And I receive seven text messages and two missed calls from Xander, but nothing from Ben.

My nails dig into the soft flesh of my palm as I recount the other mindless incidents of the day that have somehow made it even worse.

A mess of laundry scattered around my room.

The paper cuts on my index and middle fingers.

The near empty bottle of orange juice left in the fridge instead of being finished and put in the trash.

I put my fist to good use and smash it into my dough, kneading it ruthlessly. I've pushed past my guilt from yesterday, tucking it away to a dark corner of my heart, and I grasp hold of _anger_.

Anger at Xander.

Anger at magic.

Anger at myself.

The sticky dough takes my beating with good grace, slowly transforming into something smooth and malleable. I wipe my brow with my forearm, surprised to find a light pant falling past my lips. _Why can't life be as straightforward as baking_?

I didn't want magic in my life, or the complications it brought.

_Liar_ , a soft chime rings in my head. I swallow convulsively for a long moment before regaining my grasp on my anger.

Magic is the source of all my problems. It brought Xander into my life. It looms like an angry cloud over my relationship with Ben as a secret I know I can never tell. Yet, even as magic burrows itself deeper into my life, somehow it remains elusive to _me_. The resurgemus spell continues to lie beyond my reach, _unbearably so_ , and it shakes me to my core. _Why can't I do it_? _What am I missing_? I am unbalanced, where I was once sure footed. And magic is wholly to blame.

Shoulders sinking, I carefully place my dough in a well-oiled bowl, covering it with plastic wrap and once more wiping at my forehead. The churning of anger turns to spite, before sifting to sadness. The flesh around my soulmark tingles in response, a distant echo of anger and sadness that only solidifies my own.

I spin around from the counter and face the sink, my heart beating twice its normal pace. _Don't focus on him_ , I tell myself sternly, _focus on the spell—for Gran_.

I raise my hand, palm outward and eyes fixated on the dishrag hanging off the sink's faucet.

" _Resurgemus_." My eyes close in defeat as my hand falls to my side.

+++

Wednesday

My anger, so potent at the beginning of the week, turns to stout disappointment. Dozens of cookies litter the kitchen island in a pathetic attempt to appease the constant ache in my heart. Another chocolate chip pretzel cookie disappears inside my mouth and I release a leaden sigh. It does little to help, except in expanding my waistline.

I thought anger had been the answer. It burned clear through me after all. But I was wrong.

Anger doesn't solve my problems, most certainly _not_ those of the magical variety.

I swallow past the hard lump in my throat, clearing my throat of delicious cookie crumbs, and reach blindly for another. My magic isn't working, no matter how hard I try. No matter how much I concentrate or attempt to clear my heart. Nothing works.

In the middle of my baking frenzy lies a torn piece of paper, dotted with several grease spots and a smear of chocolate. I stare at it somewhat contemptuously as I chew, my nose scrunched and brows pinching slightly together. It's a list the aunts and Gran have made for me to help me clear my soul.

The list is short—very short—with only one piece of advice from each woman.

Emotion is never weakness. Feel. — Maureen

Always fill your own cup first; self-care isn't selfish. — Lydia

Be free. Embrace who you are. — Gran

The advice is all well and good, and I'm certainly grateful for it, but how can I implement it? Can it be that easy? My eyes slip closed. _Can it_? For a moment I enjoy the stillness of the house and once more feel a surge of gratitude to the aunts and Gran, who have left me be to sort out my issues. The house smells of my freshly baked cookies, but also of sage and basil and mint. The living plant wall was recently trimmed and treated by Aunt Mo, and the freshly ruffled plants share their wonderful aroma with the kitchen as well. The scents combine, bringing memories of cooking with my mother to mind.

_What would she say to me now? What advice would she have_?

I open my heart to thoughts of her, letting her all-knowing words come to mind. _Acceptance. Breathe it all in, honey_.

My head bows in reflection. _Acceptance_. My teeth find my bottom lip to chew as I mull over the thought. Accept what though?

I know I'm in the wrong with Ben. I do. I also know that I will do right by him and tell him, face-to-face, about what happened because he deserves more than a text message or phone call. As for the soulmark...it's a harder pill to swallow. I don't _want_ to be tied to this volatile alpha male who makes me feel things I've never felt before—a feeling of yearning so strong it's unstoppable.

But the sealing of the soulmark isn't something that can be undone. It just can't.

It's another painful truth to accept, and yet, somehow, I feel a heavy weight fall from my shoulders. I can't go back in time and fix these things, but I do have a say in how I tackle my future.

Slowly I straighten, my hands resting gently on the island's cool surface as my shoulders gently roll back and my chin lifts. _Accepting magic, and all the crazy that goes hand and hand with it_? I laugh, shaking my head from side to side, my curls swaying with the motion. I can't give up on magic, even with all the crazy that accompanies it. I'm not going to let Gran down.

" _Resurgemus_."

My eyes flutter open as an unexpected wave of heat tingles through my body. All around me chocolate chip pretzel cookies hover precariously in the air. Another laugh erupts from my mouth, my feet tapping the ground in excitement as I snatch one of the treats out of the air.

"Finally!" I chomp down on the cookie with glee, my careful concentration wavering as I do. In an instant, the floating cookies fall as one onto the counter top, breaking and crumbling upon impact.

"Shit."

+++

Friday

I'm multitasking. As a chef, this comes naturally to me. I'm used to keeping watch over many things at once, all while keeping my hands busy chopping or dicing another ingredient. What I'm not used to is the magical strain of maintaining a spell _while_ cooking. Given Wednesday's success in casting, Gran opts to teach me the barring spell on Thursday evening.

The sensation is...odd. My magic pulls lightly from all parts of my body. My spine. My toes. My gut. It's exhausting, to be frank, which is why I'm baking a batch of chocolate hazelnut biscotti to pair with our massive tea collection.

Though my heart feels lighter, and my magic is coming along, one issue remains. The soulmark. Despite the fact that I had restored my calm and made a plan to see Ben as soon as possible, a pit of depression builds inside me due to Xander's absence.

My hand gives a noticeable twitch and I pause my actions to settle my nerves. With a long, drawn breath, I pivot my thoughts to the task at hand. I place the biscotti logs into the oven and begin to straighten up the kitchen. Halfway through cleaning, the front door opens and closes, and raucous laughter immediately fills the house. The aunts are home.

"Zoe?"

"In here," I call back. _Where else would I be_?

Aunt Lydia and Mo come strolling in, their gazes resting knowingly on the half-cleaned kitchen island and my soapy hands. They begin to help silently until the task is complete and only a few minutes remain on the clock.

"What are you cooking?" Aunt Lydia asks as I set out a clean cutting board, serrated knife, and two cooling racks.

"Biscotti. I thought they might go nicely with some of the tea we have." Both aunts hum their appreciation, sitting down on the stools on the other side of the island. "Where were you two?"

"Oh, just at the Wellington's for some coven business."

"I hope it all went well."

"It did. Your gran is still finishing some discussions, so we thought we might come home early and see what you were making. Check on how you were doing," Aunt Mo says. "You seem like you're doing better, honey, are you? Some say the soulmark can be intrusive."

My lips pinch together as I stew over her question. The soulmark _does_ feel intrusive. I don't want to feel Xander's emotion, but it's an unavoidable consequence of the bond. And I feel him more than ever now that my mind and heart are cleared. "I'm doing better, I think. It's not... _easy_ , but I'm learning to deal with it. I feel— _a lot_. And not just my own emotions." My eyes flicker toward their calm expressions, "That's what's been hardest."

"Well, you've done a fine job of keeping your head on your shoulders through all this nonsense," Aunt Lydia commends, fingering her jewelry. Her cat-like eyes narrow. "Just know you're doing the right thing. The truce that has resulted from your willingness to cultivate a relationship with the Adolphus boy certainly has its benefits for the coven."

"Friendship, Lydia," Aunt Mo corrects, not minding the way Aunt Lydia rolls her eyes in response.

"Friendship is a type of relationship, Maureen. Now, Zoe, is Ben aware of your arrangement?"

I shake my head firmly, eyes comically wide as I respond, "No. Definitely not. Witches and lycans? He would try to commit me to a psych ward." What did they expect me to say to Ben?

Oh, don't mind him, Ben! I just have to stay within ten feet of Xander at all times in order to maintain my sanity. Want to grab a coffee?

I flinch at the thought, the action covering the twitch in my hand that follows. The soulmark shivers against my skin in a wholly unpleasant way. _Damn_. The aunts give wary nods in unison at my passionate declaration.

"It's best to keep supernatural revelations to a minimum, dear," Aunt Mo advises delicately. "But I'd mind how affectionate you are in public with your Ben when you next see him. I've been told that the Adolphus's have their dogs out watching you and reporting back to their alpha on your movements."

" _Seriously?_ " I mutter, feeling myself running cold, then steaming mad at the news. "This is ridiculous! Whatever happened to privacy? Isn't being magically tethered together for the rest of our lives enough?"

Aunt Lydia cackles, her laughter almost covering the sound of the oven timer going off. "Zoe, your life is tied to that man, whether you like it or not. Though you may not have completed the process, Xander is an alpha. Your bond is naturally stronger than others. Say for some reason you were injured, it would affect him, and in turn the pack."

"What she's trying to say is it's in the best interest of the entire pack to keep you safe." Aunt Mo interrupts her.

"Which is why my every move is being watched," I finish. "Because they think it will keep him safe. Them safe." My correction takes on a bitter note. My nose scrunches in distaste as I pull the biscotti out of the oven to cool. "Maybe if I were a caster and could wield my magic better, I wouldn't come off as so helpless." A slow fire builds in the pit of my stomach. "I'm a _witch_ for goodness sake! And an independent woman to boot! I can take care of myself, no adult supervision necessary."

My rant leaves me breathless, and the aunts mildly stunned, but mostly amused.

"You'll come into your magic just fine," Aunt Lydia reassures me. Aunt Mo nods her agreement, her wavy white hair swaying. "In fact, I dare say you have a better handle on it than you think. You're focusing on magic that isn't your forte. Of course it will be challenging, but you've been brewing up a storm all week. Remember what we told you before? You transfer your emotions by way of magic into your cooking. You can make people feel what you want them to feel. You can give your creations purpose."

"But I want to be able to do the things all of you can do," I whine giving into my self-pity, "Like lighting a candle without a match? I could start the stove and set a potion to brew like that!" My fingers snap sharply together. "But can I? Nope. Not me."

Aunt Mo gives me a dry look, "Don't complain, child, it's hardly becoming." My shoulders sag. "If you're finding it difficult to call upon your magic, it's because you're still holding back something inside of you. Let it go, Zoe. Let yourself feel. You can only grow by knowing yourself inside and out, and to do that, you need to accept all the feelings running inside of you, good and bad."

"I know," I tell them, the words rekindling hope inside me. "So, what had Gran staying later at the Wellington's?" The aunts exchange a measured glance.

"Your grandmother is working on obtaining safe passage for an item of interest for the coven," Aunt Lydia finally says. "It's important that it goes smoothly, and there is nobody who can negotiate like your grandmother."

"Is that why she came back? To broker some deal for the coven?" My fingers press gently into the biscotti to test how warm they are. Not too bad, I decide and begin cutting them lengthwise into half-inch thick slices. Once I finish arranging them cut-side down, they go back into the oven to firm up.

"How much has your Gran told you about the Trinity Coven?" Aunt Mo asks, watching my methodical movements.

"Not too much," I say, chewing at my bottom lip, "mostly just about mom and the talents that run in our family."

"I see," she murmurs. "Well, there's much more to it than that. You see, our families, the Clybournes and Steins, along with the Baudelaires, moved here from the east around the same time. Our families have been connected for a long time, dear, and when the Steins decided to move west, we all followed. This land was flush with ingredients both magical and natural we needed. I, along with your grandmother and Lydia, form the Elder Triad of our coven. We're the matriarchs, and together we lead and provide protection and counsel to the witches under our wing. We made do with your grandmother away for so long, but it's been a relief to have her back. Our coven is meant to be led by three, not two."

The door sounds again, opening and closing swiftly. Gran enters a moment later, shrugging off her knitted shawl over one of the kitchen chairs. She comes over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, wordlessly putting on the kettle before diving into the tea cabinet in search of something specific.

"Where is the tea for cephalalgia? I feel like a bullet's trying to split its way through my head." Aunt Lydia eyes the tea cabinet, her expression relaxed yet thoughtful. With her gaze intently focused on the cabinet, its door swings lightly open. A tinkling of movement among the glass jar rings throughout the kitchen before a short and stout jar boasting purple and black tea leaves floats out of the cabinet to the kitchen island. Aunt Lydia casually waves her hand and the door to the tea cabinet closes. Gran's shoulders fall with relief from their tensely held position. "Thank you, Lydia." Aunt Lydia nods, twisting the cap off the jar and working sans-magic on fixing gran her tea.

"Not feeling well, Gran?" I ask tentatively.

"It's been a tiring week, even with you taking over the barring spell." My heart gives a pang of sadness as I nod weakly in response. Gran gives me a small smile in return. "Don't go worrying about me, honey. We Baudelaire women are strong, and don't you forget it." I nod once more, startling at the beep that sounds from the stove a moment later.

"How about a chocolate hazelnut biscotti to go with your tea? That will definitely make you feel better," I tell her as I pull the baking trays out of the oven. "They're still pretty hot, but they should cool down in no time." I move the biscotti onto the cooling rack once more, waving a spare plate over them to aid in the cooling process.

"That sounds wonderful," she tells me with a soft smile, cradling the steaming cup of tea Aunt Lydia hands her. When her tea has steeped long enough, she picks a biscotti up delicately between her fingers, nibbling on the end with a satisfied expression.

"Delicious and they pack a bit of punch," she proclaims. The aunts and I take one each, following suit with tentative bites as the heat engulfs our mouths. "Hmm, you're right. I think this is helping my headache already." She lets out a small sigh of gratitude, and I can't help but grin.

"I told you." "And we told you," Aunt Mo chimes in, "Your intentions are coming through your baking. A brewer through and through." My eyes widen in short surprise before a happy smile finds its way onto my lips. Perhaps I'm not so hopeless after all.

+++

The tricky thing about making a soufflé is that so many things can go wrong and when it does there's no hiding it. It's about getting the soufflé to rise and not fall afterward. Having the oven temperature just right and not overworking the eggs.

Despite the precision and detail a soufflé dish requires, I enjoy the challenge of making them. It makes me feel like a _real_ chef and a proud reminder of all the things I've accomplished. Plus, they are the perfect treat to have straight out of the oven. The _absolute_ perfect late-night dessert on a Saturday night, drenched in strawberry sauce that will leave you feeling pleasantly full till morning.

My mind is happily free of its normal worry, thanks to time spent with Gran today. We had talked magic, meditated, and she had me performing more spells by the end of the day. Even a few potions and tea concoctions to help restore my magical energy. Maintaining the barrier felt easier after drinking the tea. My confidence restored, I decide to reward myself with a strawberry soufflé.

Just as I am placing the soufflé into the oven, I feel a stir of anticipation in my stomach. I straighten. Gran told me to expect the feeling anytime someone approaches the house with the intention of entering. I glance at the clock on the microwave. The aunts and Gran had left twenty minutes ago to meet with the Reynolds and won't be back for at least another half hour or so. I take a hesitant step toward the front door as the feeling swells until finally, a knock sounds hard and heavy at the door. I take a large breath, walking forward with purpose and peeking through the eyehole.

It's Xander.

_Fuck_.

"Go away," I tell him through the door, ready to turn back to wait out the soufflé.

"I just want to talk. To see you. It's been a week, Zoelle, please." I feel frozen at his hoarse words. Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I take my time to think of a response. "You can't just shut me out like this."

"It's late, Xander, and I really don't want to deal with you right now. Especially if you haven't learned how to respect other people's boundaries. So my answer is still going to have to be a firm _no_." My parting words give me a rush of adrenaline as I watch him glower through the peephole.

"I only want to talk. Face-to-face, and apologize for my actions last week."

"Yeah, well, I don't particularly want to listen." He cocks his head to hear my softly spoken words. His eyes flash a sudden amber gold as he leans in toward the door.

"Come now, Zoelle, don't make me play the big, bad wolf. I know the barrier has shifted control from your grandmother to you. Your magic is hardly strong enough to keep me out on your own. Why don't you come outside and talk to me before I tear this door down? I'd hate to make a scene and create such a mess, but if that's what it takes..."

I swallow. Hard. "You wouldn't," I hiss, fear and doubt unmistakably tainting my voice. Another flash of gold, and this time accompanied by a truly devious smirk. Xander flashes me his canines before his rasping voice drops low and dangerous.

"Do you really want to test me? Your strength against mine? Do recall what happened last time you attempted to keep me out. How easily I gained... access."

My fingers unlock the door with disdain before I inch my way outside onto the porch. There is no way he's coming inside. I glare at his satisfied smile, choosing to ignore how well-groomed he looks. Fitted shirt, sleeves rolled to reveal tan skin and toned forearms. His hair falls in loose pieces around his face, which has an easy smile in place.

"Is this our thing?" he asks teasingly. I give him my best incredulous look. How he can switch between two emotions so quickly is completely beyond my comprehension.

"We don't have a _thing_."

"If you insist, but I'm becoming quite familiar with this particular entryway." His eyes gleam mischievously. It instantly brings to mind his brother.

"What do you want?" My voice holds no room for nonsense and his manner changes. Again.

"I wanted to give you these," he holds out before him a small bouquet of flowers and a long, thin box with a dainty white ribbon wrapped around it.

"Pass," I respond tersely. Xander's jaw ticks, and I shift uncomfortably. I fight the instinct to cross my arms over my chest, and instead force my shoulders back to stand straighter. Xander's hands stay outstretched.

"No need to be rude. These gifts are a gesture to accompany my apology. I behaved... irrationally last week. I'm not usually so careless with my emotions, and my jealousy and anger got the best of me. Please accept my apology." He presses the wild flowers into my hands before slipping off the ribbon on the jewelry box and opening it with a small flourish. A rose gold bracelet lays inside. It's one of the most delicate pieces of jewelry I have ever seen. The rose gold is woven tightly together to form small sections of braids.

"I can't accept that," I say softly with a shake of my head. He frowns down at me, fingers brushing against the sensitive skin on the inside of my wrist before he fastens the bracelet there. _So much for my refusal_. My lips draw a tight line. "Happy?" I bite out, valiantly pushing aside the sudden kindling of warmth running through my veins at his caress.

"Very," he responds, "I saw it while in Helena and thought of you."

"I hope you don't think this will change my feelings about you. I've never been particularly fond of people trying to buy me off," I tell him tartly, eyeing the jewelry with forced lackluster. His silence unsettles me, not that I let it show. I straighten and take a step back toward the door. "Is this it, then? I have a soufflé in the oven, and they're quite temperamental when left unwatched."

The silence collects between us until the air is thick and charged with all that is left unspoken between us. "How can I acquit myself?" he asks earnestly.

My eyes snap to his.

There is no hiding my consternation at his sincerity. My lips part and my breath catches. I choose to ignore the strange sensation that wraps around my heart at his laden words and direct my gaze elsewhere. _Focus, Zoelle_ , I tell myself sternly. Xander only wants to complete the soulmark. Completing the soulmark means strengthening his pack, and that kind of power can, in turn, be used against the witches—the coven. My coven. I take a deep breath. He isn't going to fool me. His trinkets and pretty smile won't make me forget his wild and possessive nature. The one that overrides all others, when I come into view. I let my silence stand for my answer.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" his voice sounds oddly hollow. Again, I fight the urge to believe him, to comfort and reassure him. It comes on so strongly I almost careen forward. _No_. I tell myself harshly. _These feelings aren't real_. _It's just the soulmark_.

"How could I? You've hardly kept to the agreement. You lied to your family about what we agreed. You take liberties with me whenever you can—don't think I haven't noticed the way you always find a reason to get your hands on me. Brushing things off my shoulder. Fixing my hair. Steadying me before I can even stumble." I level him with a pointed glare, ticking off the offenses on my fingers. "Let's not forget that you blatantly ignore the fact that I have a boyfriend and have the audacity to kiss me." I shudder in indignation. "I've been sick with guilt all week because of you! I am not a cheater, Aleksandr Adolphus. That isn't who I am. That's not the person I want to be."

My teeth chomp down on my tongue to keep from saying more. Feelings of inadequacies long since buried rise to the surface. Jamie's months of infidelity left me feeling not good enough for anyone, and although Xander and I had only shared a kiss, I don't want Ben to feel the way I had. My head bows as I stare resolutely at the floor. I needed to see Ben. The sooner, the better. "You should leave."

"Is that what you really want?" Xander ducks his head as well, trying to catch my eyes, but to no avail.

"What I want is to turn back time. I wish I never went into that hellish forest and met you, but since time travel apparently isn't in my bag of tricks, I'll settle with you leaving me alone."

He takes a step forward, crowding me in that oh-so-familiar way. The scent of pine and sandalwood waft around me at his nearness. When I finally deign to return his stare, I find his eyes hard like emeralds.

"I didn't exactly want this to happen either," he tells me coldly. "I grew used to the idea of never finding you. I made plans for my pack. I was forming an alliance and preparing a proposal to the Wselfwulf's, and then you come out of nowhere. And now all I can think about is you. All I want is you. Everything I've been working for, everything I so carefully planned... I've spurned it all in my longing for you. And there's nothing I can do about it." He lets out an irate laugh and passes a hand roughly over his jaw. "You are my future, Baudelaire. I can't fight it. And if I'm honest, I don't want to. I won't. You may deny me now, but we both know on some level you want me just as badly as I want you. You need what I have to offer you. Safety. Security. Strength. A way to sate that hunger of yours.

"I can give you the world if you would just say the word. Admit it. Admit to me and to yourself that there's something there beyond the soulmark. Temptation. Curiosity. Even if it's just a crumb. Tell me you feel nothing for me, honestly, that the soulmark has no effect on you other than to enhance what you already feel. I'm sure they have you drinking their potions and rot to keep the feelings at bay, but there must be something. Anything." I stutter a breath at his impassioned speech, and he is quick to take advantage. His fingers dart forward to brush against my lips. Linger at their crease.

"No touching," I tell him hoarsely, jerking my head to the side a fraction too late.

"You didn't seem to mind before," he reminds me, satisfaction carrying through his tone. "Set yourself at ease, sweetheart, we're more alike than you might concede. The soulmark is the embodiment of the soul's match. They are the perfect complement to your being. A mirror image of one another. You're passionate, full of drive, and loyal to your family above all else. You think things through and bide your time, yet you crave something more. Something to overwhelm your senses. Electrify you. Something that will fill that missing piece inside of you. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

My head shakes resolutely side to side. "You're wrong."

He smirks. It's a devilish thing filled with dark satisfaction. "I'm right," he purrs, shuffling closer still. The flowers that stand between us press against our chests. The plastic crinkling its protest. "And do you know how I know I'm right?" His hand moves slowly to my collarbone. Wrist, to elbow, to shoulder, then down—

"Don't. Don't touch it," I tell him sternly, my hand snapping up to cover the soulmark. It throbs against my palm.

"Fine," he snarls, snatching up my wrist and shoving it past his parted shirt, and up and around his shoulder. I curl my fingers inward, but it's no use, the temptation of the soulmark is too much to ignore.

Xander's sharp intake of breath is nothing compared to my own.

The air pulls straight from my lungs with pure ruthlessness. Stars explode behind my eyes and feeling floods my being. Feelings that burn and blaze from head to toe. It blooms and bends inside of me. Our eyes meet and hidden in the forest of his eyes live a thousand suns. They scorch as they seek their treasure, and there is only him. He shines like some golden god. Brilliant and slipping under my skin like a coat of arms. I have never felt so safe and secure. So loved.

My legs shake unsteadily, the traitorous things, and I stumble forward breaking the connection. Every nerve in my body stands at attention, as a piteous whine slips past my lips at the loss of sensation. Of him. Someone breathes harshly, but I can hardly tell who with the blood beating so hotly in my veins. Xander rests his head atop my own. His arms crush me to him.

Not again.

I feel a sob building inside of me. The turbulent emotions of the soulmark are almost too much to bear. How can this sliver of flesh anchor me so to him? What hope do I have to resist, when at the slightest touch I lose all sense? I take a shuddering breath. It's so easy to lose myself in the sensation it evokes. The dizzying ecstasy it brings both enchants and terrifies me. I sink unwittingly into Xander's embrace, taking comfort in his strength as I attempt to regain my breath.

Every time we seem to meet, I lose a little bit more of myself to this man, and I had only just put me all back together and learned to live this half-life. My heart locked away, never to be broken again. A tear slips down my cheek.

I want Xander out of my life. I want him gone.

_I want_ —

Oh no. The soulmark quivers, my body following suit. _I want_.

"What's wrong," Xander whispers, pulling back with wide eyes as he surveys the river of tears now falling down my face.

"I'm awful," I whisper back, squeezing my eyes tightly shut.

"You're perfect," he tells me harshly, "you're—"

"A liar. A cheater. I'm awful. Please, please leave," I beg as I remove myself fitfully from his embrace and rush inside the house. A furtive glance over my shoulder and I catch the flash of disappointment and dread that pulls the color from his face. I clutch the crushed flowers to my chest as I slam the door shut behind me, my sobs shaking my entire body. _What have I done_?

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 7

Chance Meetings

"I don't know what to do," Xander mumbles under his breath, his scotch glass hanging loosely in his grip as he stares into the flames of the fire. Ryatt snorts from his seated position in the lounge, his own glass almost empty.

"Well, obviously not what you're doing now." The brothers glare at one another, and Irina's snort breaks their standoff.

"First, you need to get rid of the boyfriend. You're making her feel like some kind of trollop."

Xander frowns. "I'm working on it."

"Well, work on it faster," Irina snarls, sinking back into the divan with a pout. "The Wselfwulfs are bound to have heard of your soulmarking by now. They'll demand to meet her at the dinner and see who is set to rule at your side. She needs to be prepared. She needs to be strong, and she needs to be pack. We can't afford a war."

"We could if Xander at least marked her. Xander would receive a considerable boost in power and then that power would trickle its way through the pack lines and strengthen us as a whole. But if he could complete the bond... _well_ , the Wselfwulf's wouldn't dare near us with that kind of power behind our alpha. Irina is right, brother. You need to move things along more quickly. An alpha soulmark is not something the Wselfwulfs will take lightly. She's in danger whether she knows it or not. They'll want her dead to weaken you. To weaken us."

Xander's brows draw together, a sneer pulling at his top lip. "An alpha soulmark...." His scoff finishes his sentence.

"Yes," Irina snaps, her own features pinching together to form a beautiful scowl. "Come now Xander, you know our rank highly dictates not only our strength, but the potency of the soulmark." Irina rolls her eyes at Xander's gentle scoff, before narrowing at the slight.

"And what of the she-wolf's soulmark bond?" Xander asks, his sudden about-face blasé tone and demeanor setting the she-wolf's shoulders back.

"What of it?" Irina asks her shoulders still stiff.

Ryatt crows as he watches his siblings with amusement twinkling in his eyes. "You need only remember how our sister wears her heart on her sleeve so freely, brother."

Irina's chin lifts, her green eyes narrowing on her brother. "She-wolves are known for their passion, and I won't be mocked for it."

Xander releases a small sigh, eyes turning to deliver a pensive gaze to the fire. "You're right, Irina. A she-wolf's passion should be admired and cherished by the pack, not mocked." Two sets of green eyes turn towards the remaining Adolphus sibling, whose hands rise defensively in front of him.

"I was merely teasing."

"And what of Ryatt's soulmark bond? What will it be like?"

Irina's eyes widen, a devious smile curving her full pink lips as she continues to stare down her brother. Ryatt's own smirk falters and he quickly speaks before his siblings can edge in another word. "It will be chaos, I assure you," he says. In the next instant he knocks back the rest of his drink. "The wolf inside me is far different than the others of this pack. It strays often to the forefront of my mind. I'm sure if I find my soulmark both the wolf and I will enjoy the hunt."

The siblings remain quiet for a time, before Irina looks toward Xander. Softly she speaks, "This dinner is a ploy—a distraction. I fear what might happen at home while we're away. If the mark is at least in place, then the binding will be quick to follow. Then the witches will have no choice but to fully align with us and create a barrier around the town to prevent any planned attacks. They're out for blood—our blood. I know it."

"The dinner is in celebration of Marius's coming of age. Nothing more. It will be his first run with his family. The entire Wselfwulf pack will be there. I highly doubt an attack. After all, Marius is Rollins's nephew. He favors him almost above his own son."

The room grows silent with the sibling's contemplation. "Irina is right about one thing. You need to get rid of her boyfriend. I might be of some help with that," Ryatt says with a wicked grin. "I'm quite good with a hammer."

"No," Xander growls. "I won't hurt the boy. She'd despise me even more."

"Surely, she doesn't despise you," Irina says with exasperation. "Very much dislike you, yes, but I doubt she is indifferent to you. The soulmark will have made sure of that. She doesn't still deny it, does she?" Xander shakes his head, his face a mixture of frustration and sadness.

"It's all she's capable of doing, though her actions would say otherwise."

"She'll come around, brother. Just wear her down. You know the game," Ryatt tells him.

"No." Irina's lips form a firm line, before inhaling calmly through her nose, gathering her patience. "Xander, it's clear that you need to spend a little more time listening to Zoe rather than taking every opportunity to try to stick your tongue down her throat. Surely this is the reason why she wanted to be friends in the first place. To cultivate a relationship with you that wasn't based on sex or the soulmark. You must use this friendship as an opportunity to build the foundation of an actual relationship. Give her more. She deserves it." Xander sighs his consent. "Why don't I go out with her? Have a little chat, girl-to-girl, hmm?"

Xander mulls over the idea, the furrow in his brow lessening as his taut body relaxes inch by inch. He casts a hopeful look toward Irina. "I think that would be good. Thank you. Anything at this point would help. I can feel myself growing more restless the longer the bond stays unfinished, and I don't want to force myself on her. And I don't want to go mad. I just... want her." His voice is full of pain. Irina and Ryatt's share a look of quiet concern with one another, silently communicating a promise to help Xander at whatever cost.

"I'll speak with her. Don't worry about a thing."

+++

"I can't afford any of this," I tell Irina petulantly, shifting my weight from foot to foot as I endure her scrutiny. She holds the lilac-colored dress up to me.

"Yes, you've said so," she murmurs, eyes squinting as she pulls the dress back and holds a lovely emerald dress up to me instead, "several times in fact."

I'm not quite sure how I end up shopping with the youngest Adolphus. She showed up on our front doorstep with a large bouquet of flowers from her mother and managed to garner an invitation from Aunt Lydia inside. She promptly informed me that we were set to have a girls' day. Too baffled to object, I let myself be herded from the house and to a slew of stores. Our objective, she explains to me, is to find a sophisticated cocktail dress with just the right amount of cleavage to ensure lingering gazes and no wandering hands.

"Try on the green. The lilac doesn't suit you. And stop stalling on the red dress. Embrace it." She waves me back into the dressing room, resuming her seat on the plush, embroidered chair situated in the private room. We are in _Belle Creations_. A high-end boutique that Irina enjoys because of the accommodating staff and selection.

I love the dress with its rich color, much like its gemstone counterpart. It's a fit and flare style, billowing out pleasantly just an inch or so above the knee and hugging my top tightly. A V cuts down both front and back, displaying ample side boob. Something I'm sure Irina will give high marks.

"Come on then. We don't have all day. If you can't find something here, then we'll have to move onto the next," Irina calls from her throne. I depart the fitting room with an exaggerated sigh, my response garnering an eye roll from the raven-haired beauty. "Well, that one certainly has potential," she drawls, a calculating gleam in her eye. "With the right accessories... yes, that one is excellent. Now try on the red." She snaps her fingers. A woman in black quickly appears to refill her glass of Prosecco.

"Why do I need a dress exactly?" I call from the dressing room, slipping out of the silky material. "I have plenty at home."

"Because you'll need a very nice dress to impress the Wselfwulfs. They think themselves very highbrow."

I still at her words and give a sharp inhalation. The Wselfwulfs, the rival wolf pack of the Adolphus pack, why on earth would I need to impress them?

"Breathe, Zoelle," Irina commands softly, her voice barely carrying to my ears, "you'll be safe with our family by your side." I take in another shuttering breath, unnerved by my own reaction and Irina's perception.

"I'm fine." _Liar_.

She snorts. It reverberates through her glass. "I can hear you, you know? Enhanced hearing is one of our abilities."

"Right," I mutter, pulling on the maroon bodycon dress. Her cerulean eyes zero in on me as I exit my sanctuary.

"They're having a dinner party in two weeks to celebrate the coming of age of one of their boys," she tells me coolly, her finger spinning idly in a circle. I obey her silent command, going on tiptoe to as I spin in place. The dress has cutout sides and an off-the-shoulder top. Though the material is thicker than the green, I somehow feel barer in it. "Our family has grown in the past few years." She captures my eyes meaningfully as I turn back to face her. "And we find ourselves at a tipping point—we are on the cusp of overwhelming the Wselfwulf family with our numbers. Many families are expecting, and more are join our ranks every day. I do not believe the Wselfwulf family ever imagined that within a decade we would have found ourselves to be in such good fortune. They could never fathom the idea that our modern ways might appeal to other members of the pack. And yet, here we are."

"What do you mean 'modern ways'? What was the Wselfwulf pack like?"

"It was a tightly run patriarchal hierarchy within the Wselfwulf pack. Roles were very gender specific. Women stayed indoors and tended the children. Men did all the work and made all the money. Men held all the power. A woman could never be her own. She was either her father's, brother's, or husband's. Of course, there were also the routine punishments to keep everyone in order and the practice of our traditions in place. No matter how barbaric they might seem." She sips daintily from her glass. "I like the emerald better."

I nod, minding the frown I wear at the pieces of information she lets slip. "Xander said he was negotiating some sort of deal with them." Irina casts her gaze toward the storefront and puts on a charming smile. A moment later an attendant enters.

"Can I get you, ladies, anything else? A drink for the Miss perhaps, or another dress?"

"We're fine for the moment, thank you." The attendant leaves as swiftly as she enters. "There was a deal in works," she finally says, eyes narrowing just barely, "I'm surprised he told you that."

I blush. "He only mentioned something about having a deal of some kind, and then, not," I say lamely.

"Why don't you change back into your clothes," she suggests, continuing to speak as I follow her command. "Aleksandr was trying to hash out an arrangement. He was planning to marry the daughter of Rollins who, I might add, is a vile creature. The Wselfwulf's, for all their sweet words and promises to leave us alone, have failed on several attempts to do so. Xander thought it best to bind our families once more, in hopes of lessening the attacks on our land or stopping them altogether. But in the past year, we've had such an influx of pack—family," she corrects, "and several new... markings occur that we can now defend ourselves without such an arrangement in place."

"Well, that's good. Isn't it?" As I exit, she hands me my glass of Prosecco. I drink it gratefully.

"Yes, it is," she murmurs, eyeing me closely. "Zoe, I do not think you realize the profound effect you have had on our family. Or on our pack. The mere fact that you have been sealed has sparked a newfound resilience among us and a peace of mind to our family. Most soulmarks are never found let alone an alpha soulmark. I don't believe Xander has the faintest clue how to proceed or act. For that, I must apologize on his behalf. He's behaved atrociously. Though he has been more bite than bark lately, I assure you he's usually only bark. Not to worry though, I've severely reprimanded him for the way he has been treating you. It would seem that in being an alpha, the soulmark affects him more. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive his abysmal manners."

"I understand," I murmur around the edge of my glass. "It's been pretty confusing. The soulmark seems to have a mind of its own. While my head and heart are telling me to do one thing, the soulmark is screaming at me to do another."

"I knew you would be the reasonable one out of the relationship." Irina smiles so brightly it startles me, her laughter, a graceful chime, following soon after. "You must tell me something," she asks, suddenly serious. She takes a step forward, tightening the space between us. "You say the soulmark is telling you to do something entirely different from your head... and your heart. Is it truly at odds with the latter? Are you quite indifferent toward my brother? You have absolutely no feelings for him, other than hatred?"

My heart stutters as her question finds its target. I gulp, feeling feverish. "Not entirely, I suppose." I finally manage to say knowing that to lie is pointless. She levels me with another potent smile, triumphant and knowing.

"I, for one am ecstatic that one of my brothers has finally found his match. You have no idea how difficult it's been for me growing up without a sister. Now I'll finally have someone to take my side. I swear, even though they've reformed our customs and laws, they refuse to release their overbearing brother act."

She finishes her drink, slipping into the dressing room I occupied and grabbing the green dress with its hefty price tag. "That's just what older siblings do," I respond smoothly, tenderly reminiscing about how Clara once treated me, and I her.

"I suppose, but now I must ask a favor of you." I nod my head reluctantly. "I think this dinner party is a ruse. The Wselfwulf's have invited my family along with several other higher-ranking wolves to attend the event, leaving the act of patrolling our borders to some of our lower ranking members. It would be an insult not to go, but I cannot with good conscious leave our pack behind without more senior members of our pack to aid in our defense."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just... talk with Xander. Make him see that I'm not being sensational. The Wselfwulf's do not like us, Zoe. They hate that we left and that we are no longer under their thumb. And they delight in our suffering." She squeezes her eyes tightly shut as if the memory her words bring on is too much to bear. "There are too many families expecting and too many pups not to be cautious. Will you talk to him?"

I avoid her gaze, feeling a building anxiety wrestle in my stomach. _See Xander?_ I hate the thought of what might happen if we were to meet, but I can't ignore Irina's plea. "I'll see if he wants to grab a coffee tomorrow. When is the dinner party?"

"Two weeks from this coming Thursday," she squeals excitedly, hands clapping together briefly before smothering me in a hug. "Oh, you're wonderful. I just knew I could count on you. Come on, let's buy this"—she wiggles the green dress enticingly in the air—"and then go grab a glass of wine at Armond's Lounge."

"Irina, I really, really can't afford to be spending my money on that when I don't even have a job."

"Not to worry. We'll not be paying for it." She fishes out a black card from her purse. "Xander, on the other hand, will be. And if you need a job, darling, you only need say the word. Plenty of families in the pack own local businesses here. I'm sure an opening could be created somewhere." And with that, she saunters off toward the checkout desk, leaving me both bemused and astounded.

+++

Toes freshly painted, I stretch out on my bed, contemplating my day with Irina. I'm not pleased with myself for agreeing to get coffee with Xander, but I doubt I'll be able to get out of it now. A sigh falls from my lips at the thought.

Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt.

A snag my phone from my pocket, eyeing the unknown number with a frown before answering.

"Hello?"

"Zoelle?"

"Yes? Who is this?"

"Katerina." My eyes widen in response. "I found your phone number on Xander's phone, and wanted to see how your time with Irina was today. She had nothing but nice things to say, but my daughter has an uncanny way of bending the truth to paint a lovely picture."

A chuckle escapes me at the whimsical yet irritated note to Katerina's voice. "It went well. Better than I expected." I scoot my body into a sitting position on my bed, resting more fully against the mountain of pillows behind me.

"I'm happy to hear that," she says. "She also mentioned you would be seeing Xander tomorrow for coffee?"

I chew at my bottom lip, gently cursing Irina for sharing the news. "Yes."

Katerina acknowledges my hesitant answer by softening her voice and slowing the cadence of her words. "I know the situation you find yourself in with my son is not entirely desirable to you, and I understand. It is not everyday a lycan and witch find themselves brought together by fate, but I'm so happy you'll allow my son this second chance. You need not worry about any untoward behavior from him, as _I've_ spoken with him."

I don't fight the grin that steals across my lips. I imagine Xander being dressed down by his mother, his shoulders slumped and arms crossed. His lips folded in a full pout as Katerina lectures him about how to treat a woman.

"I hope things go more smoothly this time around. I'd love to see you back at the manor." Her voice still holds a current of hope to it that makes it hard to swallow for one painful second.

"Maybe I can send you a text message after our coffee tomorrow?" I offer before I can stop myself. _What am I doing_?

"Oh?"

I rub my face quickly with the palm of my hand, stifling a groan as I sink further into the pillows. _Oh hell_...

"Yeah," I continue with forced nonchalance. "Why not? Besides, I think Xander has the same tendency to bend the truth as his sister."

Katerina's laugh fills the phone line and eases the flash of regret I feel at my suggestion. "He does," she agrees pleasantly. "Well then, I'll await your text anxiously. Perhaps, if it's not too inconvenient, we could chat like this more often?"

I let a beat of silence pass before answering. "Sure." _Why not_? Maybe I could even wrangle Katerina to my side.

"Excellent! I'll leave you to your night then. Goodnight, Zoelle."

"Goodnight, Katerina."

+++

There are rocks in my stomach the size of my fist as I approach Luna Café for my coffee with Xander. He is already there, his shaggy hair styled back while his eyes scan the steady stream of pedestrians with disinterest. Though to any passerby he may look the picture of relaxed, his nervousness beats alongside mine through the soulmark. When his eyes spot me I give a small smile. He stands as I approach, pulling out my chair and waiting for me to sit before he does as well.

"Can I get you anything?"

I lick my lips, eyes skimming the small menu in front of me. "A vanilla latte would be great."

Xander nods, his body thrumming with unsettled energy as he flags down a waitress and repeats my order. "Thank you for seeing me today." My shoulders rise and fall quickly.

"I'm here at Irina's request," I confess.

Xander nods, lips pursing. "Still, I'd like to apologize for my behavior. All of my behavior, from the very start. I've been one-minded and acting without consideration to your feelings. If you'd allow it, I'd very much like to try being friends again. Properly this time."

He leans his body toward mine, keeping his body language open and vulnerable with his head slightly bowed and forearms resting on the arms of his chair. The seconds pass by like minutes as I contemplate my answer, finding myself somewhat mesmerized by his ivy green eyes.

"Properly?" He gives a sharp nod, and I watch as he holds himself impossibly still while waiting for my response. "All right," I acquiesce. Xander's taut frame relaxes with a deep exhale, and he sends me a wide smile. I find my body mirroring his reaction, sinking back into my seat with ease just as my latte is set in front of me.

He remains on his best behavior as I attempt to explain and validate his sister's concerns. Xander nods along accordingly at all the right parts, his foot and fingers tapping out a disjointed yet excited rhythm all the while. A hint of a smile tugs at Xander's mouth through much of our conversation, and I'm loath to admit I find myself doing the same. For though we take opposing sides in our conversation, there is subtle pleasure thrumming through our bond.

"We'll see," he says finally, his eyes alight with satisfaction. Then he launches into question after question about my job hunt, and how I spent my time away from him.

He pays such close attention to my words and slight movements that I can't help the blush that remains on my cheeks for most of our conversation.

"Have you been to the public zoo near Helena?" he asks out of the blue. My coffee mug halts halfway to my lips. My head shakes from side to side carefully. "Would you like to go tomorrow? Atticus, my beta, has business there."

"He has business...at the zoo?"

Xander's eyes crinkle around the edges with the force of his smile. "Yes," he says, "he's a prominent donor. There's a new exhibit, and he wants to see for himself how it turned out."

"I should really be job hunting."

A flash of disappointment courses through the bond, and Xander quickly averts his gaze toward the street. "Of course. I understand."

"Maybe the next day?"

Xander snaps his attention back to me. His forest green eyes effortlessly pin me in place with their intensity. "Yes," he says, voice mildly breathless.

"But as friends." Xander nods.

"Of course." My heart gives a strange flutter as Xander beams at me.

When we finally depart, he pulls me into a giant hug, his face burying itself between my neck and shoulder. Xander pulls back abruptly, eyes dilated and cheeks flushed, before leaving with a short inclination of his head. It leaves me oddly...unsatisfied. And now I can't stop thinking about him and our "not date" with Atticus in a couple of days. On my walk home I overanalyze every word that passed between us.

It seems to be a reoccurring problem in my life now, thinking of that man.

+++

"Don't worry, man. I won't tell anyone you like _The Notebook_ ," Atticus says.

I bite my lip to keep from laughing as Xander heaves a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes upward. He doesn't fight back. He hasn't for the past hour, choosing instead to endure Atticus' ceaseless comments and comebacks as we tour the zoo.

The friendly ribbing does wonders in wearing down Xander's tightly wound personality. By the time we reach the wolf enclosure I feel I hardly recognize him.

He walks with an easy gait, exuding confidence effortlessly with a smile and laugh that draw stares from the women we pass. It certainly draws my attention. _Where is the domineering alpha I've encountered these past few weeks? And who is this charming and refined man who has replaced him?_ Xander catches my stare and shoots me a sly wink, laughing at the punch line of Atticus' joke.

I direct my smile toward the ground, and find a laugh bubbling up my throat as well. Never did I imagine myself in _this_ scenario.

"So, Zoe, want to hear some embarrassing stories about our fearless alpha?" Atticus leans against the enclosure railing, an easy smile on his face that makes his crystal blue eyes twinkle merrily.

"Yes."

"No."

A large smile splits my lips at Xander's quick rebuttal, and our trio gives in to another bout of laughter. Xander comes to stand on my other side, leaving me sandwiched between the two impressive men as we stand in front of the wolf enclosure. Warmth radiates from their bodies, a characteristic common in all lycans as their body temperatures run a few degrees higher than the average human. Or so Atticus says. It's a pleasant feeling nonetheless on this rather cool, sunny day.

"I don't see any wolves," I murmur. My eyes flit from left to right across the grassy enclosure to no avail.

"Back left, near the boulder." My eyes follow the direction, and I let out a soft hum of appreciation. When I glance to my right at Atticus, he is staring out into the pathway. My eyes narrow on him, and, as if sensing my gaze, he passes me a lazy smile. His expression is entirely too smug as he stares me down with his cerulean eyes.

"How did you know without looking?" His smile grows larger.

"Wolves," Xander comments, "always know where other wolves are." Atticus wiggles his eyes brows at me and I scoff in return, turning slowly to face Xander, who wears an entirely too pleased smile as well.

"Any other fun wolf facts I should know?"

A pleasant sensation whirls in my stomach at his pleased look. His smile softens from its smug lift to one of genuine pride. I note the way his chest broadens on an inhalation while he rolls his shoulders back. The bulging muscles of his pectorals and biceps strain momentarily against his polo.

"A few things," he says, voice lowering an octave. The hair on the back of my neck comes to attention as I hold back my blush.

"The females and males have separate ranking order," Atticus says.

"Separate ranking order?"

I take a step back from the railing to form our grouping into a triangle instead of a straight line, and wait for Atticus to continue.

"Alpha, beta, the in between, and omega. When soulmarks are involved, lycan or otherwise, they inherit the rank of the higher placed wolf. You," Atticus explains smoothly, "are an alpha."

I take time to process Atticus' words, but find my thoughts slipping to memories of Xander's first impassioned speech to me.

Jewels for your body, silks for your skin...

You would be an alpha...

My alpha...A queen...

Heat simmers behind Xander's regard, his eyelids held at half mast as he watches me react. I do my best to keep my heartbeat under control and give Atticus a short smile.

"And your soulmark would be a beta?" He nods, his eyes widening and his smile becoming brighter.

"She will."

Xander chortles. "Don't get him started. You'll never hear the end of it. Why don't you ask another question?"

"I don't know...I think I understand the lycan culture fairly well." Both men stand a bit taller at my enunciation, and I bite back a grin. Folding my arms behind my back I step back toward the railing, eyeing the lone wolf in the enclosure with a thoughtful furrow to my brow. "Lycans are both man and wolf. Originally free to shift from one form to the other, until a _wicked_ witch—" both wolves snort in unison "—placed a curse upon your kind. Said curse suppresses your ability to shift, meaning you may only do so at the full moon. The alpha is only as strong as his pack, and that doesn't just refer to the size of a pack. It's a variety of things. Love and loyalty. Soulmarks and children born into the pack."

"Don't forget she-wolves," Atticus chimes in. "She-wolves are rare among our kind and for some reason have always bolstered the pack's and alpha's strength." _Of course_ , _how could I forget?_

"How do you know all this?" Xander asks, curiosity tainting his voice.

I pass him a coy look over my shoulder. "Your sister, of course." Xander barks out a laugh, leaning in toward me with a happy grin, but stops infinitesimally short of reaching me. A light breeze catches my curls, sending them skirting in front of my face. My hand reaches to brush them back, knocking into Xander's knuckles in the process. Our eyes meet and I feel my throat tighten. The moment between us holds entirely too long. Slowly he retreats, his eyes still warm, but somewhat guarded, as his hand falls to his side.

"So," he says, "what shall we see next?"

+++

We meet again a few days later for another "not date." This time around there is no Atticus to buffer the underlying tension between us, but a handful of witches milling about us in the forest. We forage for magical herbs and plants, wearing funny violet-lensed goggles to spot them and their magical "glow." Well, Xander and I are wearing funny goggles. The other witches have no need for them, as they are already well versed in each plant's identity.

"My mother said she spoke to you the other night," Xander says. My head bobs in agreement as I snip a pale pink flower from a tangle of thorny vines. With the goggles I can see the glittering particles that emit from the flower. Like catching dust in the sunlight, the particles are faint but stand out through the violet lens.

"Uh huh."

"So it went well?" There is an unusual hesitance to his voice, and I cast a look over my shoulder to better look at him. Xander looks calm and collected, despite looking completely ridiculous with his goggles and the basket he carries with our bounty. A closer look reveals the stiffness in his posture and the subtle creases lining his forehead.

"Uh huh." The lines on his forehead deepen, and a smirk curves my lips as I rise. "Worried?"

Xander pushes up his goggles and shoots me a plaintive glare. "You're not going to tell me either I suppose."

"It's really none of your business," I respond, brushing off my knees after placing the delicate flower near a few others of its kind in the basket. Xander's chest puffs up, and his scowl turns a touch icier. I raise an eyebrow in response, or try to at least through the large goggles, and he deflates.

"I...suppose." My smirk remains. Several times this outing he has subdued his more domineering nature in favor of something more approachable. Pushing my own goggles upward, I soften my smirk into a smile.

"We don't just talk about _you_ , you know?" Xander shakes his head. "We talk about her day and mine. And yes, sometimes you're mentioned, but not as much as you think."

It's as though I've lifted a weight off his shoulders. His posture relaxes with a quick sigh, his shoulders sinking from their rigid position as he shuffles forward, inhaling deeply. A delicate breeze rustles through the air not a second later, and I blush seeing the way Xander's eyes dilate.

"No talk of magic?" My dark curls bounce as I turn my head side to side.

"We try to keep the conversation neutral."

"Well," he states softly, "maybe you should. I've certainly enjoyed today's lesson." I swallow and avert my gaze.

"Does magic really make you feel itchy?" I ask after a moment. Xander smirks when I peek back at him.

"Somewhat, yes. My skin feels tighter when I'm around it. I can't help but be more alert."

"Does that mean I make you feel...itchy?" Amusement colors my tone as I hold back a laugh, but Xander's eyes only darken in response.

"You're most certainly an itch I'd like to scratch." The amusement drains at the low pitch of his voice, and I'm positive a rosy flush covers my neck and cheeks. A shiver crawls lazily up my spine as I continue to stare into Xander's eyes. Something cracks in the distance, and a shout of laughter from a pair of witches breaks the spell we are under.

I clear my throat and avert my eyes, spotting immediately to my left a cluster of bright purple-pink flowers, sporting four petals each. My feet propel me toward it without hesitation, and Xander slowly follows. I know this magical flower without the aid of the goggles.

"That's lunaria."

"Ah." Xander's eyes flash knowingly. The small crease in between his eyebrows is the only tell of his displeasure. "The _truth_ plant."

"Yes."

When the moment turns too long I begin to fidget, my fingers fussing with the hem of my tunic top. I chance a glance at Xander as he remains mute. He stares at the flowers with a carefully blank expression on his face, though I note the turn of his full lips is slightly down.

"Sorry about, you know, the whole making you drink lunaria—"

"Don't apologize," he interrupts with a quick shake of his head. "You were completely within your rights to do so." Another dreaded silence hangs between us as his lush green eyes pin me to the spot. I feel a tightness squeeze my chest, drawing the air painfully from my lungs as I hold his gaze.

"I think it's a habit of theirs." The words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I internally cringe.

Xander's eyes narrow a fraction, and his head tilts to the side. "Who has what habit?"

"The aunts. They gave Ben lunaria too." This time my cringe is visible. _Don't I know how to hold my tongue_?

"I see," he murmurs, watching me far too intently. "And did he face the same inquisition as I?" I snort before I can help myself.

"At least _you knew_ what was happening. Poor Ben had no idea why he was saying the things he did. Neither did I. I just thought he was overly nervous. I couldn't fathom a better reason for him to say the things he did."

My sneakers idly kick a small stone near my side. I pensively watch it skid away, ignoring how the soulmark tingles against my skin and Xander's ever vigilant gaze.

"What exactly did he say?"

I shake my head, risking a peek at Xander's intent regard. "Nothing important." _Just casual chauvinism_. Xander chuckles at my sudden, yet severe frown.

"That bad, huh?" I let out a chuckle of my own. I drive my gaze back toward the grouping of flowers, lest I stare too attentively at the dark patches of hair spotting his jaw line.

"Something about women being in the kitchen," I offer with forced nonchalance, though swallowing past the sudden lump in my throat proves more difficult than I thought.

"I'm sure he didn't mean any harm by it," Xander says. My gaze darts toward him once more, not quite believing what I've heard. Xander reads my expression neatly and shrugs. "I'm trying, all right?" Another chuckle pushes past my lips, and we fall into a more comfortable silence.

"Thank you for that." Xander ducks his head. The soulmark pulses against my skin, and with it comes an almost bashful excitement. It makes my heart skip a beat. "We should head back," I say a bit breathlessly. Xander nods wordlessly, and we walk back toward Gran's.

Although we share no more words on the journey back, it's hard to ignore the looks we pass between us: furrowed brows or wide-eyed glances. Our lips pouted or thinned to a harsh line. My heartbeat increases with each step as I ponder what to say, or if there is anything left to say at all.

"I'll leave you with this then." Xander passes me the basket filled with greenery and stands closer than necessary at the back door of Gran's house. "You wouldn't happen to have any lemon and ginger tea inside, would you?"

I swallow sharply at his hope-filled eyes. "Ye—"

Bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt; bzzz bzzzt

I fish my phone from my pocket, the color on my face draining as I stare at the caller ID. Xander's stunted growl tells me he sees the name as well.

"Another time perhaps," he tells me stiffly, walking off before I can get in a word. Leaning against the back door, I answer the phone, watching Xander stride off with a frown tugging at my features.

"Hi Ben."

+++

I'm once more a patron at Luna Café. Shredding to bits my paper napkin, as I await Ben's arrival. Since talking the other day, we arranged to meet for a few short hours while Ben had the time.

I shift in my oversized sweater, relishing the early autumn sun and the cool breeze that carries over the river. Although my love life is about to mimic the state of my napkin, at least Ben will know the truth.

"Hey, gorgeous."

"Ben!" I stand and am immediately swallowed into his arms and lifted off my feet. I giggle girlishly as he twirls me around, only setting me down once my laughter has faded.

He places a kiss eagerly to my lips, "Zoey!" Ben's excitement is contagious, but it can't quite quell the guilt I feel for what I'm about to do.

"How are you? Here, take a seat. Eat something!"

"Thanks!" He picks at the food off my plate, enjoying the house-made chips the best. "I can't stay long. We're working on a project about an hour out of Branson Falls, and I just got the call I'll need to be in earlier than expected to work on it."

"Ah, that would explain the time change and why I had to order food," I reply, taking a decisive bite of my deli sandwich. It's probably for the best that this lunch date is going to run short. I can't imagine Ben wanting to hang around a second longer than necessary after I tell him about Xander.

"Yeah."

"Listen, Ben...." My heart pounds painfully against my ribs as I summon the words. "I—"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Zoe Baudelaire," I tense at the voice, my head whipping around to see the smirking face of Ryatt. _Oh no_.

"Hi."

He swaggers over to our table, a paper bag in hand bearing the local bookstore's logo. "And who is this?" He outstretches a hand, which Ben takes enthusiastically.

"Ben, I'm Zoey's—"

"Boyfriend," I interject swiftly. "He's my boyfriend, and we don't actually have a lot of time together so if you wouldn't mind...."

"Zoey," Ben's voice carries a low warning to it, eyes darting back and forth between Ryatt and me as he attempts to assess the situation. He's not used to me being so rude, but the Adolphus family seems to bring out my brasher side.

"Ah, the infamous Ben. Truth be told, I've been dying to meet you. Tell me, what exactly are your thoughts on carpentry? Would you say you're more of a claw hammer man or a ball peen? I quite like the feel and swing of a sledgehammer." His smile cuts like a razor, eyes twinkling with malicious intent.

"How do you know him?" Ben asks me, his voice somewhat strained.

"I know his sister. She's nice," I tell him, surprised at my honest words.

"And my other brother," Ryatt interjects. "I'd say he's just a few years older than our Zoelle here. Instant connection those two—I mean with my sister, of course. Why, I would go as far to say that we think of Zoe as family already."

"Well, I suppose if you really thought of her as family you would know that she prefers Zoey to Zoe." Ben retorts.

"Does she? Is that right, _Zoey_?"

"I like them both, but... I do prefer Zoe," I admit abashedly.

"Hmmm," Ryatt exhales thoughtfully. "Well, I saw you and just wanted to come by and thank you, Zoe."

I wrinkle my brow. "For what?"

"Why, I haven't seen my brother this happy in ages! Whatever you did or said to him the other day has put him in a right, good mood."

He sends me a saucy wink and salutes Ben before walking off, hands shoved into his pockets, bag bumping up against his side. The most annoying whistle on his lips. I feel the color drain from my face, and the familiar knot of anxiety twist my insides apart. _This isn't how today was supposed to happen_.

"Do you see his brother a lot?" Ben asks uncertainly.

"No!" I reply more sharply than intended. I earn a raised eyebrow in return. "It's just that I see his family a lot. More than I would like, to be honest. They... they deal with Gran's business and the aunts on a regular basis. So, we always seem to be bumping into each other. His sister really is quite kind though." A ton of rocks drops to the pit of my stomach, anchoring me to my seat as the lies slip forth. _What am I doing_?

"Right." There is a tightness to his voice that shames me. "And you all of a sudden prefer to be called Zoe?"

"I like that you call me Zoey. I'm _your_ Zoey." My conscious screams at me to confess my sins, but Ryatt's appearance has clearly ruined the moment.

We finish the rest of my meal in awkward silence and conversation, the tension between us growing, but unwilling to bend or break. Something in my heart cracks at my cowardice, when he leaves. Ben only gives me a quick peck on the cheek before racing off even earlier than he originally said. Our farewell lacks its usual spark and affection, with both our hearts stretched thin. And, I note grimly, Ben's kiss is nothing in comparison to Xander's lightest of touches.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 8

A New Deal

After the lunch date ordeal, Xander and I renegotiate our agreement. I can't quite remember the details of how I'm convinced to do so, but one late night call from Katerina Adolphus is apparently all it takes. She pleads passionately on her son's behalf for more than an hour until I find myself agreeing to her new terms. Daily texting and/or calls. Visits down to three times a week, and physical contact limited to hugs or casual touches.

I can't deny the rush of anxiety I feel after I end the call with Katerina. The days spent with Xander earlier this week had been nice. Without the pressure of an arrangement hanging over our heads, we actually got along.

Granted, we had pseudo chaperons for those encounters, but I hadn't minded their presence one bit.

If I'm honest, I'm worried Xander will revert back to his old ways now that the new deal has been struck. But my worries are unwarranted. _Mostly_.

For our first few face-to-face meetings I feel much like Little Red Riding Hood, with Xander taking the part of the Big Bad Wolf. But the Big Bad Wolf dressed up in slim-cut suits and Gucci cologne. He always brings flowers and makes sure to flash his dimples whenever possible. He's charming. Downright fucking _pleasant_. To make matters worse, he actively listens to me. Asks questions. Engages me in conversations outside my comfort zone.

Once again I'm confronted with a new side of Xander: the seducer. And he's not just after my body, but my heart and mind as well.

Though my head cautions me still, knowing Xander plays nice only to get closer to me, the pros seem to outweigh the cons. The soulmark is tempered by his nearness, and as such, so is my sanity. I'll endure Xander's unwavering attention if it means I can focus on my life outside of coven and pack affairs. Like the issue of my crumbling relationship with Ben.

_I should have told him at lunch_ , I think for the thousandth time. There's no doubt about it. My relationship with Ben is falling to pieces right in front of my eyes. And I have no one to blame but myself.

As if Xander can smell the end coming, he begins to circle, painting words left to entice, then feigning innocence at my incredulous looks with wide eyes and a coy smile.

" _What can I say, Miss Baudelaire? I aim to misbehave_." Said while stealing a bite of my chocolate torte.

" _Some of the best moments in life are the ones you can't talk about_." Said while partially licking honey off his bottom lip.

" _Open wide_." Said just before offering me a bite of his dessert.

Standing far too near without ever touching at all. Pulling out my chair and reading over my shoulder. The soft pant of his breath hovering closely to my ear.

Showing off his strength in clever ways. Cleaning the front gutters of the house at the request of Aunt Lydia. He does so without a shirt. The taut lines of his abdominals teasing me from my bedroom window. It is a _highly_ unnecessary action, yet no less effective in completely stealing my attention. Sneaky bastard.

For every show of strength, he speaks openly with me about some insecurity of his.

For every call I leave unanswered from Ben, he gazes at me with knowing, understanding eyes.

For every bold suggestion comes a swift apology. But the damage is already done.

Images of the two of us plague my mind, both waking and asleep. To date, I had never met a man so keen on seducing me. Nor more adept with his techniques. Thankfully most of our in-person encounters occur in settings flush with a multitude of scents to busy the senses. Lest Xander detect my scent of arousal. By some of his less restrained heated looks, I know we careen toward the end of our game of chase.

I can't decide if I'm relieved or terrified. Both, if my food has anything to say about it.

"This just isn't working," I mutter to myself. Skin prickling in sudden anticipation. I raise my eyes to the front door. It's Xander. I can feel his aura approaching my barrier: an array of deep and clear bright reds that shouts his strength and prowess for all to see. I'm home alone, and I would bet my savings that he knows it. He always manages to get me alone for our time together. Pausing in my work as a knock sounds at the door, I concentrate on lowering the barrier and opening the door with my mind. It takes a long moment, but the telltale click of the lock retreating into its chamber sounds and the door creaks open.

"Zoelle?"

I take a deep breath, stealing my nerves against what is to come. "In the kitchen!"

He walks in, surveying the scene with a casual eye before approaching me from behind. The length of his arm curls around my middle, chest fitting itself snug against my back as he gives me a one-armed hug.

"How are you?" he asks, his voice low and near my ear.

"Fine," I respond with a shrug, disengaging him easily. Glancing over my shoulder, I watch as he prepares a vase for the flowers he has brought.

"What are you making?"

"Apple cinnamon rolls, but a bit differently. I want them to look like one of those blooming apple tarts at the bakery, but I'm not cutting the dough right."

"Maybe I can help," he offers, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down and tossing me a smile.

"I'm afraid Adolphus men aren't allowed to slave away in the kitchen."

His eyes narrow playfully as he mimics the way I place the cinnamon rolls in their ramekins. "I don't mind breaking the rules if you don't," he tells me in confidence leaning toward me. I send him a disapproving glare, but it lacks its usual sting. That has been happening a lot recently. So have my ill attempts at getting him to call me Zoe. Or even Zoey.

"I can manage on my own," I insist halfheartedly.

"You don't have to though," he murmurs. "I'm here." Our eyes briefly catch.

"I know." I duck my head and continue working, letting Xander keep up the conversation until the mood has lightened. He teases and taunts until keeping a smile off my face becomes an odious task.

"Are you always this domineering in the kitchen? Geez."

I laugh and swat at the hand that reaches for the empty dough bowl. "No more! You'll get yourself sick if you keep eating that. It has raw egg in it." He smiles charmingly back at me, dimples peeking through.

His hand darts forward once more, carefree smile still in place, as I smack his hand again with the sticky spatula. With a laugh, he licks the remains of cinnamon sugar and dough from his hand. "Harder, Zoelle."

I blush and guffaw, hitting him indeed harder with the spatula. A rumble of his pleased laughter fills the kitchen. "Behave," I scold as I place the ramekins in the oven and begin clearing the island. I rebuff Xander's attempt to help, asking him over my shoulder instead to fix us some tea.

But Xander stands stock-still. Breath bated at my instruction. Then I realize why. My hand is placed without a thought near the bottom of his spine. The touch is casual yet somehow so _intimate_. It is something I am careful never to do. I stare at the offender in horror, before drawing it sharply back against my chest and turning to the sink.

"You know," I say, forging past the obvious electricity crackling between us. "I hope you've taken your sister's concerns to heart. I don't think it's unreasonable to keep a few stronger members of your pack behind, even if it means coming across rude at the dinner party. Don't the Wselfwulf's have a history of going back on their word?"

"They never made a promise not to attack us during the dinner. It needn't be said. The dinner is a celebration the entire Wselfwulf pack will be expected to attend. If anything, I'll need my strongest by my side throughout the dinner if something happens."

"Well...."

"It will be fine, Zoelle. We've run through a number of possibilities about how the night might go. We're well prepared for any outcome." The alpha comes through in his voice. It is full of calming authority that puts my nervousness at ease.

"That's good."

He hums in response, handing me dishes instead of grabbing the tea from the cabinet. I'm all too aware of his nearness. The scent of pine and spice assailing my nose with each brush of his arm against mine. I step to the side, allowing him room in front of the sink, which he eagerly takes.

"You don't need to be afraid," Xander tells me reassuringly. "The Wselfwulf pack will do you no harm. I won't let them." A shiver runs its way across my body at the fervor of his promise. "I won't let anyone hurt you, and neither will my mother apparently. She's mentioned you two sometimes talk." I flush and nod. We did. Little text messages here and there. Nothing too intrusive. We work in silence. His words drive me to speechlessness.

I'm not sure when his gentle flirting had turned into such neat promises, but they're beginning to take their toll. I shift my weight from foot to foot, hurrying to get the dishes done, so I can grab the tea.

As we put the last of the dishes into the dishwasher and wipe off our hands, I make a beeline for the tea cabinet only to run into Xander's solid chest. He steadies me. His hands deliciously warm against my arms.

"Sorry," I mumble, getting lost in the depths of his eyes. His fingers tighten for one tantalizing second before releasing me and shifting back. Big Bad Wolf letting Little Red get away? How unnerving.

But as I pass, I can hear him suck in a deep, rattling breath. His resounding groan freezes me to the spot as I cast a helpless look toward him. One hand grips the counter tightly, while the other rests in a tightly balled fist at his side. But he does not turn around to face me. I gulp, knowing very well that I should continue with my task. Knowing that if I do, one of us will speak and break the spell laying between us. But I don't.

My heart hammers painfully against my chest and the soulmark quakes in anticipation. I shake my head at my weakness. _I shouldn't_. I tell myself, ready to correct my mistake when his hand falls heavy on my shoulder.

"He'll never know," he tells me hotly.

With great effort, I attempt to summon the indignation I know I ought to possess. "You can't possibly think that I would—"

He turns fully to face me and takes a step closer. "But you already have." The cool confidence in his quiet words leaves me shaking. He stalks closer.

"It wasn't anything," I protest, missing the hardening resolution of his features. "It was the soulmark."

"No," he speaks slowly, his other hand coming to trace the path from rib to hip. "No more excuses. No more talking."

My words fail to reach my tongue. Heart pounding as it is, fierce and hard in my throat. Xander's eyes dilate, flecks of bright gold stealing around his pupil. For a fleeting moment, I imagine the idea of surrender. The onslaught of pleasure it will surely bring. My eyes flick toward Xander's lips, and it is enough to break our standstill. With a snarl, he crushes me to his chest, his lips slanting across my own in a vicious kiss.

I cannot stifle the urgent sound of longing against his mouth. In an instant, I am itching inside my own skin as he deepens the kiss. His tongue goads me into action until my hands find their way around his neck and steal into his hair. My back slams against the cabinet door just as his thigh thrusts itself between my own. My hips rock forward to meet his as we share a groan of pleasure.

Xander draws back enough to look down at me, a starved look in his eyes. I can't imagine how I must look, panting and mindless. A crazed fire runs through my veins, one I can no longer ignore. _One stronger than magic_. My hips tilt forward to relive the delicious friction.

"You are maddening," he breathes fiercely pressing back into me. My eyes slide shut at his heady exclamation, my neck tilting ever so slightly to the side to accept his attentions. He bites and licks. Sucks the skin until it bruises. "You've made me weak like I've never known before." He growls into my skin, reclaiming my lips and swallowing my gasp.

My nails dig into his skin, begging him closer as the weight of his torturous hands glide across my body leaving fire in their wake. We share the longest, most insistent kiss I have ever known. It leaves me delirious. No man should be able to coax such trembling feeling from a body. I can only attempt to keep up, my own hands wandering down the rigid planes of his chest and abs. My teeth nip at his lips. My tongue urges him on. But as soon as I begin to pursue his touch in earnest, he slows. The kiss turns languid and sensual. _Thorough_. His hands caress my sides, slipping down toward my thighs.

"Let me taste you," he moans against my lips. _Wasn't he already_? I think amid the drowning sensations. Before I can ruin the moment with my indecision, I give my assent, gasping when strong hands lift me and set me atop the counter. My hands are momentarily pinned above my head as his lips attack my own with renewed vigor. A sharp thrust of his hips and the feel of his hard length pressing against my center leave me mewling my consent. _Thank God for skirts_. His hips maintain their rhythm, and I sink into their pleasure. Rubbing and rocking until a steady pant falls past my lips.

"Fuck," the explicative bursts forth from my mouth as his hand travels up my thigh and tugs me forward, till my ass sits precariously at the edge of the counter. I wrap my legs around his torso, and his grip tightens to leave bruises. When I begin to roll my hips in measured cadence with his thrusts, we share a look weighed down with our desires.

Even as his other hand begins to trail down my arm to palm my breast, I leave my hands above my head, reveling in his dominance. His lips move boldly down my body and across the top of my breasts, though he carefully stays away from the soulmark. I whine in response, my hips bucking upward only to meet air.

The warmth of his exhalation crosses my thigh, and I stiffen in response. My eyes darting open to gaze down at him on one knee.

"What are you...?"

His wolfish smirk moves against my skin. He nips at my flesh, and I shiver in response. "Tasting you," he murmurs. My mind barely moves fast enough to comprehend his next actions, but instinct tells me to find purchase and hold on.

When his head dips, I stifle a cry with my fist. Not a second later, I am almost shouting in surprise when I feel his grip on my forearm. He eyes me with unadulterated hunger. "Don't. I want to hear you." His tone leaves no room for argument, and my fingers reach down to curl in his hair as he dives back in. He noses along my thigh, taking in deep, shuddering breaths as he nears his goal.

Distantly the logical part of my brain cries out in distress. That I have let it go this far is unfathomable, and for a moment I hesitate, heart skipping an anxious beat. It isn't a matter of telling Ben about my indiscretions anymore. I have to break it off with him. I suck in a sharp breath. _What am I_?

A sharp bite near the apex of my thighs makes me yelp, concentration broken. I look down to stare wide-eyed at Xander. His mouth lies in a grim line as he eyes me. My skirt is pushed up high around my hips, my underwear parted to one side. I can feel my arousal easing its way down. Xander growls. The sound savage and primal. My heart races, a moan tearing its way from my throat as I clench my legs in response. But Xander's grip is unyielding. My legs barely move an inch.

"Xander—"

"Don't," he breathes harshly, holding my eyes captive. Several heartbeats fly by. "Keep your legs open. Do you understand?" I nod pathetically, watching in awe as he leans forward to taste me. Tongue pressing flat against my dripping center. I nearly cry in relief as he licks his way up. Again and again and again. I shift forward, grabbing at his shoulder with my free hand to gain some semblance of control.

He is relentless. Fucking impeccable. My tender flesh trembles and flushes at his persistent touch. Warmth spilling down my legs, as my entire body goes up in flames.

" _Aleksandr_."

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, and I faintly hear his cursed response. He kisses up and along the apex of my thighs, mumbling nonsense against my skin as his fingers take up the work. My head rolls back as not one, but two fingers enter me simultaneously.

I bend forward, my fingers slipping from his hair to cup the back of his neck, urging him back as unexplainable pain and pleasure build to a crescendo inside of me.

"Please," I beg as my other hand reaches inside his shirt and inches toward his soulmark.

I know nothing in the next instant, only blinding pleasure as his teeth sink into the soft flesh of my thigh with a feral growl. His fingers are unforgiving as they press inside me. My own strain against the crescent moon etched on his bronze skin. I arch upward, my chest and face toward the sky. A ragged moan escapes as my orgasm crashes over me.

I cannot describe the feeling that pulsates between us. Nor the weight of the anchor that wraps us tightly together. Abundant warmth and satisfaction settle over us as we revive.

He stands in one fluid motion. Barely an inch is between us as he straightens my clothes and presses sweet kisses across my face even as my breath continues in short and shallow bursts.

"Xander—"

"You're mine," he snarls. His hand grabs my face, his thumb presses against my jaw, and his forefinger wraps securely under my chin. He presses into me; head against my own, fingers shoving back into my pussy without pause. He swallows my cry, thrusting his tongue inside my mouth in time with his fingers. His thumb plays across my clit, bringing me near the edge once more with no remorse.

Xander pulls away panting, and I almost fall off the counter, barely catching myself as I stare at him, mouth agape. "I—"

"Break up with him before the dinner, Zoelle," he commands, sticking his fingers in his mouth to clean them off. His stare pins me in place until he finishes. "Or else." And then he is gone, and the oven's timer sounds off.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 9

Celebrations

It's Thursday, and already this morning I've endured a manicure and pedicure, a Swedish massage, and a hair appointment alongside Irina. Though the pampering is meant to be relaxing and rejuvenating for tonight's dinner, it is anything but, for Irina is in constant teacher mode. She educates me on all the important members of the packs who will be in attendance, and how I should behave with each and every one of them. I am exhausted by the time we finish our beauty routine, but at least I look tremendous. My fingernails and toenails are painted a shimmering opal color, and my hair holds a luxurious new bounce to it. The tightly coiled springs falling to frame my face in a beautifully, subtle way while maintaining their volume. And my dark skin glows from the copious amounts of oils rubbed thoroughly into it.

When all is said and done, I have a few precious hours to kill, which is fine by me. My head is filled with Irina's insights and thoughts of Ben.

I left him a voicemail this morning. Asking him to call me back as soon as possible, but I hear nothing from him. No texts. No calls. I don't want to annoy him with a brigade of either, and so I wait anxiously instead for his call. Sensing my nervous energy when I return home, the aunts and Gran convince me to practice my potion making. With their help I brew protective enamel, healing potions, elixirs of fortitude and strength, bottled blind sight and blasts, and tonics meant to give power over the elements. They are advanced potions, a fact that initially had me wary until I started treating them like recipes. Then, everything clicked into place. I shouldn't be surprised at how naturally the art of brewing comes to me, yet I am in the most pleasant sort of way. Most of the potions take only a few attempts to get right (and some end in war wounds), but once I'm able to correctly brew them, making them comes as easy to me as cooking eggs Benedict.

As my free time nears its end Gran gifts me an enchanted bracelet. It works as a truth seeker and will compel anyone I come into direct contact with to speak the truth. I can't help but roll my eyes as she fastens it around my wrist but give her a small smile nonetheless. I can tell Gran is on edge. Her gaze often lingering these past few days on my jade talisman. A thoughtful frown on her face. She will be meeting with the Wellington's while I am at dinner. The strange item intended for passage through our small town scheduled for tonight.

She's nervous. The aunts are nervous. And in turn, so am I. But it's clear our worries run in opposite directions. While the aunts and Gran fret over the magical object, I can't seem to tear my eyes away from my phone.

My fingers reach for my soulmark, feeling the indentation on my skin that seems to have sunken deeper since my... encounter with Xander. The worst of the ache I feel in my bones has retreated. A change most likely resulting from our renewed contact. Except it wasn't like this before. This time I can't force Xander's baser emotions to the back of my mind. He remains always present. And though the soulmark doesn't cause me tremendous pain from being separated from him anymore, it still yearns for him. Much more so than before.

And then there are the dreams.

I swallow thickly. Closing my eyes, the dreams from the past few nights come forth with stunning clarity. Monday night recapped our kitchen escapades, with an emphasis on what would have happened should we have continued. Tuesday night I dreamt of Xander taking me roughly from behind, bent over the desk in his home. Wednesday, we loved each other nonstop, bodies slick and intertwined on silken sheets. I awoke each morning with my hand lost between my thighs, body feverish and unsatisfied. If there is any part of me left to ache, it is becoming quite obvious what it is.

Daydreams further tempt to ensnare my attention throughout the day. Heady thoughts of being trapped between Xander and some ancient tree as we come together beneath a full moon nearly make my croissants inedible. One bite and the strongest sensation of longing strikes a chord inside my belly.

I feel oddly aware of myself during each fantasy. The touch of his skin on mine; pulling, teasing, guiding, and grinding. It's all so real. His breath fans hotly against my chest as he laves my breasts with attention. The erratic thrusts of hips against mine as we climax together time and time again. How his teeth worry the skin of my neck.

"Honey, are you all right?"

I nearly jump out of my skin at Aunt Lydia's quiet inquiry. She takes the kettle off the stove, and its shrill cry recedes.

"Yes," I assure her as my hand lingers over my heart. "Sorry, I was just lost in thought."

"Mhmm." Her scrutiny is blissfully short, her attention turning toward the tea cabinet. "You're worried about tonight," she says knowingly.

"To say the least."

"I would give you some kava tea, but it's really quite strong, and if you plan to drink tonight you shouldn't mix the two. Passionflower will do you better." She readies me a cup silently, fixing herself the same.

"I still have a lot to learn, don't I?" I comment, blowing softly at the steaming liquid she places in front of me a few minutes later.

Aunt Lydia chuckles. "You do, but you've got the best teachers a witch could ask for."

I enjoy the silence between us, for once not charged with stifling energy.

"Is tonight going to be okay?"

"You'll do just fine, honey," Aunt Lydia reassures me. I shake my head.

"I wasn't asking about myself," I explain. "It's obvious Gran is concerned about tonight going well. What exactly is being passed through town tonight? And"—I hurry before she can interrupt—"don't think I don't realize the significance of whatever it is that's happening. All the big bad wolves will be out of town, meaning tonight's handoff can be done more safely. Right?"

Aunt Lydia seems equally perturbed and pleased by my guesses. Several times she opens her mouth to answer only to firmly press her lips together in a stern line. Finally, before I can urge her answer, she snaps her fingers twice. The kitchen door, normally always open, shuts with a bang, and the window curtains close with a clatter.

"If anyone asks," she says, "you didn't hear it from me. Your grandmother has secured a trade with the Stormrow Clan, a large family of sorcerers. In exchange for the Wielding Crystal of Dan Furth, your grandmother is giving the clan the Amethyst of the Aztecs in return. The crystal is an ancient Wiccan artifact used to naturally enhance the products of the land almost tenfold. It is a very powerful crystal that could be very dangerous in the wrong hands."

"And are the Stormrows dangerous?"

"Dangerous isn't the right word to describe the clan. Opportunists. Cunning. Manipulative. They strive for power but believe such an artifact disturbs the natural balance of things. It is not the power they seek, but in knowing its meaning to us, they have the advantage."

"And what about the amethyst? What does it do?"

"The gem is set in a gold ring and provides the wearer the ability to walk in sunlight."

I pause, letting the words sink in but finding no meaning. "What am I missing?"

"Firstly, the stone is obviously not meant for one of the clan members. A power like that can only be useful to one type of creature: a vampire." The blood drains from my face and Aunt Lydia reaches forward to pat my arm reassuringly. "Drink your tea, dear," she reminds me. "Now, second, if the clan is attempting to secure the ring for a vampire that means the vampire has control of the clan. The Stormrows cannot, therefore, be trusted."

"But it sounds like we really want the crystal. Does Gran think the clan won't give it to us?"

"We don't just want the crystal. We need the crystal. We're surrounded by warring wolf packs and the threat of vampire compulsions and interference in our affairs. The crystal can provide this town with the protection we sorely need."

"Right," my head bobs along with her reasoning, mulling over them with mounting distress.

"Third—"

"Third!"

Aunt Lydia scowls. "Third, and final, the ring we are set to exchange in return for the crystal is a forgery."

The mug slides from my grasp as I gasp. "No!"

My fingers splay apart in reaction, and the mug stops midair, tea slopping over the sides momentarily before settling. With shaky hands, I retrieve it and place it on the counter. "You're giving them a fake ring? That doesn't sound like something Gran would do." Aunt Lydia colors. "Why are you giving them a fake?"

"Because we can't trust them with the ring, knowing they're in league with a vampire," comes the overly defensive response.

"And what happens when they find out they've been duped?"

"They won't. We've been working tirelessly to infuse the counterfeit with enough magical ability to act like the actual ring. But it's taken a lot out of us—"

"And that's why Gran and the rest of you have been so tied up and tired. That's why you're having me make all these advanced potions. The coven is preparing for... war?" And that's why the aunts act nicer to Xander. If the coven is preparing for its own war, alliances need to be made, and who better to align ourselves with than a pack of wolves on the rise?

"Just remember," Aunt Lydia says, taking a large gulp from her mug, "you didn't hear it from me."

+++

"Remember, tonight there will be three families to celebrate," Irina restates, "The Wselfwulfs, the Maccons, and the Beldigs. The Beldigs are a very small pack from Juneau. The alpha, beta, and fourth are coming. The fourth with his soulmark. Their names are—"

"Samuel, Dominic, Christopher and Monica."

"Yes." Irina's praise comes softly through, "The Maccons will be coming with almost the entirety of their pack, but you need only know the names of the alpha, beta, and the third. They have a few soulmarks within their pack, all bonded"—she gives me a pointed look which I ignore—"and are from Canada. The alpha is older, even older than Marius, and does have a wife. They're Jacob and Lydia. The beta is Carlos. And what are you supposed to remember about Carlos?"

I pause in my pursuit of the sprawling grounds we drive past. "Not to stare at the scar on his face."

"Correct. Now, we're obviously coming to the Lunar Ceremony with a sizable amount of the pack. Which, as you know, has its advantages and pitfalls."

"Are you quite finished with your lesson, sister?" Ryatt asks, sipping on his champagne as he fingers his tie.

"No, I am not," she snaps back, attention never wavering from her task. "You are here tonight to make a polite impression and not offend. We are not here for a show of strength, merely to show that we have great power and choose to be peaceful with it. You should be formal and alert; there is no doubt in my mind that the Wselfwulfs will do their best to bait us. Of course, you should not be overly pleasant or eager to please. The Wselfwulfs will not look kindly on a sycophant."

"Yes, well they have so many already," Ryatt mutters.

"Indeed." Irina can't help but agree as she takes a breath. "Though you should not be overly eager to please, you should not strive to be too reserved. Lest you come across as standoffish. Don't be overly meek and try not to let your pride respond for you. Lord knows how many battles have been started because of that little sin."

"None of that makes sense! It's completely contradictory."

Irina colors. "I'm only trying to—"

Xander squeezes my hand. "You'll be fine. Just stay by my side tonight."

"And if your date has to ditch you tonight, it'll be best to put yourself on my arm," Atticus chimes from the other end of the limo we ride in. His chestnut hair is combed back stylishly, and the dark suit he wears fits his frame well. _Extremely well_. The beta is a large man standing at six four with the build of a tight end and an inviting smile almost constantly on his lips. He sends me a quick wink as I continue to stare.

My lip twitches upward in response. "I'll most certainly remember that." Xander growls playfully at his beta, but Atticus laughs it off. Leaning back in his seat he continues to speak with Katerina.

"He's right," Xander tells me softly, tucking a wayward curl behind my ear. I keep my eyes on my lap at the intimate touch. "You may need to stay near Atticus's side at some point tonight. No doubt Marius will wish to speak with me and the other alphas at some point privately. I plan to depart before the night's run commences, but I cannot guarantee I won't be stolen away. Besides," he tells me, voice still low and soft against my ear, "I'd rather you not face Marius, or any other member of his pack, unattended."

The limo stops. One by one we exit just as the others pull up and the rest of the Adolphus pack unloads. _I can do this_.

"Have you spoken with Ben?" Xander asks casually. Too casually as he pulls on the cuffs of his suit sleeve. My mouth dries instantly, and my head moves calmly from side to side. _He still hasn't returned my call_. The space between us becomes cold. I can feel the sharp stab of anger radiate from him, and the soulmark pinches in pain. "I expect it done before the end of this week," he tells me harshly beneath his breath, holding out an arm.

I feel my own sharp anger rise at his commanding tone, but choose not to answer. Rather stiffly, I place my hand at the crook of his elbow, and we walk toward the opening doors. It's now or never.

+++

"You're doing fantastic," Katerina says as she comes up to Xander and me. "Everyone seems to be playing nice tonight. A feat I am marveling at."

"Dinner has yet to be served, but I'm sure someone will begin to bite soon enough," he remarks.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I say to ease the sting of Xander's words. He's unusually tense and gruff. Of course, in part because of my news, but mostly I think it has to do with the amount of testosterone in the room. Four alphas overfill a room. All claiming the position of strongest and most dominant. A clash of wills ending in teeth and blood seems inevitable, of that I am certain.

Much like the way my magic pulls at my core as I perform and hold complex spells, Xander uses the bond between us to attempt to calm his nerves. I'm not just a prize to be shown off on his arm tonight. I'm there to keep Xander in check. I act as a buffer, and for that reason, the Adolphus pack holds an advantage. Our wolves will hold their tempers better if their alpha does and—

My thoughts stop so suddenly I almost stumble into Xander as he guides me to the dinner table. He casts a worried glance my way, but I shake my head discreetly to call off his attention.

_Our_ wolves?

Shit.

"Aleksandr, how good it is to see you," chimes a lovely voice from behind. Xander bristles and stops, slowly turning us to face the new voice. I shoot a quick look Katerina's way and see her face turn pale and drawn, before going neatly blank. The woman is roughly my height, slim, and with deeply tanned skin. It's almost as if...

"Anastasia." Xander gives the woman a curt nod.

"Well," she says after a drawn-out moment, her eyes sweeping over the two of us. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your soulmark?"

"Anastasia, this is Zoelle Baudelaire. Zoelle, this is Anastasia."

She holds out her hand, "His mother," she says. I should be praised for the way I maintain my mask of politeness in place, never hesitating in shaking Anastasia's marble hand.

"Nice to meet you." Her lips tighten around the edges of her mouth. I have clearly not given her the reaction she wanted. _Good_.

"The pleasure is all mine, dear. I feel as though I haven't seen my boy in ages, and now here he is, with his soulmark no less. My how time has passed. It seems like only yesterday he was my young little man." I maintain my easy smile. "You know, dear, if you hadn't come along my Carrie over there would have no doubt been on Xander's arm tonight." She lets out a shrill little laugh, pointing out a woman in a tight red midi dress across the room.

She is surrounded by a large group of men, but she only has eyes for Xander. As if sensing my regard, she turns her icy blue eyes my way and shares with me a wicked smile. She is stunning, and she knows it. Owns it, wearing her confidence like some badge of honor. And that smile... it's a little too knowing for my liking. I feel as if I've been knocked in the stomach, my breath sweeping from my body in a singular _whoosh_. The eyes in the room begin to look our way.

"Oh," I finally remark, swallowing thickly. The rapid beat of my heart sounds in my ears, but I know that I am not the only one who can hear it. Every single person in this room can. I somehow catch Atticus's eyes at the back of the room. He gives me a wink and takes in a deep breath. I do the same and straighten, returning my gaze to Anastasia. Her eyes gleam in satisfaction at my discomfort. I swallow once more before speaking again. "How quaint."

The words slip past my lips before I can stop them and the room immediately quiets. Anastasia bristles, nose tilting upward. "Quaint indeed," she jeers, eyeing me with distaste before brushing past us.

"Explain please," I whisper to Xander once the room begins to speak in earnest again. The rising voices thankfully hiding my own.

"Anastasia is my birth mother," he explains shortly. "She left my father, when I was six for Rollins. Katerina is my stepmother, and Ryatt and Irina are her biological children."

"You are no less my son," Katerina remarks from the side so quietly I almost miss her whispered words. She passes by us to her seat, her hand brushing against Xander's arm in doing so. "Do not forget."

Xander doesn't acknowledge Katerina's comments. Instead, he wraps his arm around my waist and guides me to my seat.

"And who is Carrie," I ask quickly before I can be engaged in other conversations.

"Anastasia's daughter. My half sister."

_Oh_. Is this one of the "old traditions" Irina eluded to during our shopping excursion? I try not to cringe outwardly as a server sets pumpkin soup before me.

"She means nothing to me," he murmurs. His fingers reach out to graze my hand but pull back at the last moment. A strange sort of fervor hangs to his words. A cut of vulnerability he does not mean to share. Before I can stop myself, my hand covers his and gives a gentle squeeze. He stares at me in nothing short of amazement and a surge of pleasure scores across my body at our contact. For once, I do not retreat.

"I know," I reply shyly, catching the glint of my bracelet in the light.

"Good evening, everyone!" Rollins booms. He stands chest puffed and arms held out wide before the gathered tables. "It is my deepest pleasure to welcome you here tonight to pay tribute to these fine youths embarking on their first Lunar Ceremony and Full Moon Hunt. This coming of age tradition, which has been passed down through the ages, deserves our utmost respect. Moreover, I am proud that we might all come together on this eve to witness my nephew and godson, Marius, take on the hunt tonight."

I cast a glance toward Irina across the table. She ignores my confused expression and keeps her eyes trained on Rollins. Hunt? I thought tonight is just about the pack running through the woods with the new wolves. At least, that's what Ryatt explained. My gaze shifts toward the other Adolphus brother. His features, though laid smoothly to reflect no emotion are ever so slightly strained.

"But tonight, we not only celebrate our young who come of age. Tonight, we also celebrate the power of the soulmark." Curious and knowing stares come our way at Rollins's obvious pause. "Two of our own, Knox and Avery, have recently completed the binding of their soulmarks to two wonderful wolves. Though they are not here tonight, I assure you it is for a good reason." He gives the crowd a salacious grin. "To all those we honor tonight, let us raise a glass in their favor. To the youth, may your paws always find the earth strong beneath you. To the women, may you bear the pack worthy pups. Long live the days of the pack! Let the moon light our way on even the darkest of nights!"

Glasses raise in the air at his closing remarks, but a disturbing charge lances through the air around the room. I try to keep calm while the meal progresses, busying myself with small talk and counting the members of each pack. I falter as I reach the Maccon pack, my numbers falling short.

"I thought to see more of the Maccons tonight," I comment lightly to Xander as the dinner plates begin to be cleared by staff.

"It would seem as though the Maccons thought better of bringing their entire pack tonight."

"But I thought—"

"Hush," he commands, gaze pinning me in place. "No more talking about the Maccons." A protest sits ready on my lips, but the words are lodged in my throat. It is a disconcerting feeling, made even more so when I try to speak once more but can't. Piercing dread and a spike of fear resonate throughout my body as I realize the familiar bindings of some kind of spell. Xander's hand cups the back of my neck and brings our heads close. "Don't panic, Zoelle. Do not cause a scene. Everything is fine. We'll stay an hour more and return home. There's nothing to get worked up over. _Calm down_." My body obeys, but my mind still races in horror. How did Xander suddenly possess such control over my body?

"What did you do?" I hiss. I feel at odds with my body. My consciousness rebelling against its treachery, even as my breathing evens out to a placid pace. _I'm calming down_ , I think with astonishment, feeling my anger retreat. I sink back in my high-backed chair. This doesn't make sense. How can Xander's simple commands have such hold over me?

"It's the mark, dear," Katerina coos from her place a seat down. "There's nothing to fret over. The second portion of the soul binding—the marking—is always a bit unsettling." I open my mouth to retort, when flashes of memories barrage me.

He kisses up and along the apex of my thighs, mumbling nonsense against my skin as his fingers take up the work...

"Please," I beg as my other hand reaches inside his shirt and inches toward his soulmark...

I cannot describe the feeling that pulsates between us. Nor the weight of the anchor that wraps us tightly together...

My horror and anger return. I tremble in response. The loose sense of calm I am commanded to have crumbling as my heart breaks. Katerina reaches out to pat my knee, leaning over one of the scariest looking members of Xander's pack to reassure me, Justin. Though dressed in a fine black suit, tailored to his stocky form, it only succeeds in making him look like some well-dressed bodyguard. Not a dinner guest.

"Xander really is quite awful at explaining all of the finer details, isn't he? You must forgive him, but know that if you have any questions, you might come to me. I'll explain everything, dear. I do love our short chats and would love to spend more time with you." Katerina straightens and gives Justin a charming smile for putting up with her antics.

Something trails down my neck and back—Xander's hand—I realize faintly. It slips away at his mother's commentary, moving to rest in his lap. Balled in a white-knuckled fist. His gaze anywhere but at me.

I don't speak. Too many thoughts and emotions rage through me to discern which are my own. A soft rage burns in my throat. How could I be so naïve? How could Xander do this to me? My foolish heart has led me astray once more. Among the hurt and confusion, I feel an indignant anger and shame. It must be Xander's. I disregard his shame, the small swell of sorrow I feel aching upward through our bond. That he can possibly find a reason to be angry with me only fuels my own ire.

"Let us allow the women to retire to the drawing room and men to the parlor. Those who will run tonight may prepare themselves in the meantime." I ignore Xander's proffered hand to help me stand, turning and rising from my seat on my own. Shoulders set stiffly back as I stare past him.

"Katerina, walk with me?" I ask, voice deceptively calm.

"Of course, dear. Justin, do follow behind." A pang of hurt jolts my heart, but I refuse to meet Xander's eyes.

"I'd love to know more about the soul binding. Your son isn't always so forthcoming with the details." Katerina reaches my side in a single stride, slipping her arm through mine and giving me a kind smile.

"I would love to tell you." Thank goodness. We wait till most of the people have emptied the room, trailing behind the last of the women to bring up the rear. "What would you like to know exactly?"

_Everything._ "I know about the soul binding process," I begin after swallowing past several lumps in my throat. "I know there is the sealing, the marking which involves blood, and the binding that requires spellbound words from both Xander and me. What I don't understand is this... _feeling_. Why does Xander have such control over me? I don't understand."

Her steps slow. "It seems my son has done you a grave injustice, if he has yet to explain the added effects an alpha brings to the process." I flush.

A bitter laugh pushes past my lips. "And here I thought we're supposed to be each other's soul mates."

"You are," she tells me adamantly. "Your souls are but two halves of one yet to be complete. The soulmark isn't just about finding your soul mate. It is about becoming whole. Becoming one. As you were always meant to be. Though many face trials during this process, I admit the alpha aspect can be daunting. My son is a powerful alpha. Wise beyond his years, having taken on the pack at such a young age, but he is a good man. He always puts his pack first, but that can be a problem when it comes to matters of the heart."

I lean into Katerina's side, slowing my pace as we walk to our destination. "Why can he control me, Katerina?"

My low-pitched plea softens the older woman. Her brows furrowing as she gazes at me with sympathy. "In completing the marking, your souls are brought closer together. Close enough that you have been drawn into the pack, my dear, sweet girl. _All_ members of the pack do as the alpha wishes."

A shaky breath escapes me. "I didn't realize," I say. My shoulders sink as I stare blankly ahead. "No one told me."

"Your family may not have understood that particular nuance, but my son should have." Her voice goes hard, and she squeezes my arm reassuringly. "Make no mistake, Zoelle. I will be having a talk with my son about the way in which he has treated you. It is unacceptable, and he knows better. I fear he is too caught up in the threats that linger too near our pack to act as the man I know him to be. Good. Kind. Respectful. I hope you'll find it in your heart to forgive him. I would hate to find you driven from our lives. I would hate to find you driven from my life. You have such a lovely warmth about you, my girl."

"You don't need to speak with your son, Katerina. _I will_." Katerina lets out a bark of laughter, covering her mouth with the back of a hand as it continues. A smile graces my lips as the older woman composes herself. "I need to stand my ground with him. Be stronger and stop second guessing myself," I tell her, quiet passion in my words as they ring true from every fiber of my being. An old touch of confidence sparks inside of me. No more hesitating, I think to myself.

"I'm glad to hear it. Your life can only be lived once. One should not do so passively," Katerina agrees as we near the drawing room. "It is about time my son met his match. But never forget, you are my son's happiness, and in time he may be yours as well. Being that, if I can help in any way to make this passage easier, I will. You need only reach out to me, and I will be there."

My throat tightens, thick with emotion. Katerina is much more than the alpha female of the Adolphus pack. She is truly a mother. So much so it brings to mind my own.

"Does the marking do anything besides bring me into the pack?" I ask.

"Only that, my dear. You may feel the undercurrent of the packs' emotional state now that you are part of it. You are now another thread in our giant web, so to speak. And again, there is the will of the alpha that we all feel compelled to follow. Fear not. My son is a good man, Zoelle. He does not abuse his power with the pack. He might bully a person into getting what he wants out of them, but it is done with only love in his heart. My son is a good alpha," she insists, head nodding firmly at the punctuation. "And he will make you a good husband one day."

I duck my head at her presumptions, though if I'm honest, I no longer think them so far off the mark. The heightened emotional connection between us and my body's urge to heed Xander's every word make much more sense now. A flush spreads at the base of my neck, crawling upward as I recall once more when Xander marked me.

Katerina pulls me into the drawing room. We earn several pointed looks, but for the most part are ignored. A fact I am thankful for as I rein in my blush. A short look over my shoulder reveals no Justin. I frown. When the giant man had slipped away I have no idea, but I dislike the thought of him relaying our conversation to Xander. Hopefully the giant man would remain silent.

"As for the binding," Katerina clears her throat, coloring prettily. "It's quite... intimate—"

Crash!

Every head turns toward the patio doors at the unexpected noise. Conversations halt as panicked looks are shared. It only takes a moment for the women to rush outdoors toward the scene, heels clicking decisively against the dark cherry flooring in their haste. Katerina and I share a grave look before running after them.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 10

Broken

"I unjust?" Rollins snarls through the thick of the crowd. "You have the nerve to speak to me of injustice? Your father ripped apart this pack with no regard to the aftereffects of his actions. Centuries of tradition abandoned. There are great consequences—"

"He paid for them with his life," Xander growls back. "Him, along with countless others. Enough is enough."

The women push their way through the crowd, inserting themselves closer to the scene, Katerina and I among them. Rollins's laughter echoes in the clear night sky, a smile full of teeth directed at Xander.

"I merely seek to claim retribution for every man and woman of the Wselfwulf pack who died at your father's hand and that of your pack of dogs." The crowd snarls and growls viciously at the insult, but it merely urges Rollins on. "Thirteen dead of mine, and thirteen of yours. These are the laws that rule the pack."

"Your pack," Xander retorts hotly, "not mine. We seek no revenge, only peace to live as we wish."

"And go on so flagrantly disregarding our ways? The laws that bind us all together as one?" The gathering simmers to a quiet, and an uneasy feeling washes over me. Things are about to take a turn for the worse. I know it without a doubt. I begin to move closer to Katerina, navigating my way closer to her side when a hand snatches my upper arm and drags me back.

"Not yet," a female voice hisses into my ear. I turn my head a fraction to see Carrie's mahogany curls. Her sapphire eyes shine with eerie specks of gold. Her nails dig sharply down, and the sharp point of cold metal presses into my side. _Iron_. I think with a shiver as I feel its piercing pressure down to my bones.

"Let me go," I spit through clenched teeth.

"Not yet," she mocks. I can feel my flesh tear beneath her unrelenting grip and bite back a whimper.

"Twelve, Aleksandr. I am owed one more."

"Now." She pants against my ear, using her extraordinary strength to plow us through the crowd and toss me forward into its center. Right into Rollins waiting hands.

"No!" Xander roars. Rollins laughs again. The manic cackle scratches at my ears as I attempt to escape his hold to no avail. Xander's cutting fear and rage rocket through my body.

"She is a pretty young thing," Rollins coos, fingers dragging across my cheek and neck.

"You're disgusting," I say vehemently.

"And what bark!" The Wselfwulf pack laughs, but the others remain stoic. I catch Xander's frantic eyes, feel his mounting panic the longer I remain within Rollins hold. I whimper in response. _I must be strong_.

"Fuck you, asshole," I snarl. "My grandmother will _kill_ you for this. Whatever your pathetic reasons are, know that for this slight, my coven will hunt you down like the pack of dogs you are."

The outdoor collection silences at my threat. Certainly not expecting such savage words from such a petite girl—no, not girl—woman. And this woman is filled with righteous anger, and she will no longer stand idly by. I catch the eyes of several pack members, their shining resolve and determination giving me strength.

Rollins cackles. "Oh, my poor little witch, what big words you have. Tonight, is nothing personal. You're merely... collateral damage of the best sort. I only wish to crush the Adolphus pack. See them suffer and regain what I have lost." His words are sickly sweet. _Mad_ , I think, _he's mad_. All manner of crazed joy drops from his face. A wicked leer pulling at his features. "No matter what the cost. I will not stop until I have them _begging_ for their end."

Heartfelt loathing covers his words, and the pack of wolves around us become restless with nervous energy. Even Rollins seems unsettled by his manic confession. His words are a clear contradiction to his earlier justifications thanks to the bracelet's effects.

"You would seek harm to another pack for selfish gains Rollins Wselfwulf?"

Samuel Beldig steps forward, arms folded across his mighty chest. A large man, well over six feet tall and stacked with muscles, his heavy voice laces with displeasure, and much of the crowd shrinks back away from it. From the other side the crowd parts to reveal Jacob Maccon, a dark frown on his face. He nods to Samuel and Xander, shifting toward Xander's side of the makeshift gauntlet.

"What say you Rollins Wselfwulf?" Samuel persists.

I can feel Rollins heart hammering against his breast from behind. He holds me tighter, forces the breath from my lungs in his crushing grip.

"Yes," he cries hoarsely. The crowd gasps in astonishment, followed by a murmur of dissatisfaction.

"Please—" I pant, squirming uncomfortably.

"Let the girl go, Wselfwulf," Jacob commands. But his words only stir a violent reaction. I scream out as Rollins tightens his hold, several of my ribs cracking in protest.

"Let her go!" Xander bellows, taking several steps forward. Xander is nearly foaming at the mouth, his body shaking with terrible tremors.

"I will have my thirteen," Rollins thunders back, sidestepping Xander's advance, but there is nowhere for him to run. Even his own pack stall in confusion at their alpha's crazed will.

"Then take me in her stead," a voice cries from the crowd. Katerina bursts through the crowd, her head held high.

"No!" Xander and I shout at the same time. But our pleas are useless. In a moment, everything comes crashing down.

I am flung to the ground, and the wolves descend. Mutely I watch in horror as Rollins lunges toward Katerina, and she toward him. The other alphas, a hairsbreadth too late to stop their impact as the Wselfwulf pack attack to protect their alpha. Bodies collide into one another with deadly intent, and I am roughly pulled to my feet, an angry fist in my hair. I claw at the hand, panting and heaving as I am dragged backward.

"You slu—" Carrie does not get to finish her taunt. I brace my feet beneath me and surge back into her hold, no longer resisting her forceful pulling. My head butts into the middle of her chest, and she releases me with a grunt. "You're going to regret that," she promises, her eyes going completely golden, her features transforming when a body slams into her own.

I clutch my sides as I take in a few ragged breaths, trying to stumble my way out of the fighting packs. My eyes search for Xander and find him easily. He's taken on several members of the Wselfwulf pack, throwing punches and expertly dodging their hits. I lurch toward him, only to run face first into Justin's chest.

"No—"

"I have to get you out of here," he tells me gruffly, lifting me off my feet and into his arms. He barrels through the crowd before I can protest, and then I hear it. _Feel it_. A shattering of something inside me as Irina's scream cuts through the air. Justin swings around and shudders to a stop halfway. "I have to get you out of here." His voice is strained with anguish as his feet continue to move him forward.

"What's wrong? What's hap—" I pull myself up and frantically search over his shoulder into the crowd only to let out my own shrill cry.

Because Katerina isn't moving. _She isn't moving_. I kick and punch at Justin, worming my way out of his hold despite the twisting of my ribcage and the flood of pain that follows. I have to get there. I have to save her. I barely get two steps around Justin before his arms are locked around me once more.

"Stop fighting me, pack mate." His orders fall on deaf ears, for my body is pulsing and shivering with emotion as I stare at Katerina's lifeless body. "There's nothing you can do," he whispers roughly in my ear, his voice clotted with emotion.

But there is. There has to be.

My hands jut out. Ancient words hurtle past my lips. Ones I am unfamiliar with but somehow inexplicably know.

A blinding flash of green light erupts around us, and then there is nothing. Nothing at all.

+++

I sleep through her funeral. It's like a punch to the gut, when I awaken and discover this fact.

They couldn't wait for me to awaken from my spell-induced slumber. The one created from the backlash of my spell.

Yet the shame and pain I feel are nothing in comparison to that of Xander's or the pack. Pack mate. That's what Justin had called me. There are bonds, I learn quickly, that tie us all together. Each pack member's sorrow and mourning pulses through the pack bonds and are only enhanced through my soulmark with Xander.

Xander and Atticus have the audacious task of soothing the pack's heartache. It is a task I do not envy but live through nonetheless. As alpha and beta, they can manipulate the pack's emotions. To feel courage and strength. To give love and take away the pain. Or soothe it. Calm it and put it to rest. They make steady progress, Xander caring for the higher-ranking members of the pack, and Atticus the lesser. Once enough of the higher-ranking wolves come to some semblance of peace, they too begin to help the other members of the pack heal. To accept the great loss and begin to move on.

I wish I hadn't woken up. Stayed in the darkness of my mind and left behind the new world I find myself in. But it's not to be.

I come to weeping, the pack's pain echoing through the bonds and leaving me helpless, afraid, and so terribly heartbroken. For I know her sacrifice had been for naught. The Wselfwulf pack will not be satisfied. They will never be satisfied until Xander and his entire family lie crushed beneath their feet. Until the Adolphus pack is destroyed.

Xander and his siblings hardly know what to do about my ramblings and hysterics. To be honest, I don't either. Emotions overload my senses making me sick with grief. Of course, my downward spiral spills through the soulmark, and soon enough Xander finds himself combating my depression as well. The aunts and Gran are called, but Atticus puts my fears and sorrow at ease. He soothes the wound against my soul as he pours his love onto me through the pack bonds.

I sleep for three more days after that, and when I awake next, all I feel is numb. Gran comes and brings me home, Irina tagging along with a suitcase almost as large as a Newfoundland. They force draught after draught of Essence of Peace and Tranquility down my throat till I wonder if I will ever feel anything again. Irina assures me softly each night that all will be well, and that my distress distracts Xander too greatly. He cannot heal the pack if he is so constantly wrapped up in my despondent state.

"I thought you were supposed to be a cook," Irina bemoans by my side. She tosses her magazine to the floor with a _humph_ and rolls on her side to face me.

"A chef," I correct without much vigor.

"What's the difference?" A note of genuine curiosity comes through. I almost smile. Irina has barely left my side all week, and it's clear to me now that her snobbish mask is just that. A mask. She feels with great depth, but her societal airs would have you think otherwise. Now I find them more amusing than anything since I can catch the teasing gleam in her eyes.

"A cook doesn't go through any real schooling or formal training. I went to culinary school. I might not have made my mark yet, but someday." _Someday when my emotions are mine again. When my heart isn't in tattered pieces_.

"Maybe today we just have tea." I hum idly in response. "Zoe." My eyes turn toward the raven-haired beauty. She looks at me thoughtfully, but a particular pain stains her features. "Mother"—her eyes well slightly with tears—"she wouldn't have wanted you to stay this way for so long. She would have wanted you to be strong. For all of us to be strong."

My eyes close softly, and I turn my gaze up to the ceiling. "I'm sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry about," she reprimands me harshly, then sighs. The bed shifts with her next movements. Most likely turning on her back the same as I am. "Mother went in there with a plan in her mind. One she didn't share with any of us, knowing how we would respond. She—she left a note. A letter for all of us. Even for you."

This stirs something inside of me. A small symphony of emotions swell in my stomach for just a moment before deflating. Some mix of happiness and sadness. They are at least my own.

"It's on your dresser. You can choose to read it or not." These words come out more steadily. "And we really do need to start bringing you back to the real world again. Agnus and Charlie at the bakery understand the circumstances, but I've only recently learned that you're the one who added the bourbon apples to their blooming sin-a-bon recipe. And they won't make them without you there."

I manage to lift the corners of my lips. "Really?"

"Really." Her disdain and pout come through crystal clear. "Your emotions should be more manageable by now. I know that you were unprepared for what you felt, but Xander and Atticus have allayed most of the pain. By the time you are off all of these nonsensical potions and such, you should find that all of your emotions are your own."

"And Xander's," I add dispassionately.

"He's trying to temper the bond between you. So that you don't have to feel so much."

"Because he thinks I'll go off the deep end again?"

"No." She rebukes me. "It is only that he mourns the loss of a mother once more. I think he does not want you to think lesser of him. To see him as weak." Irina scoffs. "As if anyone would even think of considering him weak. He only just happens to be one of the few great alphas our pack has ever seen." She sniffs delicately, and the bed dips as she rolls away. "I'm going downstairs to put on the kettle and set out some ingredients. When you come down, we can decide what to make. You can't stay in here forever."

Her feet shuffle softly from the room, down the stairs, and disappear. I lay for a moment longer in the silence. Live in it. I can't stay in here forever; it's true. Katerina would not have wanted that or my own mother. Nor I. I sit upright, the movement causing my head to spin as I try to get my bearings. Time to face the world.

I make my way toward the door but hesitate. My feet take me back toward my dresser where an envelope bears my name in dainty, cursive script. The envelope is light. It shakes in my hand as I stare it down uncertainly. Ripping open the envelope, a single piece of paper with only two words on it falls out.

_Love him_.

+++

The draughts take time to wear off, almost ten days to be exact. Though my heart feels heavy with sorrow, it is indeed my own. I meet with Xander under the supervision of both our families as we return Irina to the Adolphus estate. Our eyes meet across the large expanse of the entrance hall; my heart catches in my throat at the sight of him.

Hair tousled, eyes lined with dark circles and clothes a mess, his eyes still shine as he stands tall before me. I remember the rush of pride that sweeps through me, and the love. The cascading shower of it pouring through the soulmark and pack bonds. I taste the salt on my lips before I realize I am crying. For once, not tears of sadness.

We collide together. Arms interlocked. Faces pressed tightly to one another. The beat of our hearts sounding as one as I hold him closer, so impossibly closer.

"Zoelle." My name crosses his lips like some kind of prayer. Adorant. Fervent. I tremble. I pull back from our mighty embrace only to lose myself in the forest of his eyes.

"I have to go," I tell him slowly, worrying my lip at his crestfallen expression. I raise my hand to cup his cheek, my thumb sweeping over his coarse beard. Through the soulmark, I pass my intentions. His eyes widen in understanding, then darken in want, a deep growl resonating from within him.

It's far past time I take control of my life. To stop living in indecision and fear. Katerina's words surface in my mind.

Your life can only be lived once. One should not do so passively.

"Go then," he whispers, turning his head to press a kiss to the palm of my hand. His eyes never leave my own. "Then come back to me." I nod. A soaring sense of elation runs rampant through my body as I turn and walk out the door, Gran's car keys in hand.

I drive straight to Missoula, my elation evaporating as I near the city limits. _Oh, Ben_ , I think in quiet despair, _I'm sorry. You never deserved this_.

And I don't deserve you.

+++

I sit silently in Gran's Toyota Corolla waiting for Ben to return home from work. The sun dips past the horizon by the time he pulls up in front of his townhouse. But he's not alone. A woman, shorter than I am but with pearly white skin and a handsome smile exits the front passenger seat laughing. In her arms is a box filled with files. Ben hops out and opens the back-seat door to reveal a lanky man with glasses holding a box of his own. He makes a comment, and the trio burst into another round of laughter before heading toward the apartment. I suck in a deep breath and exit the car.

I should have taken something for courage. Or more of the draughts. Anything to stave off my guilt.

"Ben." He has to do a double take when he sees me, a large smile spreading across his face.

"Zoey!" he says something to the other two, and they walk ahead into the house, giving me quick smiles in passing. I meet him halfway, and immediately I'm pulled into a hug. "I didn't know you were coming," he exclaims softly into my hair. "I'm sorry I never got back to you before, I've been crazy busy. To be honest, I'm still pretty busy," he says with a laugh, "but if you don't mind hanging around with a bunch of finance nerds—hey!"

My arms stay tight around him as he tries to release me from our union, and another little laugh bursts forth from him at my display of affection.

"Come on, let's go inside. I'll introduce you to Chella and Dave." I shake my head against his chest, and this time when he pulls away, I allow it.

"I can't," I tell him, eyes cast downward. _Just breathe_. I force my eyes to meet his, just like Gran taught me. They are already filled with tears ready to be released. "I _can't_ , Ben."

He swallows. Puts away his smile and folds his arms across his chest. "What do you mean? Why?"

My confession lodges in my throat. Refusing to budge. _I have to do this_. No more running away. "I—"

"Come inside," he pleads, "come inside and stay. Stay with me. Don't go."

" _I can't_."

"Can't or won't?" he asks as he kicks at the ground. "Why did you come here, Zoey?"

"I needed to talk to you about something. Something important." Ben's brows furrow and a pang of sadness hits my heart. _I'm so sorry Ben. About everything_. "But as it happens these past few weeks have been pretty crazy for me too. Xander's mother passed away." Ben's mouth open and closes with dismay. He makes a move to come closer. To hold me once more in his arms, but I shift back.

"I didn't know," he utters. "I'm sorry. Please give my condolences to his family."

"I will."

The air between us feels taut. As if I could pitch off the end and hurtle toward nothingness with one wrong move. I don't know how to continue, but it's clear I must. After all, Ben isn't the one trying to break us apart.

"Ben... Xander and I, we... that is to say—"

"You fucked him?" My eyes widen in shock. I stare at the hard lines across Ben's face in horror.

"What? No!" I cry stepping forward. "No. I didn't. We didn't do that." He looks away, cheeks coloring in embarrassment at his hasty conclusion. "I swear we didn't do that."

"Sorry."

I swallow. Hard. No more running. It's far past time I take responsibility for my actions. My biggest regret now is only having put it off for so long. "Don't be sorry. I'm the one who needs to be sorry—who is sorry. There are things that have developed between him and I, Ben. And it wouldn't be right for me to continue on with you. I'm sorry, Ben. I'm so sorry," I tell him earnestly.

Ben remains quiet, his silence grating my nerves as I search his face for some kind of emotion. Though what I seek I know I will not find.

"Say something, please."

"You've been cheating on me with this guy?" he asks. "Xander? The one from lunch a few weeks ago?" I shake my head slowly, feeling as if someone has grabbed hold of my heart and wrenched it callously from its spot.

"No"— _Just breathe. Just say it._ —"his brother." Tears spill over my cheeks at my whispered confession and the way the color falls from Ben's face. "I'm so sorry, Ben. I didn't plan on—"

He laughs humorously, taking a few steps back as he shakes his head. "Right. I get it. Is that the line Jamie used?"

His words cut. Just as they're intended to. I draw in a sharp breath as I fight for some semblance of composure. "This is completely different—"

"You cheated on me, Zoey. How the hell is it any different?" I have no response. "When?"

I wipe away my tears and release a ragged breath, closing my eyes to think. "A few weeks ago, just before his mother died." A stray wind skates through the street, whipping the fallen leaves around us. The streetlights flicker on. They paint Ben's face in gaunt shadows.

"That day at the cafe... when his brother came around. That's when it started, wasn't it? That's what you wanted to talk about that day?" I nod my head disjointedly, unable to speak as I watch Ben run his hands over his face. "Fuck, Zoelle. Did I mean anything to you? Anything at all?"

"You know you did!"

"Do you love me?"

Another hit. One I take less gracefully as I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the ground. "I tried," I whisper hoarsely, daring to look up. His head bows, shoulders hunched. The perfect picture of misery.

"Great," he says bitterly. The cold word bites, but there is nothing more to be said. "You should go. I'm sure he's waiting for you, probably having a good laugh with his brother over this."

"No, Ben—"

"Don't." He interrupts me harshly, his eyes full of loathing as he takes me in. "Just go. You never even gave us a real chance. I should have known better. Go!" I take a few hesitant steps backward.

"I'm sorry," I whisper brokenly once last time, then turn and go.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 11

Bound

Everyone is in a flurry of activity. Witches and wolves alike enter and exit our home to pick up supplies. The kitchen is filled. Constantly. By me and other brewers as we concoct potions, tonics, draughts, elixirs, balms, and salves. Someone works solely on divining essences of wolfsbane and amber. Another works with a caster to make some kind of magical grenade. It's a sort of controlled chaos, for although people cram into the space, I never feel like they are in my way. Nothing is out of reach, when I need it, and advice and tips are given without thought. It's a unique and wonderful experience. One I desperately need after my breakup with Ben, but it's also mildly terrifying. Because there is only one reason we stock our supplies: war.

The crystal, I learn, was not given in its entirety. To be exact, only half of the crystal was given in exchange for the counterfeit sunlight ring. Which means the crystal will not be able to boost the products of the land. The coven didn't learn of this deceit until a week after the trade was made. It roused the initial production operation. Around the time I was home in my bedridden depression, the Stormrow's ring began to fail, and the resulting confrontation was messy.

The Stormrow's claimed fault over the arrangement, stating that trading the counterfeit ring was far more deceitful than providing only half the crystal. When Gran and the aunts demanded to know why the crystal was not given in full, then the Stormrow's admitted to only owning one-half of it. When questioned why a counterfeit ring was produced instead of the real thing, Gran revealed her knowledge of their nightwalker benefactor. It had gone downhill after that, and though Gran and Aunt Lydia had made it out of the short battle relatively unscratched, Aunt Mo hadn't fared as well. She spent most of her days at the Axleys in their greenhouse.

I went to visit her the other day and was amazed at how large the greenhouse was inside when compared to its outward dimensions. Aunt Mo laughed gaily at that. Her fingers working on a flower crown stopped to clasp my hands in hers. Patches of red and black littered her skin, but she reassured me, they were receding with the help of the All Mother. I had wanted to bring her some treat, but by that time the kitchen had been well taken over, so instead I regaled her with my night at the Wselfwulfs, my interactions with Xander, and my break up with Ben. It was the first time I had been able to speak about any of the events without turning into a complete mess. Though I still cried.

"It's good to cry, sweetheart. Let it out. Give your body and mind the release they deserve from your worries and troubles, and just _be_ ," Aunt Mo said to me in earnest.

The problem is I have no idea how to _just be_. What does that mean? I don't have time to dwell, though my mind steadfastly returns to the question when not preoccupied, for we are meeting with the Adolphus pack to discuss the coming full moon. After all, the Stormrows aren't the only family out for blood.

+++

"She's sure there will be an attack on the full moon? Isn't there some kind of margin of error that comes with precognition?"

"Kymberly Moon has yet to make a false prediction in her young thirteen years of life. If the girl says there is to be a fight on the night of the full moon, then there will be," Gran tells me, eyeing me through the rearview mirror with a frown. I slouch in my seat. We are headed to the Adolphus manor to talk strategy for the coming full moon, and it seems nothing can be said to alleviate our collective tension. My lips fasten closed as I stare pensively out the window.

Only a couple of days have passed since the breakup, and I have yet to see Xander. Though we speak to each other over the phone, and his heated kisses and caresses fill my dreams, I am on edge at the thought of having to see him.

Where do we go from here? The soulmark is already sealed and marked. Would we complete the binding tonight? And what exactly would that entail? My heartbeat surges forward at the questions. _I might have an idea or three of what it might entail_.

"We're here," Gran says with a sigh, parking the Toyota in the manor's driveway and pulling out her keys.

"It's going to be all right, Diana. Kymberly said as much. As long as we get the crystal in place along with the reinforcement crystals, it should hold. The barrier can be erected, and we'll be safe." Aunt Lydia says.

"Until the barrier fails," Gran responds stiffly, exiting the car. "The reinforcement crystals will only hold for so long. Once their energy is spent, they'll be useless to us. We need to find the other half of the crystal."

Our car doors slam shut in unison. An ominous touch to an ominous day. "Everything is going to be all right," I repeat, more to myself than anyone else as we make our way to the front doors. They open before we are halfway there. Ryatt stands in the doorway with his phone pressed tightly to his ear. He ends his conversation before we reach him, his once-strained features smoothing out into a charming smile as he greets us.

"Shall we, ladies?" He closes the door behind us and leads us upstairs to an area of the house I have yet to see. We pass by a slew of Chagall's abstract work that my gaze drifts over without much thought until we reach our destination. The room is large and already filled with a dozen people. A dozen wolves. We enter, and the room quiets expectantly. Ryatt guides us to a chesterfield for our seats, but my steps stall as I seek out Xander. He is leaning over a desk with a man at each side, but his face is tilted upward, and his eyes are trained on me. My breath catches in my throat, and he slowly straightens.

He's dressed all in black. Black trousers, black belt, black button down. They fit him like a second skin, outlining without reserve every muscle. Something akin to electricity passes between us, and I am seized by an uncontrollable stab of desire. The soulmark flares to life against my skin.

"Work now, play later, little sister," Ryatt teases as he takes my arm and leads me to my seat. I flush and send him a stern glare, but he merely grins happily in response.

"Let's discuss the timeline again, shall we? Our seer is unable to determine when the Wselfwulf pack will descend upon us. Their plans are too erratic, and they keep changing their intentions," Gran begins.

"Which is unusual for the Wselfwulfs. They like their order. No doubt Rollins is under significant pressure from his pack to deliver some kind of promise. While some of the pack shares Rollins disdain for ours, a fair majority wish for peace. If we can finish this tomorrow tonight, it may prove to end our entire feud," Xander replies.

"In your experience, what is Rollins most likely to do? When do you think he'll attack?" Aunt Lydia inquires. Several from the small crowd answer at once, their answers varying greatly until a grand argument creeps up like the tide on the verge of ruining the entire meeting.

"Silence!" Xander hollers, fist slamming down on the desk. "This fighting will get us nowhere. Let's work together to eliminate what is most illogical." The group falls quiet.

"Well," I say slowly, "when _won't_ they come? Surely, they won't attack in the daylight, right? The crystals need to be activated at midnight tomorrow, but we could have our men and women stationed in the forest well before then. I mean, we have the hometown advantage, right? Why not use it? The placement of the crystal is only a couple of miles outside of town in the forest. It's well over a couple of miles for the Wselfwulfs." My ramblings receive a small round of murmured agreements and nods.

"They won't come until after sunset," Irina agrees, "which is set to take place at 6:59 p.m."

"There will be too much chance of civilian casualties so early in the evening. They would not dare risk their true faces being seen," a man says. He looks oddly familiar, his dark hair and dark features jogging my memory.

"Agreed brother," Ryatt interjects. "I believe an attack before nine o'clock is very unlikely." Something about the phrase makes me gasp in recognition at the other man.

"There's nothing like a new moon, is there, brother!" Ryatt called out joyously.

"I'm not your, brother," Keenan responded, voice gravelly and harried.

Keenan meets my eyes unexpectedly, and a look of understanding flashes over his face. He bows his head to me, a look of contrition quick to flash my way before he does so. I find myself giving a brief nod, not realizing the others in the room watch our interaction closely.

"You've met?" Aunt Lydia asks. Blood rushes to my cheeks.

"Just once," I mutter, "it's not important."

"Then, let's continue, shall we?" Gran states, eyeing me dubiously from her seat at my side. I blush once more, and the conversation resumes. We discuss the placement of wolves and eldritch witches—our coven's warriors—in great detail with everyone crowding around the map on the table until Gran and Aunt Lydia pull out a magic trick to appease the crowded circle. An almost holographic super-sized mirror of the map is projected into the seating area we just vacated. Xander moves a chess piece representing a team of wolves on the map on the desk, and the magical projection mimics its movement.

Things move along quickly then. We agree upon times. Places of ambush and greater lines of defense negotiated and confirmed. Contingency plans are formed. After three hours of nonstop discussion, all seem satisfied. People linger to deliver their farewells, even Gran and Aunt Lydia. I'm sucked into a salacious retelling of one of Ryatt's recent conquests as I attempt to say goodbye. His saga depicts the lengths he went to secure a supposed necklace from a fiery ex-girlfriend hell-bent on ruining his good name. A remark that precipitates my eyebrows drawing into my hairline.

"And then as I finished her off, for I'm never one to leave a woman wanting, my other hand—"

"Enough, Ryatt! Honestly, must you always be so crude? Zoe doesn't want to hear about your extracurricular activities." Irina comes up to my side and places a quick kiss on my cheek. "You don't have to suffer through his indecent retellings, Zoe. Just tell him no and swat him on the nose like a bad dog." Ryatt's eyes sparkle as he opens his mouth to deliver his retort, but the final Adolphus walks up to our small circle.

"Leave us," he commands.

Ryatt rolls his eyes. "As if we need to be told." Irina and Ryatt walk away, knowing smiles passing between them as they leave us.

"Oh," I remark as I take in the empty room behind us. "I didn't realize everyone had gone." Even Gran and Aunt Lydia.

"Ryatt does have the unique ability to capture people's unwavering attention with his stories I'm afraid. Even if said stories are..."

"About his sex life?" I finish with a laugh.

"And told in far too much detail." Xander smiles and laughs along, but our laughter soon dies. The resounding silence that follows fills the space between us. Xander takes a step forward, and I one back. A flash of frustration flickers behind his hooded eyes. He takes another decisive step forward and I, yet again, one back. "Still? After all this time, you would chance the chase, Zoelle?"

I bite my lip, my own frustrations surfacing as our emotions tunnel toward each other through the soulmark. "Why do you do that?" I ask, summoning ire to prolong the inevitable.

"Do what?" he asks back patiently, though his waning temper thrums through the soulmark.

"Call me that." His head tilts to the side.

"Zoelle?"

"Yes, that," I respond stiffly. "Nobody calls me that—"

"Your grandmother calls you by that name. Why shouldn't I?"

"Because"— _just breathe_ —"I prefer Zoe. Everyone calls me Zoe."

"Except your grandmother." He points out again, shuffling forward. I take two steps away, placing one of the armchairs between us.

"Gran is family," I snap, surprised at the heat of my emotion. He frowns at that. Stills and mulls over my small admission. Inside a sadness long since stowed away tears forth. Only family called me Zoelle: Mom, Dad, Clara, and Gran. Only family.

"You're my soulmark, Zoelle. You're my whole goddamn universe. I think I've earned the right to call you by your given name."

I find myself shaking my head at his insistence. Old insecurities rear their ugly heads. I've lost my family. Lost my first love to another woman. Lost a good man because I can't control my desires. I can't do this. Can't lose myself to this man and the link between us. And what if... what if I lose him too? Tomorrow night Xander will lead his pack against the Wselfwulfs, and there is no guarantee he will come back.

Every nerve in my body holds taut with heightened emotion. Xander pours love and reassurance through the bond, aiming to placate me. But lurking beneath the presence of his wolf stirs. My eyes meet Xander's.

They're hunting me. Both of them.

Blood rushes through my veins, my fear practically paralyzing. Run or stay? I can feel my breath coming faster and faster as I screw my eyes shut. Maybe I can do this. I just need more time! I open my eyes and stumble back with a short cry. Xander easily crosses the distance between us during my short moment of reflection. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me into his body with a growl.

"Dammit, Zoelle, stop doing this. Stop trying to put this distance between us. What are you hoping to achieve? You want me to leave? To go? Never talk or see you again? Ignore the soulmark?" He barks out a harsh laugh. "Well too fucking bad. I'm not going anywhere. I'm always going to be there for you. You're not getting rid of me. You're not. _I'm not leaving_."

His words crash over me like a tidal wave, and I sink into his hold. "Damn you," I mutter, knowing he can hear each word perfectly clear. My fear and walls crumbling as he leans in closer.

"Just give me a chance, Zoelle," Xander pleads.

" _Love him_ ," Katrina said. Can the answer be so easy? My hands come to rest tentatively on his chest. They fall over his heart, and I listen for one beat. Two. Three.

Our eyes meet.

"Tell me you're mine," he whispers hotly. He steps forward, every inch of his body suddenly pressed against mine. I let out a shuddering breath and feel his own as I utter my response.

"I'm yours."

He pins me against the nearest wall before he rewards my admission with a searing kiss. It's full of tongue and teeth. Biting and sucking. He trails his hands across my body. Leaves me squirming and whining in the pleasure he builds between us. My own hands trail down his lithe muscles. I love the way they strain beneath my touch.

"Say it again," he repeats, pulling back from our kiss to look me in the eye.

"I'm yours," I breathe as I rub my body against his, seeking release I know only he can give. He gives a pleased growl and attacks my neck, his hands winding their way underneath my shirt to unclasp my bra and touch me. I let out a wanton moan as his hands cup my breast, my hips bucking in need against his own as he bites and loves on my neck. God, I haven't felt this worked up in... ever. Never has a man inspired such— _ahh_.

His lips capture mine once more. One hand pinches and twists my nipple, and I open my mouth with a heady moan. He deepens the kiss. I strain to pull him closer. He responds in kind, then coaxes soft, little, desperate noises from me that he swallows with his lips. _Dear God, have mercy_. My hands race down his shirt, furiously undoing each button before ripping it off his body.

He looks down at me in a daze. His lips are swollen. His eyes are amber and gold across a forest of green. "Again," he growls, hands tugging at the bottom of my shirt, up and over my head along with my bra.

"I'm—" _yours_.

He steers me around until the back of my knees hit the end of an armchair. We stumble, but only momentarily. His hands are on my hips and back, steadying me as he leans in. My back arches painfully at his hunger, but with a slight nudge, I am pushed back onto the body of the couch. Xander hovers over me, eyes sweeping over my naked chest and stomach possessively. A liquid heat curls and spreads deep inside me, making me ache with want. I catch his eyes once more. See the longing in them that mirrors my own.

Rough hands capture my thighs and lift up. His hips fall forward into my parted thighs as his lips trail down my neck, then across my breasts, where he teases and worries the tender flesh into almost unbearable sensitivity. My fingers claw at his arms and chest. My hips rise to meet the firm heated part of him, fit so snuggly against my own soaking center. I can feel his roguish smile against my breast as he moves lower still, his hands making quick work of my jeans.

_I should have worn my black lacy thong_. I think desperately as his warm breath fans against my naval. _And shaved_. But Xander does not seem to share my worry. His fingers move aside my blue cotton underwear with care, and he makes a small appreciative noise at the unveiling. I tremble in anticipation. Heavy-lidded eyes meet mine from below, and his tongue slips inside of me.

I let out a coarse cry, something close to a whine that gives him pause, and then he returns to his task. His tongue lays flat across my heated flesh, then flicks upward. Again and again. He gives his own groan of appreciation as one arm locks around a still trembling leg and hikes it over his shoulder before diving in. Xander tastes me like a man who has never known the pleasure of a bourbon chocolate truffle. Or sweet decadence of summer's first picked strawberry. His attention is unwavering, and I shift restlessly in his hold. He nips at my clit in rebuke, almost bringing me over the edge.

Xander pulls back abruptly, and I almost cry out in distress, but then his hands are ripping my underwear off. The tear of the fabric sounds almost too loudly, but it's nothing to dwell on. Not when his hands are moving decisively to his pants. I scoot back, my lip caught between my teeth as I watch in anticipation where the dark trail of hair will lead. He doesn't disappoint. The sudden visage of his cock, hard and thick and long—I swallow, and my eyes dart to him in slight panic. I feel a girlish blush stain my cheeks as I avert my eyes. His pants land on the floor with a soft thud and the leather cushion sinks at his added weight.

"What is it?" he asks, lips running over my jaw.

"Nothing," I respond, hating how breathless I sound. His erection brushes against my clit, drawing the smallest of moans from my lips.

"Tell me," he whispers, nipping at my chin. The commanding lilt to his words compels me to answer.

"It's not going to fit," I blurt out and Xander freezes. I freeze too, my hands stilling in their silent exploration of his chest. Then, his body begins to shake ever so slightly above my own. My eyes dart toward his face uneasily, before they are taken over by a scowl. "It's not funny," I tell him tersely as his low chuckles reach my ears. His hips gently move forward, his cock sliding the length of my core as his soft laughter dies and catches in his throat.

"You're right. Not funny," he responds, his eyes finding mine as he adjusts us. He places one leg around his hip and braces an arm on the armrest behind me. "And yes, it is."

And then he is pressing into me. The pressure and friction so wonderful I keen in response. We stay like that a moment. Xander pressed fully inside me, his hand gripping tightly at the flesh below my hip. He shudders and inhales deeply, a resonating growl tearing from his throat as he draws back his hips and slams forward. We both moan at the sensation, our eyes meeting once more before all thoughts flee and we are one.

He thrusts remorselessly. He pounds into me with almost terrifying force. And I can do nothing but buck my hips in answer. We are a wild union, and somewhere in the midst of our coupling, his hand slips between us to rub at the slippery, wet flesh till my breathing turns erratic.

"Xander," I pant, my hand clawing around his shoulder and grazing his soulmark. His hips slam harder into me than expected, the flash of pleasure succeeding it so great I almost faint. For one fleeting moment, he is all I feel. Inside me and around me. Pulsing with heat and want and desire. I tug him closer. Hitch my other leg around his waist and urge him on. "More." I breathe desperately, almost sobbing in relief as he grinds down into me.

_Fuck_.

He growls savagely against my neck, pinning my hips down with his own as he barrels into me. I writhe against the couch, my end in sight as he steals a frantic kiss from my lips.

"Say it," he breathes into my ear. I tilt my head back, my neck bent in an offering. "Say that you are mine and that you bind yourself to me, freely."

"I am yours," I moan. "I bind myself to you, Aleksandr Adolphus." His teeth sink into the flesh of my neck, breaking the skin and growling victoriously. My eyes widen as wave after wave of aching pleasure wracks my body. My back arches. My nails claim purchase in his tense sinew. Xander relinquishes my neck with a low-pitched groan, hips spasming against my own as he rides out his own climax.

"Mine." He almost purrs, lying down against me heavily, nose buried against my abused neck as his cock slips from inside me.

"Yours," I mutter back, sinking into oblivion.

#####

#####  Coven | Chapter 12

Love Me or Leave Me

I stir awake at the soft kisses pressing across my shoulders, that, and the fingers gently slipping between my thighs. A cross between a moan and a sigh escapes my lips as I lean back into Xander's body, my eyes opening lazily.

"Good morning," comes Xander's husky voice from behind me. He presses a kiss to the side of my head, lingering to inhale my scent. We are no longer in the study but a bedroom. The dark color scheme is familiar, and I realize with a small smile that it is the same room I was originally brought to when Xander sealed our mark.

"Morning," I murmur, parting my legs more to allow him better access. I can feel his answering grin as his hand dips deeper and sinks one finger inside of me.

"Fuck," he hisses, "You're so wet for me already." His hand moves away and grips my thigh, lifting it and shifting his hips so his cock brushes up against me, _just right_. I shiver at the touch. I'm unprepared for his entrance with one fierce stroke. We both cry out.

"Fuck." His coarse curse comes as he shifts his body closer to mine. "Don't you dare think about putting that leg down," he growls into my ear, rocking his hips forward. I can only shake my head in response.

My nails claw at the silken sheets imprisoning us as he begins a gentle rhythm, so different from his initial thrust. Each stroke is meant to inflame. Build us up until we both come crashing down together. It isn't long before we fill the room with our heavy sighs and ragged breaths. Just as the pressure intensifies, Xander's hands are moving me. His cock slips out as he rolls me onto my stomach.

He's quick to move behind me, hands gripping my hips and guiding them up and back till his cock is at my entrance again. I lean back and relish the low growl Xander emits as the head of his cock slips inside of me.

"You are a wicked witch, Zoelle," he groans. He gives my ass a sharp slap in rebuke before sinking into me fully. The movement brings a high-pitched sound from my lips. Something between a groan and a whine that only seems to encourage Xander. He keeps his thrusts slow and deep.

I begin to rock back into his thrusts, hoping my participation will drive him faster. And harder. Though my body feels boneless from our previous lovemaking, I push myself onto my elbows and steal a hand back to finger my wet clit. Yet I am thwarted. His hand quickly snatches my hair just as my fingers find my wet heat.

He growls as he carefully pulls my head back. "No touching, Zoelle." He tells me almost cruelly. "If that's where you want my hand, then you have to ask nicely." I whimper and remove my hand bowing my head as he releases my hair.

"Please." I hardly recognize the throaty voice. "Please touch me."

A hand crawls up my back, his touch guiding me to sink lower until my face presses into the mattress. I twist and shift impatiently raising my ass higher and grinding back, when still he does nothing. He lets out a breathy moan at my movements and lets his nails rake down my back, then brush over my hip and to my clit. We sigh in unison. And then he begins to push into me once more. In no time, our bodies rock together in a violent rhythm. Xander's hands roam my body, each touch lingering to caress and stroke me until the tension in my body builds to a near-numbing breaking point. With each thrust, a groan and throaty exclamation sounds.

As his hand fondles my breast, pinching and massaging the oversensitive skin, I reach my hand back to cover his. Guide his hand lower once more. His growl of appreciation is accompanied by a few rapid thrusts of his hips. They drive me further into the bedding with a lustful keen.

"God, Zoelle, you're so hot. You're so wet for me, aren't you, baby?" he practically whimpers against my back as he leans over me. I mewl in response, words lost to me as my body erupts into shaking bouts of pleasure.

"Xander!" I cry out, feeling my soaking core writhe around his hard cock. Xander takes me like a man without sanity. His hips thrust against me with no control. I moan his name once more, the pleasure and pain of his dominance spurs on my orgasm until he grunts and snarls his own release.

We collapse and intertwine ourselves with one another till neither of us knows where one begins and the other ends. My soulmark pulses blissfully against my skin, a sliver of a beat behind my heart. Xander trails his hand up my stomach and past my breasts till they reach my soulmark and brush lightly against it. My whole body tingles in response. It is the single, most satisfying feeling I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, for as he touches the mark and the link between us is left completely open, his love and admiration come pouring through.

I gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes and am pleased to find his satisfied smile.

"Good morning," I murmur, letting out a hum of gratitude as his lips seek mine for a breath-stealing kiss.

"Good morning," he replies, his voice a dusky timber. He brushes the hair from my face tenderly, eyeing the errant curls with quiet amusement.

"Tell me something."

"Anything."

I smile broadly at his lack of hesitation. "It feels... different. Before whenever you touched the soulmark, I felt like I was being pulled under by its power. Like I was drowning in its vastness. But just now when you touched it..."

"It calmed you?"

I bite my lip and gently shake my head, mulling over the right word to use. "It was nice." I laugh at his slightly put out expression. "It was! I just mean that it was almost perfect. It wasn't too much, but it was just enough. It wasn't that I was getting lost in its depths. It was that we were together. It was—"

"Us," he finishes with a smile. I nod. "That's because the soulmark has been completed. We are bound, and in doing so, our souls are finally complete, having found and bound themselves to their other half."

I blush like a schoolgirl at his rather romantic explanation and earn myself another kiss. "That's nice," I tell him, ignoring his short _humph_ and letting out a small laugh.

"You're happy, aren't you?" he asks after a moment of silence. His voice shadowed by doubt, and though I wish to respond with an immediate yes, I give myself time to think over my answer. Am I happy? I certainly feel freer than I have in ages. As if our union lifts some strange weight and responsibility off my shoulders and now I can... live. Not just go on day-to-day trying to be normal, doing exactly as others expect of me. Though there have been so many reasons to be sad as of late, I find that I am. Happy, that is.

"Yes," I whisper somewhat shyly leaning into him. "I'm happy." His body relaxes, and his arms wrap around me tighter. "But," I start, another thought coming to me, "I won't be happy if you don't come back from this fight tonight alive."

Xander pulls back and looks down at me, then rolls over me and props himself up on his arms. "I'm coming back tonight, Zoelle. Don't worry about me. Just make sure you follow your part of the plan tonight." I scowl up at him.

"How can you ask me that? Not to worry?" I scoff. "I feel you. I feel your fear and your concerns about tonight. What if you get hurt? Will I hurt? This bond between us is strong, Xander. And what if... what if you—"

He silences me with a harsh kiss till I'm breathless and whimpering against him. "Don't," he pants, pulling back a hair's breath away. "Nothing will happen to me tonight, and I'll be damned if I let anything hurt you. We can control the bond between us now that it's complete. Open it up wide. Or constrict it till it's nearly closed." He hikes my leg up around his hip, my other naturally following. I groan at the feel of his hot length, hard and ready to go again against my heated flesh. "I won't let anyone hurt you," he promises, sliding into me slowly. And making me feel every inch of his cock as it stretches me. A flood of wetness pools around him, and he takes in a harsh breath. "Not even me," he growls, burrowing himself to the hilt inside of me. We savor our moment together like this, eyes locked onto each other. Bodies one. And then we begin again. And again. And again.

+++

The forest is still.

The birds quiet their songs. The trees hush their leaves. The wind dies down.

Predators are afoot. Lycans.

Tonight, blood will be shed. Both the Adolphus and Wselfwulf packs know this to be true, but it does nothing to stop the coming events. Both packs desire vengeance... for family and friends lost... for pride. The packs are two sides of the same coin, yet one is more prepared than the other.

+++

"I want you to wear this," I tell Xander once he finishes sending off a few pack mates into the forest. We linger near the kitchen table, our lovemaking cut short as the clock nears six.

Xander eyes my necklace curiously, "What does it do?" Another wolf passes by, shaking Xander's hand before jogging out the back door of Gran's kitchen.

"It—" A group of eldritch witches file around us, they laugh together at something someone has said, and I pass Xander a strained smile. "It provides protection. When I was ten, I was in a car accident with my family. Everyone ended up being killed from the crash, except me. And it's because of this." I hold out the jade necklace to him, "I want you to wear it."

+++

The Adolphus pack mates thread through the thick tree line with ease. This forest is their territory. They fight with the advantage. The Adolphus wolves eagerly take their positions. They canvas the greenery with vigilant eyes and spread themselves across the land.

Their numbers are strong—made stronger with the eldritch witches, who will fight beside them. Lycan and witch fighting side-by-side will be a sight to behold. This moment will shake the supernatural world.

But they do not know this yet. __

+++

"I don't think that's a good idea," he says softly. He lets out a soft whine at my crestfallen expression, pulling me off to the side as more and more people peel out of the house to take their stations. "Hey, don't think I don't want to wear this. I do. I'm honored that you would think to give this to me for this fight, but I'll be shifting from man to wolf, I don't know how many times tonight. And I don't want to risk breaking the chain."

"I understand," I tell him lightly. He presses a kiss to my forehead and holds me tight.

+++

They do not know what lies in wait before them.

Fire and fury.

Anger and fear.

Man and beast.

The Wselfwulf pack arrives well prepared. A mixture of man and wolf donned for war. Those on two legs fill their hands with knives and guns. Those on four find purpose stalking the forest floor.

The forest releases its breath, and on the wind, a pack mate smells the threat. The Adolphus pack stills, except for one, Justin. The young man glides forward quietly, his eyes alert. His pack mates ready behind him.

He does not see the trap they've set, nor the dozen others. Not until it is too late.

Justin's cry pierces the air as the bear trap captures his foot. Its metal teeth sinking into his flesh without remorse. Digging to the bone.

+++

"I love—" Xander's voice breaks off in a strangled cry, and he pushes me away, dropping to his knees. The witches who remain inside gasp in shock as he reaches up a hand to hold onto a chair, neatly splintering it in half when he lets out a bellow of rage. "Go!" he commands to the last of the wolves.

"What's happening!" A young witch cries. One of the healers. My knees buckle at the weight of the alphas fury. That, and the pack's sudden fear and rush of anger.

"Go!" I shout at him. He sends me a short look of panic, hesitating as he reads the worry etched across my face. " _Go_ ," I tell him again, my voice stern but barely steady. He nods curtly and sprints away. The last of the wolves and eldritch witches follow behind him. My legs give out beneath me as the chaos of the pack emotion swells inside of me, and I let out an uncontrollable sob.

"Now, come on, sweetheart. You can't let yourself fall in so deep to the pack bonds. Get up." Gran pulls at my arms, bringing me to my shaking feet.

"They were already there. Waiting," I gasp, forcing myself back together and closing down on the pack bonds so only a trickle of emotion could be felt. Gran rests a cool hand and its comforting presence on the back of my neck as she breathes with me. In and out, in long steady pulls of air. "Why didn't we see this?"

Aunt Lydia waves her hand at us, then to the phone pressed tightly between her shoulder and ear. She wears an uneasy frown. "Moon says she still has no idea when they will attack."

"They're attacking now!" I all but growl back.

"Exactly, darling, and Moon had no clue. She's had several premonitions of when the Wselfwulfs will attack, and though one or two of them was early evening, there were several others that showed late in the night."

"That's not good enough," I argue, stepping out of Gran's embrace. "We'll lose this fight before it's even begun." Aunt Lydia ends her phone call.

"Settle down now, Zoelle. We made plans for this. We stick to the plan," Gran tells me. A sick bile rises in my throat as I catch glimpses of fear and sympathy running across the other witches faces. "If Moon is still getting mixed premonitions it can only mean one thing. That there will be multiple attacks tonight. What the pack is facing now may very well just be the first fleet of wolves sent to attack. In the next hour or two more may come."

"That isn't what we planned for," I say dejectedly.

"I know, but it's all right, darling—"

"It's not all right!" I shout, silencing the entire room. "It's not."

"You're wrong, Zoelle," says a new voice. A woman with long brown hair and large blue eyes enters the room, much to the amazement of the others in the room.

"Melissa, by the Goddess. What are you doing here?" Aunt Lydia exclaims. Melissa? I eye the newcomer with trepidation, but the witches surge toward her and embrace her like some long-lost sister.

"Who are you exactly?" I ask, my impatience shining through.

"Melissa Wall." Well, that was helpful. I plaster on a tight smile.

"Nice to meet you," she smirks at my obvious distrust and ignorance. "You were saying something about me being wrong?" I prompt, crossing my arms over my chest. I feel a pinprick of discomfort through the soulmark and close my eyes in concentration. They are fighting out there, not knowing what will come next, and we can't do anything to help them, save running out into the forest ourselves to deliver the message. Maybe we could spell a piece of paper to one of our own and get them a message. My eyes snap open at the thought and I note that Melissa has made her way toward me, hand outstretched.

"You are wrong. There's a way to get your message to them."

"I know," I tell her smugly and turn to Gran. "We just need to write this down on a piece of paper and charm it to fly over to them! Someone—"

"There's a faster way," Melissa cuts in.

"Oh really? And what is your grand plan, then?"

"You."

"Me?"

Melissa smiles and grasps my hand to give it a squeeze. I startle at the touch and step back, unsure why I instantly associate it with pack. She takes my hand again and squeezes. "Don't be afraid," she tells me kindly. "What you're feeling is real. I know we've never met, but my soulmark Malcolm was once part of your pack."

_Oh_.

"You're Melissa." My eyes widen in understanding. The witch from years ago. The one who was involved in the soul binding gone wrong. I'm struck by the way she speaks so fondly.

"Yes," she says, smile brightening. "We need to act quickly now though, Zoelle. You must open up the soulmark bond and communicate to Xander what we've discovered."

"I don't know how," I blurt out. "Xander's the one who's been doing it. He has the bond between us tightly closed now so that I don't—"

"Feel any sort of pain. I know," she says, her own past pain slipping into the narrative. "But you can still communicate with him. When Malcolm went to speak with my father about our sealing. To tell him it wasn't forced and that we wanted to try... he did the same to me. He cut me off as much as he could from our small bond. But you can open it back up, Zoelle. It will hurt, but you can still get the message across."

I process the details quickly, pushing aside my curiosity and focusing back on the task. "How?"

"Just like you close off the pack bonds. Concentrate. Find the light that is his soul in your mind's eye and open it wide enough for you to get your message through," she urges me. "This will be much faster than magic, and once Xander receives your message he can communicate it to the other members of the pack through the pack bonds. Those in human form will tell the eldritch witches. We still have a chance."

"Okay," I breathe and squeeze my eyes tightly shut searching out the little light with my mind. _Where are you_? My search frantic and harried. Doing nothing to aid me.

"Breathe, Zoelle. You can do this, sweetheart," Gran tells me softly. "Calm your heart. Take in what's around you and find your center."

I take a few deep breaths and attempt to rid my mind of its worries. Allow my other senses to clear my mind. The kitchen smells of spices and magic. Like lightning lingering in the air. My skin warmed by the constant flames burning on the stove. The sound of bated breath stands eerily in the background of my own. Like an audience in wait for the show to begin. And then I look again.

"I found it," I whisper, following the dulled but brilliant light tucked safely away in my mind. _Out of sight, out of mind_. How appropriate.

"Now just open it wider, Zoelle, and speak to him."

I do so. Willing the soft beam of light to expand until the pain scoring Xander's body assaults me. _Xander_ , I call out in my mind, _Xander, they plan to attack in waves. That's why the premonitions were so scattered. They'll attack in waves. Be ready. Always._

I love you.

I tighten down on the bond and it recedes, the light dimming once more. I am panting by the time I finish, a pain in my side still present. I share a worried glance with Melissa.

"Did you do it?"

I open and close my mouth, before finally admitting the truth, "I don't know."

+++

Casualties begin coming in every half hour or so with news of the fighting. Though most we see to are badly injured, those that bring them in are well enough to rejoin the fight. When Irina comes in with Ryatt under her arms he ghastly white, I almost faint away. His neck is torn open, eyes closed, and his chest is bleeding from multiple lacerations.

"Please," Irina begs, handing him off as he is lifted onto the dining room table with magic.

"He'll be all right," I tell her, urging her back outside with me at her side. She watches anxiously as Melissa and two other witches begin to clean him and cover him in salves, while a different witch begins to chant at his head. "He's in good hands."

Her shoulders sag in relief. "Thank God, it's Melissa. I didn't know if she would come."

"You know her?"

Irina gives me a sharp look, then begins to make her way to the forest. "Of course I know her. She's like a sister to me."

"I—"

"I don't have time to answer your questions, Zoelle. Later. All right?" I nod helplessly as she darts off before I can get in another word. She's out of sight after only a blink.

"Damn," I mutter under my breath as I jog back inside.

"The Abernathys have taken in two more. The Monroes one and the Lestates have about half a dozen resting. They've been giving out their wolfsbane bombs to some of the wolves to use."

"Good," Gran says. "Let me get you some of those before you go, Keenan." The burly man nods, eyes critically passing over Ryatt's still form.

"He'll be all right."

"I know," he responds curtly. I bristle in response.

"Good," I snap back under my breath, sounding all of five years old again. He passes me an apologetic look, neck tilting ever so slightly in deference to me.

"I apologize. I'm not very..."

"Friendly?" I offer. He blushes. Two cute little patches of pink stain his already blood-spattered cheeks.

"Yes."

"It's all right," I suck in a shaky breath. "I shouldn't have snapped."

"Here you are dear, go on now. You best not dawdle." He gives us both a nod, though his gaze lingers on me.

"What is it?" I ask quickly. "Is he all right?"

He looks uneasily at Gran, then back to me. "He is leading aptly."

"He is leading...?" I glower. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Zoelle, calm down. Leave the man alone and let him go where he is needed." He flees without another glance, and I shoot Gran a heated glare.

"Something's wrong," I tell her.

"You're still feeling the emotions of the pack slip through as well as Xander's. It's bound to happen with everyone on high alert." But my head shakes at her logical explanation.

"No," I tell her. "You don't understand. I have this feeling in my gut. Something bad is happening. It's like I still can't breathe—"

"I said calm down, Zoelle. I don't want you to have to force any kava tea down your throat just to get your head on straight." My lips tighten into a hard line.

"I'm not a child."

"Then stop acting like one." She reprimands me.

"I know what I'm feeling is real," I say just as sternly back. "Something isn't right."

Gran turns her back to me and walks over to Ryatt, ignoring my remarks and helping the others. I turn away from them and toward the kitchen counter, hiding my trembling lips and watering eyes. If they won't believe me, I'll just find out myself. I ease the bond open but am unprepared for the onslaught of pain that wracks my body. I fall to my knees with a gasp, engulfed in agony.

"Zoelle!" Gran's sharp cry brings me back to reality, and I fight with all my willpower to close the bond back down to its original size. I can't. I only manage it about halfway before my body and mind give up in exhaustion.

Arms shift around my middle to haul me to my feet, but the action leaves me gasping out a curse. I lean against the kitchen counter for support, my legs nearly giving out again as almost insurmountable pain runs across my body. My head feels laden, my legs and arms shot. One arm, I think hazily, must be broken, for it falls so limply at my side. I don't even think I can lift it if I tried. And then pressure pushes against my chest. I cough. Nearly choking as my body convulses with each hacking breath.

"Rita, get the white dittany and cataria bark. Quickly." A girl no more than ten runs about the kitchen collecting the items, bringing them along quickly as Gran moves me to a chair. "What happened?"

I wipe the blood from my chin, hissing as I attempt to breathe. "I had to see what was wrong," I tell her.

"Zoelle," Gran admonishes, but her face is ashen. "Did you close the bond down sweetheart? All the way." I give her a sad grin and shake my head, coughing some more and spewing red.

"Couldn't," I gasp, "too much pain."

Gran brings a steaming cup of tea to my lips, the scolding water burning its way down my throat as I sputter and choke around it. "Drink it, child," Gran insists. "It'll heal what's broken inside of you.

"I need essence of foxglove, now!" shouts Melissa. The table rattles from the other side of the room, as Ryatt's body begins to shake.

"No!"

I turn wide eyes to Xander. Keenan is holding him upright, but Xander only has eyes for his brother.

"Put him on the table," Gran orders.

"Xander!" I stumble upward and into Keenan's path. I insert myself on Xander's other side and help move him.

"You have to help him," Xander says through gritted teeth, eyes rolling back as he is placed on the table. "My fault," he utters, his voice strained.

"No, no," I coo, my hands wiping away the blood that coats half his face. "He's fine. Melissa, tell him he's fine!" I yell across the room.

"He's stable. All bleeding has been stopped. He just needs rest now." Her voice sounds both exhausted and proud. I watch as Xander's body goes limp with relief at her words, and I almost cry, but most certainly not in relief. I can feel the bond between us slowly expanding as our collective control begins to slip. The mounting pain begins to eclipse all rational thought, but before I lose myself to it, my fingers slip the jade talisman from around my neck to his.

He jolts. A silent cry of shock piercing his features as the talisman glows brightly on his chest. I feel my legs give out beneath me, but Keenan is at my side in an instant, righting me and keeping me close to Xander's side. He lets out a hoarse holler as his superficial wounds begin to knit themselves together. My right arm tingles to life. The pain in my body is fading, but only just so.

"You gave him your necklace," Gran says in astonishment, cutting away the ragged strips of clothes left on Xander's body. Rita pushes her way to the table's side and sets down several items. "If you can, sweetheart, apply that blue salve to his ribs."

I nod numbly, forcing myself past the phantom feeling of his body healing, but still coursing with so much pain. Keenan helps, and a minute later Melissa and an older witch come to help.

"Why isn't it working?" I ask, my eyes filling with tears as the pain continues. "I don't understand, why?"

Gran stops her work but does not dare look at me. His body isn't responding anymore to the medicine. Cuts remain open. One particularly nasty gash on his side continues to spill what seems like a quarter of his blood out of him. Bruises bloom across his abdomen, and I suck in a shuddering breath.

"Gran!" She looks at me, her eyes filled with unshed tears.

"I don't know what to do, sweetheart," she says carefully, going back to applying a red paste to his right thigh. "When you put your necklace on him that helped, but...."

"Zoe you need to close the bond between you two completely," Melissa interjects, her voice filled with sudden authority. "If Xander—"

"No—"

"If he dies, you could too," she tells me without remorse. "You have to shut it down."

My head sways from side to side as I stare down at Xander. "No," I tell them stiffly. I knock away Keenan's arms and careen toward the discarded white dittany tea Gran forced on me. A cry breaks from my throat as my body doubles over in pain. Both Keenan and Gran rush to my side at once, but I push them away and force myself past the pain. "I'm not giving up on him," I tell them, shakily pouring more water into the cup. It slouches over the sides unsteadily.

When I reach his side once more, Keenan helps me half onto the table so I can place Xander's head on my leg. "Come on, baby. You have to drink this." I push the cup insistently at his lips, willing them to part, but the pain is surging through both of us now. My hands rattle as I press open his mouth and spill the tea inside. "Aleksandr, you have to drink this," I command him angrily, my tears splashing onto his face and into his tea. "You have to stay alive. You have to stay with me!" I cry.

He coughs, coming to and half swallowing, half spitting up the tea I feed him. He gazes at me with one eye, the other swollen shut.

"Drink," I command, biting viciously into my lip as I tilt the cup to his parted lips. "This will help. I promise."

"It's working!" Melissa exclaims. I shoot her a look of disbelief, and then my eyes dart to Gran.

"It's your tears, Zoelle," she cries in realization.

"What?" The question comes out shaky, and I'm too distracted by Xander's frantic gulps to grasp her meaning. "I need more of the tea." Gran takes the cup from my trembling grasp, filling it part way and then pressing it against my cheek. I jerk back in confusion, but she presses on. "What are you doing?" I ask, attempting to swat her away, or at least wipe away my tears.

"Don't!" Gran warns, but she needn't worry. Keenan snatches my rising wrist gently and places it back on Xander's forehead. "It's your tears, Zoelle. Don't you understand? It's your magic. You're healing him."

"I am?" I whisper roughly, feeling rather acutely the tear that falls haphazardly down my cheek before it is intercepted by the rim of the cup. Gran removes the cup and places it once more at Xander's lips. He drinks from it greedily, the swelling and remaining bruises on his face retreating. "Oh God," I weep in relief. Gran passes the cup back into my hands and I pass it from cheek to cheek, trying to collect as many tears as I can before Gran waves the teapot in front of me and refills it.

"The bruising is fading from his stomach, but you should switch to cataria bark. Rita, start to steep some of the bark with the next pot of boiling water. Angelica, I need you to weave the wound on his side closed. This wound was made with magic. It needs to be closed and sealed with magic."

Everyone works quietly—besides my sniffling—and by a half an hour later, the worst of his wounds are treated.

"He needs rest now, with the way this night has been going I expect at least four wolves and two witches to come through that door bleeding all over my furniture. Let's get him to a bed to rest. Zoelle, he'll stay in your room. No funny business under my roof though, you hear?"

"No more," Xander mumbles, eyes opening weakly.

"Shh," I hush him, brushing his dark hair away from his face. "We're all done for the night. It's time for you to rest."

"You don't understand," he wheezes. "It's finished. We won."

Xander waves an impatient hand at Keenan, and he obeys immediately, coming to his side and helping him sit upright. Xander grimaces but shows no other sign of lingering pain.

"We won?" I ask uncertainly, rising to stand. My body, though sore and abused, is most certainly healed.

"I killed Rollins," he states, eyes going dark. "He went after Ryatt while my back was turned. I didn't expect him to attack Ryatt. I thought he would go after me. He's the kind of man who pulls that sort of move."

"It's really over?"

"Carrie led the retreat. We won't be seeing them for the rest of the night. They'll be too busy licking their wounds. _Ah_!" His breath leaves him in one fell swoop as he hops down from the table, wincing at the impact. Keenan and I come to his side to support him, but he waves the larger man aside in favor of leaning against me.

"I told you I would come back to you," he says softly as we limp along to the front entryway and up the stairs.

"You also told me nothing would hurt me and not to worry." I point out as we make our way slowly up the stairs. Very slowly. "I'd also like to add that thanks to my worry you're alive."

I drop my hold around his waist once we've reached my bed. He groans, flopping back with a sigh and throwing an arm over his black and purple spotted face. I cuddle up next to him, resting my head tentatively against his chest.

"I thought." The words stick against the roof of my mouth. "I thought we were going to lose you. That I was going to lose you." His arm retracts and sweeps around me, pulling me more snuggly against his side.

"Never." He promises vehemently making me smile as I press a tender kiss to his lips.

"I love you," I whisper my admission, my heart thumping wildly in my chest. His smile is the like the morning sun.

"I love you, too."

The sentiments echo loudly through the soulmark, and I place my lips tenderly against his own. He responds in kind. His hand comes up to cradle my face as an underlying passion and yearning slips through. I moan gently.

Kissing turns to reverent touches and gentle caresses until the loving contact turns to something more.

I fear I'll hurt him, but I cannot deny this man. His dark hair is a mess with dirt and grime. His beautiful body half covered in bandages and wounds. Xander's grimaces of pain intermix with those of ecstasy. Our gentle rhythm coaxing from us the pleasure we seek and desperately need.

There is no regret when he holds me after. Only the knowledge that _this_ is how life is meant to be led, without regrets.

#####

#####  Coven | Epilogue

9 months later

"Good afternoon, you've reached Baudelaire Patisserie and Café. How can I help you today?" My voice purrs pleasantly against the landline phone installed in the back of _my_ café.

"Hmm, can you tell me what you're wearing today?" asks a deep and husky voice. I roll my eyes.

"Seriously? Xander, customers could be calling this very minute, and I wouldn't know because you're calling me." He feigns a sigh and his amusement funnels through the soulmark.

"You're right," he yields easily. "Besides, if I'm being honest I didn't even have to ask what you're wearing. Blue gingham dress, your white sneaker slip-ons, and that matching set of black underwear you look so good in."

"Have you been spying on me again?" I ask, scandalized. A blush creeps up my neck to my cheeks. He chuckles. The sound dark and hypnotizing. "For your information," I tell him pertly, "I'm not wearing my matching set, just the bra today."

The back door at the end of the kitchen slams open. Xander strides forward snapping his phone shut. Excitement pools at the juncture of my thighs.

"You're not allowed to be here during work hours," I scold lightly, my breath catching as I spot the roguish look in his eyes.

"You closed ten minutes ago," he notes, stalking closer as I wind my way around one of the metal worktables. "Come here," he orders breathlessly. The familiar desire to heed the alpha's order pulls at me, but my own will trumps it and I stand my ground.

"Nuh uh," I respond coyly, letting out a squeal as he speeds around the table's side and sweeps me into his arms.

"Liar," he says with a knowing smirk as he moves aside my thong with deft fingers and traces the wetness that has gathered between my legs. I shudder a laugh, pushing my hips eagerly into his wandering hand. I moan as he inserts two fingers that begin to pump in lazy strokes. He nips at my cheekbone.

"Oops."

The thick, hard outline of his cock presses against my hip as he inserts a third finger, preparing me for what is to come. I moan into the bruising kiss he delivers, shivering in delight as I feel the fabric of my panties being ripped from my body.

"I'm running out of my last few panties, Xander," I scold with a laugh as I pull back from our kiss. He frowns at me in feigned confusion while lifting me onto the metal table and unbuckling his belt and unfastening his pants. My hands reach out to stop him, and his confusion turns to exasperation.

"I told you I would buy you new ones," he tells me, pressing a hard kiss to my lips, effectively shutting me up. For the moment. I dive into the kiss. Press my tongue against his and drink him in.

"You said _that_ five weeks ago," I say with a gasp as his lips voyage down my neck. My hand finds his cock, throbbing and warm. Hard and ready.

He smirks and drags me closer to the edge of the table, the head of his dick pressing firmly against my entrance, already slick with want from anticipation. "Oops."

Our shared laughter changes quickly to moans of appreciation. The sound of our coupling reverberates through the small kitchen. Xander sets a slow pace, grinding up and into me with long, measured strokes that drive me wild.

"Faster," I plead against his lips, my hands making quick work of his shirt to rake my nails down his dark-haired chest.

"Whatever you want," he grunts back, his pistoning hips driving faster and harder. "Fuck, Zoelle," he growls into my ear as my hand slips past his shoulder and presses against his soulmark. He bites down on my neck just as I cry out my orgasm. He growls, hips slamming one more time into mine as he reaches his own climax. We take a moment to calm our racing hearts. "Why did you do that?" he asks breathlessly. "We were just getting started."

I smooth his hair back before gently pushing him away, a satisfied smile on my lips. "Because," I announce, slipping off the counter and tucking his softening dick back inside his pants, "work sex has to be quickies only."

He frowns at my response, prepared to argue when the back door slams open once more. Xander presses me behind him as he steps in front of me, a vicious snarl on his lips that stops almost as soon as it came.

"Ryatt? What are you doing here?" I peek around Xander's side to see Ryatt looking particularly out of sorts.

He takes a deep breath. "We have a problem."

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# Midnight Scoundrel

# Midnight Scoundrel | Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Connect with Rebecca Main

Acknowledgements

##### Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 1

Two days prior

Ryatt

The bar is a dump. A skim of the narrow landscape is all that's needed to confirm the fact. My nose wrinkles at the smell of stale, days-old alcohol. The likes of which seeped into the walls decades ago, along with the patrons. It is not a place to meet new people. Nor to gather with friends and lament your day's end. Here the patrons sit widely apart, each oozing their declarations of "fuck off" with slumped shoulders and threatening scowls.

It suits my needs exactly, for I've no wish to be bothered. I stop mid-step when my inspection is interrupted by a golden beauty sulking at the dingy bar.

She's wearing one of those off-the-shoulder dresses that seem to be all the rage this summer. Her hair, half up, sits high atop her head in one of those messy little buns with glimpses of silver dripping from her ears. And then there is her skin. Tan and healthy— _glowing_. She is like an oasis in this desert dump, pining away over several empty shot glasses and a cell phone. The beauty casts a wary glance over her shoulder as the door slams shut behind me. Her blue eyes widen from afar, her lips falling into a gentle "O" before she sends me a determined frown. It's a much gentler "fuck off" than all the others I receive. It's quite adorable really. Certainly not enough to stop me.

I send her a grin that falls somewhere between lascivious and mischievous and saunter forward.

"What's a nice girl like you doing in a bar like this?" I ask, making sure my voice is a pleasant, husky hum as I seat myself next to this golden goddess. The duffle bag I carry is set gingerly underneath the barstool I chose.

"How original," she responds tartly. Disdain evident. Her eyes flicker toward me curiously, to run the length of my body, lingering a tad too long to be respectable. I make sure to keep myself poised under her scrutiny, muscles flexing minutely under it. She scoffs belatedly, a blush rising to her cheeks as if she is aware of her _faux pas_. A pleased smile ventures onto my lips when she turns her attention to the bartender. Fingers fluttering away to signal him. "Another, José."

"I'll have whatever the lady is having, but make it a double." She stiffens slightly, and I watch in interest as she attempts to ignore me. She's certain to have a difficult time of it.

I inhale. She is by far the prettiest thing I've seen in miles, and she smells of a tangle of emotions: fear, adrenaline, and the faintest trace of arousal. All blended between hints of lilac and lavender perfume. Of course, there is a touch of grief mingled in between, but it's the same as every other poor sap in this godforsaken bar. She casts another sidelong glance my way as the tequila is set in front of us. Will she take the bait?

"Cheers," she chirps after a moment's hesitation. Her smile is a brittle thing as she thrusts her shoulders back and swirls her creaking stool toward me. The liquid is down her throat before I can even reach my glass. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was some supernatural creature with her speed and grace, but her scent is completely human. I let out an amused chuckle before knocking back mine.

"Going somewhere, sweetheart?"

I let my eyes flick toward the pale pink suitcase near her feet, but hers do not follow as I expect. A delicate chime trills from her phone and with a sigh, she gives the electronic her attention. Her brow scrunches together, lips pursing as she furiously types a response. By the time she has finished, I have already signaled José for another round. When the drinks are set down, she gives another gentle scoff and flips her hair over her shoulder.

"Gee, thanks." But there is nothing sweet about the way her rosy lips curl into such a saccharine smile. Playing hard to get? No problem.

"Let me guess," I lean closer, a devious and knowing smirk in place. "You just broke up with your boyfriend. This was your first big trip together, and you caught him with someone else. One of those dark-haired beauties around these parts. Now you're making the trek back home, all by your lonesome, pissed off and upset that you wasted your time and money on a vacation that ended in heartbreak. Am I close?"

She swallows, her eyes widening and her heartbeat ticking up just a fraction. Her surprise is palpable, so I soften just a tad and reach for the tequila.

"Something like that," she finally mutters.

"I've always preferred the fairer types," I tell her. The scoff I earn is mixed with a furtive laugh, one she is quick to mask behind a cough. _Got you_. "Kyle," I lie, lifting the shot glass in a peace offering. Her icy gaze melts and shifts to the remaining shot glass.

"Fuck it," she mumbles under her breath, snatching up the shot glass and clinking it against mine. We down it as one and politely ignore each other's grimaces as the amber liquor burns its way down. "Mary," she offers. My sights narrow at the way her voice goes a little high at the end, my hearing picking up the way her heart skips a beat. She raises an eyebrow in challenge, but I only chuckle. Why not play this little game of lies and see where it takes us?

"Tell me all about your troubles, sweet Mary," I coo. She rolls her eyes, the hint of a smile gracing her lips.

"I'm not nearly drunk enough," Mary confesses coyly. I'm about to respond when one of her legs drags itself up and across the other. Her dress, already so short, hikes up another perilous inch to reveal more sun-kissed skin. I let my gaze enjoy the newly revealed flesh for a moment before capturing her eyes with mine. I put on a wolfish grin and enjoy the way she replies in kind with her own knowing smirk. Let the games begin.

+++

Mary is a recent graduate from the Art Institute of California in San Francisco. She waxes on about the likes of Friedrich and Turner. How the dark and gloomy Romanticism speaks to her soul.

I am a nomad. Traveling South American with all that's left to my name in the bag at my feet. I tell her how I revel in the nights spent under the stars and my daring treks across the scorched and barren earth, but I'm always hungering for something more.

She has stopped taking her shots in one toss, preferring to sip on the molten elixir instead. Her baby blue eyes turn to steely storms, as the hours tick on. When I tease at her inability to keep up, she reminds me that she has been sitting at this desolate bar much longer than I. And that she is always able to keep up.

Somewhere around shot 11 or 12, I slip and call her beautiful. It brings the most delicious blush to her cheeks. Though she eyes me speculatively from beneath her long lashes, she does not rebuff my compliment. A few more shots taken, and she proclaims she's never been with a real man. One who knows how to take care of a woman, or himself, for that matter. I confess that I've never been in love. That no woman has been able to tame my wild heart. Her eyes widen.

When I return from the bathroom—a literal shit hole—Mary is collecting her things and attempting to finish off a bottle of water she's pulled from her purse. She wiggles it enticingly in front of me, only a quarter of the bottle left. I take it and sit down with a huff, finishing the warm water in two long drags.

"You're leaving?" I mumble. The bathroom mirror has proven my eyes are just as glazed as hers, if not more. They lose their hunter's sharpness, but I know in my gut this night has already been sealed.

"I leave tomorrow on an early flight," she explains clumsily, her heartbeat picking up. "I should really go get some sleep while I can."

I nod knowingly, but reach out and grab her wrist before she can take a step. "Where are you staying?"

"At a motel nearby," she whispers, letting the silence grow between us as she leans her body ever so slightly toward me.

A twinkle sparkles behind my misty blue eyes. "Me too."

+++

Our bags are left carelessly near the door of her motel room as the door slams shut behind us. I let her press my body against the cool metal. I savor the way her luscious curves sink into me as she attacks my mouth. I groan into the kiss, enthused with her eager attentions, and kiss back just as zealously. It has been rough these past few weeks trying to track down the other half of the Crystal of Dan Furth, but I did it. Now our alliance with the Trinity Coven will be cemented, and our lands guaranteed protection. I deserve a reward. One night of wicked splendor spent with this little lost lamb before going home victorious to my pack.

Her nails rake a path down my chest and tug at the belt wrapped around my waist.

"Bed," she whispers hotly against my lips. I nod, driving forward until we land in a heap atop the questionable blanket. The bed lets out a long groan of protest as we work our way toward the middle.

"You. Are. Glorious." I punctuate each word with a searing kiss. She lets out a breathy laugh. "And so fucking soft." I nuzzle the warm flesh of her neck, breathing in the heavy scent of adrenaline and arousal wafting from her skin. It is more obvious to me now that I am in far worse shape than she is, as her deft fingers work magic on my body. She pulls back, out of breath and observes me through lust-filled eyes. A beat later, she reaches toward the nightstand near her head to snatch a water bottle. She downs the small amount of water left in it before tossing it to the ground with a satisfied sigh.

"You should drink more water," she tells me matter-of-factly, tossing a look to the other half-empty bottle still on the nightstand. "I don't want you losing steam halfway because you're dehy—" I roll my eyes but do as she says, seizing the bottle on my second attempt and finishing it off in messy gulps.

"Good boy," she teases before flipping me onto my back. I let out a wry laugh, pushing aside the way my head swims at the motion and placing my hands on her hips to steady myself. If she prefers to take control—scorn that ex-boyfriend of hers—so be it. The view from the bottom is one of my favorites.

Mary locks eyes with me and grinds her hips down. Immediately our stunted moans fill the room. She is stunning, her hair mussed and framing her face. Her lips part and eyes darken to a fever pitch. When she rolls her hips again, she lets her fingers fist into the fabric of my Henley, moaning low in her throat at the coarse friction. Then my shirt is being pulled away from my body to explore the expanse of my chest and abs. When her hands tease lower, I watch her through heavy-lidded eyes. She makes her descent slowly, caressing my neck, then chest with her soft lips.

A wave of dizziness stirs in my head at the sensation. An almost purr-like noise escapes as her teeth dare to nip at the taut muscles of my pectorals. I let my hands wander the length of her thighs. Venturing higher and higher until her secret is discovered. I let out a sound of deep longing and look at her with newfound interest.

"You are full of surprises, little lamb," I hiss, fingers meeting only warm skin. There is nothing between her and me, except my jeans. She gives a saucy smile and slaps away my hand. "Tease," I mumble, stretching my arms languidly back and allowing her to do as she pleases. She sinks lower, leaving wet, open-mouth kisses all the way down south of my navel. Nip. Kiss. A swirl of the tongue and down one inch more.

"What's the rush?" she whispers as she undoes my belt and jeans, then jerks them down. I cannot contain my animalistic growl, the wolf inside me howling in anticipation. It is unusually riled, but then again, I have not indulged in skin this sweet in weeks. We are both starved. I attempt to lean up on my elbows but find myself suddenly extremely fatigued. I needed more water.

"Water," I beg, voice hoarse as I look around the nightstand, then to her. My little vixen. She's situated comfortably between my thighs, licking her lips as she stares down my cock.

"Impressive," Mary says, tongue flicking out to trace its head and ignoring my plea. I grit my teeth and inhale deeply through my nose. Screw the water then. My hand reaches down to cup the back of her neck and guide her lips around my aching cock when the most startling sensation overcomes me. With a strangled gasp, my hips lurch upward and I enter the warmth of her mouth. She releases a moan, eyes wide and a bit unsure as they look up at me.

_Fuck_.

The world around me bends and snaps. It shifts. A monumental movement suddenly centers my whole being around this little slip of a thing sucking so tightly on me now. My fingers tighten and urge her forward. To take me deeper as the passion unfurls inside me like some raging bull. No prior experience can possibly compare to this moment. This revelation.

Without a doubt, hidden behind her luxurious locks is a soulmark to match my own. There is no other explanation for this sudden euphoria, and the wolf inside of me growls its sound agreement. To be sure, my fingers must lie on three lines, stacked neatly atop each other. The matching mark reminiscent of the Greek letter _xi_. She lets out another softer moan, eyes fluttering closed. And then her tongue is moving, a gentle sweeping caress along the underside of my shaft. I must taper back the vicious snarl curling at the rear of my throat as my head falls back from the pure ecstasy of her touch. She draws herself upward slowly. Her lips sealed tightly around me as she drags out the sensation. Just as her lips seek to release me, my hips chase after her of their own accord. A flex of my fingers, and she stalls to accommodate my pursuit. I bow forward, trembling to keep from thrusting too deeply and hitting the back of her throat.

" _Christ_." A heavy pant falls from my lips as stars erupt behind closed eyes. Around me. Inside me. There is nothing but Mary and her warm embrace.

She grabs my wrist, urging my hand to release its hold. I relax my grip, fingers lingering as I pull back my hips. Her hand becomes more insistent. Then a sudden striking fear takes hold of my heart. I cannot miss what will most likely be my only opportunity to seal the soulmark. My fingers tighten for a fleeting second.

"Let it be known that thee are found," comes my ragged whisper, "and my soul awakened. The stars incline us, my love, and so we are sealed." I gasp at the sudden all-encompassing glory that hits me. Reveling in the sound of her muffled moans around my cock. The vibrations entice my hips to press onward once more in short jerking movements to fuck her mouth.

"Fucking hell," I grunt as my load spills unexpectedly inside her. She pulls away, much to my dismay, somehow finding the strength to push away my hand and remove those succulent lips.

"What the fuck," she hisses, eyes wide and fully dilated. She wipes away the vestiges of my release from her face, an angry scowl marring her beautiful features. "What the fuck was that?" Her hand races to the back of her neck as she slips off the bed. Away from me.

"I can explain," I mutter, trying and failing to roll onto my side and go after her. My limbs lack their usual strength and dexterity.

"Listen," she calls from the bathroom. "I know guys get into the whole, 'choke on this, bitch' stuff, but I need a little warning before getting into that kind of shit, okay? You can't just... do that and not fucking warn a girl. Not cool." The sink turns on full blast, and I hear rather than see her splashing water over her face.

"What's your name?" I ask, unperturbed by her anger. I'll make up for it later, but first I need to know her real name.

"Mary," she snaps, walking up to the bed with her hands on her hips. "Asshole."

"Not Mary," I correct, words slurring. "Your real name."

The smile she shares with me is tight. Her eyes sparkling vindictively down at me. A slow comprehension fills me with dread. She is most certainly not as drunk as I am. I suddenly wonder if she ever was.

"Guilty as charged," she says with a smirk. "How are you feeling, champ?"

I swallow, my eyes narrowing even though wave after wave of paralyzing weightlessness hits me. "What have you done?" Comes my rasping plea.

"Don't worry, _Kyle_. This will all be over in three... two..."

My eyes fall closed against my will as the strength in my body leaves me completely. I succumb to darkness. Her radiant figure a fixture in my mind's eye as I drift away into the sea of shadows that is my mind.

+++

Present Day

"And when I woke up, she was gone. Along with the crystal," I tell them with a lamenting cringe, waiting for the outburst that is sure to come. Xander stands stock still, the little vein near his left temple jutting out. And dear little Zoelle is both flushed and flustered. Perhaps I went a tad too much into detail. I shoot her a knowing smirk, and her blush deepens.

"The crystal is gone?" Xander asks once more.

I swallow, feeling the weight of disappointment heavy in his words, and hold back another cringe. Soon enough my feigned composure crumbles under it, leaving a swell of regret and shame to rise as I am forced to acknowledge my failure. To know I have let down my alpha and caused him displeasure curls my stomach. Except, I didn't just let down my alpha with my dalliance, but my pack and our allies as well. My head tips to the side with a whine as his displeasure continues to relay itself through the pack bonds.

"It's all right, Ryatt," Zoelle assures me, her hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "We'll figure something out. Right, Xander?"

There is a tense pause. I dare not look my brother in the eye, remaining in my submissive stance and exposing my neck further to appease him. Finally—finally—he lets out a long-suffering sigh and that pressure in my heart, the one cinching it shut like an iron fist, lessens and releases. Another warm hand finds my shoulder. This one larger. Stronger. Better.

"We'll figure something out, brother," he reassures me. I nod and take a deep breath. Then another.

"On the upside," I say, slipping back into a more relaxed stance, eyes lifting meekly to meet theirs. "I found my soulmark." My lips twitch upward, a feeling of unmistakable joy spiriting through me. Zoelle peeks a quick glance at her fiancé, dazzling him with a brilliant smile and burst of gleeful laughter. He melts. His shoulders fall back and eyes light up for his soulmark. The dolt.

"But you don't even know her real name," Zoelle cries in distress, effectively ruining the moment. I roll my eyes at her dramatics.

" _Au contraire_ , soon-to-be-sister. I do."

Their eyebrows rise in unison. "You do?"

"But of course. I've been hard at work the past day or so getting my fingers into this and that. Her real name is Quinn Montgomery."

"How did you find out so fast?" Zoelle asks, her head tipping curiously to the side. Xander merely rolls his eyes.

"I have a multitude of talents," I inform her graciously, "as you well know, and one of them just so happens to be 'hacker extraordinaire.' Anything can be found on the internet these days if you know how to look."

"What else do you know?" Xander asks. The continued retreat of his hostility allows me room to breathe without that strange pressure around my heart.

"She's twenty-two."

"Young, even for you," Zoelle chimes in cheekily.

"An orphan. No family to speak of: mother dead, father out of the picture. From ages eleven to fifteen, she was in the state system until, seemingly, falling off the grid," I tell them without pause. My mind fills in the blanks I leave out. Father _never_ in the picture. The mother died of an overdose only to be found by little Quinn after she returned from school one chilly autumn day. Subsequently, she was tossed from foster home to group home time after time until the therapy she found in painting and sketching just wasn't cutting it anymore. She turned to crime, using her artistic abilities to dabble in forgeries and other petty thefts until one day she found herself playing in the big leagues. Too bad she had yet to learn how to cover her tracks. It's not easy to hide from a wolf, but hiding from an Adolphus is a different matter altogether.

"Sounds like you've been busy," Xander says.

"I have."

"I assume you have a plan," he continues, the corner of his lip ticking upward as I give him a somewhat bashful smile. A chuckle escapes my lips. The one that has been fine-tuned to give my audience pause. Xander raises a brow. Zoelle sends me an unsure smile.

"I have something in mind."

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 2

Quinn

There's something so freeing about pretending to be someone you're not. Especially when that someone has no qualms spending a cool two grand on a pair of Christian Louboutin, Fabiola Over the Knee Boots. It hardly mattered that said boots had yet to be properly broken in and were forming major blisters on both pinky toes. _Nope_. Such were the daily trials and tribulations of my character's day: _Colette Winters_.

Denver, Colorado didn't quite fit the vibe of the character I donned—California rich girl—but she would do. She was certainly one of my favorite personas to take on, if not solely because of her wardrobe. I was waiting at The Brown Palace for my current employer to show up. He was late, but with the payout from my most recent job, I didn't care. Not that much anyway. After all, an order of Veuve Clicquot for Two had been placed immediately upon my arrival. So although his timing wasn't to be applauded, his taste in dining most certainly was. I assumed the heavy rain thundering down outside had a strong play in his lack of punctuality. Downtown traffic was excruciating because of it.

I give a cursory look over the other occupants of the tea room on this dreary Monday afternoon. Lots of old biddies with their daughters and granddaughters. Not a man in sight, save for the waiters who come by with their charming, youthful smiles, hoping to snag a hefty tip. I barely bat an eyelash when my own comes around to deliver the champagne.

I heave an unladylike sigh once he is out of hearing range. He's cute and kind of charming, but not like a certain somebody had been. The melancholy I have been fighting for the better part of two days rears its ugly head again. Where the damnable thing has come from I have no idea. Yet it lingers and grows as the days tick by. The thought that my despondency could stem from a certain raven-haired man does nothing to appease my rare mood. Especially when a thorough review of said feelings seems to lead back to him.

It wasn't guilt I was feeling. Kyle—or whatever his real name was—was just another pretty face, with a pretty piece of property somebody else wanted. Simple as that.

I had done it a dozen times before. The dingy bar. The sob story. The spiked water. Stumbling back to the decoy bedroom, only to tuck them in and take their shit. Hook, line, and sinker. Every. Single. Time. My targets could hardly make it to the bed before the Rohypnol started to kick in. Kyle had lasted a remarkably long time, all things considered. It was somewhat impressive actually. I take a delicate sip of champagne to hide the flush that creeps up onto my cheeks as I think of just how long he lasted.

That particular portion of my plan had not gone as I had envisioned. Though that's not to say it went terribly. It was quite the opposite. Another blush dares to blaze across my cheeks as thoughts of his heated moans and the dizzying sensation of his touch collect at the forefront of my mind. How was it even possible to feel such a torrent of emotions from one intimate act? And yet the feel of his hand cradling my neck while I took him inside my mouth was an unbelievably pleasurable experience. Never before had I felt the building of such pleasure that I was almost torn from reality. I hadn't minded going down on him one bit, and that in itself was even more unbelievable.

My eyes flick towards the second glass of Veuve that is placed before an empty seat. I long to reach out and down it, but that's hardly how this native Californian would act. Not Colette Winters, I think.

So instead I set my flute down and scan the sea of plumed hats and demurely set shoulders for my waiter. I offer him a small smirk when I catch him making his way over with a tea tray filled with scones, pastries, and those little finger sandwiches I just love.

"Thank you," I say softly once he has set down the tray and refilled my glass. I refuse the tea that comes with the service. My dietary needs fulfilled with all that is already offered: sweets and champagne.

"Ms. Montgomery."

My second glass stalls at my bottom lip as my eyes flick sideways. Mr. Vrana stares down at me with familiar intensity, his words sharp as crystal. I straighten my spine and set down my glass. He waves off my attempt to stand and seats himself.

"Please, don't stop on my account," he muses, draping a napkin over his lap and looking over the presentation before him. He places a scone on his plate and lifts his glass of champagne, easing it forward in a gentle slant towards me. "I do believe congratulations are in order."

I plaster a large smile on my face. "All in a night's work," I assure him smoothly, picking my glass back up and sipping from it tentatively. We share a measured look over the fine china before I flit my gaze towards the third chair at our small table. On it sits a small Prada bag, gleaming white and proudly stamped. Its insides carry very precious cargo.

"For me?" he gleans. "You shouldn't have." His gentle teasing leaves me feeling on edge when I catch the slight undertone of menace behind it. I watch as he inspects his merchandise.

He's a beautiful man. Fair of skin and hair, prominent cheekbones, and pale blue eyes laced with bits of silver. He is tall and lean, with hardly a trace of fat on his body—not that I had the opportunity to prove that theory. Mr. Vrana was most definitely the type of man you would mix business and pleasure with, if not for your basic instincts yelling at you to run away screaming. He slants a smile my way. One that sends a bout of shivers up my spine.

"I hope everything is to your liking?" I nibble at the sandwich on my plate. The beef is deliciously tender and juicy, set off only more by the slight smear of horseradish between it and the bread.

He pulls the black box from the bag and lifts its lid carefully, eyes alight with a victorious gleam. The crystal he pulls from its cushioned bed is a mixture of purple and pink. The cluster of three is just one part of something bigger, or so one jagged side seems to suggest.

"That's all he had on him," I inform Mr. Vrana carefully.

"I'm well aware," he replies shortly. We sit in silence as he repackages his new purchase. "This will go beautifully in my safe," he informs me genially. My smile begins to ache as it ticks up another inch.

"Wonderful."

He passes a cool eye over me. "You've done well. As per usual, Ms. Montgomery."

Well, _duh_. I was made for this kind of stuff. No one ever expected the pretty blonde laughing away in a crowd to have their most coveted belongings tucked safely away in the Hermes bag on her arm.

"Thank you, Mr. Vrana. It's always a pleasure doing business with you." A smile curves onto his lips, though it does not reach his eyes. It rarely does.

"You'll find your payment in progress, Ms. Montgomery. Should there be any issues, which I'm sure there won't, you know who to contact."

"Of course," I reply smoothly, fingers itching to snatch my champagne as he stares me down. Mr. Vrana is a dangerous man, more so than any I have met before, and he knows it.

"I'll be debuting a new artist in the city next Saturday at my residence atop the Four Seasons," he tells me casually. I cannot hide the flicker of confusion that passes over my face. Nor the tiniest quiver in my smile at this unusual small talk. "I know your love of art," he continues, smile turning sharp, "and thought to extend to you an invitation. As long as you can keep your hands to yourself, that is."

"I—" _don't make a fool of yourself, Quinn, not now_ "—would love to come. Thank you for the invitation." He inclines his head towards me and stands. This time I stand as well and stretch out my hand for him to take. He does, and places a kiss onto my knuckles, eyes never straying from my face. There is something unnerving about the act. The cool touch of his skin against my own. The uncommon pull of his gaze. It elicits a shiver from my body.

"Expect a formal invitation at your hotel's reception desk. The Omni, is it?" I nod numbly, counterfeit smile back in place. "Was the Warwick no longer to your tastes? Or Hotel Teatro?"

I quell the urge to shudder at his all-knowing smile. Of course, he's had me followed. It would hardly serve his purpose for me to turn tail and run off with his fancy rock.

"Something like that," I chime sweetly. He inclines his head then departs. Prada bag firmly in his grasp. I sit with a sigh, pick up my glass, and down its contents. " _Damn_."

Popping a petit four into my mouth, I lean back and let my shoulders sag. I peruse the crowd once again, collecting my calm in bits and pieces. Another job was done. Another cool mill' in the bank. A few more jobs like this and I could retire before the end of next year. Vanish to some island and live out my days on some sandy beach sipping Mai Tais all day and night. Just me, myself, and I. And maybe a cabana boy or two to keep me company.

Something catches my eye. A familiar gleam of deep, cherry red hair. Elegantly curled and precisely draped. It's M. My mentor of sorts. Though she would loathe for me to call her so. Anything but M is simply unacceptable and yet I can't evade the word when she comes to mind. After all, M is the one who taught me the art of the con. How to seduce, how to steal, how to... _everything_. When I first started out selling forgeries, I was with some sleazebag who took advantage of my talents—among other things. It wasn't until M came along and convinced me of my worth and potential that I came fully under her tutelage.

She's on the arm of some older gentlemen dressed head to toe in Armani as they make their way out of the Tea Room. The maître d' passes them their umbrellas and raincoats. As if sensing my gaze, her own seeks mine. Our eyes meet, but no tell of recognition crosses her features. Then, after a long second passes by, I am gifted with a slight inclination of her head before she departs.

My phone is in my hand before I can help myself. Fingers flying over the keyboard to send a message to the redhead a second later. I receive her reply just as I'm finishing off my last tea sandwich and let a real smile come to fruition. A drink to catch up with a colleague was just what I needed to distract from the looming ache in my chest.

+++

"You look as if you're doing well, Q." A silky voice greets from behind. I'm only halfway out of my chair at La Menagerie before she presses two quick kisses to the sides of my face and sits opposite me.

"Same to you, M," I respond sincerely. M is somewhere in her early forties. A complete and total _fox_. Dark red hair, deep brown eyes, and curves that demand you listen. I was lucky that our first encounter had gone the way it did. Instead of pressing charges against me once she realized the lesser known Pissarro I had sold her wasn't one at all, she informed me I was wasting my talents. If I could learn to use my womanly wiles, I'd see my payout double. Triple even. The rest, as they say, is history. Five years later and I was swimming in work.

"What trouble have you been getting into?" She asks, her tone hinting at a secret. I cock my head.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," I reply. Her eyes narrow on me as a glass of Pinot Grigio is poured for each of us. She refrains from speaking until our waiter is gone, our order in hand.

"Then why have I heard mention of your name through certain...channels?"

I give her a cheeky grin. "Hmm, perhaps they're just admirers of my work?" I suggest coyly, though inside her words strike a cord. "What were they asking for exactly?"

"Your name," she tells me after taking a deliberate sip of her wine. "Among other things."

My smile fades. "What 'other things'?" I ask tightly.

M smirks. "You're not going to make it very far in this business if you don't reign in that wild side of yours. I heard what happened in Montenegro."

"That was a complete misunderstanding," I assure her, smothering a smile as I recall the unplanned ménage à trois. "Which ended rather well, I might add. Everything went according to plan."

Her disapproval scolds me through her eyes. "You're too reckless, Q. Have you remembered anything I've taught you? You need to do your homework before accepting a job. Let alone jumping into a game on the side. You'll end up behind bars or six feet under if you don't start playing smarter." A plaintive sigh bursts past my lips, earning a rather feral glare from M. "I'm well aware of the excitement of it all. The rush of adrenaline while on the run. The surge of fear when rolling the dice. You can have that for as long as you want—"

"—As long as I play it smart," I finish.

"Let others lose themselves in you. Not the other way around."

I straighten in my seat. "I wasn't about to fall for the duke or his wife," I assure M.

She snorts, the action startling me. I had never heard her snort. Laugh. Giggle. Simper. Yes to all three. But never a _snort_. "As I said, you're too reckless. One of these times you're going to dive too deep. Hell, you'll probably even lose your heart to—"

"I wouldn't," I tell her sharply, feeling a frown starlight across my brow. I'd let my heart get trashed enough in the past by both family and friends. I had no desire to let the action happen again. So I had built a wall around my heart to put a stop to the endless stream of disappointments that passed through my life. I might be willing to risk life and limb, but no longer was my heart up for grabs. I was planning on keeping it to myself. Indefinitely.

Yet as the stubborn reassurance scores through my mind, flashes of dark hair and blue eyes stir from my memory. The taste of Kyle—the blistering heat of his hands and lips—assaults my senses like a phantom. A weak tremor falls from my nape to the end of my spine. A pang of longing not far behind.

M clears her throat and passes me a speculative look. " _Good_. And have you been covering your trail as I taught you to?" I flush and mentally tick off all the things I know I've yet to do.

" _Yes_ —"

"—The one meant to keep you out of jail?" she asks calmly, her wine glass held lightly between her fingertips.

I give pause. Damn her. "I'll do better," I lament. The waiter returns with our order of ahi tuna tartare before M can rip me a new one.

"No new clients are going to take you if you're so easily found, Q. Anonymity is important in this business of ours. For both you and the client."

I duck my head. "I understand, okay? I'll do better. This is all I have, and I don't particularly feel like screwing it up." She shrugs her shoulders and lets the subject drop, her admonishment over. I know she does it because somewhere in that deep dark heart she cares about me, but it's no less annoying to be treated like I'm still some novice. M homes in on the tartare. Taking a large helping of the tuna on one of the wonton chips. She lets out a hearty moan.

The sound, so similar to the one I'd made only a few days ago, submerges me in memories once more. Of Kyle's hungered kiss and how it felt to be devoured and savored all at once. The overwhelming sensation of a fire blazing through my veins as he held me prisoner. I squirm in my seat and reach for the tuna, shoving a loaded wonton into my mouth. M's barely disguised disgust brings my head back up from deep waters.

"So, who was the man you were with earlier?" I ask.

"Another long con job," she replies. "I saw that you were with Mr. Vrana. I've worked with him on a job or two before."

"He's intense. Don't you think?"

"To say the very least," she confirms, an uneasy look filtering across her face. "Be careful with him, Q. He's not a man to be trifled with."

"Nobody we work with is meant to be trifled with."

Her sharp glare freezes me mid-reach. "I mean it, Q."

"He likes my work, and he pays well. _Really well_ , M. I'm not about to mess that up."

"Just be smart. Especially with him. Are you staying in Denver much longer? Or are you working another job for him?"

I mull over the question as I chew on another hearty bite of the tartare. A dozen different coastal towns and beaches flitter across my mind's eyes. It had been a while since I'd indulged in a vacation of sorts where I could let loose and enjoy myself. Nevertheless, I still needed to stockpile my savings. Especially after my most recent shopping spree. I take a sip of my wine, eyeing M over the rim of the glass casually. She might be my mentor, but it wouldn't be the first time she learned of a job I was up for and swiped it from me.

"Just one more I think. I haven't received any of the recon for it yet."

"Well, I think you should get out of town." I arch a brow in response.

"I was just out of town," I remind her.

"Ah yes, traipsing around in paradise. How taxing."

I smirk, "It was an easy enough job." And easy enough to remember. In _vivid_ detail. There was no denying it. I couldn't seem to keep my head out of the clouds. Every wandering thought led to blue eyes and charming grins that had felt so right when dealt my way. "A classic set up," I continue, forcefully nonchalant.

"Men are so predictable," she says with a languid sigh, not noticing my melancholy. "Isn't that nice? It always makes the job a little bit smoother. Was the target anyone of consequence?"

"Maybe," I reply, collecting myself. _Finally_. "I was given a time and place. A description of the object, and a photograph of the target. Nothing more."

M takes the last bite of the tartare and wipes away any lingering crumbs from her fingertips with the black napkin on her lap.

"A clean cut job then?"

"Very much so," I confirm. Except for the fact that I couldn't get Kyle out of my head. M shoots me a coy look over the rim of her wine glass.

"I have a little present for you."

"Is it Gucci?" She laughs and slips me a manila envelope from her purse. "Definitely, not Gucci," I gripe playfully.

"It's an opportunity," M informs me. She tinkers through her purse and pulls out a mirror and lip gloss.

"Who's paying?"

"No one," my eyes shoot to hers. "Like I said, it's an opportunity. A little birdie told me a Degas was making its way to some town called Branson Falls, up in Montana."

"You're joking."

I hold my breath as she gives me a candid smile. The one that softens her features and brings a real light of joy to her eyes. "Really. Go ahead and look." She busies herself with retouching her makeup as I open the job.

"How is this...I can't believe this is happening. How did I not hear about this?" I mutter under my breath as I finger through the files: purchase order, authentication papers, shipping details, schematics of the house. "Who the hell is your little birdie friend, and can I be friends with them too?" I give her my best puppy dog eyes.

She laughs once more. "We all have our sources, dear. Even you. Consider this an early birthday gift."

"You don't know when my birthday is," I remind her, tucking the manila envelope into my purse. " _I_ don't even know when my birthday is."

"That's more useful than you realize, darling," she purrs, finishing the reapplication of her lip gloss with a flourish. A far away ache gives a knock to my heart. Images of my mother, too doped up to care about her only daughter's birthday year after year filtering across my memory. I push the ache and memories away back into the recesses of my heart.

"I'll be sure to take full advantage of it in a few years."

She hums her agreement and begins to stand, laying two crisp twenty-dollar bills on the table. "Take advantage of this opportunity, Q. It's right up your alley."

I blow her a kiss goodbye and watch as she fades effortlessly out of view. Then I take out the manila envelope once more and run through each document another time, my heart racing all the while. This was the perfect birthday gift. The perfect project to keep my mind occupied.

I'd have to send a thank you card to this Mr. Adolphus once his Degas was safely in my possession.

Happy birthday to me.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 3

Ryatt

She arrived on Tuesday to scope out the town, choosing to shack up in the Cremosi's Bed and Breakfast. A quaint Colonial-style home with only one other occupant: Keenan. I had tasked him with trailing her whereabouts due to his military background, while I lurked from other, darker corners to mollify the soulmark. It had been a long four days. Having no contact, physical or otherwise, had left me in quite the state. My usual delightful personality and perfectly timed quips had been replaced quickly with a surly scowl and sarcastic remarks. Thankfully, both smile and scowl looked equally handsome on my face (to no one's surprise).

She had scouted our property for some time the following day, obviously readying herself for the delivery scheduled for Thursday. Watching her covert vigil from so near brought me nearly to madness. Her scent rode on the ends of each passing breeze, taunting me from my place in the shadows. The soulmark and beast inside howled at me to take her. To mark and bind her to me before she had another chance to leave me. Lucky for her, my patience and foresight held. Even through my darkest of cravings.

Now all there was to do was wait just a bit longer.

The digital clock read 1:52 a.m. in blaring red. It was exceptionally annoying, but the clock was strategically placed. Just like every other object in the room. I had made sure every piece and player had adhered to my plan this afternoon and evening. The delivery arrived on time, with Xander handling the reception and having the piece brought up to the west wing. It was placed in a room undergoing renovations, or so it would seem to anyone looking in from afar. Old canvas blankets, dirtied with dust and paint, were laid across the room's furniture. Plastic lining was draped carefully along each wall, and buckets of paint were left surreptitiously about the room. The Degas was placed carefully atop one of the side tables, left uncovered and leaning lightly against the wall near the insufferable clock. Both were placed directly across from a window left slightly ajar. As if to suggest the room needed airing.

What better temptation could I provide?

I sit amid the array, just out of sight and hidden among the larger furniture to wait out my little thief. My hands do not shake as they press the crystal full of Woodford Reserve to my lips. I inhale purposefully, filling my nose with the aroma of leather and honey. Trace notes of butterscotch and toasted oak. It does not burn as it slips past my tongue and down my throat. It engulfs my senses. Provides the distraction I need.

The clock lets out an inaudible click as the number two changes to three. I smile and sink lower into my seat. _Soon_.

+++

Quinn

Everything was going well. _Really well_. I arrived on Tuesday late in the afternoon after grabbing some supplies from a buddy of mine. The town was...cute. Quaint, even. Totally not to my tastes, but, whatever. It had a certain _je ne sais quoi_ about it that somehow eased the ache in my heart. Or maybe it was just the thrill of doing a heist for myself that lifted my spirits.

At least the town had some taste. Boutiques with stylish clothes dotted the downtown area with price tags that would give a fair few pause. Bistros and cafés were filled with people. Their clever little chalkboard signs drawing in crowds.

" _Rise and Grind,_ " outside of Luna Café.

" _Mojitos in Training,_ " a staked sign within a small planter of mint near the entryway of Coco's.

" _We love our coffee like Kanye loves Kanye_ ," at some hole-in-the-wall barista joint.

I survey the neighborhood and house I'll be pilfering. The subdivision screams money with its sprawling yards that bump up against the forest preserve just beyond its white picket fences. The house I study is perhaps the biggest of them all. It looks like some old French estate set up against a backdrop of lush green trees and hills. I adore it. I'm sure inside there is a treasure trove of lavish trinkets and antiques. Ones that would fetch a tidy sum, but it's not what I came for. This afternoon the Degas was delivered. Mr. Adolphus collected the painting and ushered the delivery men inside, and to my delight, into the most easily accessible room. Despite it being on the second floor, the room offered two windows, one of which framed the Degas perfectly, even from afar.

It's nearing two o'clock in the morning. The house has been still for hours, and my back has long since started to ache from my position in the tree I occupy. I eye the garden trellis secured against the side of the house and the flowers that creep up along the lattice work. Climbing the trellis wouldn't be difficult knowing that I wouldn't have to keep my balance attempting to open one of the windows. Thank goodness they were remodeling the room and had left one of the windows cracked.

_It was now or never_.

I've packed light. A small knife, my lock pick kit, and art tube are all that I carry. I wear all black, _obviously_ , and even a dark cap over my tightly braided hair. I land with a light grunt and take off across the great lawn in a low sprint, not anticipating lights to blare so suddenly from the back porch. I dive off into the shadows, heartbeat in my throat as I scamper to the side of the house. The lights click off a minute later, and still I wait, breathing in short, panicked gasps.

Nobody had seen me approaching. I was sure. They were just those lights programmed to turn on at any odd movement. With my luck, if anyone had peeked out a window, they would have assumed it to be some woodland creature. Like a bunny or a deer. Or some other woodland creature.

Once I've got my heart rate under control, I tiptoe along the side of the house, positioning myself under the open window. Then up I go. Past the trenches of violets and fuchsias until I reach the window sill. The window, already cracked open, slides up the rest of the way easily enough. It gives no wary cry of disbelief as I slip myself inside.

Adrenaline courses through my veins. Any traces of nervousness departing as I creep towards the Degas. A small shiver runs its way down from the base of my neck. It is stunning. Every portrait he has ever painted is alive with fluidity and movement that dance right off the canvas. It will be the centerpiece of my small collection. I release a slow, steady stream of air and inch forward. My palms feel sweaty in their leather casing, but that is a trivial matter. I only need to undo the framing and remove the canvas. All done quickly enough with items in my lock-picking arsenal.

"Hello, _Mary_." My stomach drops at the familiar voice, hands freezing in place as they reach for my prize. _Fuck_. "Tell me something, was it my bubbly personality or the thought of getting me back in your bed that brought you back to me."

_Just take a deep breath, Quinn_ , I tell myself. Steady that stupid heart of yours and play along 'til you can make your getaway. Degas or not. Probably not. I cast a look of longing towards the immaculate portrait, a groan of disappointment growing in my throat before I thrust it away. I take one step back and turn to face Kyle.

"Couldn't get enough of me, could you?" His eyes gleam even in the darkness, the moon, almost at its full, shining down through the window onto him. How the fuck didn't I see him? I put on my brightest smile, eyes sharp as they adjust to the lighting or lack thereof. His midnight hair gleams in the moonlight, a tragic smirk upon his face that twists my stomach into knots.

"I wasn't expecting to see you here," I answer carefully.

"Ah, but I was expecting you, Mary." The ice cubes in his glass rattle as he finishes off his drink. "I'm sorry," he carries on unperturbed, "Would you prefer I call you Quinn?"

My blood runs cold and my back stiffens. A thousand thoughts run through my head until they settle on one nugget of information. "I suppose I can safely assume it was you who was digging into my past?" My upper lip curls into a sneer. Damn it all to hell; this was a setup. Some kind of payback for stealing the crystal. _Or maybe he just wanted to see me again_. The thought skirts quickly through my mind, bringing an unusual wave of hope with it. I squash it down like a bug.

"Guilty as charged."

"Gee, I don't know whether to be flattered or disgusted by your stalkerish tendencies," I tell him sweetly. His smile kicks up another notch, and he leans forward until his elbows rest upon his knees.

"You're trouble, Ms. Montgomery. I have a feeling we're going to get along famously."

I scoff, "We're not going to be doing anything together, anytime soon." I shuffle back a step, but still when his eyes narrow.

"You took something that belonged to me. It was very important. I'm going to need it back."

"I don't exactly have it on me," I snap, "Besides, finders keepers and all that."

He matches my wry smirk with one of his own, the chair he sits in letting out a whine as he shifts his weight. I swallow discreetly.

"What an interesting code you keep. Any others I should be made aware of?"

I mull over his question for a moment. "Never leave your drink unattended in a bar?"

His smirk tightens just barely around the edges. "Funny too—be still my heart. Why don't you take a seat, Quinn, so that we can have a little chat?"

My feet stay firmly planted beneath me as our gazes wage war. He leans back. I cock a hip and cross my arms.

"I'm afraid I can't stay and chat," I finally reply, batting my eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," he says with a good-natured laugh, "let me rephrase. Sit here," his finger stabs at the footstool next to his chair, "and have a bit of a chat with me. If all goes well, I see no reason why you can't leave unscratched."

My eyes steal towards the window, but Kyle makes a disapproving noise from his seat. Swallowing, I steel my nerves and look back towards him. A dark promise hovers at the edge of his expression.

" _Sit_."

I hold back my huff of indignation and, head held high, stride towards the footstool, dusting off its surface before I sit upon it.

"Isn't this nice," he drawls, "a little midnight rendezvous to spice up a rather dull Thursday evening."

"It's Friday," I correct. "Technically."

"Technically." He agrees.

The room fills itself with the most awkward silence imaginable. His eyes drilling into the side of my face as I look anywhere but him. M was going to kill me; that is, if I didn't kill her first. Had she known about the setup? Had she been a part of Kyle's plan? I cast him a sidelong glance and catch his eye. A rush of blood floods my cheeks, but I turn it to my advantage.

"Did she say why she did it?" I ask, letting a quiver of uncertainty hedge my words. Kyle's brows pull towards each other in confusion.

"Who?"

I swallow and duck my head, hear the hammer of my heart beat out in my ears. "Stephanie." My eyes dart to him as I speak the false name, hope and distress dashed across my face.

He raises a brow quizzically before leaning towards me. "I can assure you that the path that led you here was made entirely by me. Your little Stephanie was merely a pawn moved so that the lure made it in front of you." I can't help the way my shoulders sag in relief. She didn't sell me out, but I had still been played. I straighten and cut Kyle a grim smile.

"I hope you're not waiting for congratulations."

Kyle grins once more. "I would never be so presumptuous, but one can hope."

Before I have a chance to protest he snatches the hand I have curled anxiously around the edge of the footstool. He brings it to his lips in a chaste kiss, eyes never leaving mine. A flutter erupts in my stomach. Some strange kindling of feeling stealing over my nerves. His touch inspires thoughts of him and I together, laughing over inside jokes and stealing kisses in darkened corners. But most of all it triggers an almost immediate heat to tumble through me. I press my thighs together sharply with a gasp and attempt to yank back my hand, but to no avail. I glower at him in response.

"No touching, _Kyle_ ," I spit, yanking once more. He releases me unexpectedly, and I careen backward, footstool and all. My screech cuts short when the stool beneath me is caught, and a hand placed possessively on my waist. Kyle's face is suddenly inches from my own.

"It's Ryatt," he breathes, all traces of jest gone from his voice.

"Excuse me?" comes my somewhat breathless response, eyes comically wide at our nearness. My seat is gently righted, and Ryatt kneels before me on one knee, maintaining his close proximity.

"My name is Ryatt. Your name," he says softly, "is Quinn 'no middle name' Montgomery."

There is something about this claustrophobic space that numbs my mind and stalls my heart. The warmth of his hand creeps past the layer of my black leggings and soaks into my skin. Unable to help myself, my eyes flutter nervously as they lock on his lips. In the next instant they lock back upon his eyes. _Don't go there, Quinn_.

He must see the uncertainty behind them as I try to take control of my frenzied nerves. There is something about the way his smile softens. A touch of vulnerability slipping through it like an offering. He does not move closer, but he does sink lower onto his heel.

"Why did you come looking for me?"

His gaze tightens, his eyes sinking deeply into my own to hold me hostage. "I've told you," he says slowly, "you took something from me. I need it back, Quinn." I shift uneasily in my seat.

"I told you. I don't have it."

Ryatt: such a fitting name for this bundle of mayhem. He doesn't look pleased with my answer. Not one bit. And yet...and yet, he does not sharpen his gaze upon me as others might have. Yell and bash at me with words or fists. He simply bows his head in thought for a moment, grip tightening on my waistline just a fraction.

"Well now, that's a problem, sweetheart. I'll be needing you to get that back for me."

My eyes widen in alarm. "What?"

He tilts his face back up. Licks his lips and smiles. "I'll need you to fetch the crystal back for me."

My cheeks flame, "One, I'm not some dog. I don't fetch. And two, I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Both," I snarl. "It's impossible. I can't just go back and steal from the guy that paid me to steal it from you. That's just...wrong." He gives me an incredulous look.

"You steal things for a living. What does it matter if you steal something back for a better payout? I'll double his price," Ryatt reasons.

M's words echo in my head. How I shouldn't be tempted to cross a man like Mr. Vrana. How there would be consequences. I was already halfway through his second job proposal, having gotten it with the invitation for his gallery opening. My head shakes firmly side-to-side.

"I'll be labeled a double-crosser. I can't. I'm—" I grimace "—sorry."

"I'm afraid sorry isn't good enough. My brother and our pack are counting on me to deliver. Not only them, but our allies as well."

I frown. "Your pack? You mean your gang?"

Ryatt's hand slips from my waist to the back of his neck as he lets out a heavy sigh. "Not gang. Pack, but I can explain."

"Don't," comes my rushed reply. "Let's just put all this behind us and move forward." A sour expression crosses his features: lips thinning, cheeks hollowing, brow going cross.

"I'm afraid I can't quite let this one go."

"Well, I'm afraid you have no say in the matter. I'm not stealing back the crystal. End of story." I move to stand, but he is quick to tug me back into my seat. His hand a sudden vice around my wrist.

"What was it you said earlier?" he inquires smoothly. "Finders keepers?" His grip tightens to emphasize his point.

My breathing comes in shallow pants. "You can't 'finders keepers' people, you creep," I hiss, though a thrill of unexpected excitement races up my spine.

"Ah, I dare to disagree Ms. Mont—oomph!" I thrust myself upward, knee driving into Ryatt's chin with my momentum. He topples down, arms flailing to catch his fall and check his injury simultaneously. I dash towards the window; the Degas left sadly behind.

I barely make it down the garden trellis fast enough. It shakes unsteadily with my jerky movements, and by the time I've made it down Ryatt is leaning halfway out the window, a smear of red down his chin.

"There's no use in running, Quinn," he calls down as I take hasty steps back. "I've men out front waiting to retrieve you, and you wouldn't make it out in the—"

I don't bother to wait for his unnecessary warning. If there were men in the front, my only chance was the forest. I would just have to loop around and make it back to my car a few blocks away. There's no time to turn back to see if he follows. I must focus all my attention on escaping and outrunning him. My lungs are burning by the time I reach the edge of the forest, and only then do I dare chance a glance over my shoulder. A cry of disbelief catches halfway past my lips. He has nearly halved the distance between us.

I feel a sudden panic flood my system. It pushes me faster, until I feel the pounding of my heart streaming through my outstretched legs and pumping arms. A violent shudder rages past my lips as I hear his excited breath near. Before I can blink, before I can process just how the fuck this all went wrong, I am hurtling towards the ground, a steely arm wrapped tightly around my middle.

We tumble into the ground, skidding to a painful halt.

"Get off me!" I shriek, pushing and struggling against him. He grunts with the effort to keep me still, working my hands above my head and trapping my legs down with his knees. "Get off!" I cry, trembling from both fear and pain. I can feel the warm flow of blood at the back of my head and feel my energy depleting fast.

"Just calm down. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Like hell, you aren't!" I screech.

"Calm down," he snarls down at me, shoving his face right into mine. I gasp in horror as I watch his eyes dilate and bleed gold.

"What the fuck?" I gasp. Tears blur my vision, but not enough to hide what I have seen. "What the fuck!" Ryatt stares at me in a panic, his eyes rapidly dissolving into blue, then back to gold again as he quakes above me.

"Just...calm down," he pleads. Except I can't. There is blood rushing to my head too quickly, and spilling out the back of it much too fast. Black spots appear briefly and then I drift into darkness.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 4

Quinn

I am incensed.

Practically foaming at the mouth, having awoken to find myself in a prison cell. Except this wasn't your ordinary prison cell. The bars were thicker and cleaner looking than any dingy cell you might actually find in a prison or police station. No. This was some high-grade shit. The door to my cage had no lock and key mechanism but instead relied on some magnetic or electronic signature to open it. Not that it would matter if it were the former instead of the latter. My lock pick kit had been taken, along with anything else that might have aided me.

I desperately wanted to hit something but didn't particularly feel like splitting my knuckles in the process. _Ugh_. How I had slept through the night was a mystery to me. Did that normally happen when a person fainted? I had never fainted before.

I had also never been caught before, minus that first time with M.

"Fuck. Me." I groan, resting my head against the cold metal bars.

I shoot a nasty glare at the camera and its annoying red light, set high in the corner across from my cell. My middle finger raises in salute before I turn away from it with a scoff. Not only had I been played, but I had been caught. I wasn't sure which was more bruised: my head or my ego. I tried to comfort myself with the fact that they couldn't keep me down here forever. Wherever "here" was. Probably a closed-off portion of the basement meant for gang business or some weird, dirty sex exploits. If I were lucky, it would be the gang business.

A noise sounds from afar. The weighty impression of a door closing, perhaps? I stir backward towards the cot I woke up on, and sit. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to block out the hammering of my heart to listen for the sound of footfalls. After a minute of nothing, I flop backward in defeat.

"Damn," I whisper to nobody.

And then the door at the far end of the room slams open.

"Good morning, Quinn!" Ryatt announces. I jolt upwards. He looks obnoxiously happy. Fresh clothes and a bright smile on his face. He holds a tray in his hand filled with food and drinks. My heart and stomach lurch at the pleasant sight. "I come bearing gifts." Gifts indeed. No doubt he meant to lure me into some sense of security with his peace offering. I needed to play this smart, which meant I needed to bring out _Jessie "Smooth as Ice" Williams_. Playing her part had gotten me out of a number of scrapes.

"Is one of them the key to this cell?"

"It could be," he says, coming to stand in front of the cell. "If you play your cards right. Breakfast?"

"What time is it?" The words come out with more bite than I intend as I watch him set the tray down on some small metal table against the wall. I rake my eyes over him. His clothes look tailored and pressed. His face clean shaven. A familiar burst of heat spreads from my neck to my cheeks and chest.

"Just before seven, darling." I grit my teeth as he catches me staring, a knowing look in his eyes. "Tea?"

"I'm more of a coffee kind of girl."

He feigns a contrite look. "I'm afraid tea's all we've got at the moment. You'll have to make do." He takes the mug from the tray and walks up to the cell, holding it carefully outside the bars. _Jerk_.

I stand slowly, smoothing back the hair that has come loose from my braid. He looks so pleased with himself it makes me want to vomit. I reach the bars and wait expectantly for him to pass the mug. He raises an eyebrow and pulls it back ever so slightly. Men and their power plays.

"Are you going to give me the tea, or not?" I snap.

"You just have to reach out and take it yourself, darling." I do so with an annoyed huff, ignoring the shit-eating grin on his face.

"I'd prefer if you called me by my name. You know, the one you spent so much time looking for?" I blow at the steam rising from the mug, dipping a finger in quickly to test the temperature. It was much too hot to drink.

"Oh, I didn't have to look very hard to find your name. Your history. Your life story, which I must say, was quite fascinating. Tell me, Quinn, shouldn't that information be a little bit harder to find in your line of business?"

_Mother fucker_.

"Are you calling me a bad name in your head?" he croons, taking a step forward and leaning casually against the cell bars. The shit-eating grin turns into a shit-eating smile. "Is it very _naughty_?"

I take a breath. Blow it out over the tea and take a scalding sip. "Is this some kind of weird sex dungeon?"

Ryatt bursts out in laughter, taking a long moment to find his composure before repositioning himself against the bars. He leans both hands above his head and the gray polo he wears rides up to show a glimpse of tanned, taut skin. "It could be," he purrs, noticing my wandering eyes.

"Is this how you usually sweep your conquests off their feet? Kidnapping?"

He runs his tongue along his teeth. The smile on his face positively indecent. "I assure you, I've never come to such drastic measures." He places a hand over his heart. "Scout's honor."

"Yet, here I am."

"Croissant?" He offers casually, sweeping out an arm back to the tray. "You must be starving." I take another drag from the mug.

"I'm more of a waffle girl," I tell him with a short shrug. His eyes gleam at the information, but he fetches the croissant regardless. I stave off the frown that begs to fall on my brow. Why I decided to share that personal piece of information was beyond me. Maybe I was concussed? I had to be if I found myself being somewhat reluctantly impressed with Ryatt's rather successful scheme to get me here.

"Myself, as well," he confesses, passing me the croissant through the bars. The buttery pastry is warm in my hand. I take a tentative bite. "Good?"

I nod and lick the flakes of pastry off my lips. Keep my eyes at half-mast as I watch him, watching me. "Yes," I tell him softly, and wash down my bite with the tea. M was right; men were so easy. So predictable.

His eyes narrow. For a moment, I dare think I see some semblance of gold hint around the irises. My heart gives a little shudder as memories from last night crop up. I try to busy my mind with the food and drink I've been gifted, but the more I try, the more I see blazing gold eyes and the flash of sharpened canines. What exactly had I seen last night? I pass a coy look to Ryatt as I finish off the croissant. There was no need to alert him of my growing uncertainty.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he murmurs, "though I have a right mind to punish you in some manner after everything that's happened this past week. Drugging me. Stealing from me. Running from me when I explicitly asked you not to." He ticks my grievances off on his fingers, eyes alight with something close to delight as he watches for my reaction. "Tell me, are you fond of spanking? When done right it can be both a punishment and a reward."

I almost spit out my tea at his innocent tone. Instead, the tea makes itself halfway down my throat and up my nose. He laughs outright at my coughing fit. A fact I will not easily forget. It takes a minute for the coughing to subside, but the uncomfortable tightening in my throat and wetness up my nose will take longer.

"Seriously?" I bite out.

He places a hand over his heart. Rolls his shoulders back to stand just that bit straighter. "Of course, darling. Tell me. Spanking: yes or no?"

The glare I bestow would melt glaciers. Start forest fires. I rise from the bed and take a menacing step forward, lips pulling back in a snarl to reply. " _Yes_."

Ryatt rewards me with a gigantic smile. I gasp in horror and place a hand across my traitorous lips.

"I mean—yes!" I shout, followed by a short shriek. My hand goes back over my mouth. What the hell was going on? The persona of Jessie quickly drops, leaving just plain old Quinn in her wake. God help me.

"Excellent." His smile digs deeply into his cheeks to stop from laughing outright once more. Bastard.

"I didn'—" I cringe as my throat contracts, and my tongue becomes laden. "I didn'— _ugh_! Why can't I talk? Why can't I say what I want to say?"

"Remember, Quinn. Honesty is always the best policy."

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" I try to rein in my temper, I really do, but I can actually feel the heat radiating off my cheeks and neck. It certainly doesn't help that he looks so damn pleased with himself. He bites his tongue, blue eyes sparkling mischievously before darting to the floor then back at me.

"It means you shouldn't lie. Or attempt to for that matter." I take a steadying breath and squeeze the mug in my grasp. I shouldn't attempt to lie, what could that possibly— _oh_. My eyes focus on my half-finished tea. Whatever it had been laced with was obviously fast working.

"You drugged me?" I ask incredulously. So much for reining in my temper.

"Fair's fair, darling. A little _lunaria_ tea to keep you honest." I hurtle the mug across the cell, but Ryatt is quick enough to move out of the splash-and-crash radius. He eyes the mess I've made with a wry grin before returning to his spot.

"You are unbelievable," I seethe.

"That's what most women say after we've—"

"Don't!" I shout. "Do not finish that sentence."

Ryatt licks his lips but nods in agreement. "Right then, on to more mannered subjects. About last night..."

"You mean the part where you chased me down and then kidnapped me?"

"No, neither of those."

"You mean the part where your eyes went all glowy, and your teeth got all pointy?" The question tumbles from my lips before I can stop them, and we both freeze. _Fuck_. I did not mean to say that. How long was this drug going to be in my system? This honesty crap was getting old, fast.

"You remember that, do you?" he asks soberly. The cool undertones of a threat permeate his voice. "Anything else?"

I take a moment to ponder my word choice, smiling sweetly once I finally answer. "Those are the most prevalent." His jaw ticks as he puts on a strained smile.

"Where is the crystal, Quinn?"

"Not on me," I retort, crossing my arms over my chest as I cock a hip to the side.

"If it's not on you," he responds, "then where is it?"

My throat contracts, the truthful answer pushing up and past my lips uncomfortably. "With my boss."

"And who would that be?"

My chest pulses with anxiety. "A man." Ryatt huffs.

"A man whose name is..."

I do my best to hold back the words, to fight the discomfort that slowly turns into pain. Yet the pressure that builds stunts my breathing, and so, in a rasping gasp I respond, "Mr. Vrana." My eyes shut in defeat and I allow my arms to pull around my chest a bit more tightly.

"Mr. Vrana?" Ryatt seems to be speaking more to himself than me, so I turn my back to him and take several deep breaths. I had just signed away my life. If Ryatt didn't finish me off down here, then Mr. Vrana most certainly would. He would find me, torture me, and—"You're certain it was a Mr. Vrana who solicited your services? Tall, Slavic features, a bit on the pale side?"

I clench my teeth and nod my head. "Yes," I hiss, turning back around to face him. Ryatt takes a step back and begins to pace; a studious frown planted firmly on his face.

"Do you know what that crystal is?"

I shrug, "I don't know. Just another priceless crystal to add to someone's collection." Ryatt stops and fixes me with a scowl.

"You've gone and got yourself mixed up in something far greater than you could have imagined, little girl."

"I'd hardly call myself a little girl. Or is that just the type you like sucking you off?" Ryatt snarls at me, that same flash of gold striking like lightning across his eyes. " _What are you_?"

He quells his temper quickly, cutting off his sound of displeasure and replacing it with a magnificent glare. "Behave, Quinn. Or you won't be leaving this cell anytime soon." I hold back my retort, waiting for the pounding of my heart to simmer. Though his unworldly anger was evident, I wasn't frightened. Not exactly, anyway. Ryatt was a different kind of danger. Volatile when provoked, but also a man who took great measure in calculating each move he made. My pulse thrummed oddly with anticipation at the game I had fallen into.

"What are you?" I ask again.

"A lycan."

His answer gives me pause. I shuffle my weight from one foot to the other. "You mean, like, a _werewolf_?"

"Not even close, darling," he purrs, leaning up against the bars. A dark look clouds his face. "You think of a _werewolf_ ," he spits the word out with disdain, "and you image some terrifying creature, part-man part-beast, reared up upon hind legs to chase you through the woods at night. One bite, they tell you, is all it takes to share its fate. To transform into this monster every full moon. To lose control and find yourself reverted to your baser animal instincts." He gives pause to let his barbarous words sink in. "When I chase something or someone down...I'm very much conscious of my actions."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe this." A tingling sensation erupts across the back of my neck at his story. "Prove it," I demand before he can start up again. "If you're a werewolf, or a lycan, or whatever you want to call yourself, do it. Change. Right now." I issue the challenge in a strong voice, pushing past my trepidation.

Ryatt scowls. "I can't," he bites out roughly.

"Well, if you can't show me—"

"Surely I've already shown you enough," he says. "You said it yourself. My eyes and my teeth changed before your very eyes last night. Didn't they?"

The strange pull to tell the truth persists, but not nearly as strongly as five minutes ago. I keep my lips sealed, despite the discomfort.

"Lycans, dearest Quinn, are born. We are the children of the moon, blessed to share our nature with that of the wolf who resides inside us. There was a time when we could transform freely into our wolf forms. When we could run together whenever we wished, be it on two feet or four, and then Merida came along. Merida was a very powerful witch several centuries ago. Scorned by the lycan she loved, she cursed the entirety of the lycan clan. Her intent was to bind our wolf halves so that they might never know freedom, but the power of the moon was too strong. As such, for centuries lycans have only been able to shift into our wolf forms when the moon is full, and we are at our most powerful."

"Right," I drawl. "So, you can only turn into a wolf on a full moon. Sounds a lot like a werewolf to me."

"There's a cure out there. A potion to release us from the curse."

" _Mmhm_."

Ryatt's annoyance grows. "One day the cure will be found, and we will roam this earth as we were intended to—"

"—Like dogs," I chime sarcastically. Ryatt growls. Point to me.

"As wolves. As protectors of the night."

I scoff, "Protectors of the night? Against what? Vampires? Ghosts?" I let out an incredulous laugh.

"Against your Mr. Vrana," he tells me, voice going deadly calm.

The laugh dies in my throat. "Excuse me?"

"Has he ever touched you?"

"Excuse _you_ ," I all but snarl.

"He's quite cool to the touch, is he not?" My retort is ready on the tip of my tongue when I give his words the chance to sink in. My mind flicks back to our few brief face-to-face meetings. Aside from the odd handshake or kiss on the back of my hand, we did not touch. And yet he had been somewhat startlingly cold each time. Though it had seemed a bit warmer in recent encounters.

"What's your point?"

"My point is that generally speaking when one does not have a beating heart to circulate blood properly through the body, the body becomes cold."

"Some people just run cold," I tell him rationally.

"Or they're a vampire."

We stare each other down. "Listen, _Kyle_ —"

"Ryatt," he snaps. Point to me. Again.

I smile demurely. "Right, _Ryatt_. I don't know who it is you're trying to convince here, but I'm not buying the whole supernatural werewolf theory."

"Lycan," he gripes, head falling forward to bang against the bars. "What about Mexico?" A flush skirts up my cheeks.

"What about it?"

"You can't tell me you didn't feel..." his head shoots upward, eyes wide as he stares at me with newfound chagrin. "Never mind," he mumbles, looking away and beginning his pacing once more.

"It was just a job," I remind him. "It wasn't anything more than that, alright?" A sting of displeasure wraps around my body as I force the words from my lips, caught in a half truth, half lie. We treat ourselves to another stilted silence, letting the tension grow thickly between us.

"Whether you believe me yet or not, the facts remain the same," he finally tells me. "You have now found yourself a key player in our supernatural game. You're going to work with us and get back the crystal, Quinn."

"I can't, Ryatt. I told you that already. A thousand times."

"You can, and you will."

I shake my head stubbornly. "I can't get it back. I don't know where it is. For all I know he's shipped it away to some hiding spot or he had it destroyed."

"He wouldn't destroy it," Ryatt comments, coming to a stop once more.

"You're right. It's not that pretty," I tell him with a half smirk. Ryatt returns it, eyes sparkling. A flash of something stirs in my stomach at our matching looks. I swallow and douse the feeling out.

"It isn't, but it's not an ornament to be placed in a house. It's a very powerful, magical artifact."

An exasperated sigh slips out. "Of course. How could I forget about the witches?"

"Be careful what you say, darling. My soon-to-be sister-in-law just so happens to be a witch."

"Oh really?" Not-werewolves and now witches? Did he seriously expect me to believe this crap?

"Really," he says with a smirk. "You can thank her personally for the tea."

"Maybe I will." _With my fist in her eye_.

"No need to look so cross. It seems the effects have already worn off." He raises an eyebrow challengingly that I don't dignify with a response.

"If she's a witch, can't she just magic the crystal to herself or something? Why do I have to get it?"

"Certain properties of the crystal make it impossible to locate and summon. As to why you must be the one to get it, I thought that was obvious enough. You have a relationship with him. You have his trust."

"He will kill _me_ ," I tell him, voice cracking at the end. "I can't steal the crystal back, but I bet I could find you a new one—"

"That's not possible, I'm afraid," he tells me tightly after my soft declaration. "But I promise you, Quinn: he will not harm you." His impassioned words leave me slightly...breathless. Some stirring of feeling begins to grip my heart as I pull my refusal forward.

"I'm sorry," I reiterate. "I just can't."

Ryatt frowns. "Then I suppose it's time we spoke with my brother."

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 5

Ryatt

She casts a wary glance my way as I open the cell door with a thumb drive, features rearranging into something more neutral as she catches my stare. I plaster a smile on my face and swing my body to the side, gesturing ahead of me. Quinn straightens her back and walks past me purposefully towards the door I entered through, her entire body coiled with tension. A nervous lamb waiting for its chance to escape the big bad wolf.

"I wouldn't try anything rash," I warn her. A slight stiffening runs along her spine and raises the hair on the back of her neck. I chase it all with my eyes and focus on every infinitesimal stretch and pull of her muscles. She's plotting her escape, no doubt. I can hear the race of her heart in tune with each calculated step she takes. Through the air wafts the smell of both adrenaline and small spikes of fear.

She would run. I would give chase. Again.

A grim smile slants across my face. "Take a left at the door. On your right you'll see a stairway. Go up."

Her steps speed up a fraction as she opens and slips past the basement door. Though I'm only a hairsbreadth behind, she still manages to the slam the door halfway closed on me. I catch it and slip around 'til I'm flush behind her suddenly frozen form.

"Meet Keenan," I whisper into her ear, eyeing the intimidating man. "Keenan, this is Quinn." He grunts in response, arms folded across his broad chest and an unpleasant scowl on his face. His arms are littered with tattoos, which bulge with muscles.

"I didn't realize you had reinforcements lurking about," she tells me, disdain evident. The bitter scent of fear spills into the hallway. Keenan and I share a look, then his arms drop to his side and his scowl retreats. Somewhat, at least. Resting bitch face is just as common in men as it is in women.

"Good morning," he rumbles. Then he tries for a smile. Quinn leans back slightly, breath held for one excruciating moment until it is released.

"Morning," she replies, all false-cheer.

"We're headed upstairs," I tell Keenan. He raises a brow, goes to cross his arms once more, then stops. A weird spasm of emotions flits across his face: frustration, annoyance, embarrassment, and finally, grim acceptance. It's always so amusing to watch him mind his manners. "To see Xander."

Keenan looks to me, then Quinn. "Good luck," he tells her, shooting a rather disarming grin her way as he relaxes. I send him a scowl over her shoulder, lightly pushing at her lower back to guide her forward and past Keenan.

"No need to be too friendly, brother" Keenan ducks his head sheepishly, though a sly smirk remains on his face.

"Good luck, _brother_ ," he replies under his breath so that only I might hear as we travel upwards. "You'll need it."

I huff, half exasperated, half amused, and slow my pace to put some distance between us. My eyes drift lower, eyeing the black material that fits faithfully along her legs and ass. The soulmark tingles as my cock stirs at the sight. Watching her ascent is certainly a pleasurable experience.

"Excuse you," she scolds, tossing a mean glare over her shoulder, though it doesn't quite meet her eyes. Her cheeks are fused with color, lips puckered into a delicious pout.

_What a beauty_.

"My apologies," I declare. The frown she wears deepens momentarily before she sets her sights back on the upcoming open archway. Her steps quicken once more. No doubt to get away from my scrutiny. _Or_...my head ticks to the side, ears perking to the sudden crescendo of her heart. "Quinn—"

She darts up the last couple of steps and throws herself down the hallway. Her footfalls sound swiftly against the carpet runner, but they are drowned out by my own. I catch her easily, my arm slipping around her middle to propel her against the wall. She hits the wall with a yelp, my arm acting as a slight cushion as I push myself against her, trapping her body between my own and the wall.

"I thought I told you not to run," I tell her calmly, letting her soft panting sound against my collarbone. Her eyes do not look up to meet mine. Instead, they stare determinedly through me.

"You said not to do anything rash," she corrects.

"And running away isn't rash?"

She shrugs, wiggling against my hold. I stifle a groan. Her thigh is sandwiched tightly between my own. "It seemed the most sensible option in my current predicament." She peeks up at me. Pretty cerulean blue veiled against a stronghold of blonde lashes. _Minx_. She shifts her hips and places her hands tentatively against my chest. From runaway to coy damsel in under a minute. Impressive. Next she would be simpering out an apology before shoving against my chest to flee once more. I smile down at her.

I carefully peel off her hands and place them behind her into possession of one of mine. She glares up at me, fingernails biting into the flesh they can reach.

"Careful, Quinn. I'm beginning to think you want me to bend you over my knee right now." Color rises to her cheeks, and her eyes dart away. The familiar scent of her arousal fills the space between us. I press more firmly against her. My half hard-on swells to a full as I feel the warmth of her curves. "Or are you the type who prefers to be tied down as your punishment is doled out?"

I graze her cheekbone and across the way to her bottom lip with my fingertips. She shivers at my touch, eyelashes fluttering closed as I duck my head down closer to her neck.

"No matter," I whisper on, the husky timbre of my voice slipping between us, "you'll be gagged." Her eyes startle open, staring at me in scandal as her breath continues in little puffs of hot air. The scent of her arousal nearly doubles, forcing me to bite back a moan. "We wouldn't want to disturb anyone with the noises you'd be making."

"You're vile," she tells me, fire in her voice and pounding through her veins.

I bury my nose in her neck and inhale deeply. I might be vile, but there's no denying her reaction to my indecent proposals. She smells heavily of arousal and adrenaline. I let my nose slip farther back along her neck and smile as I feel her skin break out in goosebumps.

The soulmark is so near; I could reach out my tongue and taste it. My hips give a small thrust forward, and I'm rewarded with one in kind. Her soft trembling moan fans my ear.

"We could be vile together," I say, nipping at her earlobe before pulling back. "If you'd like."

Her mouth opens and closes comically for a moment. Then a different flush rises to her cheeks. "Not likely," she growls.

I raise a skeptical brow, "There's nothing to say we can't mix business with pleasure." _And then more pleasure_. The wolf echoes its agreement in my head with a soft growl.

"I don't think so."

I hum knowingly, "And here I thought we had...chemistry."

She smirks cruelly back at me. "I'll take that as a compliment of doing my job well, but make no mistake, Ryatt, there is no chemistry between us." Her heart gives a little skip as she gives her rebuttal. _Liar_.

"Then would you care to explain your obvious excitement?"

"I'm not excited," she grinds out between her teeth, "just a decent actress."

_Ah, but the nose knows, darling_. "Remember, Quinn," I say lightly, "I'm of the lupine variety. Racing heart. Dilated eyes. That tempting moan and the smell of your arousal. They're all signs to the opposite."

"You're crazy." The scent of her embarrassment fills my nose. Time to turn it down a notch. No matter how hard it is to ignore the attraction between us. I can't recall Xander being so consumed by his soulmark so early on...I clearly hadn't given my Alpha enough credit.

"There's no need to be ashamed of your attraction," I tell her honestly and lick my lips a bit nervously. I remove all traces of humor from my voice. "I've certainly done a poor enough job of hiding my own. As it is," I venture softly, "I don't see why we might not take the chance to explore what could be between us after all this mess is sorted."

Time stands still, and then she guffaws. She stares pointedly at the spot just over my shoulder. A sharp dagger of dread penetrates my heart as I try to ignore the sting of her response.

"I don't think so," she says cruelly. "What exactly did you think was going to happen? You locked me up in some weird basement prison, and now you're trying to force me to steal back some _stupid_ crystal. Not to mention the whole 'I'm a werewolf' angle you're trying to pull—which is really weird, by the way. You should just stick with the 'shallow playboy' routine you had down in Mexico. Seems truer to form, don't you think?"

Her aim is far too accurate. The words cut deep as intended, but I mask my pain with a menacing smile. "Let's not pretend like you have even an _inkling_ of who I am, little lamb." She scowls at the endearment. "Other than the man who's able to bring you undeniable pleasure—"

" _Seriously_?" she gripes.

"You're right; how about a new topic? Rooming arrangements. This," I reach out a hand and knock on the doorframe a foot away, "is my room. You'll be staying in there with me. Ah, ah! No more talking, darling. You'll be made to stay downstairs in the cell if you can't manage to behave yourself. Besides, this way I can keep an eye on you. Make sure your wandering hands stay off all the precious cargo here. To be clear, I am speaking of myself."

"You're incorrigible." She tugs her arms from my grasp and pushes me away. While straightening her clothes she loses all scent of her earlier arousal, to be replaced with cool control.

"Among other things," I concur. "Shall we?" I point to a double door towards the end of the hall. She stalks past me without another word but stops just short of reaching them.

"Nice art collection," she murmurs, folding her arms over her chest as she waits for me to either reach her side or open the door.

"Thank you," I say somewhat stiffly, "it was my late mother's." Her eyes dart to my face, but I hold an unreadable expression.

"She had good taste. It's not exactly to my taste," she hedges somewhat kindly, "but beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that crap."

"And your beauty is something akin to a Degas."

She smooths down her braided hair carefully. "Something like that."

+++

Quinn

I know my attention should be given fully to the situation at hand, but my mind keeps wandering back to the hallway. The way Ryatt had me pressed against the wall. His colorful descriptions of what he planned to do to me. The way my nipples had tightened almost painfully. How my panties still felt damp. Why did I feel such a strange pull towards him? It was as if my nervous system went up in smoke and flames every time he stepped too near. Maybe something more had been slipped into the tea than he let on? The attraction I felt wasn't ordinary.

The door opens to reveal a woman with golden brown skin, and hair swept back behind a large headband. She carries a tray with a teapot and teacup on it, hips swaying gently from side to side as she comes forward. I wrinkle my nose.

"I'm not thirsty," I tell them cheerfully, eyeing the singular teacup with distrust. "But thanks."

The newcomer sends me a pitying glance and then looks towards Xander, the "Alpha." He makes a study of me from behind his desk, eyes calculating my every movement. The weight of his regard is mildly stifling, a feat I had not thought possible after encountering Keenan.

"It's either the tea or the syringe," he tells me. My eyes dart over the tray once more and note the needle resting on a golden piece of cloth. I swallow.

"Tea."

The woman passes me another sympathetic glance to which I roll my eyes. If she wanted to help, she could. She chose not to. I wonder, is this "the witch" Ryatt was talking about?

"There's no need to be mad at her," Xander tells me calmly. "Your anger is more aptly served at us."

I scoff and take the proffered tea. "Please refrain from telling me who I should and should not be mad at. If I want to hate on the girl that's pouring me the spiked tea, then I will." I turn my steely gaze to the woman who stands serenely back. " _Thanks,_ sweetheart." She flinches as I slug back the scalding tea, tossing the teacup and saucer onto the desk with little regard.

"There's no need to be crude, darling," Ryatt cajoles from the chair next to mine.

"I'm not your fucking _darling_ ," I snap back. The room goes silent at my outburst, while I attempt to curb my baser emotions.

I take in a deep breath to calm my hammering heart. There wasn't anything I could do at the moment to get out of this. I just had to invest in the new game and let it play out. Maybe along the way, I could find a way to get the hell out, but for now, there would be no advantage to looking back. Once this was all over, I would take a new name, a new everything, and hope to God I would never be found again. After all, Ryatt said he would double my price, right? I take another deep breath.

"Well, safe to say we all know why you're here," Ryatt starts, voice perfectly nonchalant. Xander sends his brother a short, but stern glare.

"Ryatt," he says on an exhale, "it might be best if you didn't talk." Ryatt hardly looks offended, and upon catching my inspection he sends me a wink. _Honestly_. I roll my eyes toward the ceiling, dutifully ignoring the way I feel my cheeks fill with warmth at his flirtations.

"Of course, your wish is my command, brother."

Xander's eyes return to me. "Quinn, you stole a crystal from Ryatt a week ago."

"Six days ago."

Xander's furrowed brow does not break. "It was no ordinary crystal."

"So I've been told," I say with a smirk. "Something about witches and werewolves. If you ask me, it looks like one of those lamp things. You know, the ones that light up." My eyes shut as I try to recall the name of the object I'm imagining.

"A rock salt lamp?" Ryatt offers.

I snap my fingers and my eyes open. "Yes!" I send Ryatt an appreciative smile before looking to Xander. "You can totally find a replacement on Amazon."

"Is this a game to you?" Xander asks, voice unamused.

A smile treads carefully at the corner of my lips. "Most definitely." A soft burst of laughter erupts from the woman, and Xander lets out a sigh of frustration.

"Not helping, Zoelle."

"Sorry," she mumbles, biting her lip to keep from smiling or laughing. Probably both.

"It's alright," I chime in before Xander can continue, "I usually have that effect on people." I flutter my eyelashes enticingly at her and let my gaze sweep down her body.

"I didn't realize she was going to be as bad as you," bemoans Xander as he glares heartily at his brother. Ryatt is practically beaming at me, and I fight down the second wave of red that dares to rise. I just needed to outlast the effects of the tea. If that meant making a fool of myself and diverting attention accordingly, then so be it.

"Oh, she's a very bad girl," Ryatt claims proudly, his voice dipping dangerously low. "We've already discussed how we'll rectify the situation, haven't we, Quinn?"

"Incorrigible," I growl, spearing him with a look of scorn. He sweeps my hand into his own and brings it to his lips.

"Always," he promises, teeth grazing my knuckles for the briefest of moments before retreating and allowing me back my hand. A shiver breaks out across my body as an almost undeniable urge to place my hand back within his own overwhelms me. A dull throbbing pulses from the back of my neck, near the base of my skull where a tattoo and birthmark call home. This had to be a side effect of the drug.

"Can we continue?" Xander asks, words laced with amusement and vexation. When no one answers, he leans back into his chair with a roll of his eyes. "I need a drink," he mutters just loud enough for us to hear.

"You should try the tea." Ryatt and Zoelle both snicker at Xander's groan. Then he straightens and pins his focus solely upon me.

"You stole the Wielding Crystal of Dan Furth," the woman, Zoelle, tells me. "It's an important artifact to my Coven." Coven _, right_.

"Who was your employer?" Xander asks. I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

"Mr. Vrana," I say after a painful moment's hesitation. The words burn a path on their way up and out my mouth. "Jesus Christ, how much of that _lunaria_ stuff did you put in there? Can I have some water?"

Zoelle blushes. "It's probably because you drank it so fast," she explains to me patiently. "It'll fade. I think. For now the effects will most likely feel exacerbated."

"Perfect," I mutter.

"Quinn, focus." The glower I shoot Xander's way is perfectly icy, as it should be. I've had enough practice with it throughout my life. "Do you know who Mr. Vrana is?"

"Just another man drooling over someone else's toy."

"Do you know what he is?"

My eyes slip to Ryatt. "I've been told he's a vampire."

"And do you believe him?" I flounder for an answer, and my conflict gets stuck in my throat.

"I don't know," I finally say. "Not really, the concept is pretty out there."

Xander nods and looks to Zoelle, his gaze softening so much that he looks like a different man. _A man terribly in love_. She reddens under his scrutiny but returns his love-filled look.

"Rather disgusting, aren't they?" Ryatt asks softly, effectively killing their mood. I snort.

"Yes," I respond resolutely.

"There's no need to be rude," Zoelle scolds Ryatt. "After all, she's—" Zoelle cuts off at the precise shaking of both brothers' heads.

"What? She's what?" I ask, scooting to the edge of my seat and darting my gaze between the three.

"A thief," Ryatt answers, slowly turning to face me. His face splits into a pleased grin. "Who stole my heart."

_Oh, Lord_.

"You'll get used to it," Zoelle supplies at my incredulous look.

"I don't plan on having to," I tell her. My honesty places an uncomfortable look on their faces. "Am I missing something?"

"Only the important things," Ryatt answers. I'm ready to bite back, snap some witty retort to put him in his place when Xander holds up a hand.

"Would it help if one of us drank some of the tea?" I frown back at him. Why would he offer me that? As if reading my mind he replies, "So that you might believe. And so that you'll agree to help us get the crystal back." I sit back in my velvet chair carefully and slip one leg over the other.

"I want everyone to drink the tea."

He shakes his head. "Just one. You can choose." A sigh falls past my lips. There was no way for me to know if any of the trio had built up an immunity to the drug used in the tea. Meaning they could all potentially still lie to me and keep spinning this strange web of supernatural stories. I scan their faces briefly. If anyone seemed most likely to have built up an immunity to the drug, it was Xander. Ryatt would have too much fun being honest. Which left Zoelle.

"Her."

Zoelle straightens her shoulders a bit before pouring herself a cup of the now lukewarm tea. She drinks about half of it and then sets it down. _Smart_.

"It'll take a minute or so before the effects kick in," she explains to me, leaning against the desk as we all wait out the minute in silence. "Alright. It should be working now."

"Good," Xander says. "Zoelle, what are you?"

"A witch," she says. I gaze on neutrally, ignoring the strong sound of my heart in my ears at her answer. Maybe she was a Wiccan. Wasn't that a religion? There's a long pause as all three turn expectant eyes towards me, but I refuse to pass along any sort of acknowledgment.

"And what are we?"

"You're lycans." _Not-werewolves._

"And Mr. Vrana?" Her mouth opens then snaps shut as her face shifts to one of confusion.

"I've never met him. I wouldn't know. I _don't_ know," comes her staggered response. Her hand grazes her throat as she clears it gently. A rather annoyed look flashing over her face.

"Sorry, love. I forgot you didn't know," Xander croons. "For the record, he's a vampire. And what does the crystal do?"

Zoelle takes a breath. "The crystal radiates a supernatural energy that stimulates the growth of the natural products of the land. It enhances their efficiency, potency, and power if they have it, tenfold. We already have one half," she tells me, "but Mr. Vrana, as you've told us, has the other." This was not good. Taking jobs knowing your employers are not quite right in the head always led to trouble.

"He might," I finally caution. "I don't know if he still has it. I mean," I grit my teeth against the uncomfortable sensation gripping my throat, "I am _nearly_ certain he has it, but I can't know for sure. He made it seem like he wants it in his private collection. At least, somewhere out of reach of others."

"Do you believe us?" Zoelle asks uncertainly. My stomach twists unpleasantly.

"This is crazy!" I blurt out, "How can there be vampires and witches and lycans? How is this possible?"

"We all have our origins. Old gods and meddling spirits are typically the answer."

"Or witches hell-bent on revenge," Ryatt offers.

"We're not all bad," Zoelle grumbles.

"This is crazy," I mutter once more. My head is spinning with uncertain revelations. "And you want me to steal back this crystal from a _vampire_? A hypothetical supernatural creature that kills people by _drinking their blood_ —are you nuts?!"

"You've already stolen it once from a lycan," Xander responds.

"I didn't know he was a lycan!" I snap back.

Zoelle shifts uncomfortably. "I know it's a lot to take in. When I was...brought into the fold, so to speak, it was a hard pill to swallow. I at least had my gran to help me adjust. This must be truly unbelievable to you."

Empathy coats her words, soothing the slow swell of distrust building inside of me. "Yeah," I hedge, "it is. Life isn't some television show or movie. Things like this just don't happen."

She chews on her lip, eyeing me speculatively before responding. "All I can say is that the sooner you accept it, the easier it will be to move forward. There's a lot more information and details to factor in when dealing with the supernatural. Trust me." She shoots a pointed glance at Xander, who sends her a mild frown in response.

"I'm not that bad."

I squeeze my eyes tightly shut and take several deep breaths. There were some pretty undeniable facts I needed to deal with immediately. One, I wasn't invincible. I had been caught. A trap had been neatly set, and I had fallen right into it. Two, I had been outsmarted. Plain and simple. The bruise to my ego would have to be nursed in private so that I could figure my way out of this mess. Three, an entire world had been hiding right under my nose. Lycans, witches, and vampires. Supposedly.

"Mr. Vrana...." his name tumbles from my mouth on an anxious breath, "he'll kill me. He's not the kind of man you cross and live to tell the tale. You have to understand. I just can't—"

"Quinn," Ryatt's voice breaks my tangent. It is laden with assurance and a dark undertone of possessiveness. "He is just one vampire going against an entire pack of wolves. Nothing will happen to you. I swear to you," he promises earnestly. My eyes slide open and turn to his steady gaze.

"I can't know that," I finally whisper. Vampire or not, Mr. Vrana was not a man to be crossed. This job wasn't worth my life. "I'm sorry, I—"

"I'm afraid we can't accept 'no' as an answer," Xander tells me, voice steady and unwavering. "If you don't help us we will be forced to alert the authorities of your presence and your past. All of which is on this flash drive." Xander picks up a USB drive from the side of his desk.

"You can't possibly—" I begin to protest, but his furious scowl quiets me.

"The Machon family heist, the Shorewood Cape Town scandal, the—" I hold up a hand and force my gaze to the ground, breathing harshly.

"How?" I look up to stare him down, and his eyes dart towards Ryatt. I let out a heavy sigh, feeling the weight of the world fall upon my shoulders. I was damned if I didn't, and damned if I did. _Fuck_. "Death or a jail cell," I ponder morosely, "I suppose I'll choose the jail cell." I don't bother trying to make eye contact with any of them, staring resolutely at the corner of the office instead.

"You'll be paid accordingly," Xander replies, "doubly so, of course." I remain silent.

"How about I take you to the kitchen and get you something real to eat?" Zoelle suggests after a moment. I nod stiffly and stand, shooting around the chair and heading to the door before either male can protest.

"Remember, Quinn," Ryatt calls over his shoulder, "don't do anything rash."

+++

Ryatt

"She's a bit of a handful, isn't she?" Xander asks, standing from behind his desk to pour us a drink.

"Isn't she glorious? All that fire and drive in one small package. She's smart too. She knows how to play the game. Knows how to control herself. The wolf is utterly smitten, and I'm infatuated," I admit, a lazy smile stretching across my face. "I couldn't have asked for a better soulmark. She's just like me, _but better_."

Xander hands me my glass of bourbon. "She doesn't know about the soulmark, does she?"

I sip on my drink, enjoy its oaky flavor before responding. "No." But she knows I can bring her pleasure, unlike anything she's experienced before.

"Is that a good idea?" We catch each other's eye. Each assessing the other.

"I don't know," I mutter around the rim of my glass. "I just want her to like me for me."

My confession taints the air between us. I'm aware of the unusual streak of vulnerability I have laid bare before my Alpha and brother within the past week, but I can tell it brings us closer. I'm not the kind of wolf or man to share his feelings. In fact, I'm much more prone to acting in the moment and playing the crowd rather than letting on to my own emotions.

"I would rather not have our relationship, whatever it may be, revolve around it. I think we saw how tumultuous that could get." Another look is shared.

"True," Xander finally says, "but is kidnapping and blackmail any better? You're too reckless, Ryatt." I look away, the wolf and myself growing agitated. I shrug in response, not bothering to deny the observation. It was true. I had a bad habit of jumping into things head first without looking, but wasn't finding your soulmark the perfect time to do just that? Granted, kidnapping and blackmail weren't exactly ideal ways of keeping one's soulmark by their side. But what other choice did I have now? Quinn was a thief, and one needed to catch a thief in order to have them.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 6

Quinn

The _lunaria_ tea takes a long while to wear off. A fact Zoelle will not stop apologizing for, much to my annoyance. She rambles on and on, not letting me get a single word in as she fixes me the single best omelet I have ever eaten. By the time I finish the hearty breakfast, Zoelle has turned almost purple in the face. At least the _lunaria_ had worn off.

She ushers me back to Ryatt's room, that monstrously sized man, Keenan, trailing slowly behind us. I don't take too much offense when the lock shutters and snaps into place behind me, or when Keenan is instructed quietly to stand guard. I do, however, take offense when I see my two Bric's suitcases and MCM weekender duffle nestled in the far corner of the room. I reach them in six large strides and kneel before them reverently.

These bags were my life. They were all I needed to get by. Clothes, shoes, toiletries, my encrypted laptop, and a few precious mementos. They had been in my car, ready and waiting for me to make my getaway. It takes me an hour to go through all of them, carefully cataloging every item to ensure nothing had been taken.

Everything was there. Minus one thing: my laptop charger. A quick check informs me that the laptop has an 11% charge left. It wasn't a lot, but it could be just enough to do _something_. Being forced to take the job had left a bad taste in my mouth, and I was more inclined at the moment to find a way out than to stay and find a way to complete the job.

It's only after I'm done cataloging that I make a thorough perusal of the room and all its exits. The door was a no go, _obviously_. I tried the handle experimentally only to be met with a predictable halt as I attempt to turn the knob. Keenan's muted growl was unneeded to demonstrate the point further. Even if I could find the tools to pick the lock, he would still be out there. _Asshat_. A look out the windows reveals two other burly men standing below, casting the occasional glance up as I peer out. A sound of frustration boils in my chest. Scaling down the side of the house would be difficult with two men on guard and no trellis to guide me. I scour the room next, looking for any sign of technology outside my laptop, but find none.

"Right then," I mutter to myself. "Think, Quinn. What next?"

I go back to my laptop and seat myself on the ground. Priority number one was contacting Mr. Vrana; or was it? If I pushed aside my pride and went through with the job, I'd be two million dollars richer. It would be more than enough to put in my off-shore accounts and live out my life somewhere far away from crazy vampires and lycans. And witches. I suppose I couldn't forget about those. I pinch the bridge of my nose before shaking my head in disbelief. What was I thinking? Those things didn't exist. Zoelle and Ryatt were just incredibly good liars. That had to be the reasoning for the shadow of doubt plaguing my conscious.

Priority number one would have to be finding records of my criminal past and wiping them clear. There was no need to find myself in this kind of situation again. Except I didn't have the juice to run that kind of search and removal on my laptop. A small smile finds its way onto my lips. Good thing I knew someone who could do it for me. I just needed to get them a message.

My laptop boots up normally, the screen a familiar black with flashes of green code zipping down its face. I enter in my credentials and locate the messaging interface I use with Big Bear, my contact. Just as I click the program, a message error occurs. I eye it warily and attempt to bypass it, but enough probing leads only to another message.

"What the— _no_."

My eyes widen in horror and dread as a cartoon image of a shirtless Ryatt glides to the center of my screen, finger jutting out to waggle his finger at me.

"No, no, no," I hiss, frantically typing against the virus that has been activated. The screen begins to go blurry at the edges before completely going black. "Fuck! Ugh!" I shut the laptop with an angry snap and flop backward, throwing an arm over my eyes rather dramatically. "God damn."

The lock clicks over several minutes later with the door easing open immediately after. The footfalls, though muted and light against the soft gray carpeting, are male. It wasn't Ryatt. The entrance would have been much grander and more demanding. Keenan was too big to move so gracefully as to make such little noise. Which meant...

"Go away, Xander," I grumble, not bothering to stray from my position of utter defeat. "Unless you've had a change of heart and have come to free me from my prison."

"I'm not Xander."

I remove my arm and sit up, a small frown burrowing its way into my brow as I stare at Keenan.

"How did you do that?" I ask seriously.

"I have the key," he responds dryly.

"Ha ha, very funny." His expression doesn't change, though I dare spy something akin to amusement in his eyes. "How did you move so quietly? You're a big guy." I outline his bulking shapes with my hands. "Guys your size, make way more noise, even when treading softly. Oh," my eyes alight with amusement, "is this a wolf thing?" I ask conspiratorially, flipping onto my stomach. "Wolves are sneaky, _ergo_ —"

"No," he deadpans. Well, he wasn't any fun.

"Oh."

"Military," he corrects after a second of awkward staring and silence.

"Got it," I give him a thumbs up and flop back around, tossing my arm back in place to continue my wallowing. "What do you want, anyway?"

"I'm supposed to tell you that lunch will be brought to you at one. Dinner will be at seven downstairs, and..." I peek out to examine his strained delivery. He seems to be struggling with whatever it is he has to say, a bright pink straining up his neck to his ears. "Wear something to show off your beautiful bust and magnificent ass, darling."

We stare at each other in mild horror before I give a strangled laugh. "Excuse you?"

"Ryatt's words, not mine," he all but growls and stomps out of the room. The door shudders with the force of his exit, and the lock slides determinedly into place. It starts to happen again. A tiny, absolutely minuscule, smile tugging at the corner of my lips. _That idiot_. How he got the enormous man to comply would most likely remain a mystery, but at least it had been entertaining, and somehow, it had felt like an apology.

+++

I have several dresses packed away in my luggage, all carefully rolled within tissue paper and placed next to a mini portable garment steamer. I choose my outfit carefully, Ryatt's words haunting me. He wanted a dress to show off my figure? _Fine_. But his wouldn't be the only head turning tonight. The Elizabeth and James Rosa Dress is extremely flattering with its asymmetrical hemline and V-neckline that plunges _just_ enough. The navy blue crepe dress is set off with gold cuffs and hoop earrings. I look a vision, if I do say so myself. I tug at the base of my ponytail to tighten it, overseeing my movements in the bathroom mirror with a critical eye.

No one had bothered me the rest of the day, leaving me to find my amusements in the books strewn about the room and photographs on the wall. Mostly though, I had been working out my next move. I would help the Adolphus family get their precious crystal back, then get the hell out of dodge.

The best time to get back the crystal would be during the art premiere that Mr. Vrana was hosting. I would go, and under cover of the masses, swipe the crystal and replace it with a fake. Hopefully, by the time he realized he was no longer in possession of the real crystal, I would be long gone. Untraceable. Forgotten.

A knock sounds at the door just as I finish touching up my lipstick. _Show time_. I give myself a final look over, smoothing my hair and examining my choice of eye shadow. My Steve Madden stilettos are the finishing touch to my ensemble, but I linger in front of the mirror before putting them on. I could do this. So what if my whole world had just been turned upside down? This was just another job. And each job came with new rules and different players. _I could do this_.

The door to the bedroom opens, accompanied by a second knock to alert me to their presence.

"Ready?" Ryatt calls. With a forlorn sigh, I give myself a mental shake. I walk out of the bathroom and over to the foot of the bed where my stilettos await me. "You look...dazzling."

His voice sounds full of amazement. Awe, even, but I force myself not to look at him. Instead, I remain focused on the art of slipping into my heels without twisting an ankle.

"Ready," I say, plastering a demure smile on my lips. Ryatt clears his throat and holds out his arm, giving me his own charming smile.

"Shall we then?" My fingers grace the soft linen of his suit jacket.

"Hugo Boss?"

Ryatt's eyes twinkle down at me as he leads me from the room. "Burberry."

"They have excellent slim-cut suits," I tell him matter-of-factly, taking on a new persona: _Alice_. Fashion connoisseur and full of worldly culture. Much like myself, I think with a self-satisfied smirk.

"Looking forward to dinner?" Ryatt asks, the barest hint of reluctance in his voice as he watches my face.

"If Zoelle is making it, I am," I tell him honestly. Lunch had been a green gazpacho soup with a whole grain roll on the side. She had even left a note on the tray, asking if I had any allergies. Thank God I didn't, lest I tamper with her divine cooking skills.

"She is," Ryatt confides as he leads me down a rather grandiose staircase. My eyes flit across the expanse of the room, narrowing in on the potential routes of escape should things take a turn for the worse. It was always good to keep one's options open. "She has her own little patisserie and café, as it would happen. It's doing very well so far, but it's no surprise. She's quite _magical_ in the kitchen."

I roll my eyes as we finish our descent. "That was horrible."

"That was funny," he insists gaily.

"It wasn't," I deadpan. "You're basically a grown child."

"I don't think children come quite as equipped as I do," he tells me innocently, "or do you require a refresher?"

"Are you ever serious?" I complain, slipping my hand from the crook of his elbow. I needed to be on my A-game tonight, and our little tête-à-tête was distracting. Each quip felt like a subtle poke at my carefully constructed wall. Searching out my weak points. I hadn't forgotten his little proposition in the hallway. _A chance to explore what could be between us_? My heart skips a beat at his earlier words. _Yeah, right_. He catches me before I can storm off, pulling me flush against him. Goodness, his eyes were blue. Like the sky on a perfect summer's day. Endless and stunning in their clarity.

"I'm serious about wanting you," he tells me solemnly, all traces of humor fleeing. My mouth goes slack at his confession, and I flounder under his heated gaze. He smiles then, softly and small. "Too much?" he jokes and goes about putting my hand back to where it was, leading me once again to the dining room. "I'm afraid I only run on two systems: lighthearted or intense. You'll find that my siblings run on a similar system. Xander is either brooding or intense and Irina either tender or haughty. Xander usually falls to the former. Irina the latter."

"Good to know," I mutter, calming my speeding heart with slow, deep breaths.

"Nervous?"

I scoff, rolling back my shoulders and knocking my head up a fraction. "Hardly."

"Just wait till you meet Irina," he replies back cheerily enough, then stops in front of a set of doors. He sends me an assessing look, back to serious mode. "You'll do fine in there," he assures me.

"I didn't realize I had anything to be nervous about. This is just a business dinner. I'm here on business." Ryatt takes a second before nodding curtly in response and opening the door. Time for _Charlotte Donovan_ to make her appearance. The perfectly posh dinner guest to end all dinner guests. Ready to handle all manner of snobbery thrown her way.

Everyone is seated: Xander, Zoelle, and a raven-haired woman who must be Irina. I meet each pair of eyes with a cool look, pleased to see Xander look uncomfortably away and Zoelle turn red. Unfortunately, the last of the party doesn't react as I had hoped. Her eyes, a startling green against her fair skin, appraise me with apparent displeasure. As if I am gum stuck on the bottom of one of her shoes. Her disdain is nothing Charlotte Donovan can't handle.

"Good evening, everyone," greets Ryatt, ushering me into the seat next to Zoelle. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out my chair and pushes me in, claiming the seat next to his sister and opposite me.

"I like your dress," Zoelle compliments.

I give her a somewhat strained smile in return, then turn my gaze to Irina, who has yet to finish her appraisal. "Is that a Fallon necklace?" Irina's eyes alight with a semblance of approval.

"It is," she replies, her voice smooth as silk. "It's from the Armure Collection. That's quite the eye you have, though; I suppose when one makes a living off of stealing fine goods they're bound to learn a thing or two about quality."

_Point Irina_. My smile tightens. Zoelle clears her throat at the standstill.

"So," she hedges awkwardly, "you steal for a living. How do you enjoy your work?" Irina's eyebrows nearly clear her hairline at the question, but mine are a close second. Ryatt clears his throat, amusement written clearly over his face at Zoelle's crude remark. Then his eyes dart pointedly to me and I put on a more diplomatic look.

"I like to think of myself as a property re-investor."

"That's quite catchy," Ryatt remarks, raising his wine glass in salute to me. "Don't you think so, Irina? Xander?"

"That's one way to put it, I suppose," Xander agrees. He seems to be suffering from secondhand embarrassment on his significant other's account.

"A thief is a thief," Irina comments, her tone suggesting she will not be swayed from her viewpoints. "At least you're doing it in style," she says after a moment, her tone not exactly softening, but becoming warmer. "I have the Rosa Dress in Raspberry Ice."

I relax my posture just slightly and meet her piercing gaze. "Not many people can pull off that color."

She smiles loftily. "I know." Ryatt shoots me an approving look that has me biting my tongue. As if I need his approval. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoelle pass Xander a somewhat helpless look.

"Ryatt told me you have a café?" A plate of mini tuna tartare's is placed before each of us; little crostini displayed around the spherical mound in a semi-circle. I wonder how Zoelle's would compare to La Menagerie's.

"Yes," she answers proudly, "I opened it just a month or two ago. I've had a good profit so far, but that's because I worked like a dog to promote it beforehand." I'm about to dig into the tasty first course when my fork stalls, as if by its own accord.

"This wouldn't happen to be laced with any kind of, I don't know, weird, magical drug, would it?"

"Oh! No!" Zoelle cries in distress, "Absolutely not, no. Here, take mine." She swaps our plates before I can protest and takes a rather hearty bite of the dish as if to prove her honesty. Irina looks on in unveiled disgust at Zoelle's performance before rolling her eyes and digging in herself. Ryatt looks to be holding back a laugh and Xander is once more taken under by secondhand embarrassment. I had a feeling that was going to be happening a lot to him tonight.

The tartare is delectable, cool, and refreshing. And, dare I say, even better than La Menagerie? "Did you make this?" I ask.

"No," she says, the stain of her blush still rampant on her cheeks. "I did make the menu for tonight though, and outlined the recipes for the household kitchen staff to go by."

Everyone enjoys the rest of the first course in relative silence until all plates are wiped neatly clean of any remaining crumbs. Course two comes out, a small, spiral tower of what looks to be pasta carbonara. _Mmm_.

"Do you cook?" Xander asks politely.

"I make a mean toast," I tell him seriously, "and I've been known to prepare an equally formidable bag of chips."

"A woman after my own heart," Ryatt comments, taking a slow drink of his wine as he watches me once more with that heated gaze.

"Don't listen to him," Irina rebuffs. "He's always so sensational."

I smirk, "I hadn't noticed." Our dinner continues, and I'm surprised by the relative peace that is kept. I suppose that meant it was time to shake things up a bit. "So," I begin as my empty plate is taken away and my glass of wine refilled. "I've learned about lycans from Ryatt. A bit here and there about witches thanks to Zoelle. What should I know about vampires?" There's an edge to my cordial tone—a mix between patronizing and condescending skepticism.

My dinner company shares measured looks. Xander seems as if he is about to begin but looks to Ryatt instead, as if to give him the right-of-way to explain. Which is when Irina speaks up.

"They're quite vain creatures," she tells me matter-of-factly. "Though, much of that has to do with preserving their bodies. They are dead after all. The supplement of blood from others, humans and animals alike, is a tricky thing. You see, as vampires get older, more blood is required to keep their bodies in pristine condition. The larger intake also helps evolve and strengthen their supernatural abilities of speed and strength. The oldest vampires can even compel others to do their will. It's a bit like hypnosis, I suppose." She trails off with a far-off look in her eyes until quickly shaking herself of her reverie.

"New vampires are rarely made, as their bloodlust in the first 50 years or so is so unstable. Many succumb to the bloodlust if not taken under the guidance of their sire, becoming slaves to their hunger and running rampant like mongrels."

"Does that mean they're extremely fast and strong during those fledgling years if they're consuming large amounts of blood?"

Irina cuts into her roasted chicken thigh delicately. "Indeed, they are. They're quite the nuisance to kill. Which is done through beheading, of course."

I nod my head along decisively as if this can be the only reasonable answer. _Of course._ "What else?"

"They're typically very cold to the touch unless they have a Heart Stone ring. It's a magical item that warms the wearer's internal body temperature. Silver eyes—well, not at the beginning. As vampires age, the more silver their eyes appear. It's an easy way to estimate how old a vampire is. Those that are a few hundred years old will have distinctive silver streaks in their irises, whereas a fledgling might only have a ring about the iris. The ancients are completely turned. It's quite unnerving if you ask me.

"Let's see, what else. _Ah!_ They don't fare well under direct sunlight. The UV rays promote the aging process, and their skin begins to flake off. It's very grotesque. Several members of the ancient families possess rings known as the Amethysts of the Aztecs. They allow the wearer to walk in the daylight without falling harm under the sun."

_Fascinating_. They really did believe the stories they told. "If lycans are children of the moon and were then cursed by a witch, how were vampires created?"

"A witch," Ryatt supplies.

"No," Irina corrects condescendingly, fork and knife paused mid-cut. "A necromancer. The last of the necromancers to be precise. Between 1186 and 1207, necromancers were hunted down and exterminated. Necromancers draw on dark magic to resurrect the dead, but also draw power from each other. As their numbers became smaller and smaller, so did the reach of their power.

"The necromancer who brought about the vampire line was Nicholas Vogart. He used all of his powers to bring back his dead lover, Regulus. Except Regulus had been dead for more than two weeks," she tells me surreptitiously, a devious smirk on her face. "Well, it is well known that the longer a person is dead, the harder it is to reanimate them. Yet, here comes Nicholas, an unusually powerful necromancer and the last known of his kind, using all the power he possesses to resurrect his dead lover. But—"

"Wait! How did he die?"

"Who?"

"Regulus," I say with some amount of exasperation. I cannot help but be enraptured by her story. She speaks it as she would some juicy gossip.

Irina's cheeks take on a delicate rosy hue. "Dysentery," she supplies. "Anyway, back to the story. Nicholas is able to reanimate his lover, but according to lore, the use of such a powerful spell weakened Nicholas gravely. He fell to his knees before the reanimated corpse and began to weep tears of blood. Whether they were tears of joy or pain are uncertain, though it is more than likely it was a combination of both. Regulus took to his knees in a mirror image of his creator, feeling an unfamiliar pang resounding in his dead heart. Slowly, carefully, he reached out to wipe away Nicholas's tears. Then Regulus brought his fingers to his lips and licked away the blood." Irina snaps her fingers dramatically. "Instantly he was changed! No longer was he an animated corpse, but truly brought back to life by his lover's tears and blood. Consumed by the taste, he fell upon Nicholas like a wild animal and drained him of his blood."

"Holy shit," I breathe, traces of plain old Quinn coming through. "That is really cool." How had Ryatt gotten everyone to go along with his supernatural narrative?

"It is a gripping origin, but you must always remember they're ruthless creatures. If ever in doubt, think on Regulus, who could not control his thirst. Yes," she continues with a sigh, "they're very proud and very smart creatures, but when one can live forever, it's not so surprising."

"How do you know all of this?" Xander asks, his face adorably scrunched in confusion.

"I do read, you know," she huffs, tossing her hair over her shoulders. I roll back my shoulders and slip back into _Charlotte Donovan_.

"Thanks for all the information. Besides speed and strength, do they have any other supernatural abilities? Enhanced hearing or seeing? If I'm going to steal from some hundred-year-old vampire, I need to know."

"How silver are his eyes?" Ryatt asks.

"Enough. Though, it doesn't come off as too unnatural since they're already such a pale blue."

"What's your plan?" Xander asks.

"I'll attend the artist premiere next week at his home and crack his safe. He made it seem like he would keep it close, so I assume it's there. If I could reach out to some of my contacts I'd be able to confirm." I swing my gaze to Ryatt who smiles innocently back. "It would also be easier if someone would return my laptop charger and remove the virus from my laptop."

"I happen to know a fantastic hacker. Best in the field," Ryatt confides. Dessert is placed before us, some chocolate treat that I ignore.

"Best?" I scoff. "Slipping a virus onto someone's computer isn't exactly hard."

Ryatt's returning grin bites, "Careful darling, you'd do well not to wound my pride. You can use any one of our computers—"

"No," I interrupt, "my contacts, my rules. We use my laptop, or we go in blind and hope for the best." The room practically vibrates with tension.

"That seems reasonable," Zoelle whispers to Xander. I shoot her a grateful look.

"It is, isn't it?"

"Fine," Ryatt gets out, "I'll remove the virus, and you can work on your laptop, but you'll be supervised. We don't want you doing anything that would stir unwanted attention."

I stifle my retort and take a drink of wine instead. Setting it down neatly, I fold my hands in my lap before I reply. "Fine." _Point to Ryatt_.

"I'll also accompany you to the event."

"What?" I glare at Ryatt and pass an incredulous look to his brother. "No deal. He'll give me away."

"Surely you need a date for the event. I've been known to be quite the arm candy."

"Won't Mr. Vrana know you're a lycan?"

"Unlikely," Irina interjects, finishing off her chocolate tart. "Unless we are caught displaying our abilities, then we cannot be identified by scent. Not by a vampire anyway."

"I work alone," I say curtly, "in case I have to partake in more...illicit activities to gain what I need."

Ryatt growls from across the table, his eyes flashing that strange gold. "I will accompany you," he tells me, voice filled with unrestrained possessiveness. "End of discussion."

Plain old Quinn rears her head, not liking one bit the way he takes charge with another decision that should be left to me. "It's just business, Ryatt. No need to take it so personally," I respond overly sweetly.

"I'd say our night in Mexico was personal," he retorts, leaning forward. "Based on your reactions during our...business...I'd say you found our transaction more than personal as well."

"Enough!" Xander shouts, his voice anchored in authority. My mouth shuts with a snap. As does Ryatt's. "Quinn, you'll work with your contacts to discern the location of the crystal and make a plan of action. Ryatt will monitor your work and accompany you to the artist premiere. That's final." _Point Xander_.

I cannot contain the angry scowl that works its way onto my features. Having a partner was unnecessary. He would only slow me down. Moreover, it was an insult. I could accomplish the mission by myself, easily.

I take a deep, calming breath, envisioning in my mind's eye causing some serious damage to Ryatt's face with my fist. My muscles loosen at the thought, a satisfied smile coming across my face.

"Thinking of something pleasant, are we?" he asks rakishly.

"Only of digging your grave," I respond sweetly. "Any place you want to be buried?"

Ryatt smirks back at me. " _Inside you_."

"Oh honestly, Ryatt!" Irina shrieks.

"Were we this bad at the start?" Zoelle asks Xander quietly. "I thought the soulmark was supposed to make you like the other person?"

"Not exactly. It can certainly warm you to a person, but it doesn't force you to like them. It's just that the soulmark is your other half—why wouldn't you fall for them?" he replies back softly.

"This does not seem like a warm reception," she whispers back. Zoelle catches my questioning gaze and colors.

"What's a soulmark?" The room comes to a standstill, each face carrying varying amounts of worry. Oh no.

" _Thanks_ ," Ryatt sighs, then downs the rest of his wine.

##### Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 7

Quinn

Belle Creations is much nicer inside than the displays in the window lead one to believe on the outside. It has a cool modern edge, and their products are placed in precise lines with an obvious flow of formality. Since the artist premiere is a black tie affair, we head towards the back to select a range of gowns for me to try on. Zoelle picks three. Irina seven. The shopping attendants send us to the private back room for me to try on the gowns, while Irina and Zoelle are seated in over-stuffed chairs covered in chaste pink to make their critiques. Sparkling white wine soon follows after I come out in the first dress, much to my pleasure. At least this small town knew how to luxe it up.

I take my time putting on the first dress; my mind stuck on last night's events. Dinner had turned into a very confusing explanation of what a "soulmark" was and the implications of Ryatt having already sealed it. After all was said and done, I felt myself still choking on anger from the way Ryatt proved the soulmarks existence at the dinner table. Reaching out, he had clasped his hand around the back of my neck. Our foreheads brushing together as I let out a strangled moan from the brief touch. It had been completely unnecessary and embarrassing. Yet his behavior at dinner was downright pleasant when compared to his behavior after

+++

"I can't believe you!" I seethe, marching towards Ryatt's bedroom. "Here I thought I was the one taking advantage of you—"

"—You were."

"—and then you just go ahead and condemn me to some supernatural life sentence!" My feet hasten towards the bedroom door, guiding me inside the room with quick steps so I might turn and slam the door in his face—the least of which he deserves. Of course, his hand shoots out before I can get it even halfway closed, his face a mixture of frustration and agony.

"Just let me explain," he pleads, pushing inside after me and shutting the door with a soft push.

"I think everything was explained just fine at dinner," I tell him, fire scorching my words. "Don't think this little revelation changes the way I feel about you. Which—to be clear—is nothing but absolute loathing."

Ryatt looks somewhat aghast. "But Mexico—"

"Ugh! Mexico was just a job, Ryatt. You and the stupid crystal were just another paycheck. Okay? It meant nothing. I played a role and I played you. That's it."

"Don't tell me it meant nothing," he all but growls. "It might have been a job, but there was something real there that night before the soulmark was discovered. At the bar we were tit for tat. We both knew we were playing a game, but we appreciated how well the other played it. I don't give a damn if you say it was some role you played, I saw you that night. Past your little facade. Past all the ones you keep trying to put up. There was something real between us that night. How can you deny the chemistry we had? Have."

"No! There was no chemistry. There is no chemistry. No 'we.'"

"For Christ's sake, Quinn. You house the other half of my soul. Of course there's something between us. Sealing the soulmark simply sparked something more inside of each of us. A connection that demands to be acknowledged. A craving and desire."

My breath stalls, a damnable vise stealing down upon my heart at his impassioned words. His words ring true; at least, this is what my heart begs me to believe. I think on how desperately it wants love. Then remember all the times in the past when it has been denied. I know better than to believe pretty words from beautiful men.

"More like disgust and revulsion," I finally choke out.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, letting it out in a sharp exhalation. Ryatt gives a humorless laugh, taking a step forward. His eyes smolder with wicked intent. "If you recall, the soulmark also conjures feelings of absolute, all-consuming pleasure. Are you really trying to tell me you didn't feel it tonight? What about back in Mexico? Or are you usually that enthusiastic about sucking one of your targets off?"

_I match his step with a heated glare, a flush of rage spreading across my body. It lights me up from inside out. "So what if I did? The fact still remains; you had no right to seal the stupid mark without me knowing! To condemn me to a life with_ you _or go crazy!"_

"I had every right! You're my soulmark. My soul mate! Mine," he growls.

Ryatt's eyes spill gold leaving not a single trace of familiar blue behind. It's the wolf, my heart tells me, though my head still dares to deny it. The gold seeps back, leaving a stormy blue in their wake. The man placed back in charge.

_"If our souls are meant to be one, who am I to ignore it?" Ryatt tells me in a measured cadence. "True, our sealing was not ideal. Nor was it considerately done, but it was obviously more than necessary seeing as you_ drugged _me, then left me for_ dead _."_

Ugh. A sneer curls its way onto my lip. "Your sister is right; you are sensational. I didn't leave you for dead. You were fine by morning."

Ryatt closes the distance between us, his face inches from mine. A shiver runs across my skin. I credit the action to my anger, but the soulmark dares to suggest otherwise as it thrums against my skin. I bite back a groan of disbelief, steeling myself against the sudden rush of desire flooding through my veins. Why did this happen every time he was within reach? This damnable soulmark was going to be the death of me. Or Ryatt, considering how badly I wished to throttle him.

Or maybe it would take us both under.

"I'll have you know most women would be ecstatic about finding their literal soul mate, not to mention that it's me—"

"God! Get over yourself! As if you're God's gift to women."

Lightning strikes between us. The tension finally comes to a rupture as Ryatt cups my chin and brands me with his kiss. I'm pressed against the window before I can blink, hips pinned in place by his own as my hands tangle themselves into his hair. Something like electricity runs rampant over me. Leaves me aching with the most terrible want. Hands spread themselves across my sides, trailing up my arms before landing on my breasts. We both let out a moan, eyes opening to meet in our haze of anger-induced lust.

His blue eyes are streaked with amber, and they look down at me with clear intent: ravage. His fingers pinch at my nipples, and I give a startled cry. One he happily consumes, mouth pressing against mine brutally again as I rock my hips forward. A hand inches slowly upwards to my neck and I feel my skin burn in anticipation. With a heady rock of his hips, he earns another moan.

The edges of the soulmark yearn for his touch—almost painfully so. There is no chance of ignoring the steady beat it raps against the back of my neck and the accompanying symphony of shivers its sends across my body.

"I want you to remember this," he whispers in my ear, tongue swiping out to taste it. "Remember the pleasure. The ecstasy of it all, and know that I could give you so much more. If you'd only dare give me a chance."

His words stutter on a choke, blue eyes gazing into mine with uncertain trust. And then his fingers find the soulmark and I am lost in a spiral of sensation. Ryatt's hips buck into mine, a strangled growl sounding in my ear as he yanks one leg up and around his waist. My dress rides up uncomfortably around my hips, but it only leaves the faintest of impressions when compared to the kaleidoscope of feelings careening through my body. Every nerve ending comes alive, standing to attention at the call of such rapt pleasure. It makes my blood sing. My heart soar.

"Oh God," I cry, hips pushing relentlessly against Ryatt's as my hands claw at his body. What was this? How could the soulmark make me feel so...good? So wickedly good and oh so satisfied. Every man before Ryatt quickly falls to the wayside as I feel a deeper pull bringing us together. "Please," I whimper. His hand slips from the soulmark, and I give a cry of despair before replacing it with one of relief.

A brief pinching against the skin of my thighs and my panties are ripped from my body, his hand neatly taking their place. Ryatt's eyes dilate as he finds me soaking with excitement. When his mouth finally seals back over mine, he pushes two fingers inside me.

"Tell me," he asks after a minute of kissing me breathless. He inserts another finger, watching as my body contracts with pleasure. "Tell me it means nothing." My eyes snap open to meet his, lips forming an "O" as I am ripped away from my pleasure haze.

"What?" When I make no other reply he slowly begins to extract himself—fingers slipping out of me, his hand dropping my thigh. Ryatt takes two steps back, a growing frown upon his face. No.

"Tell me it means nothing and I'll leave."

"Are you fucking serious?" My body trembles with the threat of release.

Eyes still locked on mine, he brings each glistening finger one by one to his mouth to lick them clean. "Very. I want to hear you say it again. That there is no chemistry between us. That there is nothing at all between us. Soulmark or not."

"Fuck you," I spit, surprised to find myself near tears. Ryatt's nostrils flare.

"So be it. I'll sleep elsewhere tonight. If you decide to accept the truth, to accept me, I'll gladly finish what we started." My eyes flit across the room, landing on a framed photo atop a side table. It shatters against the wall near the door as he makes his exit.

"Bastard."

+++

Irina's head tilts to the side in assessment before shaking her head. "I don't like it. You need something with a bit more flow for the skirt, don't you think? To conceal the supplies."

I barely have the curtain pulled back before Irina makes her comment. Zoelle's face falls slightly. I turn and look at myself in the mirror.

"I think you're right," I murmur.

"Obviously," she scoffs. I grab five of the dresses, all form-fitting, and pass them to an attendant.

"We won't be needing these," I tell her with a smile. Irina shoots me an angry pout but says nothing more, even though all five dresses are her picks.

"You do realize this means we'll be getting home much sooner than originally planned? Ryatt is probably wearing a hole in one of the Turkish runners as we speak. Pacing like some mother hen, waiting for your return."

"Doubtful," I call from inside the dressing room, slipping out of the black evening gown and into a red one.

"Is this about the fight you had last night?" Irina asks.

Zoelle gives a light gasp, "Oh no, you two fought?"

"How the hell did you know we fought?" I bluster, struggling with the side zipper.

"You weren't exactly quiet," she replies defensively.

"I thought everyone was still downstairs having their nightcaps."

"We were," Zoelle explains. "Would you bring us some water? Thanks." Quick steps tread from the private dressing room. The other attendant, no doubt. "They hear, like, everything."

I pause and catch myself frowning in the mirror. "That's annoying," I whisper under my breath. There is a moment's hesitation where I wait expectantly for Irina's cool comeback, but hearing none, I smile and step out of the dressing room with a flourish.

"It's just as annoying for us as it is for you. Do you think I want to hear you being groped by my brother, or you," Irina directs a pointed glare at Zoelle, "having at it with my other brother." She lets out a plaintive sigh. "I have to move out."

"Can't you just turn it off?"

"It's not as simple as that, unfortunately."

Zoelle takes a sip from the champagne flute, eyeing me cautiously over it. "Just ask me," I snip.

"Why were you fighting?"

"Why else would we be fighting? The soulmark, obviously." Irina holds up her hand for silence, and the attendant walks in a few moments later holding a tray with three glasses of water.

"Thank you, that will be all for now," Irina tells the shop attendant without a second glance. The woman nods.

"Just ring the bell if you ladies need anything more," she tells us, then walks back to the front of the shop.

"Is it because he sealed the mark without your permission?" Zoelle asks cautiously.

"Yes!" I cry, turning on my heel and heading back into the dressing room. "For whatever reason, he can't seem to wrap his head around the concept that sealing the soulmark was not his decision to make alone." I tug and tug at the zipper to no use and stomp my foot. "Would one of you—"

The curtain pulls back to reveal Irina, her vibrant green eyes swirling with emotion. She hands me my glass of sparkling wine and fiddles with the zipper. It acquits to her persuasion.

"You're right," she says carefully, "but you're both guilty of wrongdoings that night." She coerces the zipper down as I finish off the glass of sparkling wine in two unladylike swallows.

I give a little nod, passing the flute back to her, my hands awkwardly holding the dress to my body. "Ryatt changed the entire course of my life with his decision," I tell them flatly, memories of my less than stellar childhood simmering to the surface. I had grown used to making my own choices and decisions young, both easy and hard. I didn't need anyone else doing it for me now. A rasp of laughter falls from my lips before I continue. "I have every right to be mad."

"So there's no hope you'll forgive him?" Irina asks sadly. My heart gives a little quiver at the thought.

"Xander and I had a rough start as well," Zoelle continues, standing up to join our small gathering. "Actually, it was Ryatt who saw my soulmark first and brought Xander into the picture."

"Ah yes, the little tête-à-tête in the forest," Irina murmurs.

"Ryatt chased me down with Keenan and Dominic, both in their wolf forms." Wolf forms? I hold back my eye roll then cock my head to the side.

"Did they put you in the creepy family dungeon?" Both women color.

"No, but I was tied up rather savagely. Xander sealed the mark without my having a clue as to what was going on. I had no idea I was a witch and had no explanation for what I had witnessed in the woods. My entire world was flipped. I was scared and angry, but I was also...intrigued. There was a pull tugging at my very core towards Xander that I couldn't escape. After a while, I didn't want to ignore it."

"He wouldn't let you ignore it," Irina corrects.

Zoelle gives a short shrug, "I think it was a bit of both. It wasn't exactly smooth sailing after we completed the soulmark. We had a lot of things to work out, but after a lot of talks—"

"—and a lot of sex."

Zoelle blushes, "—we were able to find a happy place."

"By 'happy place', she means they are annoyingly happy. All the time." Irina tells me candidly. "Isn't that what you want? Isn't that what everyone wants? Love? Disgusting, nauseatingly sweet love?"

I guffaw, "Don't you think it's weird that some cosmic force has split your soul and placed the other half in your 'soul mate.' Then doesn't even guarantee you find them? And when you do— _if you do_ —your whole life suddenly reroutes to revolve around this one person, and if you resist...you go crazy. That's fucked up."

Irina huffs. "It's 'fucked up' to you because you're just a human. Soulmarks are well known in the supernatural community. For us, finding our soulmark is like skipping the whole awkward dating phase."

"What part of having your life turn upside down is not awkward?"

"It's called love, Quinn. Honestly, there's no need to be such an old shrew about it."

"I am not an old shrew!" I shriek.

"You guys, would you calm down?" Zoelle gently pushes me back inside the dressing room to finish changing. "Irina—"

"I'm only trying to be helpful," she whines. "Why none of you can see that is beyond me. I thought gaining a sister meant having someone to take my side, Zoelle. But you're just as bad as Xander. Maybe being Alpha has gone to your head."

"Don't be so dramatic," I say, slipping the blue gown on.

"It's a family thing," Zoelle sighs. Irina makes a noise of protest.

"Excuse you," she rebuffs. "Here I am, once again trying to mend bridges on behalf of my brother, and what do I get? Impudence? Unbelievable! I'll have you know, Zoelle, you're just as stubborn as Xander. And you!" The curtain yanks open and I give a small yelp. Irina's finger points accusingly at me, "Are just as bad, if not worse, than Ryatt with your theatrics. Don't think for a moment you two aren't meant for each other. _Honestly_."

Irina crosses her arms over her chest while Zoelle and I stare back at her, mouths agape.

"So dramatic," I say, shaking my head lightly. Zoelle lets out a giggle, one that is dangerously contagious until all of us unravel in a fit of laughter. Catching my breath, I give a twirl, the chiffon flaring out. Point to Zoelle and me.

"I think I'll get this one."

+++

As shopping hadn't taken nearly as long as Irina anticipated, we go for a late lunch at some American-French bistro and stick around for happy hour. Of course, I am easily able to persuade Irina into continuing our certified "girls' day" into a "girls' night." Irina, in turn, is able to guilt Zoelle into continuing as well. Which is why when we return around midnight—very much intoxicated—I begin to hiccup from the butterflies flying around my stomach.

Not that I had any reason to be nervous. Chances were slim that Ryatt was even in the bedroom. Chances were—my eyes alight with sudden hope—I could make my getaway!

Hiccup.

My drunken knees wobble as I dip into an uneasy crouch, arms out to balance myself. _Stupid heels_. My eyes skirt nervously from left to right, doubling back when I see a shadowed figure at the end of the hallway. I let out a quick shriek, but a hand is even quicker to clamp over my mouth. Wide-eyed, I stare in alarm at Keenan and his ever-present frown.

"Don't do that," I whisper-yell at him once his hand is removed. "I could have had a heart attack!"

"You should go to bed," he suggests, humor tinging his voice. My eyes narrow upon him.

"You're not my mother," I tell him with a sneer, poking his chest to drive my point home.

Keenan gives pause. "Bed," he deadpans, taking a step forward, all pleasantness dropping. Point to Keenan. I let out a small " _eep"_ and launch myself inside the bedroom, slamming the door behind me. Lord, that man was frightening, but at least he got rid of my hiccups.

"You're back late," Ryatt says, signature smirk in place as he exits the ensuite bathroom. He is bathed in light, steam slowly billowing out of the doorway around him. I gulp nervously, butterflies fluttering into a frenzy at the sight.

_Stay cool, Quinn_. "...Yep."

"How was your night?"

_Good_ , I think to myself. _Better than expected._

I had never had real girlfriends growing up. Never a mother to confide in. M was the closest thing I had, but all she had ever taught me to do was steal hearts and money. M's influence had been quite clear tonight, as I drunkenly attempted to swipe both Irina and Zoelle's phones and wallets some point after Mai Tai number four. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Yet, rather than be mad, they had laughed at my drunken attempts and scolded me, attempting to persuade me from my life of crime with promises of Zoelle's delicious cooking and a free pass to Irina's closet. It was a tempting offer, with the underlying promise of sisters and a large family encompassed in their words. Their playful yet sincere nature had done a number on the wall around my heart, leaving it battered and bruised. And a tad too vulnerable for my liking.

"It was a good time," I tell him, cringing as my words slur at the end.

His eyes widen in delight, running a towel over his hair briskly, muscles rippling enticingly at the simple action. "Are you drunk?" he asks casually, though I most certainly detect traces of humor to it. Much like Keenan.

"No." My head shakes firmly, side to side, causing an uncomfortable wave of dizziness to overcome me. Maybe I should take off my heels? "Definitely not," I reply smoothly, no trace of a slur to my words whatsoever. "Super sober girl over here." Yep, that was me: _super sober Sophie_. She was a new character to add to my collection.

"Is that so?" He tosses the towel carelessly behind him onto the bathroom floor and readjusts the one around his waist.

"Why are you all wet? I mean—" a swell of heat rushes to my face "—why are you taking a shower. At midnight?"

"I was patrolling the borders with a few others. Without the full power of the crystal, we have to take extra precautions. Ergo, running longer patrols in larger packs."

"Uh huh."

My eyes watch as the few remaining water droplets make their way down his pectorals and sculpted abs. Why did he have to be so good looking? Everything about him was the epitome of lithe and dangerous. Absolutely sinful. And he knew it. Worse still, he knew I knew it. I chew on my lower lip, gazing at his torso thoughtfully as I toe off my heels.

It wasn't fair. My heart and body were teaming up against my head. I knew very well that falling into a relationship with the lycan meant trouble with a capital "T". Yet my heart wanted quite desperately for me to give him a chance, and my body agreed. The soulmark was also putting my hormones into overdrive. I had never felt so riled up by one man. Zoelle had been extremely flustered and confused at the almost ravenous state I described when in close vicinity with the lycan. Irina disgusted.

"Scoundrel," I mutter irately.

"Excuse me?" he asks, stepping forward, his towel slipping an inch.

" _Hmm_?"

"Did you say something?" he asks coyly.

_Did I_? "No," I say, fairly certain I hadn't. Or had I? His head cocks to the side, a hand running absentmindedly over his abs. "I, uh, I didn't say anything. You must be hearing things."

"Are you sure you didn't say 'scoundrel' a moment ago?" Shit. _Think, sober Sophie!_

"Keenan is actually out in the hallway," I tell him seriously. "I think you must have heard him. He was in _quite_ the mood when I bumped into him."

"The scamp," he replies wickedly. "I always knew he had a thing for me." My mouth runs dry as I watch his fingers trail the swimmer's V he possesses. Almost teasingly.

I gasp in dismay.

"You're doing that on purpose!" I shout, pointing an accusing finger at him. "Put some clothes on," I hiss. "You _are_ a scoundrel."

"I sleep naked," he tells me cheekily. Point Ryatt.

"Well," I sputter, still hypnotized by his languid movements, "you're not sleeping here." I can feel the weight of his gaze from across the room and fight the urge to throw myself at his feet. _Have some control_ , I scold myself. _No mixing business with pleasure_.

"Is that what you really want?" I nod my head quickly. "Do you want to know what I want?"

My breath hitches at his baritone. I stop nodding, and my moment's hesitation is all that Ryatt needs to cross the distance between us. A blink of an eye and he is before me. His swiftness is unnerving, and I find myself laying a hand on his chest to stop the dizzying sensation that assaults me.

A warm presence falls to my waist as he steadies me. All the while those stormy eyes bore into me. With a gulp, I stare resolutely at his collarbone. I'm all too aware of how my breathing has turned irrationally erratic at our nearness. With a tug, I stumble into his body and feel his breath ghosting over my ear.

"I want you," he whispers, lips brushing against my ear. "And not just because of the soulmark, Quinn. And I think you want me too."

I jerk my head back to look up at him, eyes wide in confusion. "What?"

"You're an impressive woman, Quinn Montgomery. Entrepreneur. Clever. Witty. Beautiful. And quite the actress. What's not to like? I consider myself quite lucky to have you as my soulmark."

" _Oh_." A sudden warmth flows through my veins, and I feel another stone being taken from my wall. I had not been prepared for this Ryatt. All charming and seductive. Silence falls thickly between us. My rapid heartbeat sounding like a heavy drum in my ear as I will my eyes to stay trained upon his collarbone. One look into his eyes and I was sure to be ruined. I try to think back on last night's encounter. The anger I felt, and how finding release on my own had been less than satisfying. But all I can seem to concentrate on is the scent of his shampoo. It's almost hypnotic, with its earthy undertones and hints of spice.

I should have bunked with Irina.

Ryatt slowly pulls back, his breath fanning across my cheek. The sensation curls my toes and kindles a fire inside me. I'm all too aware of the gentle throbbing of the soulmark against my nape. The effect that it seems to have over me when Ryatt is within reach. Though he might be certain of his feelings for me, I wasn't so sure I could say the same for him. Not with my entire being at conflict. The soulmark only made my feelings more confusing, for I didn't know what was real and what wasn't. Or was it all real? I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, head swimming as I spiral suddenly downwards. The fire simmers to a halt.

"Where's your soulmark?" I murmur, shifting back and out of his hold. He releases me reluctantly, trying to catch my eye—something I resolutely ignore. Sensing the odd shift in my mood, he promptly lets his towel fall to the floor. "Ryatt!"

His laughter fills the air while my face burns brighter and brighter. "You can look."

"You're naked!"

"I am," he affirms. "I've also turned around. Do you want to see the mark or not?" I crack one eye open slowly, waiting for the hazy outline of his body to subside before zeroing in on his butt. A giggle bursts from my lips.

"It's on your butt?" I sputter.

Ryatt sends a wink over his shoulder, glancing down at his backside and giving it flex. Another giggle shoots forth. "Indeed, it seems it is."

I bite my lip to stifle the laughter that dares to burst forward. A sudden wish to have met Ryatt under different circumstances hits me hard. The smile on my face fades at the thought. As does super sober Sophie to be replaced with a much too vulnerable Quinn.

"You should go," I say and take a few more steps back.

He frowns back at me, "I know you have your doubts about all of this, but I should tell you that the wolf inside of me is all in Quinn. He's serious about you. He makes it so that all I can think about is you. About us. So I want you to know I'm willing to go all in too if you are. It's a risk, but it could be the best risk we ever take. Just think of how electric it could be. You and I together."

"Don't!" I beg, though my heart yearns to give in. To jump head first into all his promises and never look back. Luckily, all of my old heartaches rear their heads and squash the feelings away. "Just...don't. I want to sleep alone tonight, okay?" He seems torn, the frown on his face reading as frustration and disappointment.

"You can't keep pushing me away, Quinn. You can't keep playing all these different parts like it's some game," he says, dangerously soft. He picks up the towel and walks towards the bedroom door. "Your acts might fool the others, but I see you, Quinn. Little bits and pieces of the real you keep slipping through, and when you're finally ready to let her out I'll be here waiting." He departs with a sigh, the door closing behind him with a decisive snap.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 8

Quinn

There's nothing more annoying the morning after a night out than having to deal with someone who is annoyingly chipper. Ryatt and Atticus, who I learn is the Beta of the Adolphus Pack, send me and Zoelle cheerful smiles as they chat away like school girls. When Irina makes her entrance and sees our bleak faces, she turns back around and grumbles something about coffee to go. I cannot contain my look of envy.

"Buck up, darling. I'm sure Zoelle can cook up some hangover potion, can't you, soon-to-be-sister?" Zoelle gives a pathetic shrug but takes the bait and scampers off to the kitchen.

"Sweet dreams last night, Quinn?" Ryatt asks innocently.

"I slept fine," I inform him tartly.

"Ryatt told me you ladies got in fairly late last night," Atticus says brightly.

I spear him with a dry look. "I would never have guessed."

"She's kinda cute when she's grumpy, man," Atticus says to Ryatt. The men clink coffee mugs.

"She is, isn't she. Her nose gets all scrunched up, and her lips do the most adorable pout. I can never take her too seriously," Ryatt responds.

" _She_ is right here," I growl, "and she does not appreciate being talked about like I'm not." Atticus and Ryatt both chuckle. Atticus sends me a warm smile that has the irritating effect of softening my ire. He's a handsome man, in a very all-American kind of way.

"I want one," he says with a plaintive sigh.

Ryatt scoffs, "You have one, and come the new year she'll be here." I frown at the turn of conversation.

"What are you talking about?"

Atticus grins happily, "My soulmark was identified when I was eight, and she was five. Her name is Winter, and she's from one of the old Canadian packs. The packs knew we were both too young to do the full binding, and agreed that upon Winter's 25th birthday we could proceed."

"Oh," I try to inflect some enthusiasm into my voice, refilling my coffee. "That's good. Good for you Atticus."

"I'm pretty excited about it," he admits, completely oblivious to my forced enthusiasm. I smother a laugh with my fist. Excited was certainly one way to describe it. Thrilled, overly enthusiastic, and ecstatic would have also worked.

"I wouldn't be too excited about having the Blancs as in-laws," Ryatt informs me candidly.

Atticus flushes and shoots Ryatt a glare. "They're just a bit over protective of her. She's the last of the Blanc line, and I don't think they're too pleased that she'll be marrying a nobody like me."

Ryatt rolls his eyes, "All communication between the two of you has to be read and approved by her family first. That seems more than 'a bit over protective' to me. And do refrain from attempting to bad mouth yourself. You're the Beta of one of the fastest-growing packs in North America. One, I might add, that is growing stronger every day. You're a bona fide catch."

Atticus cracks a smile. "If I'm a bona fide catch, what are you?"

"A gift to the female race," Ryatt scoffs good-naturedly and sends me a wink. " _Obviously_."

"Is there a return policy I should be aware of?" I ask dryly.

"Have you finished your 30-day trial?" Atticus rebuts, crossing his arms over his chest. I give him a small grin.

"No, but—" Ryatt wears a satisfied smirk and shakes his head at me.

"Sorry, darling. Seems like you're stuck with me for another three weeks at least." I feel a small fluttering in my stomach at our relaxed banter and blame it on remnants of last night's drinking. Giving myself an internal shake, I hold back my retort and give them a strained smile instead. Sipping my coffee slowly, I sink back into my chair as the men continue the conversation between them.

My mind drifts. Treading softly over dangerous territory: Ryatt's promises. Old Quinn was trying to make some kind of comeback, and I was putting the blame on the soulmark, and Ryatt. His words had done a number on her heart and I could feel her presence lurking at every corner of my mind whispering at me to take a chance. That wasn't going to happen. All last night had ensured was that I needed to get a message out to my contacts and secure an exit plan. Ryatt would be lucky if I didn't find some way to leave once I had finished getting the crystal. The threat of going mad was somewhat more attractive when hungover, and my righteous anger from the other night finally found once more.

"Quinn?"

"Hmm?" I look sharply back at Atticus, who wears a charmingly small smile.

"Just wanted to say good luck today."

"Oh, thanks. You have a good day too." Atticus claps Ryatt on the shoulder as he stands, the action jolting him forward. His coffee spills across his emptied plate and Ryatt passes the Beta a scowl over his shoulder as he leaves.

"Shall we?" Ryatt asks.

"I'm sorry, what are we doing today exactly?"

"I've taken that pesky virus off your laptop. Today you can reach out to your contacts, and we can start planning how we'll tackle the artist premiere on Saturday. Remember, we only have five days."

I nod my head, closing my eyes as I set down my coffee and take a large breath. Just another job, and then I would find a way to move on. Figure out how to put a stopper on these feelings and just _go_. No looking back. Just like always. My eyes snap open, an easy smile on my face as I drown the feeling of anxiety that swells in my heart until it's only a distant murmur.

"Let's get this over with."

+++

We've taken up residence in a dark little room tucked away on the second floor filled with computer monitors and a number of fans. The sound of my clipped typing fills the silence between us. We don't speak as I work, but I am keenly aware of Ryatt's gaze. I try to slip in a couple of code phrases to Big Bear, my contact, as we communicate. Letting him know as discreetly as I can that I need my past deeds buried and to find me an exit after this job. One that would leave little trace of my existence.

"Okay, he should be sending me schematics of the loft sometime this evening. He was also able to track down an order for a jewelry safe from the company Brown Safe. It will have a key code pad, so I'll need an external EMF monitor or a black box. Those, and potentially something to dust the keyboard with, in case the latter doesn't work...wait, do vampires secrete oil?"

"I can get you the black box and dust by Wednesday," comes his soft reply. "And yes, they do. You said he was slightly cool to the touch before. I take that to mean he has a heart stone ring. A vampire without is quite startling to the touch." I nod and take a large breath before continuing.

"Alright. Once we get the schematics, I'll need to reach out to a few other people to see if I can't secure the guest list to see who's catering."

"Mhmm," his hand reaches out to tuck an errant hair behind my ear.

"Are you paying attention to anything I'm saying?" I swat his hand away. Fighting the sharp urge to lean into his outstretched hand and find comfort in its warmth. Damn this soulmark and its plaguing hope and need.

The color of his eyes is like some kind of coming storm. A dramatic mix of pale and deep blues that lock me in place when I dare attempt to stare him down. "I've been paying more attention than you might give me credit for," he murmurs.

I swallow. _Keep it professional, Quinn_. "Do you have any questions?"

"I've copies of your history on at least two external hard drives. What good will come of you covering your tracks now?" Point to Ryatt, but at least he hadn't been able to understand my other coded messages. The ones to plan an exit strategy for myself.

"I don't want to make a habit of finding myself in this type of scenario again," I reply briskly, hackles raised.

"I doubt you'll be finding another soulmark," he counters. "There's only two to a set, after all."

"Yes, but who knows whose cock will be in my mouth next and proclaiming their undying love for me after?" Ryatt's jaw clenches at my blasé tone. "Or locking me in a kinky secret sex dungeon."

"You won't be leaving once the job is finished, Quinn. Surely you must have realized that by now. It won't be safe for you out there. Vrana will track you down faster than you can blink, and drain you dry. You'll stay here, in Branson Falls, and be safe. No one will be able to harm you once we have the crystals united and a protective border raised across our territory."

"And what, live here in domesticated bliss?" Tempting thoughts of a future with Ryatt strike at my heart. We would live together in some cabin. Deep in the woods. Surviving off an endless supply of champagne and fine foods as we indulge in each other's bodies. Again and again and again. _Damnit_. I cross my legs and stuff the image away. The only future ahead of me was comprised of me, myself, and I.

"You don't have to live here," he tells me, "but you won't be able to stay too far away without some discomfort. Not with the soulmark—"

"I'm sure I'll be fine."

"I don't think you quite understand the _profound_ impact a soulmark has," he persists through gritted teeth.

"No," I respond in kind, blood beginning to boil. How could one man get under my skin so easily? "I do. Between that neat family dinner and girls' day yesterday, I'm very knowledgeable on the subject now. I have half a soul; you have half a soul. They belong together, _blah blah blah_ , eternal happiness, _blah blah blah_ , or become sick with grief and madness. That about sums it up, right?"

"Don't forget the blinding pleasure of it all," he mentions, a chilling smile on his face.

I shrug. "Sorry, Ry-Ry, but it's already forgotten." My last comment seems to break the last vestiges of Ryatt's control. He darts forward, caging me in my seat with his arms. A devilish look on his face. My heart catches in my throat at the expression he wears as I steel my nerves for his retort.

+++

Ryatt

Who knew this little lamb would have such teeth? Maybe she was more wolf than she let on? The wolf liked the thought of that—very much.

It's a tiresome effort, but I manage to rein back the wolf as it prowls forward to the forefront of my mind. It has always laid a mite too close to the surface, but it had never bothered me much before. Yet ever since Quinn had entered my life—a flurry of golden curls, coy smiles, and designer shoes—it challenged my control every day. The wolf drove my possessive streak and my somewhat erratic and wild nature. At the moment the wolf didn't appreciate being reined back. It had gone from utterly smitten to crazy in love in a matter of days. And it wanted me to take her. To lay the mark and bind her to me—to us. Though my infatuation remains, I can't deny the prospect of something _more_ pleases something deep inside of me.

That's when I smell it. The sudden spike of her arousal.

I close my eyes with a growl and inhale the scent deeply. A triumphant smirk ensnaring my lips before I can help it. Perhaps the little lamb wasn't so afraid of the big bad wolf after all? We might dance around each other with carefully laid words and barbs, but a constant heat seemed to be simmering between us nowadays. Quinn could put on her many faces and personalities, but the nose didn't lie. She was attracted to me in Mexico before the soulmark, just as she was now. But it was more than the soulmark; it was us.

"No pithy retort?" Comes her breathless inquiry. I let my eyes slip open, knowing them to be shaded in gold. The sound of her heart gives off a shudder, her eyes dilating as she gazes up at me.

"Just one," I whisper before giving in and bringing her lips to mine. We meet with a groan. Tongues and teeth battling for dominance in a fight she cannot dare hope to win. Soon enough her lips fall into the rhythm of my direction. Sliding and caressing mine in the most enticing way. As I pull back her body follows, hands reaching out to pull me nearer. I can't help the smile that plucks at the corner of my lips. She must sense it for she pulls back with a gasp.

"You ass," she hisses, eyes blazing with heat. "You disgust me." She stands abruptly and bolts for the door, but my hand catches her arm.

"I'd say your body tells a different story, darling," I tell her, standing as well. "There's something here between us. Like wildfire. You can't deny it. I feel it too."

Her gaze flickers uncertainly to me, and the wolf leaps at the opportunity. In mere seconds she is placed up against the wall, fans and old equipment dashed to the side. Our lips meet again, and her fingers dig into my hair. Desperate for a taste. Our hips shift. They push and grind until the pull to have her is almost too much to bear. The wolf howls its victory as I let out a shuddering groan. Then I tear myself away from her lips and drop to my knees.

+++

Quinn

He has my pair of Lucky jeans down to my ankles in three seconds flat. Pulls one leg free to hook over his shoulder and then drives his face between my thighs.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," I moan, bucking against the rough probing. My panties come away with two determined yanks, and I can barely think to scold him for the fever I succumb to. Why was I letting this happen? This was the very definition of unprofessional. And— _oh_ —I couldn't possibly leave everything I knew behind for— _oh God_.

My sights set themselves upon the raven-haired man beneath me, and my mouth goes dry. There is something so right and oh so wrong about the sight that greets me. I feel as if I've surrendered to some out-of-body experience as I watch myself get tongue-fucked by this rakish devil.

Ryatt pauses to lick up the sides of my thighs and capture the slick heat which escapes his attentions. A finger probes my entrance, then another, his shining blue eyes locking onto mine just as he takes my clit in his mouth. I feel my straightened leg begin to buckle as he begins to suck in earnest.

"Ryatt," I gasp, hands reaching out to secure purchase around me only to witness a mountain of electronics tumble to the ground with my thrashing. My eyes turn towards the ceiling, even though they beg to watch the rest of the show. I curve into the air, back arching and pelvis inching forward as I lose myself to this inferno of pleasure.

A nip at my thigh drags me back to reality. Ryatt's hands find my hips and hold me steady until all I can focus on is the thrust of his tongue against me.

" _Oh God_ ," I whimper.

"Not exactly," he whispers, pulling away with a slick pop. His lips glisten from my arousal, and he marks a determined path upwards with his lip. Helping hands shove my shirt up and over my head as he raises to his feet. Mindless with the release I am denied once more, my hands reach for his belt.

"Quinn—"

There's a strange quality to his voice. An uneasy plea I note as a warning, but that my hands do not heed. "Shut up," I breathe, smashing my lips against his. Hands lock around my wrists, halting my progress with his belt. "What?" I ask.

"I don't think you realize what you're doing," he tells me darkly, eyes almost completely golden. I shake off his grasp and grab hold of his length. Ryatt's eyes flutter close with a groan, body trembling with unsuppressed need. With a vicious growl, he kisses me. Our hands work in tandem to finish the job together. A stab of desire hitting me deeply. A sudden ravenous need surging through my body as I hook my leg over his hip. His cock at the entrance of—

"Fuck," I gasp against his lips at his entering thrust. Our eyes meet. The space between us contracting. "This is just mixing business with pleasure."

The words slip from my mouth before I can stop them, and Ryatt stills inside of me. "I'll show you pleasure you won't ever forget," he promises darkly before his hips bear down upon me. It draws another strangled cry from my lips as he begins a brutal pace. His hands move to cup my breasts. Roughly palming them through my bra and pinching at the hardened nipples. I whimper at his rough handling. Push my hips back against his to spur him on. There will be bruises. From both hands and lips. And I can't be bothered to care.

"And now I lay my mark for all to see," he whispers hotly in my ear, hips slamming into me with earnest. My hands claw at his shoulders for purchase, his words like some distant memory in my mind. "By blood, be one."

A fleeting sensation of pain registers against my shoulder, as my orgasm shudders through me. It bends the back and curls the toes. Makes my moan sound loudly throughout the room. Ryatt's thrusts end in a havoc spasm, a terrible groan rumbling from his throat.

A nervous tremble steals over me as we untangle ourselves. Ryatt places a soft kiss against my forehead. "Business and pleasure," I mumble under my breath as I do up my pants, bitterness and sadness swelling inside my chest. I can feel Ryatt's disappointment without even looking at him.

"Something like that," he mutters in return.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 9

Quinn

It's Irina's look of mild revulsion and snarky comment some hours later that informs me of the significance of our...engagement. I'm a mixture of shame and fury and stalking the house to confront Ryatt. He's in the bedroom staring bleakly out the window.

"I'm sorry," he apologizes almost immediately, though he doesn't bother to turn around to face me. He must have heard my Manolo Blahnik sling-backs clicking and clacking throughout the house and my determined approach.

A surge of sadness and regret hit me in the stomach, the force of which almost sends me doubling over. Instead, the foreign feelings somehow dull the rougher edges of my own anger. I stand wordlessly in the doorway, at a loss for what to say. "What you said, that this was just mixing business and pleasure," Ryatt takes a deep breath, his hands forming tight fists at his side. "It hurt. It hurt me, and I lashed out. I took advantage of the situation and let my wolf get the better of me. I'm sorry." He finally turns around then, his face contorted in the same agony as mine. "Who told you?" he asks.

"Irina. Something about finally smelling like 'Pack,' even if it meant smelling like you. Plus the bite mark on my neck. You broke the skin."

He swallows. "I was upset when I did it. I know I shouldn't have—"

"Of course, you shouldn't have. God! I am so angry at you right now." My body trembles with it and as Ryatt dares to take a step forward, I go one back. "Don't! Don't come near me, do you understand?"

"I'm sorry, Quinn. If I could take it back I would; I would have done it right."

"You wouldn't have done anything," I spit back, "because I wouldn't have agreed to completing another step of the soulmark!" His face pales. "After we finish with this heist, I'm gone. Fuck this stupid soulmark and your stupid pack of wolves. I make my own decisions from now on, nobody else."

His eyes fall shut as if he can't bear to look at me. I feel the same. There is such a torrent of emotion colliding through me it's almost as if I cannot breathe. Tears sting around the corners of my eyes.

"I'll make this right," he finally whispers. "I swear to you I'll make this right."

"Doubtful," I respond mournfully. Initiating the sex had been a grave mistake on my part, but Ryatt pressing on with the soulmark? How could I find it in my heart to forgive him?

An old hurt simmers inside me. This lack of control was frighteningly reminiscent of the one I faced in my youth when the most important decisions of my life had been made for me. With everyone thinking they were doing what was best for me. I leave without another word, the old hurt turning into a stone in my belly. With any luck, Big Bear and my other contacts would come through with my exit strategy. And then I'd be gone on the wind by the time our heist was through.

+++

There is no moving past my anger or the constant heartache that seems to plague me. Damn this soulmark and the way it twists my feelings. I have every right to be angry and upset, yet Ryatt's feelings shadow my every move. I'm wrapped up in feelings of guilt and remorse whenever I come too near, and when I see his crestfallen expression the nearly overwhelming urge to forgive him consumes me.

I give a small groan of frustration. That kept happening. Every time I seemed to be able to pinpoint my anger and move past the fog of Ryatt's emotions, my heart would give a tug and pull me back down into memories of his touch and his laughter. The marking hadn't just opened the link between us wider; it had also dredged up feelings for Ryatt I thought nonexistent. Begrudgingly I could admit that there was an attraction between us—chemistry even—though I loathed to say it. I just hadn't realized that some part of me had enjoyed our connection more than I had been able to recognize. It seemed like a defeat after having spent so long keeping people at arm's length. Somehow he had wormed his way into my heart with that charming grin and vulgar wit.

But I couldn't forgive him. Monday went by in silence. I had kept myself neatly tucked away, hammering out the details of my feelings with red-rimmed eyes. Tuesday had passed much in the same fashion, with Ryatt stopping by once in the afternoon to try his hand at apologizing once more, a bouquet of roses and box of chocolates at the ready.

By the looks of him, he had been having about as good of a time sorting through our affairs as I had. Which is why on Wednesday, Zoelle took pity on me and drove me out to spend the day at her grandmother's.

"You two still aren't talking?" Zoelle asks as we drive along a tree-lined street.

"Definitely not," I respond.

Zoelle makes a right, her eyes swinging in my direction as we make the turn. "Xander did the same thing to me."

"He fucked you then abruptly left the room so you could stand around like some fool wondering what the hell just happened?" Zoelle colors.

"Not exactly," she hedges. I raise a dubious brow. "We were fooling around in my kitchen, and he seduced me. Kind of. I didn't even know until a week later that he had marked me. It was only because his mother accidentally let it slip. I was really confused as to why I was feeling so much more from Xander and why he seemed to have this unexplainable ability to call me to heel. Of course, I was equal parts furious and embarrassed, but it ended up being overshadowed by the death of his mom shortly after."

I stare at her in shock. "That sounds awful."

"I was in pretty bad shape," she admits sheepishly. "The current of emotion from the bond hadn't just widened between us. With the marking, you officially become part of the Pack, and I was feeling their loss too. God, it was such a cluster-fuck."

"Did you just curse?" Zoelle colors again.

"It's the best way I know how to describe the situation, okay?" she tells me defensively. "Anyway, I just wanted you to know I get it. That I understand how you feel."

"I don't even understand how I feel," I tell her with a sigh. She passes me a sympathetic glance.

"Pissed off. Uncertain. Upset. And maybe the tiniest ounce of hope?"

"Yes to the first three, and a hard no to the last. Why would I be hopeful?"

Zoelle chews on her bottom lip before answering, "Because despite everything, maybe deep down you like him."

"No," I tell her, staring out the window. "It's just the soulmark. It's not even real."

"The soulmark doesn't just make feelings appear. It amplifies what's already there in your heart. I'm going to take a wild guess and say you were attracted to Ryatt when you first met him. He's a good-looking guy. Sometimes he's even known to be funny. Once the soulmark was sealed it probably latched onto that attraction and boosted it."

"Being attracted to someone doesn't mean you have to like them," I remind her.

"It doesn't," she agrees tentatively, "but you do like him, don't you?" I say nothing. "It's okay if you do. I was reluctant to admit my feelings for Xander when they started coming around. There was also the fact that I was also in another relationship at the time..." she trails off sheepishly.

"What happened with that?"

"I cheated on him," she whispers mournfully. "If there were anything I would have done differently, it would have been breaking up with Ben earlier. I put it off. I used him as an excuse to try and avoid my growing feelings for Xander. It ended pretty badly between us."

"You told your ex you cheated on him?" Zoelle nods. I let out a whistle, eyes widening. "You have some balls," I comment. "I don't think I would have had the nerve to do it." More likely than not, I would have dropped him cold without an explanation as to why. I had never been brave in matters of the heart.

"I barely did," she admits, "but Xander and I just had this moment of understanding. Of acceptance, really. I knew I couldn't leave Ben hanging like that anymore. What about you? Have you ever been in a similar situation?"

"Have I ever cheated on anyone? I guess I have. I mean, I don't know for sure. I've never really been in a relationship before, but when the job calls for it, I play the role of girlfriend or mistress." I give a small shrug. "They never really meant anything to me."

"Did you have sex with them?" she asks, more than an edge of curiosity in her voice.

I give a little grin. "Sometimes," I tell her honestly. "I never had to if I didn't want to. But sometimes it was fun to mix business with a little bit of pleasure." A knot twists in my stomach at the phrase. Too bad mixing business with pleasure had led to such turmoil this time around.

"It probably feels even more confusing if feelings are there clouding the surface though, huh?" I nod slowly, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat.

"Is mind reading one of your witchy talents?" I comment lightly.

She shakes her head, pulling the car to a stop in front of a large house. "Like I said, I understand where you're coming from. I was in your shoes less than a year ago." She hops out of the car without another word, leading me silently into the house.

"Zoelle, is that you?" A woman calls out amidst a chorus of laughter down a short hallway.

"Yes!" Zoelle turns to me with a smile. "They're all harmless, I promise." She grabs my hand and drags me deeper into the household. My eyes dart wildly around, skimming the picture-lined walls and enjoying the scent of something sweet and chocolatey in the air.

I send a tentative smile to the women gathered in the room, all assembled around a small table near a large expanse of windows. Daylight shines in through the sheer curtains, casting them in a golden light.

"Come sit down," one woman says, the same one who called out before. I note the two empty seats and set of matching mugs set before them, steam billowing softly from both. A plate of cookies sits in the middle.

"I'm—"

"Quinn Montgomery," one of the other women supplies serenely. She has long white hair and pale skin that is scarred heavily in patches of pink and red. She smiles widely at me. "We know all about you."

"Quinn, meet Maureen Clybourn," Zoelle introduces us with a gentle smile. "This is my grandmother, Diana Baudelaire, and this is—"

"Lydia Stein." The last woman has her hair pulled back into a tight bun, her skin the color of cocoa. It's almost the same shade as Diana's. "How are you handling that boy?"

"It could be going better."

"She's being modest," Zoelle quickly quips. "She has him wrapped completely around her finger, and she doesn't even know it. Every other second he's making moon eyes at her, and they do this whole flirting-fighting thing."

"What?! We do _not_."

Zoelle gives me an innocent look. "Just because you're too blind to see it doesn't mean it's not happening." I must look like a fish out of water. I wasn't used to this sassier side of Zoelle.

"I'm not blind," I grumble. "I'm well aware of the fact that he's stalking me. And I'm almost positive I've seen him sniffing after me, like, literally sniffing."

"He's been pacing outside her door for the past day or two," Zoelle adds. The women look at me expectantly for an answer.

"He marked me," I tell them with a heavy sigh, "without my knowledge or permission."

"They were having sex—"

"Zoelle!" I shriek in outrage, "could you not divulge all the details of my life?"

"Sorry," she mumbles around her mug.

"He didn't pressure you into it, did he, dear? Sometimes the wolf inside them can grab control. They can be quite dangerous. If you need us to, we can put that dog in his place," Lydia states.

I shake my head. "It was most definitely consensual," I admit. _And completely my doing_. "We have a lot of...fire, between us. Plus, it's not the first time we've fooled around."

"Well, I don't know why you would go and have sex with the boy if your intentions weren't to complete the soulmark," Lydia adds. "Physical contact increases its effect and pull."

"What? It does?" I ask in a panic.

"Well, yes," she says, eyebrow cocked. "The soulmark desires to be complete. It is meant to be one, not two, and the physical contact drives this urge."

"I didn't know that," I tell them pitifully.

"Every bond is different to a certain extent," Diana tells me, reaching out to pat my hand. "Why don't you have a cookie, get some sugar in you. You're looking a bit pale." I snag a cookie and shove it into my mouth. "Have you been eating enough?" I give a short nod and take another cookie. "Good. It won't do you any good to starve yourself." Her voice takes on a familiar motherly tone. The one you always hear in movies and TV shows.

"You've certainly gotten yourself into a jam," Maureen remarks, sipping on her tea. "Perhaps you should leave your life of crime behind for something more useful to society."

"It's what I'm good at," I tell her with a forced smile, "and it's what I like."

Lydia passes a speculative look at the two other women before pinning me with her stare. "You find fulfillment in stealing from others?"

"When you put it that way it doesn't sound very...nice."

"Well stealing isn't a very nice hobby," Lydia says with a snort, "and it doesn't seem to have done you any favors."

"It did put her in the path of her soulmark, Lydia."

She rolls her eyes. "It also had her steal from _us_ , Mo. Or have you forgotten?"

"She'll get it back for us," Mo says solemnly, turning her intense gaze upon me. "Won't you?"

I finish my cookie and fight for some semblance of composure. It wasn't every day you had to confront the people you stole from. Not for me at least. "I have a plan. I'll get it back."

"Well, don't hold out on us dear. We want to know the details," Diana says, sitting back.

"Yes!" Lydia agrees eagerly. "I want to discuss your plans with Kymberly Moon. If she has a clear idea of your plans, it helps her know what to search for in her premonitions."

"Her premonitions?"

The three older women nod their heads in unison. "She can see the future. It's come in handy more than once. I've been helping her learn how to focus her talents. If she can get an idea of any obstacles you might face, then you'll be one step ahead of the game."

"And you can get back that crystal," Maureen's endorsement is said with unusual gusto, and I give a small laugh.

"Okay, okay," I tell them with a small but honest smile. "I'm all for supernatural help." Or any help at all.

"You'll need all the help you can get if you're going up against a vampire," Diana says seriously.

I turn my sights on Zoelle, somewhat accusingly. "How much have you told them, exactly?"

"Just about everything," she admits sheepishly. "I couldn't not! You stole our crystal after all. They need to be kept in the know."

"And telling them about my private affairs with Ryatt fit how?"

Maureen lets out a sharp, bark-like laugh. "That man is a downright scoundrel, and his wolf is always near the surface of his mind. It makes him more impulsive. As if he's untamed."

"You think he's a liability?" I ask with a slight frown. "That the 'wolf part' of him will make him...I don't know. Do something to draw too much attention to us?"

The women ponder my questions carefully. "I don't think so," Zoelle hedges carefully. "I think it will make him more overprotective of you, potentially even more careful."

"More paranoid," Lydia states coolly. "You'll need to stay calm. If he senses danger or anything that might endanger you, he'll react."

I nod my head thoughtfully. It was good information to know. I wasn't used to working with a partner on a job.

"I plan on getting in and out as quickly as possible. We'll have to mosey around for 20 minutes or so that I can show some face, but Mr. Vrana will most likely expect me to keep a low profile—so I will. The trickiest part will be getting to the safe without notice. It's in his bedroom on the second level. We'll take a staircase tucked away near the kitchen to go up, but the second-floor landing is in perfect view of the first floor."

"We can give you an aversion elixir," Diana tells me reassuringly. I give her a slightly bewildered look.

"I have someone on the inside stashing a pair of waiters' clothes for us to change into. They promised to make a small diversion for us, but we can take the aversion elixir too, for extra precaution. What does it do exactly?"

"Those around you will want to stay away from you and ignore you," Zoelle explains, "but only one of you should take it. I don't think the plan would go nearly as well if you suddenly don't want to work as a team any longer."

"The artist's work will be displayed throughout the place. I just don't know if it will be up on the second floor. If it is, we can slip into the bedroom more easily."

"And then?" Maureen asks.

"And then I break into the safe while Ryatt keeps guard. I double-strap the sucker to my thigh, and we get out."

"We'll get the elixir to Zoelle by Friday," Diana says, "and Mo will speak with Kym by then as well." A large smile splits across my face.

"Thank you. I promise this will go off without a hitch. You'll have your crystal back by Saturday night."

"Good," Lydia declares, "because our enemies are closing in, and by the looks of it, we're going to have another one added to the list once Saturday comes about."

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 10

Ryatt

If there was one thing I was good at in life, it was fucking up. Fucking up my sister's attempt at a love life. Fucking up the retrieving of our allies' property. Fucking up my relationship with my soulmark. The robe Quinn has been using rests on a hook of the bathroom door. I snatch it and make my way over to my bed, flopping down upon it with a forlorn sigh. I bring the robe to my face and inhale. I also happened to be a master of being secretly pathetic. No doubt Xander would have been caught sneaking scents off Zoelle's clothing pre-binding. But not I.

The scent of Quinn lingers in the room, but it is strongest in the things she wears on a daily basis. The wolf takes to it like some kind of calming sedative and happily relaxes at the back of my mind with her scent surrounding us.

The wolf had reached a level of pathetic I hadn't known possible. It's not been two weeks and it's head over heels in love, while I'm left to try and keep our feelings separate. Mostly. Lust and love were two very different things, but with the way the wolf was projecting, I wasn't sure how much longer I could keep the divide up. I inhale deeply once more, enjoying the scent of jasmine and citrus and _Quinn_.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

I hesitate for a fraction of a second, my eyes flying open at the sound of her voice before I throw the robe down faster than humanly possible. "Nothing," I smoothly deny, sitting up and running a hand through my hair. "You're back."

She eyes me warily, shuffling from foot to foot. "Obviously," she finally scoffs, though I note it is half-hearted. I slowly get to my feet.

"And you're talking to me." She looks away uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Quinn, about the other day. Truly. I didn't plan on that happening." She doesn't carry the same tense weight about her. Her shoulders are no longer hunched. Hands unclenched. Scowl...still mostly intact. Regardless, it's a welcome reprieve. Quinn remains silent. Gaze elsewhere. Mind whirling, no doubt. The wolf whines pathetically in the background of my mind, still distraught over her body language and reaction to the marking. It could not comprehend why she was so upset, but I did and was determined to give Quinn some distance. She deserved to make her own decisions, no matter how unpleasant the consequences may be for both of us.

"I'm still pissed at you," she finally says, eyes caught on the window. "And I'm still definitely not okay with how any of this has played out, but..."

My breath catches as she swings her gaze my way. Her eyes are the most serene blue. Startling even from afar, if I could only be so lucky as to wash away the unease from them. I shove my hands in my pockets, dropping my regard to the floor submissively. The wolf had obviously been getting to me more than I realized.

"But I can't undo it. I can't change it, and I know that the marking probably wouldn't have happened if I didn't take your pants off," she flushes with remorse. "I talked with a lot of witches today and was pretty thoroughly shot down. Time-travel is a big no-no, apparently. Plus they put on a little magic show for me. So that's apparently a real thing. Witches."

"A productive chat then," I mutter under my breath. I chance a glance to see if she has heard my utterance but only a small scowl lines the features of her brow and lips.

"I'm not going to be in a relationship with you, Ryatt," she tells me seriously. "I'm not a relationship kind of girl. I don't do boyfriends. I barely do 'friends,' but since we are apparently stuck together that's what I can at least offer. Friendship."

I can feel my eyes narrowing in on her as the wolf prowls steadily at the front of my mind. _Mine_ , it softly chants. As if I didn't know that already. "Friendship," I roll the word around on my tongue, not particularly liking the taste of it. "Why? I think we can both agree we're quite good at being much more. We haven't even explored all the things we might do—"

"Can we not go there?" She takes a deep breath, her heart racing though she maintains a neutral facade. "I spoke with Zoelle—" I let out a dramatic groan "—and she said she was able to with Xander. I don't see why we shouldn't give it a try."

"One, their situation was completely different from ours. Zoelle had a significant other at the time, and my brother is a bully, as Alphas tend to be. Two, we've already had sex. I've felt you. I've been inside of you. That changes things—"

"No," she says sternly, "it changes nothing. We can put what's transpired between us in the past and move forward as _friends_. People can have sex and still just be friends. It's not impossible. Besides, it didn't mean anything."

"Like hell it didn't," I growl, the wolf echoing its displeasure with a snarl that almost bursts forth from my lips. "It was a fucking revelation. I marked you, and that means something. There's no more ignoring it. No more ignoring us." The wolf leaps to the forefront of my mind and I feel a streak of all-consuming possessiveness ram its way through me. Quinn swallows and stares me down determinedly. "Do you honestly believe we can be 'just friends' after all that's happened?" I ask, deliberately keeping my calm. I take a step towards her and watch silently as she fumbles back.

"I won't deny that whatever this fascination is between us will be difficult to ignore. In fact, the soulmark will make it more difficult, or so I've recently learned. Nevertheless, I think we can push past the awkwardness and find some kind of common ground—without all the touching."

I mull over the words and find myself stuck on her comment about the soulmark. The soulmark didn't make things more difficult. What exactly was she talking about? "If by fascination you mean attraction, you're right. It will be most difficult to ignore. The soulmark," a satisfied smile takes up residence on my face as I recall some minor details regarding its influence, "amplifies feelings that are already there. You like me."

Her face flushes a telltale red, "It just means we already have a sort of rapport that isn't exclusively derived from animosity."

"You like me!" I crow, taking several steps forward. She peels out into the hallway; hands held up defensively as she glares at me from outside the door. "What are you doing?" I ask, watching in amusement as her skin shades an even brighter red.

"You're not entirely loathsome," Quinn bites out.

"Why are you out in the hallway?" I take a measured step forward and watch in befuddlement as she skirts backward. Again. "Why are you doing that?"

"I have to meet with your sister," she says feebly. But feeble is a very un-Quinn thing to be.

"You're lying." A spike of indignant anger flares through the bond from her end. "What aren't you telling me?"

Quinn hesitates, eyes darting around the room until they land back on the window, a long sigh drawing from her rosy lips. "Physical proximity increases the pull between us because we've already engaged in rather...intimate positions."

I quirk a brow. "Are you referring to the fact that we've had sex, or was it the rather fantastic head you gave me? Or was it—"

"Yes. You ass," she huffs. Her indignation turns to anger. "I'd prefer if we maintained a certain distance from one another to put a stop to that."

I pull my hands from my pockets and cross them over my chest. The urge to move closer is almost irresistible with the wolf clawing and howling to drive me towards her. It's her scent that holds me back. A mixture of fear and resentment, along with a healthy dose of what can only be shame. _Space_ , I remind myself and the wolf sharply, _she needed space_.

"I don't understand why you can't just give me a chance," I tell her softly. "There's something between us. Something not even you can deny, even with all your carefully chosen words."

"It's not that easy."

"It is," I insist, shuffling forward a few steps. Her eyes flutter close for a second as she warily shakes her head.

"It's not that easy, Ryatt. You're asking me to dump my old life completely in order to live with a pack of wolves. Literally."

"Would that really be so bad? No more stealing or putting yourself in compromising positions."

"I like my compromising positions, thank you very much."

"I'm sure I can think of a hundred compromising positions to put you in," I promise, not bothering to hide the hunger in my voice. Quinn takes two steps back, minutely shaking her head. I sigh. "Why don't you run along and find Irina? I've some work to do before the day's end."

She scampers away, her lips splitting into a cautious smile before leaving. In a few quick strides, I make it to the door and push it gently closed.

That was progress, right? Acknowledgement.

I would just have to find a way to capitalize on her confession before we completed the heist. Only time was not on my side. My feet steer me back towards the bed, and I pick up her robe once more, holding it against my nose. Her scent calms me and the wolf. Lulling it into a state of tranquility so that I can have some peace of mind and think without its commentary. I needed a plan. A way to prove my case with her. Show her that we could be so much more together than we could ever be apart. I grin as I inhale her scent once more. I had just the idea.

+++

Quinn

It had been a long day. Between the witches, Ryatt, and being roped into helping Irina plan some party, I barely had time to collect the rest of the information I needed from Big Bear and my other contacts. This shower was just what I needed.

The hot water shot straight between my shoulder blades, its persistent stream easing the tension away. The nozzle was turned almost fully to the left, delivering an almost unbearable heat, but God did it feel good. My eyes open lazily to see that the steamy fog, once relegated to the shower stall, has ventured to envelop the entirety of the bathroom. To any other, the room might be mistaken for a sauna. My hands grope along the wall until they find the soap and loofah, then jasmine and orange blossom fill the air.

I can't remember the last time I have felt so relaxed. I make sure to drench the loofah in soap to achieve maximum lather before tracing it over my front. Across the shoulders and down my chest. Lower past my stomach to swirl around my navel, then a quick swipe down both legs, before repeating the process.

I'm not quite sure when the other set of hands comes into play, but they do not frighten me as I would have expected them to. My hair is smoothed over one shoulder, and lips press themselves against the nape of my neck. I gasp. A sudden passion and bliss engulf my senses before slipping away just as suddenly as it came.

"You've been in here for ages," Ryatt teases, lips barely skimming over the surface over my over-sensitized skin.

I let out a small hum of acknowledgment, taking a moment to catch my breath. "Women have more to do in the shower. I shampoo and condition. I shave."

"Lather, rinse, and repeat?"

"Exactly," I tell him with a Cheshire cat smile and lean back into him. He gently pries the loofah from my grip.

"Well then, let me help you finish so that you can come back to bed." I receive a small nip of admonishment on my neck. His tongue darts outwards to catch the droplets at rest there.

The loofah drags down my spine, fingertips following in its wake. I let out a breathy sigh, back arching delicately as the loofah is dropped to the floor and hands take up the task. They spread the lather. Taking their time to give attention to every inch they meet. His fingers rubbing out the knots and kinks that lie between my shoulders. Ryatt's hands stop low on my waist, thumbs digging inwards in small circles.

"I'm glad you decided to give me a chance, Quinn," he whispers, nuzzling his head against mine with a pleased exhalation. "You won't regret it. I'll make every day a new adventure for us. Show you pleasures you've never experienced before."

My focus falters even as I slip deeper into his touch. Is that how my day had ended? I couldn't quite remember the exact conversation, but it explained why I no longer felt the heavy weight of indecision in my heart. One hand slips around to my stomach, fingers flaring to touch as much skin as possible. I shudder a sigh.

"But don't think I've forgotten about your punishment, Quinn," he purrs in my ear, pulling me back till I'm flush with his chest. The hand around my middle tightens minutely as the other trails to my ass. I feel my heart give a sudden lurch, nipples hardening in excitement and anticipation. "It seems you haven't either," he breathes harshly into my ear. A second later a sharp slap is delivered to my ass. I gasp at the stinging sensation, body flooding with need so strong I tremble.

Ryatt's breath skates over my soulmark in steady exhalations, which only drives my need further. His body shifts to the right, hand caressing the abused cheek before pulling back. My breath stalls. A crack resounds in the shower followed swiftly by my lust-filled cry. Once more his hand soothes the ache it creates, fingers slipping lower.

"Ryatt," I whimper, pushing back into his hand wantonly. He groans, his length digging into my side.

"As much as I would love to finish this," he tells me, lips coming to brush along my ear, "now is not the time or place, little lamb." He shushes me as I release a desperate whine, then he drops to a knee behind me.

The loofah is back in his possession, making slow circles across my calves, the heat of his breath fanning across my inner thighs. A short moan of appreciation slips past my guard as he pursues my thighs with the soapy sponge.

"What is it the time and place for?" I murmur, hand reaching out to the wall to steady myself. Once more he casts aside the loofah in favor of his hands, rubbing the soap into my heated flesh, the water making quick work of what suds stay behind.

"Love," he whispers, his voice taking on an almost faraway quality.

"Love?" I whisper back. The word strikes me with a painful jolt, bringing with it a startling dose of reality. I didn't recall any talks regarding love. Love was...love was out of the equation for me. I didn't need it. I didn't need...Ryatt's fingers dance along the apex of my thigh. Caressing and gliding over the slick flesh but never quite touching where it's needed.

"Stop thinking," he tells me, running his lips up and over my ass to the small of my back. "Just _feel_."

Feel? Feel what? A strange nervousness settles in my stomach, the outskirts of my vision vibrating. Love? I gulp down the thick air. Why was it suddenly so difficult to breathe? My hands reach desperately along the wall to turn the shower off and end our encounter to find some clarity. They find nothing but cool tile. _That's not right_ , I think.

"Quinn," Ryatt growls, suddenly in front of me, hands cupping my face. His blue eyes sucking me in effortlessly. There is a summer storm raging in their depths. "Just feel," he begs, tilting his forehead to rest against mine. The bond between us pulses with something almost otherworldly. It is warmth and sweetness, security and wicked promises all wrapped up in one.

"Please stop," I whimper, unused to such foreign feelings.

"Let me in. Let me love you." My head twists from side to side fretfully, tearing out of his mild hold. I wasn't meant for love. I wasn't good enough for love. My past had proven it to me over and over again. "Please." I stumble backward, feet slipping out from under me in my haste. There are no hands to catch me as I fall. The elusive pillars of steam slip through my hands until I—

—lurch upwards from my bed panting.

My eyes are wide and frightened as they dart across the dark bedroom. I can feel sweat beading on my forehead and the back of my neck along my hairline. My pajamas are soaked through. Dear God, what was that? And why had it felt so real? Still the bond pulses, even though Ryatt is rooms away. I whimper as the fragments of the dream slip from my grasp, leaving me only more confused. There would be no more sleeping for me tonight.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 11

Quinn

Friday is unbearable. I can barely look Ryatt in the face as we go over the details of the heist with last night's dream stuck in my thoughts. It had been so _real_. So vivid. Part of me wondered if he had used some kind of spell, but the notion struck me as being more hysterical than logical. I might begrudgingly admit to some supernatural force in the world, thanks to the display Zoelle's "Coven" had demonstrated the day before, but it hadn't washed away all my doubts.

Apparently, seeing _was_ believing.

In the afternoon Maureen drops by with our aversion elixir. She encourages us to use it wisely while wearing the most peculiar frown. After a brief hesitation she relays to us the two premonitions from Kymberly Moon. One, that we would encounter more than one foe on Saturday night. Two, that there would be a casualty. Ryatt had gone into a fit close to rage, demanding the whole thing be called off, which left me only one choice: to go to his brother. I couldn't afford to miss my opportunity to slip away.

Xander had ordered with cool authority that it would continue as planned, though extra precautions would be taken as to the detailing of our security. Ryatt had stormed off after giving a strained affirmation of his Alpha's order. Even I felt pulled under by Ryatt's worry and anger, finding it hard to breathe for a scarce moment as Xander's heavy orders passed over to me as well. I whimpered my agreement, Irina catching me as my legs trembled beneath me. Ushering me to a chair, she proceeded to thoroughly shame her eldest brother for his heavy-handedness until Xander had muttered an apology. I wish she had done so for Ryatt, but I was informed he'd have a hard time listening to anyone but Xander or Atticus so close to the full moon.

That being the case, Xander followed begrudgingly after Ryatt while the Beta stayed with myself and Irina. His presence had an oddly calming effect, one I had noticed dimly before, but even more so now.

"All I want is a little bit of excitement in my life, but with Ryatt and Xander breathing down my neck I'll never have the chance. All I want is to date a little—what harm is there in that? But no! Not me, their _baby_ sister. They're purposely cock-blocking me, Atticus!" Irina ends her rant with a dramatic sigh, throwing the best puppy-dog eyes I've ever seen Atticus's way. "You're the Beta. Can't you do something?"

"You want me to tell my Alpha how to treat his sister?" Her shoulders slump in defeat, her pretty pout turning into a pretty scowl.

"What about Ryatt?"

Atticus looks at me pointedly, eyebrows shooting upwards. "The only way to run Ryatt off your trail is to put something else in his path."

"Hey!" I say, my handful of popcorn stopping halfway to my mouth.

Irina's eyes brighten once more. Switch flipped. Puppy-dog eyes activated and trained on me. "You have to distract him," she tells me primly, "with sex. It's been known to do the trick before."

"I am not having sex with your brother again," I respond back tersely, throwing my popcorn at her. "We're just friends now. Okay?"

She scoffs, "You don't actually believe that, do you?" She swats away the kernels in a flurry, directing her ire back on me once the task is complete. "You're already marked. You'll be bound soon enough. And! Every time you two are within five feet of each other I'm afraid I'll be privy to a porno," she snarks, nose scrunching in distaste.

"Not true!"

Zoelle walks into the room, her arms filled with grocery bags and a soft smile on her face. Atticus catches her eye immediately and shakes his head.

"Wait, don't go!" I call after her retreating form. " _Rude_ ," I mutter beneath my breath.

"You're really not going to have sex with him?"

"Of course, I'm not," I tell her, flushing with embarrassment.

"But don't you want to be my sister?" I look to Atticus for help. He offers me a kind smile then slips the popcorn bowl out of my grasp, giving me a quick shrug as his apology.

"You're wonderful, Irina, but I don't need to be your sister in order to be your friend."

"But I need another sister so that both of my brothers are fully preoccupied. I've barely even lived as it is! I'm always under their watch or some other wolf lackey."

"I take offense to that," Atticus chimes in via a mouth full of half-chewed popcorn.

"I take offense to you never bothering to help me!" Irina cries.

"I help," he says indignantly. "I've helped you sneak out a few times. Remember?" Irina groans.

"Yes, but I was only a teenager then. I never even got around to doing anything serious with a boy. And now that I'm 'of age' as they so like to put it, I'll likely never get the chance unless my soulmark pops out of nowhere. With my luck, it will be on some ten-year-old and by the time he's 'of age' I'll be a wrinkly spinster."

Atticus chews slowly. "You'd be in your thirties. I'd hardly call that a wrinkly spinster."

"Useless," she bemoans, standing from her chair dramatically. "The both of you."

"Well, that was interesting," I comment once I believe her to be out of earshot.

"It loses its interest after the sixth or seventh time," Atticus tells me dryly. "But I get why she's frustrated. They do keep her on a pretty tight leash, and she just wants to have fun before she finds her soulmark. _If_ she finds her soulmark. She also doesn't want to be a virgin anymore," he tells me with a quirk of his lips, "but no wolf from the pack is brave enough to face the wrath of her brothers, and she's too watched to make off with some random human."

"Holy shit, she's a virgin?" I whisper, aghast. "No way. Irina is a straight-up 10. Sure, her attitude is a bit bratty sometimes, but she also wears her heart on her sleeve. I can't believe she's never had sex. I'd probably have an attitude if I weren't getting laid on the regular too." Atticus snorts as I nod my head knowingly. "What? Maintaining a healthy and somewhat regular sex life is good for a person. It gives you happy endorphins, it's fun, and it can also be a real workout. If you know what I mean." I tick off my logic on my fingers, then wiggle my eyebrows for Atticus, though not very well.

He lets out a boisterous laugh, "Aw man, you're pretty funny."

"I know," I chirp, entirely too pleased with myself.

"You know you're perfect for him right?"

My pleasure vanishes with a groan. "Not you too, Atticus. I was just beginning to think being a prisoner here wasn't so bad with you here to keep me company."

He munches on a handful of popcorn thoughtfully, eyes scrutinizing me. "Do you honestly believe you're a prisoner here? That he would force you to stay if you didn't want to? You could have gone to the Baudelaires'. You could have tried to make off during your little shopping trip with Irina and Zoelle. You're the one who decides to keep yourself locked up in that bedroom all day."

"Yeah, so that I don't have to run into Ryatt and deal with his—his weird wooing attempts."

"Or because you're scared of him."

"I'm not scared of him!"

He shoots me a disapproving glare. "You're afraid of what you could have with him. Security. Love. A family. All the things you probably didn't have when you were growing up, if Ryatt's information was correct."

I feel my face flush unbearably red, and traitorous tears begin to swim in the corner of my vision. Point to Atticus. There seemed to be no running away from my past with this group of wolves. It was becoming far much more than an annoyance. Would I ever have the upper hand with them?

I take in a couple of deep breaths, willing my emotions away. Atticus lets out a small whine, moving to the seat next to me before I can find my feet and leave. His large hand takes mine. "You don't have to be afraid, Quinn. Change is scary, but taking that leap of faith is worth it."

"I really don't want to have this conversation, Atticus," I tell him tightly, hating the way my throat felt so constricted. I make a quick swipe at my eyes, dashing away any evidence of my heartache.

"I'm the Beta, Quinn. Most of my responsibility falls to making sure my wolves and their soulmarks are happy and safe. To make sure they know they are loved and taken care of. You can confide in me."

I swallow past the lump in my throat. "I think I'll head to bed." I avoid his knowing gaze and tug my hand from him. I didn't need any more lectures or opinions on how I should handle the soulmark. I knew exactly what I was going to do, and with the help of a few friends, I'd put my plan into action after the heist. "Big day tomorrow and all," I explain with a brittle smile, then walk out of the room without another word.

+++

"This is it," I tell Ryatt, pointing to the hotel on the right. He pulls up without comment to the valet stand, exiting the car to open my door while tossing the keys to the valet. "Thank you." Ryatt makes no comment, which shouldn't surprise me, as he's barely said one word to me the entire day. Since Denver was over a 10-hour drive, a private jet was procured to cut our time. Doing so also meant we now had a much stricter timeline to adhere to in order to take the jet back to Montana. Well, at least Ryatt did. If M pulled through on her promise, I'd find myself with my own transportation out of the city.

I slip my hand into his preferred arm, and he guides me inside the hotel lobby. "Your Mr. Vrana lives in a hotel?" he asks quietly as I hand over the invitation to the security guard waiting at the private elevator.

"The top floors are all condominiums," I explain, taking back the invitation without a smile from the security guard. My eyes take a quick skim of the names checked off on the clipboard he holds. It seemed that just over half had arrived. Good. With more people trickling in after us our host would be preoccupied. "You should have worn the navy blue," I continue as we enter the elevator, feeling my ire tinge my words. "You'll draw too much attention in that color." That color being an _electric_ blue. He would certainly draw every eye in the room.

"It's an artist premiere. I'm sure there will be guests dressed far more extravagantly than you or I," he responds quickly.

"Listen," I begin, feeling rushed as the numbers continue to tick up past the teens. "I need the suave and charming Ryatt, not paranoid, moody Ryatt. As far as everyone knows we're just another pair of guests set to enjoy the night."

He stiffens momentarily, eyes catching mine in the mirror as I touch up my lipstick. "I'm not moody or paranoid," he quietly seethes, "and if I was, I'd have every right to be. We're walking in knowing one of us isn't going to come out."

"We don't know that. It could be anyone in there."

" _You_ don't know that," he whines, eyes squeezing shut as if in pain. "The thought that I might lose you just when I've found you." My breath catches, our eyes meeting once more in the elevator mirror.

"We'll be fine," I reassure him, gently squeezing his forearm.

"And what of the other enemies?" he asks, the elevator beginning to slow as it nears the penthouse suite.

"Just eat them. Or something. You're a wolf, for God's sake. Growl viciously, I don't know."

The sparkle of amusement returns to his eyes as the elevator dings and the doors open. My heart skips a beat, realizing I had missed seeing it over the past few days. "I think we both know I'd rather dine on you," he purrs into my ear as he guides us out. A few people look our way, their curiosity mollified to see just another young couple. We make our way to the bar, slipping through the crowd with matching smiles. Ryatt nods to a fair few who eye us up, while I give a delicate wave of my fingers. No one approaches, our steps clearly intent.

"Dirty martini," I tell the bartender off-handedly, turning back around to face the crowd.

"Make that two," Ryatt corrects smoothly, keeping his back to the masses and scanning the people crowding around some art piece at the far end of the room. My eyes catch the familiar figure of Mr. Vrana. As if sensing my gaze, his eyes find me. Fresh martini glass in hand, I lift it in his direction. I'm aware of Ryatt tensing ever so slightly by my side and give a salacious wink and grin towards my employer before turning around with a swing of my hips and gluing myself to Ryatt's side. His hand finds its place low on my hip, and he presses a kiss to my cheek.

Our eyes catch as he pulls away, a familiar, knowing grin on his face. "If you don't calm that heart of yours everyone will hear it," he teases, but I know a warning when I hear one. "It seems like the artist has set up displays all over the condo. There's one outside on the deck," he points to the glass wall to our left that overlooks a massive outdoor patio, "one in the back. A few scattered about the main floor, and one or two on the second."

"What are we waiting for then?"

We make quick work of the first floor, stopping briefly at each art piece. Letting our faces be seen for only a short amount of time and doing our best to be unnoticeable. Ryatt was right. Tonight, the crowds gathered to impress with their haute couture outfits. Women in daring plunges and spiked shoulder pads. Men in bold shades of red and green.

"I've been told there is a restroom I might use upstairs," he tells me as we pull away from an arrangement of fragmented crystals stacked precariously together under a blue light. My eyes glance at the clock on the wall. It's almost 11:30 p.m. My contact on the inside was going to create a small diversion at 11:40 p.m., giving us roughly ten minutes to crack into the safe, steal the crystal, and make our exit. Any more time away from the party could potentially draw unnecessary attention.

"Alright, don't leave me waiting too long or I might just have to join you," I recite over the rim of my coupe glass. The air between us grows thick with heat. The hair on the back of my neck rises as he places a languid kiss on my shoulder. Teeth and tongue graze the skin as he pulls back to make his way inside.

"I don't remember allotting you a plus one," a cool voice says behind me. My heart skips a beat as I turn, a coy smile on my lips.

"You'll have to take it up with your secretary," I retort.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" Mr. Vrana asks, taking my free hand and dropping a kiss to my knuckles. I fight the shiver that begs to race down my spine at the cool pressure.

"It's not exactly to my taste," I admit, taking a modest sip from my martini. "I like my art romantic and dramatic. Not questionable craft projects."

Mr. Vrana laughs, a deep vibrato that draws stares from the women and men crowded outside. "I'm well aware that such modern art isn't to everyone's taste, but I generally find the inspiration behind them quite fascinating." His relaxed disposition keeps my pulse steady, though for a brief moment I am lost in his eyes. The pale blue is streaked with what looks like mercury, something I am now much too keenly aware marks his vampirism. "Don't enjoy yourself too much, Ms. Montgomery," he murmurs, aware of the effect his mesmerizing gaze has on the opposite sex.

I conjure a meek grin. "Of course." He departs with a pleased smile, wandering to meet another group sitting around the electric fireplace. I down the rest of my martini and place it on the tray of a passing waiter, making my way inside with my head held high. No one pays mind as I make my way upstairs, and so I weave about the people unnoticed. Several have herded themselves around what looks like a trio of pieces, dotted along the second-floor railing. A perfect cover, yet even some from this crowd would find it odd if I slipped silently into one of the rooms.

My hand dips into my purse and grabs my phone. I press it to my ear, plaster on a brilliant smile, and begin to chat with no one. Feigning a need for quiet, I knock surreptitiously on the door I know to be the master bedroom. Cradling the phone between my shoulder and ear, I slip inside. A sudden squeal of excitement sounds from downstairs just in time for me to shut the door. I couldn't have asked for better timing.

"What took you so long?" Ryatt demands, nearly pouncing on me as I lock the door behind me.

"Mr. Vrana wanted to have a quick chat. I thought I could allow him as much seeing as how I'm about to double-cross him," I quip, and walk to the master closet.

Ryatt's hand falls heavily on my shoulder, spinning me around and crashing his lips down onto mine. I moan into the kiss. Feel that familiar electricity race between us. The kiss is filled with desperation. A perfectly controlled chaos, even as he pulls away with an almost painful whine pulling past his throat.

"I thought..." I shiver at the uncertainty I hear, can feel myself shifting into his embrace. How was I supposed to leave him when he kept leaving me so utterly breathless with his sincerity? Playful and mildly vulgar Ryatt I could deal with, but it was becoming remarkably clear that serious and thoughtful Ryatt was the more dangerous of the two.

I keep my eyes closed, and place a hand over his. The one that remains cradling my face. "I'm fine. Everything is going according to plan, but we are running low on time. Stay near the door and listen for anyone who gets too close, alright?" He steals another kiss, then does as I say, eyes trained on me as I make my way to the back of the closet. He's moved the dresser that hides the safe and placed the decoy at its foot for me. How sweet. Digging into my purse, I lay out the black box, fine white powder, and fingerprint brush.

The black box adheres to the front of the safe using a magnetic charge. I press two buttons in quick succession; the first turns it on, the second activates the electronic transponder. While the black box is busy figuring out the combination, I prepare the powder and brush. If it failed, I would have to go old school.

"Time?" I call softly.

"11:37." Plenty of time. The little red light on the black box flashes, signaling that it's finished. "Are you almost done?"

I roll my eyes, my fingers quickly typing in 8-7-2-6-2, then hit the green confirmation button. The locks pull back with a satisfying and distinct thunk. I open the safe and quickly scan the contents. Envelopes, a few stacks of money, some jewelry cases. None big enough to hold the crystal. My eyes focus on the lockable drawer, and I let out an exasperated sigh, snagging the small lock pick essentials I always keep on hand.

"11:38," Ryatt calls.

"I don't need a minute by minute update," I say under my breath while fishing out a tension wrench and pick. The next part is nearly as easy as the first, but that's only because I've done this so many times before. I insert the wrench into the plug, twisting it carefully to the left before inserting the pick and going about lifting each pin.

"11:39."

"Would you shut up," I hiss.

The lock rotates under some light coercion, and the drawer opens. The crystal lies in a soft foam bed, unchanged from when I first saw it. I let out a brief sigh of relief, then get to work double-strapping the crystal to my thigh. I move with methodical intensity once I've placed the decoy. Close the drawer. Re-lock it. Close the safe and set the alarm.

"Let's go," Ryatt calls just as I'm finished.

"The dresser, you idiot." He hustles over, ushering me away. "I'll meet you downstairs."

I don't bother to wait for his response, pulling out my phone once more and holding it to my ear. "I'll talk to you later, darling," I coo against the mouth-piece, closing the door softly behind me as I fumble to put my phone back in my purse. Only one woman bothers to spare me a glance, but her attention is soon returned to her conversation. I make my way purposefully downstairs. I couldn't afford to stop; the crystal would be too noticeable.

A quick glance over my shoulder and I spot Ryatt leaning against the banister, thoughtfully surveying the crowd. Our eyes meet and we exchange matching smirks. All we needed to do was make it to the elevator without incident. And then we would go our separate ways. I swallow down the pang of guilt it brings me, sneaking one last look up at the beautiful man. He watches me rather intently, sending a very well-timed wink my way to break me out of my reverie and make me bump into someone.

"Excuse you," the woman snarls. My apology halts halfway across my lips at her superior tone. I take a short step back, eyes darting across her figure as I make a succinct evaluation of her person. An Oscar de la Renta 2014 Spring Collection sporting a brocade of flowers over a light grey pinstripe dress. I roll my eyes, hardly impressed with her choice of attire and attitude.

"Have a nice night," I simper, blowing a saccharine kiss as I continue on my way. Her blue eyes shine with vengeance at my snub, but then she's flipping her brown curls over her shoulder and strutting away.

A clatter sounds outside, the product of a series of glasses and plates crashing into the ground. All eyes turn to the patio. Mine skirt to a clock on the wall which reads 11:41 p.m. _Better late than never_ , I think as I eye the redhead outside along with the others. She stares aghast at her misfortune, her tearful gaze swinging around fretfully. Her eyes linger on mine a second longer than necessary, and I pick up my pace, a shot of anxiety bolting through me. The diversion would only hold people's attention for so long, and we needed to get out ASAP.

A hand falls to my lower back, urging me forward, and then Ryatt is at my side. Another bout of dread fills my blood and I dare not say a word as I attempt to keep my heartbeat under control.

"Everything alright?" I ask casually as we enter the elevator. His hand carries a nervous tremor, but Ryatt's face is the picture of neutrality as he stares out into the pool of guests who have resumed their conversations. Ryatt presses the lobby button impatiently while I smooth my dress. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to relax. Everything was going to be fine, but for whatever reason, I didn't think I'd be heading off on my own tonight. _Damn it all_.

The elevator dings, the doors finally beginning to close, when I see Mr. Vrana approach the surly brunette. There's something strange about the way they greet each other so...formally, and then the brunette's icy blue eyes swing to us, followed by Mr. Vrana's. Ryatt barely contains his growl, the doors shutting just as I see the vague visage of rage flash over Mr. Vrana's face.

"Ryatt—"

"We need to get back immediately," Ryatt says, pulling out his phone and typing a furious message, which fails to send in the steel box. "We've been made," he says crossly.

"How? I don't understand."

He groans, running a hand over his face and beginning to pace the elevator. "That woman was Carrie Wselfwulf, the new Alpha of the Wselfwulf Pack."

I pale in understanding, "They're the ones who want to attack your pack, aren't they?" He nods curtly.

"There's only one reason she would be there," he continues. "To negotiate for the crystal."

"You think they're working together?" I ask uneasily.

He shakes his head, resuming his place at my side and unbuttoning his suit coat as the elevator slows to a standstill.

"Not likely, but she must have had something that he wanted enough to trade for the crystal."

"What?" I ask as we rush to the valet.

"I don't know," he mutters, casting me a sidelong glance, "but we're going to find out."

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 12

Ryatt

I have a hard time meeting Quinn's gaze and inquiries as we journey home, so the last few hours' ride from the airport to Branson Falls is filled with tense silence. It doesn't make matters much better that I have tampered with our soulmark bond, lessening the flow of emotions between us so as not to clue her in on my fears.

Quinn holds the crystal delicately in her lap, sights set upon something far off in the distance until she drifts off. The gentle stir of her breathing and her nearness soothe my jarred nerves. Xander would be expecting us, but first and foremost, the crystal would need to be delivered to the Trinity Coven's base at the Baudelaire household. I do not bother to wake her when I pull up to the house; instead, I slip the crystal from her lax hold and exit the car as quietly as possible.

"You two stay out here and watch her," I command as soon as the other car arrives with our backup. Joshua and Jordan linger at the car while Wesley and Keenan trail after me.

The house is only somewhat familiar to me, having only been here a time or two with Zoelle, but the thick coating of magic in the air had left both me and the wolf uncomfortable. Being deep within the coven's territory would make any wolf feel on edge, and it hadn't changed much since becoming allies. All that magic snared the senses and left a wolf feeling... _vulnerable_. How Xander had managed to come here so many times was beyond me.

"Honey, I'm home." My lighthearted tone garners various reactions with my accompanying grin that shows a tad too much tooth. The wolf's hackles raise as it counts the witches in the room: 3, 7, 16...it might as well have been the entirety of the coven. "Am I late for the party?"

I uncover the crystal from behind my back with a flourish and place it on the table. There is a collective sigh of relief echoed throughout the room, and Zoelle's grandmother comes forward.

"Maureen?"

"I'm already on it," the other woman replies, bangles clinking together as she takes the crystal. Her hands, scarred from the battle those odd months ago, take hold of the crystal reverently. She chants something otherworldly under her breath and the room comes to a stall.

The air tightens with a palpable tension. One that pulls taut at the skin. I force myself to remain at ease, but my companions seem unable to hold the same composure. Through the pack bonds I feel their tense anticipation and unease as a strange orange glow begins to emit from the palms of the old woman's hands. The crystal does nothing at first, and then with a sudden _crack_ , it emits an almost blinding light. I flinch back, eyes warily trained on the mystical crystal as Maureen steps back.

"It's the other half," she tells Diana, face drained of color but beaming with delight.

"Ryatt, thank you," Diana says, reaching out and shaking my hand. I let my grin drop down a notch into something less wild and incline my head.

"Think nothing of it. I lost it in the first place. It seems only fitting I should be the one to fetch it back."

She raises a knowing brow. "As I recall, you were also the one to locate the other half of the crystal originally. You don't give yourself enough credit."

My grin quirks back up. "Too right you are, Diana. Let's call it a wash, shall we?" She pats the back of my hand and goes back to her chair, sitting in it with a sigh.

"We'll join the crystals tomorrow as soon as the full moon is in plain sight," Diana tells the room. "Be mindful of your schedules. I want everyone showing up to their shift at the border on time. No excuses. We cannot afford another month to pass."

A young woman raises her hand from the back of the room. "Can we cut back the rotation shift to three hours instead of four? By the last hour I'm completely drained, and I can barely keep my share of the protection spell up."

"Tracy Qualta, if you practiced and studied your magic nearly as much as you strutted around town looking for boys, you wouldn't find yourself so 'drained.'" Lydia Stein leaves no room for further argument with the look she sends the girl. "If anyone else feels too drained to protect this coven, I advise you to beg mentorship from the witches pulling six-hour shifts and acting as anchors. You don't see them complaining." A number of women shuffle uneasily and shoot guilty glances amongst themselves.

"I do love a woman in charge," I confess. Leaning against the kitchen island, I send a wink the older woman's way, enjoying entirely too much the way her lips twitch to hold onto her stern facade.

"Speaking of women," Diana says lightly, "How is yours faring?"

The wolf perks at the mention of its intended. As do I. "She's resting in the car."

"And Moon's premonitions? What of them?"

"She's one for two, it would seem," I inform her tightly. "We encountered the Wselfwulf Alpha upon our departure. It was quite unfortunate timing. There's no doubt in my mind; they'll attack tomorrow, if not tonight. They're well aware of the significance of the crystal and the power to be wrought from it. They were there to secure it from the vampire, though what they could have offered in return to entice him I'm not sure."

The Elder Triad share a meaningful look before Diana sighs, "We might have some idea as to what the vampire might want. Though I doubt the Wselfwulf Pack has it."

"Do explain," I reply softly. Diana straightens.

"The Amethyst of the Aztecs."

"I thought all that remained of the amethyst was divided among the higher echelon of the vampire families? No new amethyst has been found for hundreds of years," I tell them patiently. "I can certainly understand why a vampire would want one, but why would he think the Wselfwulfs could deliver? If that is what they had in mind to trade."

"In order to secure the Crystal of Dan Furth originally, we made a deal with the Stormrow Clan. In exchange for the crystal we would supply them with the amethyst, set in the traditional golden ring." She pauses, letting her eyes narrow upon the scowling faces behind me. "The exchange, of course, did not go as planned." Diana waves a hand towards Maureen and her scarred skin. "We received only half of what we were promised, and the Stormrows received a forgery."

"A damn good forgery," Lydia mutters.

"Does my brother know of these details?" I ask quietly, staring intently at Diana and homing in on her heartbeat alone. If she were to lie, I would be able to tell.

"No," she says stiffly, "only that the trade went awry and half the crystal was missing."

I let out a controlled breath, "How very interesting. Did you ever have the original to begin with? Is it somewhere safely hidden?"

"We never had it in the first place," she tells me. There is no tick in her composure. No jump in her pulse. No tell at all that she is lying. "We learned through our sources that the Stormrows were poking around for something of the sort, and knew they had the crystal in their possession. It was obvious what we had to do."

"Why were they inquiring about it in the first place?"

Hackles raised, Diana glares at me blandly. "It was obviously for that vampire. If he wants the ring desperately enough to seek aid from sorcerers and make deals with savage wolf packs, then I'd suggest we find the ring first. No good can come from a single more of their kind being able to walk in the light among us."

"I'll be sure to inform my brother of your suggestion," I tell her. Several thoughts begin to brew at the back of my mind. "I don't suppose your seer might be able to point us in the right direction of where to start sniffing? If not, Keenan will be more than adequate in helping me search out the ring. After all, he was a considerable help in finding the crystal in the first place."

I send a cool glance over my shoulder at the burly man; tattoos scour his body almost as thoroughly as the scars covering Maureen. He's certainly not a man to be trifled with, but once his loyalty has been gained, there is no better man to have at your side. He gives the slightest of nods at my acknowledgment, ever the humble giant. I roll my eyes back towards the witches. "He's proved himself an asset to our mutual cause, so please ask your seer to keep us in her thoughts, or whatever it is she needs to do to gain her foresight. I'm not quite certain I understand the framework or basis of summoning such premonitions. Perhaps some time we can discuss it?"

"Not likely," a voice replies sternly from the crowds. I perk up, eyes searching for the witch. She's quite small, just over 5 foot 2 inches, but by the looks of her clothes, which don't seem to fit, she's got more growing to do. It's understandable considering she's still only a teenager. Her brown eyes drill into mine, and even from afar they are sparked with righteous anger that I'm sure I don't deserve. A sharp pang of grief hits me through the soulmark, followed by a wave of grief. I turn my gaze towards the entrance hall instinctively.

"Well, well, the little kitten has claws, does she? I thought you'd be taller, Moon." My gaze flickers back to her like an afterthought, and she takes a menacing step forward. "You might try working with her a bit more, Diana. We'll need more consistency in her premonitions if we want a chance at finding the ring before the Wselfwulf Pack or the vampire."

The front door opens and closes faintly, but the sound of multiple people shuffling through the hallway is loud enough that the room awaits the newcomers. Quinn comes in, face eerily white with Jordan and Joshua crowding behind her.

"What's wrong?" I ask, instantly coming to her side.

I take a deep breath and am flooded by the scent of her anguish. I struggle to open the bond back up, but once I do am pummeled by the onslaught of her emotions. Quinn comes willingly into my arms, dropping her head against my chest as she takes deep, steadying breaths. "Tell me," I demand, arms tightening around her. "What's happened?"

She pulls back long enough to pass me her phone, a picture already pre-loaded onto the screen. My eyes take in every detail. A beautiful woman lying prone on the ground, her red hair stained darker by the blood spilled savagely from her throat.

I take a deep breath and find my forced composure once more. "Who is this?" I ask quietly, turning off the screen and pocketing the phone. There was no need for her to continue staring at whomever this acquaintance was. I should have never returned her phone.

"It was M," she whispers mournfully. "She helped us tonight. She—"

"Provided the distraction?" She nods her head and takes several shaky breaths, dashing her tears aside determinedly.

"Yes."

"I see," I murmur, turning my hooded eyes Moon's way. She shrinks back in response. "I suppose your premonitions were right after all."

"There's a lot to do before tonight," Diana says sagely. "I think it best you all head home and get some sleep."

I give Diana a curt nod. "We'll be in touch." I steer Quinn out of the room swiftly, blood racing at the new information. Mr. Vrana's retaliation had been swifter than I imagined. Diana was right; finding the ring first was paramount.

We arrive back home in no time at all. There's hardly any traffic to worry about so early on a Sunday morning. Not in this perfect suburbia nestled in the woods. Quinn is unnervingly quiet during the last stretch, her composure giving barely anything away. Yet I can feel her torment and guilt tearing through her, courtesy of the bond. It drives the wolf nearly mad when I let go of her hand to keep both of mine on the steering wheel, but I won't let it blindside me.

"You're back!" Zoelle stops midway up the master staircase to watch us file in, her eyes both excited and wary at the sight of us. "You delivered the crystal?"

"Yes," I reply. "Where's Xander?"

She hesitates, acting as if to come down and greet us, but when her eyes stay glued on Quinn a touch too long, I let out a small growl of warning. Zoelle's eyes shoot straight to mine, a flush drawn up upon her skin. "I'll go get him. Go to the study and I'll tell him to meet you there."

Keenan lingers with Wesley in the background waiting further instruction, but with a short wave of my hand I dismiss them.

"Go take a shower and rest. I'll meet you in a bit," I instruct Quinn softly as we make our way upstairs. My hand itches to rest upon her hip. To provide some means of comfort, even in such a small gesture, but I refrain. I follow a few steps behind, turning in the opposite direction once we've reached the top and head to the study.

The wolf grumbles its displeasure in my head, but I corral it to the back of my mind, tempering it with the knowledge that we'll only be apart a few minutes more.

"It's a bit early to be drinking, even for you," Xander informs me once he enters, displeasure neatly hedged in his voice. I shoot back my small pour of bourbon with a grimace, then send him a rueful grin.

"It's never too early to celebrate, brother," I retort, pouring another shot into the crystal tumbler. "The crystal has been returned, and we've all returned unscathed. For the most part."

"Zoelle said Quinn seemed _off_ , and I can feel her sadness through the pack bonds. What happened?"

The next shot goes back much easier. "One of her acquaintances was killed tonight for helping us. A picture of proof sent courtesy of our dear Mr. Vrana."

"You didn't mention this when we spoke earlier."

"It only just happened," I reply somberly. "She's heartbroken. I can feel it." I rap at my chest, lips thinning as I stalk away from the liquor. "But she doesn't want me near her."

Xander takes a step towards me, the lines of concern on his face deepening. "That's not true, Ryatt. The soulmark—"

"It's not about the soulmark," I reprimand him sharply, "it's about _her_. What she wants and what she needs right now. Not what the bond wants. Or the wolf. Quinn wants space, needs it, so that's what she'll get until she tells me otherwise."

"You're going to leave her to deal with her grief alone?" he asks a bit apprehensively.

"Everyone is entitled to grieve in whichever way they choose, so yes," I growl, "If that's what she wants to do, so be it. It's the least I can do." _Even if it kills me to do so_. I clear my throat. "The witches are manning the borders to keep up the wards. They'll join the two crystals when the full moon makes its mark in the sky."

"I'll have wolves sent to join them. I suppose they're expecting trouble since the Wselfwulfs are involved." He frowns at my nod. "Very well. I shouldn't be too surprised. Carrie and her mother are almost as power hungry as Rollins."

"Yes," I murmur thoughtfully, "especially considering they're searching out the Amethyst of the Aztecs for a certain vampire. Or so the witches think."

Xander remains stoically silent for a moment. A tremor runs over his body before he delivers his terse reply. "Explain." I relay the meeting's happenings succinctly, watching impassively as Xander paces the length of the study.

"We'll deal with the ring after the crystal is settled," he tells me resolutely. "You'll stay with Quinn," he continues. I glare at the order. "You won't be needed out there. You're needed here. _With Quinn_."

"I'm the Third. I should be out there. Besides, it's a full moon. If anyone needs to shift, it's me." I tap at my skull petulantly. "I can't afford to keep myself chained up for another month."

Xander crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head. "The witches' wards haven't been broken yet, and you'll manage," he tells me pointedly. "Focus on completing the soulmark with Quinn; that should keep your wolf busy." I bristle at the comment but hold back my retort. At least his last remark wasn't a full command.

"Are we through?" I ask tightly.

"I just want you to be happy, Ryatt," he tells me with a sigh, but nods and allows me to stalk away.

Quinn's just putting herself under the covers when I enter. She stills like a deer caught in headlights before reluctantly continuing, though her eyes remain on me as I step inside the room.

"Were you planning on sleeping in here?" she asks as I close the door behind me.

"If you'd allow it," I tell her, shuffling forward tentatively. She fidgets in the dark, which she may not be aware that I can see. Both blinds and curtains have been drawn on all the windows, leaving the room shrouded in mostly darkness. Yet I can see clear as day.

"After everything this week, I still found myself thinking at times that none of this was real. Vampires, witches, lycans; they don't exist. Soul mates and soulmarks don't exist. That it wasn't possible. It didn't matter that you had me and Zoelle take the truth serum, or that I've seen your eyes change from blue to gold at least a dozen times. Even after Zoelle's family's magic act I still caught myself doubting. There's always this little voice in the back of my head telling me it can't be real. But then I get that picture," Quinn sniffs, her voice beginning to shake, "and her throat was ripped apart. Literally torn open, and did you see her face? She looked so scared. So _horrified_. She had no idea about any of this supernatural bullshit, but I did. I could have warned her. I could have done something."

I ache to hold her in my arms, my feet bringing me to the edge of the bed before I can slam on the brakes. "It wasn't your fault, Quinn."

She shakes her head resolutely, somehow finding my eyes in the dark. "It is. I didn't have to involve her, but I did. I did because I was going to leave with her."

My heart halts and a pulse of pain radiates from my body. Quinn whines in response. "Why?" I croak, leaning a shaky hand on the bedpost.

"Because I don't want to be a prisoner here anymore," she whispers mournfully, "and I knew if I came back you would find some way to bind the soulmark." I shudder a sigh.

"I would never make you submit to the binding without your consent."

She lets out a wet bark of laughter. "That's not saying a lot considering how I was sealed and marked."

"I regret my actions, Quinn, more than you can know," I tell her earnestly. "I wouldn't force the binding on you. I swear it." She stills at my sincerity, her sniffling subsiding as she hastily wipes away the remnants of tears on her face.

"But would you let me go?" she asks. Another ripple of pain travels the length of my body. I gulp down my nausea and nod.

"Yes," I respond hoarsely. "I would let you go." Even if it meant stalking her from the shadows for the rest of our days, just so that she wouldn't have to feel the pain of our separation.

"You would?"

Another nod she cannot see. "Yes, Quinn." Silence stretches between us, her face scrunching in contemplation.

"Then I'd like to leave. Today."

My grip tightens on the bedpost. "Not today." I continue before she can speak, her indignation spiking through the bond. "They're joining the crystal later today, and we expect the Wselfwulf Pack to cause trouble. It's not safe...but tomorrow, tomorrow you can leave if you wish."

Another silence. This one slowly tearing my heart apart as Quinn fidgets with the covers. "Alright," she finally whispers. I can tell she expected more of a fight, but I cannot bear to argue with her. "Tomorrow then."

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 13

Quinn

I wake up sometime in the evening, Ryatt resting peacefully at my side. How we both slept so long is beyond me. He had nearly retreated after the declaration of my intent, but I had stopped him. The word "wait" having bolted past my lips before I could think to stop them. He had turned around with such hope written across his face I couldn't stand to devastate him once again like I knew my earlier words had. The soulmark was softening my resolve to him, which made the need to leave all the more urgent.

I was tucked into his body. Our legs loosely entangled. Hands resting gently upon one another. As if sensing I've awakened, Ryatt slowly begins to come to. His fingers flex against my hip before pulling away to properly stretch. I hesitate, then carefully detach myself from the comfort of his warmth. Enough of my wall had been torn down in the past couple of days; I didn't need Ryatt slipping past my weak defenses.

"Why don't you stay in bed a little while longer," he asks, sleep still staining his voice. "I'm sure we can find a way to entertain ourselves."

There is a teasing lilt to his words, though they still carry a familiar dark promise to them. The soulmark pulses with awareness, but I find myself shaking my head and shifting away from the warmth of his body. He clears his throat and the bed dips on the other side.

"I doubt Zoelle is around to make us any treats, but the kitchen staff will no doubt be around. How about I grab us something to eat and bring it back up here?" he suggests, discreetly adjusting his waistband as he walks towards the bedroom door. My eyes track his movements.

"I'll come with," I tell him just as his hand turns the doorknob. "We can eat downstairs." He gives a nod and a small smile, opening the door with his usual flair.

"After you," he murmurs.

I scoff as I pass, though it is halfhearted as his gaze follows me. "Don't think I don't know you just want to check out my ass." He grins rakishly in response.

"Me? Never." My returning grin halts halfway as the previous night comes into focus. "Hey," his hand reaches out to grab hold of my chin, "it wasn't your fault, Quinn. You could never have known that Vrana would have gone after your friend. In fact, it's quite odd that he was able to figure out her role in our plot so quickly."

I shake my head dully, escaping his gentle hold easily enough. "She's done jobs for him before. He's familiar with her work."

"I see."

We walk silently to the dining room, my stomach grumbling as I wait for him to return with our food. It gives me ample time to dissect the mess of thoughts colliding together in my head. Why had I agreed to wait? The longer I was around him the more I... _felt_. And feeling was something I desperately didn't want to do right now. I could learn to live with the guilt of M's death, but I wasn't sure if I could do it with Ryatt's constant empathy or that of the pack, which I could feel sifting its way through the bond. I wasn't sure how to handle it, and that's what I disliked most of all.

"I hope you like ice cream," Ryatt announces, coming in with two bowls of iced dairy goodness. The vanilla is barely seen under the obscene amount of chocolate that has been poured over both. I desperately want to put on some character to hide behind, but his rather ridiculous choice in food keeps plain old Quinn in place.

"Ice cream for dinner?" I ask, amused. He sits down next to me with a happy sigh.

"I like to live dangerously," he says, scooting his chair closer to mine. I can barely fend off the blush that douses my cheek and take a spoonful of the treat in minor defense.

"Where is everyone?" I ask once I've swallowed and Ryatt is busy with a mouthful of chocolate and ice cream.

"Out at the borders, no doubt," he informs me, words cutting a bit too sharply. "They're piecing the crystal back together, which will take a lot of magic and leave the witches vulnerable. If the crystal isn't put together, or the wards fall along the border, then the wolves are needed there to protect them."

"But not you?"

His smile turns slightly bitter. "Not I. I've been ordered to stay behind...with you." I catch his sidelong glance and find my breath caught in my throat.

"Why?"

"My brother hopes I'll be able to convince you to stay," he admits slowly. Though his tone is light, and his expression mirrors it, something behind his eyes is daringly hopeful. "But I certainly don't harbor any illusions that you will. Tomorrow we'll see you off, with an escort, mind you. I won't be deterred from that," he tells me sharply. "They know your face. Until you can slip away unnoticed someone will follow you at a distance. Probably Keenan." I let my spoon fall with a clatter.

"Not Keenan," I say seriously.

He eyes me surreptitiously. "Definitely Keenan."

"Why him? Why not some other wolf lackey? Keenan is pretty hard to miss."

Ryatt sends me a quick wink, "He's quite sneaky actually. One of our sneakiest wolves, I dare say."

"You're not actually going to have someone tail me, are you?"

His face turns serious. "I am. Keenan will know who to look out for to make sure you aren't being tailed by someone from the Wselfwulf Pack, or to protect you from a vampire."

"I thought you were going to let me go?" I ask, heart strung tightly as I say the words.

He nearly growls back, strikes of lightning flashing in his eyes. "I am." A look of frustration passes across his face. His cheeks grow hollow as he takes in a steadying breath. "Despite how desperately I might want you or how painful it will be for both of us for you to leave, I won't make you stay. But you're still my soulmark. I won't let you go unprotected when the supernatural world is holding its breath waiting on the outcome of this day."

"What do you mean?"

"The Adolphus Pack and the Trinity Coven have been the talk of the town ever since we took on the Wselfwulf Pack together. Our alliance is unusual as the supernatural community prefers to stay close to their own. Vampires with vampires. Witches with witches. Lycans with lycans. We don't tend to mingle. Even the shape shifters and otherworldly creatures don't bother each other. If Zoelle wasn't Xander's soulmark, I doubt we'd still be here today."

A rather simple " _oh"_ is all I can manage to muster. "Is there some kind of special Facebook group for supernaturals to use, where they can gossip about all the news and politics?"

"It happens easily enough through word of mouth. We tend not to lend our secrets to the vulnerability of the Internet." I hum accordingly and turn my attention back to the ice cream. Ryatt's mouth opens as if to say more, but his phone lets out a series of chirps. He frowns and reaches for it.

"What is it?" I ask, going for nonchalant since Ryatt holds his phone just out of view.

"They're preparing the union of the crystal, and the Wselfwulfs have been spotted in the distance."

My eyes widen and search for a clock. "But the moon shouldn't be out for hours still."

Ryatt lets a rueful smile spear across his face. "You're right; it won't. There's no point in them arriving early, like they did last time. We'll be safe unless the ward falls, and if it doesn't, they'll scurry back home with their tails between their legs."

"What happens if the ward falls?"

"A bloodbath," he tells me darkly, "one I'll be missing." He scoffs and takes a spoonful of ice cream spitefully. I raise an incredulous brow.

"You want to be out there fighting?"

He mirrors my incredulous look. "Of course I want to be out there fighting! This is the one night of the month I can shift and it just so happens to coincide with a potential battle." He bops me on the nose with his spoon, startling me back at his juvenile action. "Of course I want to be there. Think of the glory of it all." His hand reaches out next and presses firmly beneath my chin, closing my mouth with a snap.

"Men," I mutter. "If you want to go, then go. I'm not stopping you."

"I can't," he repeats, ire clear. "I've been ordered to stay back with you."

I sigh and wipe the remnants of ice cream off my nose. "Did he say to stay back, or to stay with me?" Ryatt takes a moment to consider my words, then promptly grabs my face and kisses it.

"You're a genius," he whispers against my lips happily. Taken aback once more, my eyelashes flutter open a second later, my breath catching just so on a shaky exhalation. His eyes alight with mirth and the telltale anticipation that comes with finding the perfect loophole. It's a look I know well. One I have worn often. I swallow and push away the emotion, but give him a shy smile in return. Then he takes my hand, and we go.

+++

"I'm glad we changed before we left, but I wish we would have put on bug spray before leaving. I'm getting eaten alive out here," I complain. I've only one pair of shoes suitable for a trek in the forest: my pink Nike runners.

"You're about to witness something quite spectacular; you do realize that, yes?" He continues to lead me into the thick of the forest, every so often sniffing the air. His brother would be furious, he claimed, if he got wind that Ryatt had come out. Let alone with me tagging along behind him.

"You're really going to change in front of me?" I ask dubiously.

" _Shift_ ," he stresses.

"Whatever." He gives my hand a squeeze and continues on silently, but I catch the amused smirk that finds his lips. It makes my heart skip a beat, and I wonder faintly for the millionth time how I'm going to leave when I keep letting myself be pulled in by his smiles and eyes. By his candor and wild side. _Ugh_. I shouldn't have come out here with him. Shouldn't have even hinted at it in the first place. But I couldn't deny that there was a part of me wanting to see him transform.

"Here," he says, coming to a standstill and inhaling the air deeply. "Any further and someone is bound to catch my scent or yours downwind."

I roll my eyes. "Well, obviously," I joke, but then he is stripping off his shirt and handing it to me. I take a startled step backward. "What the hell are you doing?" I ask, watching in shock as he starts on his belt and toes off his shoes.

"I'm not going to ruin a perfectly good pair of clothes by shifting in them. They'll get shredded," he tells me as if _I'm_ the crazy one. When his pants drop my eyes close, though why I cater to his modesty when he has none is beyond me. "It's nothing you haven't seen before, sweetheart," he whispers close to my ear. I give a yelp and turn around wide-eyed, but he is no longer where I would have guessed him to be beside me.

A sudden cracking sounds from behind. Like the breaking of bones —an unforgiving and constant snapping and cracking and crunching.

I forget to breathe as my mind skids to a halt. Do I dare turn around? Fear grapples with my curiosity until a vicious snarl leaves me no choice but to spin round on my heel.

I fall to my knees, watching in a mixture of astonishment and horror as Ryatt's body lengthens and realigns. Another choked snarl and a crescendo of bones splintering into place, Ryatt falls to all fours. For a brief moment I see vestiges of the man he was, and in the next, his skin is pulling taunt over bone to become something else. His body vibrates with unrestrained energy before fur erupts from his stretched flesh. It sheaths his body in a sandy coat.

The shaking continues. The wolf's head twisting erratically from side to side as its snout finishes forming. Its lips pulling back to reveal pointed canines. An unsteady breath passes by my lips as I watch the transformation come to its end. Where once was a man, now stands a wolf.

"Holy shit," I whimper, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Everything was true. _Everything_. My hands move to cover my face. Hiding me from the truth I had been so desperately running from. Something cold and wet presses against the back of my hands and slowly I let them fall. I lock gazes with the familiar golden eyes of Ryatt's wolf.

My hand ghosts upwards across the rough muzzle, aware that my every movement is being watched carefully. Up close I see how his fur coat is underlined with streaks of brown and tan. My fingers tangle in the coarse hairs about his neck and chest.

"You're..." Ryatt lets out a whine and lies down, placing his large head in my lap. My hands continue to stroke the fur, marveling at the sheer size of him. The wolf snuffs against my stomach. The heat of his breath almost burning me clean. "...Beautiful." His tail gives a lazy wag, tongue lolling out to give my leg a lick. We stay like this for some time. Me, marveling at what can no longer be denied. Ryatt the wolf peacefully resting upon me.

A faint buzzing sounds in the air, but it takes some time before either of us acknowledges the noise as something electronic and not of nature. My hands grope for his pants that lie nearby and track down his phone.

"I don't know your passcode," I tell him, and wave the phone in front of his face. The wolf huffs and begins to stand, another whine treading on its vocal cords. "I have an idea of what it could be though," I inform him with a coy smile. "I've watched you type it in enough times over the past week to get an idea. You focus here, in the bottom left, then end right. Most people choose a birthday or an arbitrary four number combo, but you always punch in five." The wolf sits up, staring at me very intently as I continue to ramble. "I'm going to take a guess and say your code is 7-8-4-6-6." The key lock screen vanishes after the final number and I stand triumphantly. "Ha! I knew it! Quinn: 7-8-4-6-6. You idiot. You hack all my files and then put my name as your passcode. _Amateur_."

The wolf takes a few steps away from me, shuddering like he's undergone some violent seizure, and then the snapping sounds again. The fur recedes. The bones contract and snap back into their proper place. Yet this time, no noise escapes him. No growls. No snarls. Not even a whine. All the sound that carries is his deft transformation back to his human form. He pulls to a grotesque height for one startling moment—his limbs too long, his spine unsure as it twists about—and then he is a man once more. Yet his golden eyes remain steadily upon me.

"Give me that," he heaves, hand outstretched, the serious look he wore as a wolf still somehow translating onto his face. But all I can stare at is his...

"Your pants?" I ask breathlessly. He snatches the phone from my hands and turns his back to me to read it, pacing forward. The muscles of his leg and derrière flex deliciously with each movement. I feel the air around us seize for the briefest of moments and unconsciously I find myself biting my bottom lip. The sensation is a tantalizing reminder of our steamier moments together: Mexico, the hallway, his bedroom, and the most lucid wet dream I had ever experienced. The air grows electric, and I can feel a heat spread through me as the memory lights my skin on fire. When had it become so easy to become lost in the mere sight of him?

"We need to go," he snaps, turning around towards me. Ryatt's face is torn in an angry scowl. It deepens upon further inspection of my current state. Eyes dilated. Face flushed. Heartbeat racing faster and faster by the minute. "What's wro—" he inhales deeply, eyes widening then narrowing in on me. _Lord have mercy_.

"If there were time," he tells me slowly, stalking towards me with sordid intent. "I'd have you up against one of these trees moaning my name 'til your legs gave out."

He stands inches away from me, staring down at me with those golden eyes full of desire. A hand trails from my neck carefully along my collarbone, and he leans in infinitesimally closer. "And then I'd take you on the forest floor until you begged me for more," his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. The feel of his calloused fingers winds an unforgivable tension inside of me. One that begs to be snapped. "But I won't," he tells me without a hint of malice or bitterness, "because even though your body and the soulmark are screaming at you that you want to, I know that here," his fingers reach out to graze my heart, then up to brush along my temple, "and here, you're not ready." My breath leaves me in a whoosh as he takes a step back. He dresses in record speed, leaving me little time to compose myself.

"Where are we going?" I ask numbly, swallowing down the hurt of rejection I have no right to feel. My stomach clenches uncomfortably with guilt. My friend was dead because of me, and here I was lusting after some man. _Except he wasn't just some man, was he_? The traitorous thought does nothing to ease my shame. Ryatt's eyes narrow.

"The Baudelaires' house."

+++

The sun is sinking gradually in the west, the night air turning cool as we race in Ryatt's BMW something-series towards the Baudelaires'. I keep my eyes trained out the front window for the entirety of the ride, keeping count of how many glances Ryatt steals. He had just reached 17 when we pull along a somewhat familiar tree-lined street. Each house boasts neatly trimmed yards and shiny new paint jobs.

"Are you going to tell me why they wanted us to come over?"

Ryatt's grip tightens on the wheel. "The moon has risen, you can see it—just over there." He points out my window, and sure enough, there it is. Its' pale glow trickling past the treetops. "They've joined the crystals and the border is secure."

"That was fast," I say, a semblance of disbelief clouding my voice.

"It was either going to work, or it wasn't," he tells me, pulling to a stop in front of the familiar craftsman-style two story.

"And it worked?" He nods, though I can sense his hesitation, both through the bond and his body language. "What aren't you telling me?" I ask quietly, hand stilling on the seatbelt release.

"Something rather unexpected happened," he tells me, undoing his seatbelt.

"What?"

He gives a short sigh of frustration, his brow pinching together in thought. "A girl appeared after the crystal was joined."

"A girl appeared?"

"Yes."

I pause, then ask tentatively, "From where?"

"That would be the question," Ryatt says on a sigh, exiting the car. I scramble after him.

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that some chick just ' _poofed_ ' into existence?" Ryatt gives me a tight smile and places a hand on my lower back.

"I don't know the full details, but I've been told not to be, and I quote, 'A creep.' Something about not wanting to frighten the girl." Ryatt opens the door with an eye roll, steering me inside before him and towards the kitchen.

"Holy fuck," I breathe, eyes widening at the sight that greets me. I receive several pointed glares. "Sorry," I mutter, shifting back slightly as I take in the mysterious woman. She has a blanket wrapped loosely around her naked figure, though it does little to hide the more fascinating aspects of her features. My eyes are torn between tracing the iridescent wings materializing from her back and the vines and flowers gently winding beneath the surface of her skin. Her hair is a startling white, cut bluntly to hang just above her shoulders. She turns to look at us, purple eyes wide with a mixture of fright and curiosity.

"Hello," she says tentatively. I give her a small smile, nudging Ryatt to do the same with an elbow to the ribs. She smiles brilliantly back and thrusts a hand out towards us. "Would you like to shake hands?" she asks excitedly, the blanket dropping from her loosened hold. "Or would you prefer to kiss on the cheeks?"

My hand slaps over Ryatt's eyes and the woman looks mildly offended at my reaction. She turns back to the witches "Did I do it wrong?" Zoelle is there in the next instant, wrapping the blanket back around her, face aflame.

"Just, don't forget to keep the blanket up, okay?" she says rather breathlessly.

"But it itches," she complains, a cross look covering her petite features. "I never have to wear anything in the Hollow Woods."

"You aren't in the Hollow Woods anymore, sweetheart," Maureen coos from nearby. "But don't you worry, we'll get you back there." The woman's lip trembles, eyes welling with tears before she throws herself at Ryatt. He stumbles back, eyes opening comically wide as her arms wrap around him and the blanket falls again.

I gasp, but soon find myself having to hold back a laugh at the alarm on his face. The woman sobs into Ryatt's chest, foot stomping every once in a while to demonstrate her displeasure.

"There, there," he mutters uncertainly, gently patting her atop her head. She turns her face upwards, eyeing Ryatt hopefully. "If Maureen says she'll get you back, she will." She nods her head, sniffling lightly before stunning the room with another of her smiles.

"You're so kind," she breathes, reaching up a hand to stroke his face. Ryatt looks at me in a panic, and I too find myself stilled with sudden...jealousy?

"Why...thank you," he replies, gently taking both of her wrists and stepping out of her hold. I pick up the blanket and thrust it into the woman's chest. She looks at me in alarm, but I have my most saccharine smile on. Her eyes flicker with uncertain confusion, then she pulls her lips into a disgruntled pout, adjusting the blanket reluctantly.

"I don't like it here. Everyone acts so confusingly. Saying one thing but their bodies saying another. All of my friends in the Hollow would never dream of treating each other this way. I just want to go home. Can't you send me now?" she pleads, sadness sinking back into her voice. "I don't belong here. I belong in the Hollow."

I insert myself into Ryatt's side and soften my posturing. The room stays oddly silent at her words, mournful expressions passing between the older women.

"What happened?" Ryatt asks, his eyes turning Xander's way. The Alpha stands at the kitchen window silently; eyes turned out towards the forest.

"Ask the witches," he quips. Diana sighs, rolls her shoulders back, and begins.

+++

The Earth was displeased. The air nearest the Elder Triad sizzled with magic and barely restrained energy as the remainder of the Trinity Coven—spread throughout the forest—implored the Earth to settle. It was the joining of such an unnatural item that brought about its displeasure. The Crystal of Dan Furth was not meant for the likes of this world, yet somehow, centuries ago, the object had been smuggled across the planes of one world to the next. Witches around the world coveted the crystal for its powerful properties, but seldom few could be trusted with its care. Indeed, the splitting of the crystal was in part due to a band of unfit witches. With the crystal halved, the Earth new no worry of what unnatural acts could prosper from its magical powers. Until now.

"The crystal," Diana Baudelaire bids her granddaughter and another witch forward. The two approach the small circle the coven elders create, yet their carefully measured steps are laborsome. Each witch holds her hands outstretched, palms flat and facing forward, steering the crystal into the circle. Their struggle is clear. The very presence of the Earth urging them back even as they trudge forward. The crystal halves quiver in either excitement or detest. No one is certain, yet the witches continue. The crystals pass by the interlinked arms of the elders.

Maureen Clybourn lets her head tip back, her long white hair stirring in the growing wind that encircles the trio. Her skin carries the weight of the last encounter involving the crystal. Devilish red patches scarring her alabaster flesh. She takes the lead, her voice a whisper as the two crystals hover uneasily within the band of their circle.

Diana and Lydia's heads follow suit, their necks bent at an almost unusual angle as Maureen's words grow louder.

"Ad lucem. Ad mortem. Qui semper."

The spell is taken up on the wind and soon the invocation begins to tumble from the mouth of each witch present. One by one the words grow into a litany of hoarse cries that build and fall with the growing wind.

Howls echo from afar; the Wselfwulf Pack responding. Wolves dot the tree line, a smattering of golden eyes piercing the darkening forest. The Wselfwulf Pack was ready and waiting with barely restrained contempt for the Trinity Coven to fail and fall to ruin. Along with their sworn enemies, the Adolphus Pack, that dare side with them.

_The air splinters. Visible fissures of light sparking in a shockwave along the poorly held magical border protecting the Adolphus Pack's claimed territory. The wolves stiffen. Each side standing with hackles raised, and horrible gnashing teeth bared. The Wselfwulf Pack prowls forward. There is a palpable electricity to the air, riding high on a fine tension that is on the cusp of breaking. The witches slowly rise from the ground. One perilous inch at a time as their words are lost to the swell of wind sweeping them upwards. The crystal halves shine brighter and brighter as they near each other, until with a sharp and distinctive_ crack _, they collide._

The border shatters; the wolves advance, and a new light appears. The witches of the Trinity Coven fall to the ground, spent of their magic and defenseless. Yet the body of light that remains shines brighter. Grows larger. The Wselfwulf Pack hesitates, and in doing so, is spared their lives. The light takes a corporeal form, and with it, a new barrier erects itself in a brief prism of colors.

The woman who remains standing is unearthly beautiful with snow-white hair and wings that gleam like opals. Beneath the surface of her skin roams a seemingly never-ending track of vines spouting leaves and pale flowers. The woman's wings fold themselves neatly against her bare back as she splays a hand tentatively against the wall she has created. Her violet eyes growing wide as she takes in the scene before her. Rokama surround her. Or something frighteningly similar for they lack the telltale markings of the rokama she knows. No obsidian eyes or red-stained muzzles. No leathery, wings jutting from the spine. The new creature squeezes her eyes closed. Rokama or not, these beasts would not bring her harm. Nor the innocents fallen too her left and right.

Taking a deep breath she opens her eyes and meets the golden gaze of some beast across the way. It sounds a savage bark, the pack around it echoing the reprimand. The woman's fists clench against her side, a blinding fury growing inside her chest. The flora dances beneath her skin, further winding her defenses.

A second later and the Adolphus Pack would have found themselves at the mercy of the strange creatures fur—if not for their Alpha. The largest of the wolves, he steps in front of the strange woman with a threatening snarl directed at the Wselfwulf Pack.

The winged-woman stares flabbergasted at the act. Mouth comically held open, as the anger simmering inside her stalls at her throat. The act is not enough to earn her full trust, but it is enough—enough to spare those who stand with her on the east side of the barrier. She walks to the wolf's side. Anger flooding her once more like some wild rapid. She has never been very good at controlling the swing of her emotions.

Too bad for the Wselfwulf Pack.

The Alpha lets out a whine and takes a tentative step back as the earth starts to shake. The Wselfwulf Pack scatters. Startled yelps and barks sounding as vines jut from the forest floor and begin to impale those not fast enough to escape. It is a bloodbath. A frenzied chaos that ends only when the woman lets out a piercing scream. The Earth shivers at the abrupt silence that follows, calming the forest floor with an eerie groan. The woman steps back and retrieves the Crystal of Dan Furth from the ground. She holds it to her breast as she sends a tentative, but warm smile to those who remain around her.

"Hello," she murmurs. Though she remains unsure as to where she is or how she came to be in this peculiar forest, she no longer feels afraid. Her smile turns brighter as she gazes down at the bewildered Elder Triad. "You may call me Luna."

+++

"The spell to rejoin the pieces worked just as planned," Diana finishes, her voice hard as if in reprimand to Xander's earlier tone.

"Did your plan involve her?" he asks briskly.

Diana visibly bristles. "No. We're looking into the matter as we speak." Xander says nothing, holding himself still at the window. "We aren't sure as to why joining the crystal would bring Luna to us."

"He's mad at me, isn't he?" the woman, Luna, asks. She fiddles with the blanket, her face scrunching up as it slides against her skin. Zoelle comes forward once more to help her adjust it.

"He's not mad at you," Zoelle tells her softly, "he's just confused."

"About what?"

"About you."

"Why?" Luna tilts her head to the side, fussing once more with the blanket as impatience darkens her tone. For one who is clearly a grown woman, she acts most decidedly like a child.

"Because he didn't realize you would be here," she explains carefully. "If he would have, we would have prepared."

"Oh."

Silence once more. No one seems to know what to say next, but I can feel my curiosity rising. As if sensing my shift in mood, Ryatt's grip tightens on my waist in warning. Like that was going to stop me.

"What are you?" I ask. Luna blinks.

"I'm a fairy," she says somewhat matter-of-factly. "What are you?" _Well, shit_.

"I'm a human." Luna looks at Ryatt, the flowers and vines beneath her skin slowing their winding path to a halt.

"He's not." I give a short laugh at her blunt words.

"He's a lycan, just like his brother." Luna stiffens and shuffles back towards Maureen.

" _Rokama_ ," she hisses, eyes darting nervously between the two men. "They cannot be trusted with the innocent. Come," she holds out a hand to me, "you should not be so close to danger."

Ryatt stiffens and his hold tightens. "He's not going to hurt me. Neither of them will, Luna."

"They're rokama," she tells me stubbornly, "like the others. They cannot be trusted."

"They're lycans, not rokama, and they are our _allies_ , Lunaria," Diana tells her. "No harm will come to you while you are under our care. Nor theirs." The words do little to placate Luna, but she does cease her glaring and drop her hand.

"He doesn't hurt you?"

"No, Luna. Sometimes he can be a bit of a prick, but he's never deliberately hurt me. Except for a few incidents, that is..."

Ryatt flushes under my regard. "I apologized for that," he mutters.

"And you...forgave him?" My heart skips a beat under her scrutiny.

"I did," I reply slowly, almost unsure of the answer myself. Ryatt straightens. A sudden surge of happiness pulsates through the bond, leaving me glowing with strange satisfaction. "He's not so bad," I finish lamely.

"...You are in love?" she asks, equal parts curious and serious. I guffaw.

"She can barely keep her hands off me," Ryatt replies smoothly, squishing me into his side.

"Get over yourself," I grumble, struggling to push away from him, the smile I tried so hard to beat winning out.

"It's definitely love," he continues, keeping me within the circle of his arm. "I'm preparing a winter proposal and a June wedding. Expect an invitation in the mail."

"A union!" she squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together and bouncing about. "How joyous! Who would have thought a beast such as yourself could ever love, or be loved in return!"

The blanket falls to the floor in her glee, giving the entire room a show not easily forgotten.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 14

Quinn

"I can't believe fairies exist," I exclaim, climbing the stairs to Ryatt's bedroom. "I mean, I shouldn't be surprised because, hello, witches, lycans, and vampires are real, but _wow_. A fairy. Did you see her wings and her skin? Disney did _not_ prepare me for this moment. Also, did you notice she has zero filter? Or how her mood jumps from one to another in about two seconds flat?"

Ryatt chuckles at my side, scratching the back of his neck. "I certainly wasn't expecting to see a fairy when we arrived. I'm just glad that the witches will be seeing to her care and not us. You're already quite the handful." He bumps me with his shoulder good-naturedly, opening the door to the bedroom and allowing me through first. I immediately kick off my sneakers and sit on the large chest at the end of the bed.

"I don't think she would have liked to have been under the pack's care. What did she call you again?"

"A rokama," he says, slipping off his shoes as well and stretching out on the bed. "Whatever that is."

"She understood the word lycan enough to associate it with a rokama, so I'd assume something similar." Ryatt looks pensive for a fleeting second before it vanishes from his face and he sits up.

"I suppose you're right," he tells me somewhat cordially. "Well, I'm off for a bit. I'll just grab some of my things and leave you to the rest of your night."

"What?" My eyes follow Ryatt's stiff movements with astonishment. "Where are you going?"

"Out for a run."

"A run?" My insides twist at his flippant tone. A surge of indignation runs through me for no good reason at all. "Seriously?"

He stills, but it's momentary. "I'm not a masochist," comes his cold response. "You're leaving tomorrow. That's still your plan, correct?"

I nod my head numbly, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. "Yes," I say meekly.

"You said you had forgiven me—earlier—was that true?" His back is still turned to me, hands stalled on his dresser drawer. I do not dare give my reply because it was true. Yet saying the words aloud once more would crumble the last of my resolve. Tomorrow I will leave and—I squeeze my eyes tightly shut—and do what? Go where? I didn't know, but it would at least be my choice. My decision.

_My mistake_ , a voice whispers darkly in my mind.

It will all be mine. Ryatt slams the dresser drawer shut, tossing his things in a duffle bag he's taken from the closet.

"I don't get you," he tells me quietly. "This evening in the forest. It was just you and I out there. You didn't wear any of your masks, and it was _good_ , Quinn. You know I can feel it through the bond? Your true feelings towards me? But you'll happily go on denying them so that you can what, have the last word? Save your pride?"

"That's not it, Ryatt. You don't—"

"—I don't what?" He stares me down, swinging the bag over his shoulder as he pins me with a searing glare. " _Understand_? You're right. I don't. I know this whole scenario is one big cluster-fuck and that I went about it all wrong, but there are times when it seems like none of it even matters to you. Like you don't seem to care about it as much as you let on. Quinn, I know I can make you happy. I've never been so in sync with someone, and I know the same is true for you. But you'll forsake it all just to save face."

"That's not true," I tell him painfully, itching to stand and declare my growing feelings for him. Yet I stay firmly planted in my seat, not daring to lose myself to these strange feelings.

He growls, "Then why?"

"Because," I choke, "this is all too much, alright? This whole supernatural, paranormal world. I don't belong here."

"And yet, somehow, you manage to get along famously with my sister, a she-wolf, and Zoelle and her merry band of witches. You do fit in here. You're just making excuses. You belong with me. Here." My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I watch him stalk towards the door. "The fact of the matter is, for all your bravado and games, you're scared. You're scared of love, Quinn. The love that could be between us, and the love the people in this town could give to you if you'd just let them try." I watch wordlessly as he leaves, heart shattering into a million pieces.

Game and match: Ryatt.

+++

"You're an idiot," Irina remarks coldly as I toss my luggage in the trunk of my car. I send her a pageant queen smile and slam the trunk closed.

"I'm not."

"Whatever little argument you had last night doesn't matter, you fool. You have literally found your soul mate, and you're just going to walk away from that? That might as well be the very definition of idiocy."

"I'm not going to argue about this with you," I tell her frankly, stepping up to the driver side door and facing off against her chilling glare.

"Where are you going to go? The Wselfwulfs know who you are, and Vrana is most certainly out for your blood."

"Ryatt said someone would be watching out for me until I could make a clean getaway."

Irina scoffs, coming up and slamming my door shut as I begin to open it. "You're not just breaking his heart you know? You're turning your back on the Pack too, and they certainly haven't done anything to deserve this." I gently push her hand away and open the door again.

"I have your number. I'll keep in touch." She scoffs and turns heel, marching off back towards the house. Adjusting my sunglasses, I slip into the driver's seat, shutting the door with a sharp clip. Irina was the only one to see me off. If it could be even called that. No Ryatt, or other members of the Adolphus pack. Not even Zoelle. To say it didn't hurt a little would have just been one more lie to add to the pile I had accumulated. Before I can lose my nerve, I put the car in reverse and peel out of the driveway into the street, gunning my way out of the town.

It's not long into my drive before I feel my stomach twist itself into painful knots. My breath begins to come in panicked waves, the early vestiges of hyperventilation, as I reflect on the choice I've made. Before I can quite comprehend what I am doing, my car ends up in front of the Baudelaire home. Zoelle had mentioned something about a tea to keep her feelings under control. To numb the bond. I would just pick some up before I left. Smoothing back my hair and checking my face in the mirror, I exit the car and head to the front door.

"Oh!" My hand is poised to knock when the door is unceremoniously yanked open.

"Oh, indeed." Lydia Stein lets her eyes flick over me, a knowing gleam inside them as she breezes past. "You're not likely to find what you need in there, girl, but you can try." These witches were definitely mind readers. No matter what Zoelle said.

"Are they in the kitchen?" I ask. She directs a nod over her shoulder, leaving the door wide open for my entrance.

"Shut the door and come in, child." I do as I'm told, following Diana's voice and finding her, Maureen, and Luna in the kitchen. Luna wears a dark denim shift dress that does nothing to flatter her figure. It's at least two sizes too big, though; with her almost size zero frame I doubted anything Zoelle, or even I had, could fit her.

"Hi."

Diana raises a cordial brow. "There's no need for sunglasses in here. Go on and take those off and have a seat."

"I just came to grab some tea. I really need to get on the road."

" _Sit_." I'm not quite as mentally prepared as I should be for this kind of standoff, but I couldn't walk away now. I take off my sunglasses reluctantly, taking a seat near Luna. She watches our exchange raptly, eyes glued to me as I sit.

"What?" I ask curtly, unable to knock the edge from my voice. I wasn't so sure I'd be able to keep my cool with the loose-lipped fairy.

"You've been crying," she tells me matter-of-factly. "Why?"

I grit my teeth. "I haven't been crying."

Luna's eyes widen in surprise and she looks to the two elder women for guidance. "She lied to me!"

"I did not," I say tactfully. "I—"

"Yes, you did. You said you hadn't been crying, but you have." Maureen sets a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

"It's best to be honest with Luna. She's like a supernatural bloodhound. She can sniff out a lie a mile away."

_Just great_. "How precious."

"It has its advantages," Diana counters. "What kind of tea are you looking for?"

I clear my throat. "Something to stem the bond. Zoelle said she used it when she was with Xander, and it helped."

"She's lying again," Luna says in confusion, scrunching her brow. "Why does she lie so much?"

I take a deep breath and count to five slowly. "Would you mind keeping the commentary to a minimum, Luna? The big girls need to have a chat." Luna looks put out but obliges. Sitting back in her seat, she crosses her arms over her chest.

"We have something, though I'm sure it won't do you any good. You're much too far gone for anything we have to help."

"Seriously?" I take the news like a punch to the stomach, breath hitching as sorrow stretches across my being.

"You've consummated your relationship before completing the soulmark. This act binds you in a different way to Ryatt."

"Fuck me," I groan, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"You shouldn't curse," Luna says haughtily.

I turn a glare her way. "Well, you shouldn't talk. Ever." Luna's purple eyes shade darker, almost to black, as she glares back at me.

"You're very rude for a person in love." I gape at her in response, though I catch Maureen and Diana passing a sly smirk to each other.

"I'm not in love," I tell her sternly. She pouts some more.

"You might as well be," she snarks back, "He certainly loves you. Though it's a wonder why."

"Quinn here prefers a life of solitude," Diana tells Luna before I can make my retort. "That's why she's going away. Isn't it Quinn?" I nod my head reluctantly.

"But he loves her," Luna says uncertainly, losing her bite. "Is he going with you?"

I shake my head. "I don't think you understand what the word solitude means."

"Why would you leave him if he loves you and if you're falling in love with him? That doesn't make sense."

"What can I say," my words brittle and tight, "I'm full of surprises."

She looks at me seriously. "Why?"

"Why what?" I ask back, frustration blooming inside my chest. I turn my gaze back to the older women. "Can I have the tea still? Anything is better than nothing."

"I'll mix some up for you," Maureen tells me, moving slowly to one of the kitchen cabinets. Her movements are slightly shaky, and a grimace flickers over her face at the simple action. "I can feel your pity from here. I don't need it. I'll be fine in no time. The spell just took a lot out of me."

Luna's lips thin and I catch her eye. "Lie," she mouths. My lips quirk upwards, but only slightly.

"We have something akin to soulmarks in the Hollow. You see, every fairy is created with their match in mind, and a sigil placed upon them to help find their match. Most fairies find their match shortly after their conception, as they're typically wrought from the same field."

"How exactly are fairies...conceived?" I ask, mind stunned to a standstill for a brief moment.

Luna blinks owlishly back at me. "Why, we come from flowers of course." She gives a short burst of laughter, her mirth evident at my lack of knowledge. "How else would we be conceived?"

I let out an unladylike snigger. "Oh, _trust me_ , there are more fun ways to _conceive_."

"Are you speaking of the pleasures of the flesh?" The sip of tea I take is spat out immediately, half ending up back in the cup while the other spills down my chin.

"Oh my God."

"Lunaria, we spoke about this earlier. Topics such as pleasures of the flesh are not to be had in polite company," Diana chides. Luna flushes apologetically.

"Your name is Lunaria? As in the plant that forces you to tell the truth?" Maureen sits down beside me and gives my knee a gentle pat.

"I was born of the Lunaria!" Luna tells me brightly. "What flower did you come from?"

I grin. "The pink lotus."

"Do not encourage her, Quinn Montgomery," Diana reprimands sharply.

"That sounds like a very pretty flower," she says. "I'm sure I've seen it before in the Hollow." I hum my agreement.

"It most certainly is."

"That's enough, Quinn. Don't you have somewhere to go?" Diana sends me a pointed look that makes me cringe internally. _Time's up_. I stand up and give a weak smile to both Maureen and Luna. Maureen presses a soft silk pouch into my hand.

"Steep for two to three minutes. No more." I nod.

"You're really leaving?" Luna exclaims unhappily. Again I nod. "But—but doesn't he make you happy?"

"He does—

"And doesn't he complement you?" she continues earnestly.

"I wouldn't call them compliments so much as lecherous come-ons."

Luna frowns. "...I do not think you understand," she murmurs, "Does he _complement_ you?" I give pause to the notion, thinking of his corny jokes and well-timed wit. The way we play together and play off each other.

"Sort of," I admit, finding my mouth a bit dry. "Maybe."

"And he loves you," she states. My gaze flicks uneasily from Luna's to the window behind her, my heart sounding out a rapid beat against my breast.

"He might."

"But you will leave him anyway?" A quizzical look falls upon her brow. I swallow.

"It's not safe for me here." Luna stares deeply into my eyes—as if she can see straight through me. See all my fears and past heartaches. And then she smiles gently, her wings briefly coming into focus behind her and catching in the sunlight. A kaleidoscope of colors spills onto the floor.

"You're never safe from the wants of your heart," she tells me kindly, "so what's the point in running?"

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Chapter 15

"Where are you going?" Irina asks, irritation coating her voice as she watches Ryatt pass in a fluster.

"Out," Ryatt replies briskly, barreling past her towards the back of the house. Irina sighs, sipping on her iced coffee absentmindedly as she makes her way to the front door, eyes glued to the screen of her phone. The sharp rap of a car door closing sounds, followed closely by heels approaching on the driveway. It's all the warning Irina needs to step to the side. Eyes widened in interest, Irina watches as Quinn advances inside with a very determined swish of her hips.

"Where are you going?" Irina asks, hiding her delight at seeing the blonde again so soon. Quinn looks sharply to her left, eyes going large at the other woman's unexpected presence. "He's gone out," Irina tells her with a smug curl of her lips, "that way." Quinn's face colors lightly, even more so as Irina flounces off outside, shutting the door loudly behind her. Taking a steadying breath, she hardens her resolve once more and heads to the back of the house.

+++

Quinn

Where the fuck was he? I did not put on my Christian Louboutin booties to trudge through the dirty forest floor. These were strictly indoor shoes, which were meant to impress and entice illicit rendezvous. Not gather dirt and grime on the expensive leather.

"Ryatt!" I shout, stopping on more solid ground and scanning my surroundings. How had he not already heard me approaching? Or smelled my scent on the wind? He was supposed to possess supernatural abilities and be here already. I scan the forest expectantly, sucking in a deep breath to shout once more when—

"Quinn!" Ryatt exclaims, clearly out of breath. I turn around with a yelp and eye his disheveled appearance. Sans shirt and shoes, wearing a pair of basketball shorts. Skin glistening. He stares at me crossly. It is not the reaction I was hoping for.

"Out for a run?" I ask lightly, receiving no response but the tightening of his lips. "Without shoes, I see. Interesting choice." He doesn't answer right away, letting my anxiety grow unreasonably high.

"I wasn't expecting to see you back here," he finally responds, voice dipping into a low vibrato that raises the hair on my arms and neck. He steps cautiously forward, each step bringing him mindfully closer, yet staying just out of reach. I spot the look of heat that swirls behind his eyes and feel my heart skip a beat. "You must have known the implications of what that would mean." He stops inches from me, the weight of his regard drawing every inch of my skin to attention. My nipples tighten, and I find myself squeezing my thighs together.

Luna's parting words had struck a chord, and I had found myself unable to shake myself of them. For too long I had been frightened of relying upon another person. Of letting anyone in. In turn, I had closed myself off to the one thing my heart had wanted the most. Love.

I let out a shaky breath. I had stolen from witches and lycans, double-crossed a vampire, and somehow made it out alive. Maybe, just maybe, love wasn't the scariest monster out there. I feel my resolve firm. It was time to get my heart back in the game.

"I know what I'm doing," I whisper back.

"Do you?" he asks archly, but an undercurrent of lust seeps into his words. I shiver and force myself a meager step forward. Until there is only an inch between us. The old Quinn would have donned some new mask for this new adventure. She would have met Ryatt tit for tat and played as if it was a game. But the real Quinn, the one Ryatt seemed to bring out so effortlessly with his easy banter, was ready to relinquish control. _To live_.

A true smile graces my lips, though it is small in stature. "I do," I tell him, feeling my heartbeat running through my veins. Something flashes behind his eyes: triumph, I realize. Gold slips through the haze of blue like flashes of lightning, his wolf pressing against the forefront of his mind, no doubt. Ryatt's hand slips to my waist, eyes half-lidded.

"I was going to follow you," he confesses, tugging me into his chest. He wears his own smile now. One that lightens the severe expression on his face. Finally. "I was never going to let Keenan watch over you."

"You love me," I tell him, smile brightening. "A fairy told me so." He hums his agreement, mirth sparkling in his eyes.

"Really? I suppose some might say...you've stolen my heart." I groan my displeasure while his laughter rings throughout the forest.

"That joke isn't funny, Ryatt. You are not funny."

He smiles down at me, his free hand coming up to caress the side of my face. "I am funny, and now you have the utmost pleasure of being able to enjoy it 24/7." I scrunch my nose in distaste, even as I laugh. As my mirth dies down his eyes flicker to my lips.

A beat goes by, then another. The air around us is charged with tension until I realize that I must make the first move for this to truly be my decision. I press my hands against his chest, feeling his heart racing nearly as fast as mine. It gives me the courage to reach up on my toes and place my lips decidedly across his. Instantly a flood of desire curls my toes. I moan into his mouth, enjoying far too much the way he kisses me back so ardently.

My hands lock around his neck to tug him closer, fingers grasping at the fine ends of his hair. There is a desperation between us. A hunger that strikes at my core—at my very being—that refuses to be denied any longer. His kiss consumes, and I succumb to the branding lash of his teeth and tongue. A moan breaks free from my lips. Calloused hands follow the curve of my hips upward until they reach their goal, lingering tantalizingly beneath my breast. They skirt the edges, denying me the pleasure of his touch until I feel them cupping my jaw, tilting my head back to kiss me deeper.

Ryatt pulls away with a strangled moan, his thumb reaching out to trace my swollen lips. "Do you like this dress?" he asks, leaning in and kissing each of my cheeks tenderly. I nod slowly, eyes fluttering open to read his expression. "My apologies then," he says, not sounding the least bit remorseful. His hands drop from my face to the collar of my dress and in the next instant, they have ripped it in two. Right down the middle. A $600 dress turned rag in under three seconds. I push away with a startled gasp.

"Ryatt!" He ignores my indignation, looking far too be pleased with his handiwork. "This is Michael Kors. You do not just rip a $600 Michael Kors dress in half."

He prowls forward, each step deliberately made to crowd me back. "I rather like the fashion statement it's making." My entire body feels flushed, and it only worsens at the dark intention of his voice. "If you don't wish the same fate for your undergarments, I suggest you take them off. Now."

I release a shaky breath as he circles me. Well aware that he is the predator, and I the prey. I shrug out of the ruined dress, letting it pool at my feet. Ryatt winds his way back to face me as I let my hands inch their way over my stomach and up to cup my breasts. His steps slow. Anticipation tingles at my fingertips as they edge the lining of my bra. Ryatt takes a step forward, eyes glued to my wandering hands until they stop at the silk bow placed front and center.

"This is what you wanted, right?" I ask breathlessly, pinching the fabric together and letting it fall open. The wolf snarls, the sound stemming from deep inside him as he stalks ever closer. The summer air slips over my newly released skin in a blanket of warmth. With a soft thud, my bra joins the ruined dress.

A fevered moan rides my next exhalation. My fingers reach to fondle my breasts. To twist and pinch the over sensitive peaks. Watching Ryatt on the cusp of losing control sends a dizzying thrill of power through me. To feel so wanted is a heady notion, but the look in his eyes is like no other, so full of violent desire. There would be no hiding anymore. No more running. I let a hand sink down past my navel to trace the lace of my panties. Another moan is ready at the edge of my tongue when he finally snaps.

I've barely time to blink before my back is against the rough bark of some tree, my thighs wrapped tightly around Ryatt's waist. Hands captured between his own.

"This," he breathes harshly against my ear, "is what I want." He bites at my earlobe and leaves a trail of marks down my neck. There is something primal in the way we move together. His absolute control and possession of my body nearly drive me over the edge. I bow my head back, enjoying the noise he releases at my surrender. We come together in unison, hips grinding against one another in search of release. The heat of my sex seeps through my panties as I rub myself against the hard bulge beneath his shorts.

Ryatt's name falls from my lips in a plaintive cry, back arching almost painfully as I thrust my breasts towards his attentive mouth. Blood pounds through my temples. It is the only other sound known to me outside our heady breaths. The feel of his lips, wet and hot, around my rosy peaks draws another cry. Ryatt is scorching to the touch. All parts of him. He burns a path from one peak to the next, lavishing it with unchained passion.

"Do you remember what I told you the other day?" he asks, the husky timbre of his voice sending shivers down my spine as he releases my hands. They fall to his shoulders, relishing in the way he caresses the length of my arm. The touch so soft it could be mistaken for a whisper. That is, until it buries itself in my hair and yanks my head to the side. I let out an angry hiss, hips jerking in shock, fingers locking down on their purchases. He bites and kisses at my jaw, thrusting back savagely with his hips and pressing me into the tree. "Do you?"

I let out a short whine at his rough attentions, unable to deny the excitement it arouses within me. " _Yes_ ," I hiss. The forest feels thick with silence as his wicked smile grows against my skin. The moment becomes almost unbearable the way it stretches on into forever.

"Good."

He kisses me, lips claiming my own with renewed fervor. I cannot seem to get enough of him. The way his muscles twitch and contract under my frenzied exploration. They grope the panels of his abdominals and pectorals, relishing in the way in which they contract so minutely. I am enraptured. Caught so tightly within our passion, I feel as if it's choking me. Ryatt's lips blaze a path down my neck once more, lingering over the course of my collarbone. A whine careens from my throat. I wanted more. I wanted this. Ryatt, and everything that came with him.

My hands fall to the trim cut of his hips and push at his shorts. A sudden desperateness to feel him inside me replacing all other needs. Yet I have barely accomplished my task when my hands are recaptured and pinned above my head with but one of his.

"Say that you're mine," he pants into my ear, nails scratching a dangerous path towards my hairline, where the soulmark burns across my flesh.

"I'm yours," I whimper in reply, feeling the tip of his hard shaft press against my panties. Lust holds me in a chokehold; my entire body strung so tightly I feel I might explode if he doesn't do something. Anything. His hand falls to my shoulder. Down my breast. Past my stomach to the last silk barrier between us. It's gone with a flick of his wrist.

It happens quicker than I expect; his cock riding between my folds. The sensation draws a sharp stab of desire through us both. His head falls to my shoulder, hand trembling as it finds its way back to my throat. The fingers inch their way around to the nape. I suck in a startled breath as the broad head of his cock slips inside.

"Say that you'll bind yourself to me." His plea is a heated whisper running across my breastbone. Lips anchored to my clavicle. " _Please_." A dart of fear spears my heart, stalling my immediate reply. _No more running_ , I think. I push my hips down and let his thick member take another inch.

I tug my hands loose from his dominating grip, hands groping for his face to pull him towards my lips. With a shuddering breath I whisper my reply. "I bind myself to you."

Something inside me contracts, then expands like some kind of explosion. I cannot contain my gasp, for with it comes the sudden wide expanse of emotions between us crashing into me like a tidal wave. His hand cups the back of my neck and without further hesitation, he plunges himself deeply inside of me. My legs tighten, overcome with the reckoning of his need. For a moment, stars flash brilliantly before my eyes and I fall into a dark abyss where only he and I exist. My body moves along with his without a single thought, knowing one thing only: we are made to be one.

"Christ," he groans against my lips, kissing me with such fervent ardor that I find myself on the verge of climax. There is no escaping this kiss. His tongue and lips possess me in nothing short of a primal claiming. Too soon my breath hitches, body tightening as his fingers dig almost painfully into my soulmark. My body shakes as it bucks back against every one of his thrusts. I release a sharp cry that echoes throughout the forest as my release crashes around me.

My legs begin to lose their grip about his waist, but Ryatt's hands are quick to catch me. "We're not finished," he purrs, roughly slamming into me. I suck in a hungry breath, dimly aware of the sharp presence of scratches along my naked back. The pain is minuscule in comparison to the pleasure still scoring my body.

"Please," I whimper, hardly knowing what I'm even asking for. He growls his acknowledgment, hands placed strategically underneath me as he keeps me pinned to the tree. His hips slow to a torturous pace so that he can rest his forehead against my own.

"It's alright," he pants, "I know what you want." _Thank God_. A look of determination flashes gold in his eyes, the pace of his hips increasing as well as my sounds of delight. The tightening comes again, raising the flesh across my skin as I hold on. Our moans chime together as our releases hit in harmony. My back scraping painfully against the tree as his hold slackens.

He pulls back, breathing harshly over me as my toes touch the ground unsteadily. The warmth of our union slides down my thighs, eliciting a shiver of delight.

"Ready?" he breathes after a long moment, tilting my head up and placing a soft kiss on my lips. I quirk a lazy smile.

"For what?" I breathe, unprepared for him to sweep me to the forest floor. " _Oomph_!" He looks entirely too pleased with himself above me, thigh nestled comfortably between my own.

"I do believe I mentioned something about this before," he teases, eyes twinkling merrily. His happiness soars through the bond, intertwining with my own. What remains of the wall around my heart shatter, a feeling I had once thought lost to me settling firmly into place. _So this was what it felt like to fall in love_ , I think with a content smile. What adventures would it bring?

"You might just have to remind me," I reply coyly, a sudden shyness encapsulating me as my fingers fan themselves over his heart tenderly. The intimate act brings a soft smile to his face. Ryatt catches my hand and brings it to his lips.

"You won't regret this," he promises. I give him a brilliant smile. No. I most certainly wouldn't.

#####

#####  Midnight Scoundrel | Epilogue

"I don't see what all the fuss is about," Ryatt mutters, watching us with a stormy frown in the doorway of our bedroom. Irina and I continue to hold up varying color palettes against the navy blue walls.

"You might have better style than Aleksander, dear brother, but that doesn't mean you have an eye for interior design," Irina states, eyes never leaving the color samples.

"That's because all that matters regarding the bedroom is the size of the bed," he sasses back, a sly grin curving upwards on his handsome face.

"Don't start," I warn, sending a scalding look over my shoulder. "If I'm going to live here I want it to feel like home, and I don't like dark color schemes like this. They're too moody."

"I rather think it sets the mood," he purrs, prowling into the room.

"For depression," Irina deadpans, delivering the same look to her brother. Ryatt halts, features ruffling back into the stormy frown.

"Isn't it time you moved out, little sister?"

She flutters her eyelashes at him, "Why I'd love to, brother dearest. Then I'll set about painting my room some dark and dreary blue to _set the mood_ for all my _guests_." A thunderous expression flashes behind his eyes, lips thinning.

"You're not leaving this house until you're married," he promises darkly, sulking away.

"Such a drama queen," Irina murmurs, focus turned back onto an orangish-red color called Burnt Sienna. "How do you like this with the off-white trimming?"

"You're all drama queens," I'm quick to assure her, continuing before she can protest, "and I like it. Not as much as the cloud dust color we looked at earlier." She shrugs, pocketing the few samples we both agree on and roaming the edges of the room with a critical eye.

"This could be quite the costly renovation," she tells me with a conspiring grin.

I smirk back. "My thoughts exactly, which is why I need to go bug the Alpha about a certain paycheck I'm still owed."

Irina blinks owlishly back at me for a moment, the grin stalled on her face before it splits open into a wide smile. "Are you still going to make him pay you?"

"Obviously," I tell her with a fierce nod of my head. "I got the crystal back, didn't I?"

"Plus interest," she quips. We share a look at the thought of Luna, the naïve fairy who had been transported to our world through the crystal.

"Plus a headache," I amend.

"Maybe you can squeeze a few extra grand out of my brother for some kind of restitution for your fallen friend," she comments blithely.

I don't take her casual words too personally. They aren't meant to harm, but they bring up a familiar sadness. Irina's eyes and mind are already absorbed back on the task at hand as I wander to my suitcase near the end of the bed. Perhaps I had some photo on my laptop of the M and I together at some point? It wasn't the smartest thing to have on hand, being a thief and all—well, former thief—but exceptions could be made.

In my search, my hands catch upon a large envelope.

Pulling it out, my eyes alight with recognition: my last job proposal. I hadn't bothered to look it over too carefully with the Degas on my mind. The turnaround time hadn't seemed worth the effort for Mr. Vrana's needs. My fingers flick through the papers, idly taking in bits of information here and there about the item in want.

"Irina," I call calmly. She hums distractedly in response. "What's your favorite jewel?"

"Sapphire," she responds immediately, eyes darting suspiciously to me and the files in my hand. "Why?"

"What about amethyst?" Our gazes lock. Irina comes to my side and takes the paper I offer.

"Well, well, well," she murmurs, a devious tint to her voice, much like the one Ryatt owns. "It looks like you have one last job to complete. It looks like a big job. No doubt you'll need the whole packs help for this one." We share a smile. I would indeed.

Wardens of Starlight

Wardens of Starlight | Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Epilogue

Connect with Rebecca Main

Acknowledgements

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 1

Amethysts of the Aztecs

Relics line the walls of the atrium. Sacred hammers and swords. Vinewood wands and staffs of yew. Rings of amethyst, pearl, and pewter. Each with their own unique history and power. Some forged by gods of old. Others by those of new. I'm still learning them all. The Wardens of Starlight seems to have an almost endless supply.

Five months into my training as a Starlight Warden and I have only just finished learning the upper level of relics housed in the atrium. Five months since I was reassigned from the Stellar Warriors and sent here, to the Banks Facility. The Starlight Council had called it a blessing. A righting of a wrong. I've lost count of how many people told me that I was lucky to be reassigned as a Starlight Warden. After all, among my kind, women weren't seen as "well suited" for the call of a Stellar Warrior. No. They are much better suited for other trades. Trades such as Shadow Scouts or Occult Scholars. Even a Weapons Master is better suited for a woman than a position among the Stellar Warriors. Or so everyone thought.

My fingers itch to toy with the butterfly knife hidden snuggly beneath my belt and sweater. Not a year ago, I had proven myself worthy of the elite group of warriors, yet one mistake and I had been kicked to the curb. Banished here instead.

Guilt coils heavily in my stomach.

It had been more than a mistake. It had been a tragedy. A massacre. And the blame for it could only be put on my shoulders. Maybe they'd been right to strip me of my warrior status after all.

"Are you listening, Callie?" Still lost in my thoughts, I let my head bob carelessly along. The triplets who occupy the atrium with me continue to speak, seemingly satisfied with my assurance. Then, an elbow smashes between my sixth and seventh rib.

"What was that for?" I wheeze, rubbing the offended bones. Nova sends me a smirk, her heavily lined eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Let's just say I had a gut feeling you weren't listening," she replies. I let out an unladylike snort.

The triplets are known for their "gut feelings" and uncanny ability to understand the power of the Borealis and the relics we keep safe. Most find their shared ability off-putting, but I didn't mind one bit.

"We're only trying to help you, Calliope," Noelle gently scolds. "Your final exam with the head warden is only a few weeks away."

"And she will not go easy on you," Naomi affirms, eyes large and doe-like. A wistful sigh falls past my lips. How unsurprising. Felicia Metzart is tougher than diamonds and smart as hell to boot. She expects no less than the absolute best from those under her tutelage, and I'm no exception.

The Starlight Wardens are the keepers of magical relics, but more importantly, they're the handlers of starlight. Only the Wardens are allowed to harness the mystical power sent forth from the sun—Borealis Matter—to infuse into our weapons and make them unimaginably stronger. Only the Wardens know the vast secrets and knowledge of the world's hidden relics. Daggers that can cast a single un-sealable cut. Brooms that allow the rider to sift from place to place in the blink of an eye. Liquid gloves that can tame any flame. It is an honor to be among them.

Too bad my heart belongs to the warriors. Those who fight and kill the dark supernatural forces littering the earth.

"I know. I know," I finally lament, toying with the velvet cloth that drapes the altar we stand around. The rich fabric is out of place among the sleek white walls and glass display cases that houses the relics.

Noelle lets out a distinct humph. "Daydreaming about your time with the warriors won't do you any good now, Calliope." I send her an unimpressed look, enjoying a bit too much the way her cheeks color in embarrassment. "Your thoughts and talents are better put to use here than with them anyway. Don't you have your degree in astrophysics?"

"Yes," I confirm begrudgingly. Not that I wanted to, I think bitterly. Why JJ was allowed to go straight to his apprenticeship instead of having to run the ramparts of higher education is still a mystery to me. A niggling voice in my head croons a familiar tune; it's because he is our parents' favorite. I wouldn't be surprised if it's right. JJ is everyone's favorite. Including mine.

"Just because we don't risk life and limb to fight the monsters underneath the bed, doesn't mean we aren't cool," Nova teases. We share a smile.

"Oh, we're _cool_ all right. We're stuffed in a glorified igloo up here in the middle of nowhere, Alaska. Reading books and dusting shelves all day. Oh lord," I groan, "we're librarians."

The three sisters wear matching expressions of disdain. "Librarians are cool," Naomi insists, fiddling with the glasses perched atop her head. My bluster deserts me as I take in the slump of her shoulders. Of all the Stavok sisters, Naomi is the most sensitive.

"Librarians are cool," I concede.

"Hell yeah, they are!" Nova agrees. We share another smile. I spent most of my time with Nova. Whether studying dusty tomes or showing her how to handle my butterfly knife properly. We always seek each other out in the small fortress. Noelle rolls her eyes, smoothing a hand over the tight ponytail she typically sports as she fights down a smile. Nova continues, "Let's not forget we get access to the best shit. Did you know Felicia keeps the Baltic ivory harpoon head on her for 'safe keeping'? _At all times_. If that isn't a perk, I don't know what is."

"I do like that we get to wear our bracers all the time." The iron cuffs that adorn our wrist are etched with intricate spirals and notches. When activated by the wearer with a purposeful twist of the wrist, the etchings fill with a pale green luminescent light—the sacred power of the Borealis. The power increases both our strength and speed to almost supernatural proportions, but only the Wardens are permitted to wear the bracers at all times.

"What was that?" Naomi asks, mouth modestly agape. The conversation dies as our ears perk to catalog the faintest hint of movement or disturbance in the air. For a tense moment, my breath catches before Noelle shoots her sister an annoyed look and relaxes.

"Nothing, Naomi. You must be hearing things," she says. Naomi flushes, but her eyes dart nervously toward the sliding glass doors that lead into the atrium.

"What did you hear?" I ask.

Naomi flushes brighter and tugs the glasses off her face to clean them, a nervous habit of hers. "I just thought I heard a pop." While her face is downturned, I spare a look toward the other sisters. They wear matching frowns, but Nova's seems to set itself deeper as her head cocks to the side.

"I don't hear anything," she finally says, stance relaxing. I mirror her movement. My shoulders relaxing from their stiff pose. I hadn't heard anything either, but the glass doors of the room are thick. Bulletproof-thick.

"Me either," Noelle agrees, gently patting Naomi on the shoulder. The youngest of the triplets flushes and places her glasses back upon her crown.

"Maybe something was dropped in the hallway?" Noelle opens her mouth to reply—no doubt to offer some half-hearted and thoughtless agreement—when a second _pop_ occupies the moment. My gut clenches, and once more the atrium fills with roaring silence. The cool metal of my knife digs into my spine as I shift and walk toward the door.

"Where's Nathan?" _Where indeed_? The hallway is unusually empty, though protocol dictates at least one guard should be stationed at the end of the hall to patrol its length.

"Something isn't right," the triplets respond in unison. A tingling sensation flashes across my scalp and down my spine. An eager restlessness is quick to follow through my nerves and muscles.

Lights flash from overhead. They blink red in unison three times, pause, then repeat. That alarm sequence means only one thing.

"Wolves," I hiss. A sharp twist of my wrists outward and the bracers ignite. "Nova, get the dragon skin and balaclava. Noelle and Naomi, unlock the cases," I order stepping back from the doors.

"Who put you in charge?" Noelle gripes, though she does as she's told. I may not have seniority when it comes to the Starlight Wardens, but my fighting experience is far greater than the sisters'.

My eyes don't stray from the empty corridor. There is a fair chance the wolves won't make it this deep into the facility. There is also a fair chance that Nathan is dead.

"Here." Nova presses the dragon skin armor into my arms, along with a modified balaclava. Our eyes meet for a split second just before the room goes dark.

Chances are the wolves have made it past the outer web, the first level of the facility, which means there's only one more floor between them and us.

I slip on the armor, which wears like a duster. It falls just above the knee with a slit in both the front and back to allow the wearer better movement. It fits almost as well as the bracers and protects better than the strongest Kevlar. By the time the generator sputters to life, I'm slipping the balaclava over my face and we can all see Nathan's body lying awkwardly at the end of the hallway, a pool of red ballooning around his head.

"What's your poison?" Nova asks. I glance at the sisters to see what they've chosen. Naomi holds a yew staff, Noelle a crossbow with silver darts, and Nova sports two souped-up .44 auto mag pistols. My fingers ache for the butterfly knife in my pants, but I gesture to the bone harpoon.

"Predictable," she taunts. I hold my hand out expectantly. The auxiliary lighting is nothing more than mediocre fluorescents, but they are enough. Minutes tick by as we wait impatiently for an attack, but the only thing to note is Nathan slowly bleeding out.

"Did you hear that?" Naomi asks.

_No_ , I think, _just the sound of my heart in my ears_. Or the slight creak of the floor as Nova shifts restlessly from one foot to the other and the soft whisper of fabric as Noelle adjusts the crossbow in her hold. My eyes drift to Naomi. She is entirely at ease, her body loose, the staff griped only just enough in to keep it standing, eyes closed.

"What do you hear?" I breathe, tilting my gaze back toward the glass doors. The triplets give pause.

"Currents," Naomi answers.

"Electricity," Noelle corrects softly. The fluorescent lights begin to spasm, and one by one burn out. Thankfully, our bracers provide more than enough illumination.

"Fucking wolves," Nova mutters disgustedly as the steady hum of electricity comes to an end all around us. I find myself nodding in agreement. Why is it that every beast and demon chooses to fight in the dark?

Figures emerge, eight in all, and approach the doors.

"W.E.S.T. formation," I order softly. "Naomi, take the south position. Noelle and Nova, flank middle. Trigger point is me." The triplets move quickly and silently to their places as I set myself firmly in the lead point of our diamond shape. The door opens, and a man with raven hair steps cautiously into the glow of our bracers. He sports a lazy smile and a cut on his brow.

"Now, now," he murmurs, "no need for any more bloodshed. We're just here for a teensy, insignificant piece of jewelry. A ring, as it would happen." Something clicks, and a thin flashlight illuminates more of the room. It scores the walls in pursuit of the ring.

"No piece here is as you describe," Naomi responds without inflection. The wolf turns a wayward glance over my shoulder toward her before following the line of the flashlight.

"I stand corrected," the man replies. I note the way his gaze lingers on the south end of the room and stiffen.

"Leave," I command. "You desecrate this sacred place with your mere presence." The man shifts, placing both feet wider apart as his hands form fists at his side.

"That's not very nice," he comments, voice heavy with contempt.

"You're a mongrel," Noelle says.

"A beast," Naomi adds.

"A dog," Nova snarls. She fires at the floor. The bullet lodges itself an inch from his toe, but I'll give the wolf some credit for he doesn't spare it a flinch.

"Woof," he snarks back as something rolls between his legs. A cloud of smoke blooms from the rolling canister and into the heart of the atrium. It fills the room quickly—too quickly—and in seconds we are wreathed in a filmy white haze. Nova fires into the doorway. The sound of splintering glass and tearing flesh bear the brunt of her blind attack.

"Naomi! Fall back to the—"

"On it!" she replies before I can finish. If it's a ring they are after, the southeast section needs to be guarded.

A fist plants itself in my stomach before another thought can dart through my mind. I lurch backward, the force of the hit taking my breath and doubling me over. I clutch the harpoon tightly in my right hand and thrust it up and forward into my attacker's side. The figure in front of me lets out a throaty, masculine growl.

I yank the harpoon back, swinging it about to smack him across the face next, with the light of my bracers to guide me. He hits the ground a second later, and I feel a dark thrill of excitement rush through me. It feels almost sinisterly good to take down my opponents.

My breath sounds heavy in my ears, despite the commotion around me. For a brief second, scenarios and outcomes of the battle whir through my mind. There is no telling how many guards and Wardens have been taken out already on the upper levels, so I must assume the worst; we are all that's left to guard the relics. The bleak thoughts drive my fortitude and thirst of blood.

They'll retrieve their precious ring over my dead body.

I slash my harpoon to the left at the sound of feet. It catches on a body, and I ram it forward with relish. A raspy gasp follows as I yank the head out, then swing the harpoon in an arc to my right. It cuts through the thick smoke but nothing else. My feet shuffle backward, ears straining to hear the next oncoming threat. Another step back. I spin on the balls of my feet and swing the harpoon out to catch another enemy. Nothing.

Action blares behind me. Luminescent green streaks the smoke in jabs and thrusts. Some pause midair, strained and quivering, before forced left and right. There is no time to hesitate.

Instinct guides me as my other senses go into overdrive to compensate for my weakened sight. My harpoon strikes and latches on arms and legs, the press and pull of each motion dragging me closer and closer to the real fight. It feels as though the harpoon is an extension of my body. With each hit, my body surges and feints away, and I can't help the grim smile that lights upon my face as I take another punch to the gut. Then one to the face.

There it is again. The spike of adrenaline. The thirst for pain, whether to inflict or receive it, surges inside me without pause. Something inside me craves the fight. An irrational, adrenaline-laced rush I can't ignore. _A darkness inside me_ , I think as I strike out with the blunt end of the harpoon to jab at the wolf behind me. _A darkness I have lost control of once before._

Something smashes against a glass display case. Or somebody. The empty click of Nova's barrels sound, followed quickly by a startled cry that is unmistakably Naomi's. I favor the weaker sister and dart to Naomi at the southeast end of the room, promptly tripping over a body and falling onto the glass-laden floor.

"Ouch! Watch it," a very feminine reprimand yelps from the ground. I suck in a deep breath and maneuver quickly into a crouch, diving forward into the body. She lets out a cry as we crash into the ground, squirming viscously and banging her hands against my chest as I fight to claim her wrists. "Get off you _bitch_!" she cries.

The sprinkler system activates above us, reacting to the smoke at long last. The woman beneath me sputters in indignation as the water doses us. Giving me the perfect opportunity to capture her hands. She struggles weakly against my hold. It's almost pathetic how weak she is against me. Almost too weak.

My breath catches in my throat, a sudden horrible realization stunning me.

"You're not a wolf," I pant, releasing her hands as if they burn.

The smoke is slowly dissipating around us, and I can make out the fright across her features. But only barely. I scamper off her, a thousand dreadful thoughts slashing through my mind, but one screams above all others: _not again_. Memories unleash themselves upon me with ruthless intent.

—A scared and broken girl clinging to my leg and the last remnants of her humanity. A plea for sanctuary tearing past her blood-soaked lips—

—A secret and betrayal. The strange nuance of hope that things will be all right—

—Human bodies torn to bits and pieces spilled across a chapel floor. The small child feasting on the steps of the altar. My mercy. My mistake—

—The blinding lights of the Auroral Bastille cast down upon me as I answered to the Councils accusations. Falling to my knees at their sentence and wondering how I could have been so wrong—

Something bashes into my back, knocking the air from my lungs. I fall forward. The raven-haired man helps the blonde up off the floor, pulling her into a dramatic kiss.

"Are you all right?" She nods, sparing me a wide-eyed glance. "Do you have it?" She nods again, and the man sounds off a shrill whistle.

_No_. A sharp burst of panic startles me into action, the feathering darkness pooling inside of me goading me back into the fight.

_Stay low_ , my instincts tell me. _Use your environment to your advantage_. My harpoon lays somewhere behind me, but weapons coarse the ground. A jagged piece of glass is clutched in my hand in the next instant, and I slam it into the wolf's foot. He lets out a howl of rage, limping backward and dragging the girl with him.

I stagger to my feet as he rips the glass from his foot, my eyes frantically scanning the room to see most of the wolves retreating and the sisters regaining their ground. A knee surges into my line of vision too quick for me to process and knocks me solidly under the chin. Pain erupts inside my head as I crumple to the ground, my equilibrium further stolen by a heavy blow to my cheek. A final kick to my side leaves me grounded and watching in agony as the wolf and girl sprint away.

"Follow them!" I manage to order, watching as Nova and Noelle give chase through the darkened hallway. Sturdy arms wrap under mine to haul me up, tugging me forward as I take in a few strangled breaths.

"Are you all right?" Naomi asks. I nod and push her away, stalling at the doorway as a rogue idea swims into my head. We needed more bodies to take on the wolves, and I know just the place to get them.

"Stay behind and keep guard," I tell her, turning back around and running to the back of the room where a hidden panel leads to a passageway.

"Where are you going?"

"To fight fire with fire." I throw a quick grin over my shoulder as I pick up my harpoon and the bloodied shard of glass from the ground. Then, I'm running as fast as I can down the passageway to the back of the Banks.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 2

Retribution

My heart is hammering by the time I reach the cages. I cast a wary glance to my left and right, searching for the figures I know to be racing away. Gunfire sounds relentlessly from the Banks, which means not everyone is dead. _Thank God_.

It's late at night, sometime close to midnight, but with the Alaskan summer, that hardly means a thing. In truth, it's barely dusk. As I approach my destination, the dogs we keep bark eagerly from their kennels. I race to unlock their doors, letting them all take a good whiff of the blood-caked shard of glass and harpoon.

"Take a good whiff of that, Dakota," I instruct as the lead dog makes its way to the front of the throng. " _Gehen_!" _Go_. The large malamutes and huskies bark and bristle with enthusiasm. "Attacke." I snarl the German command just before unleashing them into the bright night, the cage door swinging open with a _clang_ as they rush past me. The night air presses through my armor into my skin, but the biting chill doesn't hamper the heat coursing through me. It invigorates me. Fuels the flame of my desires. Though the summer months are coming soon to their end, the nights still bear a slight chill in the air this far north. _It is a fine night to hunt_ , I think as I chase after the dogs whose barks and hollers fill the air.

_Fire with fire_. They certainly won't be expecting this.

The dogs intercept the wolves just as they reach a stash of motorbikes hidden amongst the trees. Several are already equipped with drivers geared up and ready to make their grand getaway. I tighten my grip on the primitive harpoon, feeling the pulse of the Borealis skirting across the surface of its shaft. I adjust the pace of my run, swing my arm in an arch, and release. The harpoon sails ahead, the length of rope attached to it spindling behind. It pierces the arm of some slender wolf, and victory flushes through my veins. Catching the rope midair, I skid to a halt and rewind the rope between my hand and elbow. Once it's taut I give a hearty yank. The wolf stumbles sideways and gives me a look between horror and anger. Its eyes flashing gold in the night.

The wolf yanks back, but I bear down. Heals digging spitefully into the earth. I just needed to hold out a bit longer, until reinforcements—

A body slams me into the ground out of nowhere. I move with the momentum, tumbling forward with the strong arms wrapped around my waist. My feet find purchase on his side, and I push out of his hold, rolling away to tuck myself into a crouch. He mirrors my position, a dark scowl on his features as he pulls himself slowly into a standing position. The bounty of his muscles ripple across tattooed flesh. I cast a rueful glance to the side where the rope lays forgotten.

"I don't want to kill you," he tells me in a husky baritone. I scoff as I mimic his posturing, slowly beginning to circle him. He's much larger than me, somewhere around 6'3" to my 5'9", and with his hair trimmed short, the cut of his jaw seems all the harder. Deep caramel eyes dig into me in assessment, but with my dragon skin armor and modified balaclava, there isn't much for him to see. His eyes linger over my chocolate hair and eyes—eyes which hold the faintest hint of an angle due to my Native Alaskan heritage. His jaw clenches, the muscles of his neck cording slightly as his gaze flickers down then back up. _Men_.

"I can't say the same," I tell him, taking my butterfly knife out. It flashes open with a mere sleight of hand into my palm, and I take a moment to savor its familiar weight. His scowl deepens, and his fists rise defensively. I bare my hands low and wide, ready to attack with the knife, held in possession of my right hand.

We meet in two easy strides, my hand lashing out to deliver a cut to his forearm. He takes the hit with good grace, angling away and throwing a punch before I can retreat. His fist catches my cheek. But it glances off as I swerve back. The wolf presses on, and I force my knife into a more defensive position. I duck the next blow and skirt inward, stabbing at his ribs and hitting my mark. But not without receiving a blow myself. We go on for what seems like ages. Blocking and pressing. Hits landing or steering too wide.

_He's good_ , I credit to myself, _a little too good_.

He moves with military precision, unafraid to press forward even as my knife keeps marking his skin. My foot catches, and a look of shock passes over both our faces as I ungracefully pitch to the side. He's on me in an instant, knocking my blade from my hand and thrusting me against a tree. His hand a sudden vice around my neck.

I struggle to break his choke hold, my feet kicking forward with little effect. He draws himself close, pressing into me and blocking my lower assault. The warmth of his breath skirts across my cheek in heavy puffs as I attempt to strike his face. I aim for his fighter's nose, slanted slightly to the left, the point is moot. I am fighting a losing battle. Black spots emerge in my vision as I struggle to breathe. A tightness ruthlessly grips at my chest. There is no relief from the pain, and it's quick to spread throughout my body. He wears a look of... pity? Sympathy? Either way, it rouses in me one last push. My hands grab his forearm, nails digging viciously into the arm that holds me captive.

His frown returns. The pressure of his grip increasing just a fraction. _Just enough_. My hands slide down the length of his forearm, one hand falling away completely. The other barely holds on, trailing across his skin like some gentle caress. Our eyes lock and the world stops as my fingers brush past my worst fear.

Oh no.

I'm engulfed in a whirlwind of sensation. My lungs begging for breath as my hand clenches around its purchase. It is unlike anything I have ever known, and all from a singular touch. A storm folds over my vision, the creeping darkness fractured by spears of lightning. Something aches inside of me. My soul crying out for more as my eyelids flutter closed.

A startled gasp breaks past his lips as he stares at me aghast. For the briefest of moments, I dare to think I see his eyes flash gold.

"You," he breathes, eyes wild as he takes my wrist and pulls my hand away from the mark on his arm. His _soulmark_. The sensation of warmth—of electricity and fire—departs in an instant. Almost painfully so, I realize when my body shivers at the loss. My heart _aches_.

The wolf tugs me forward, and like some damsel, I crash into his chest, staring up at him in muted horror. He pulls off my balaclava, staring down at my face with such intensity I dare not move. His eyes roam down the slope of my nose and high-cheekbones before settling on my full lips.

"You."

I find my nerve at long last and shake my head, pulling back to no avail. "No." _No, this can't be happening_. Yet, the soulmark that lies upon my hip seems to sear itself deeper into my flesh, sinking itself into my blood and bones. _This wolf doesn't wear just any soulmark_ , I think with dismay, _he wears_ mine. There is no other way to explain what I feel when I touch his mark. And we both know it. This... _this beast_ , is in possession of the other half of my soul, and for all intents and purposes, _is_ my soul mate. My deepening horror draws the blood from my face. _This can't be happening._

"Where is it?" he asks almost frantically, eyes darting over my form as I continue my struggle.

"Let me go," I beg, feeling a wave of fear tear through me. This can't be happening. If anyone finds out about my soulmark, I will be banished. Exiled. And if they find out I have _found_ my soulmark... I rip myself out of his hold, calling on the strength of the bracers like never before. He gapes at my retreat for but a moment, before a steely look crosses over his features.

"Come with me." The husky timbre of his voice drops an octave. A promise lingers at the edges of his posturing. He stretches out a hand. My heart, the traitorous thing, skips a beat. Before I can deign to reply, a sharp crack sounds in the air, and he stumbles sideways, grasping his arm with an angry scowl. My head whips to the side. Nova stands on the back of a motorbike, Noelle in the driver's seat speeding toward us.

"Run," I whisper harshly, eyes never leaving the sisters. I don't dare look back at him, but I can hear his hesitation. Nothing sounds for a long pause, and then the forest floor crunches beneath his hasty departure. I drop to my knees just as the twins near and Nova jumps off the bike, the mysterious man already lost in the dense woods.

"Are you all right?" Nova drops down in front of me, her hands skating over my body to check for injury. They slip upward to cup my face, her fearful gaze cataloging every bruise.

I nod numbly, fighting the urge to cry as Nova rests her forehead against mine. What am I going to do? I draw in a shaky breath and let Nova help me stand and guide me to the bike. She speaks soft assurances near my ear as her sister rounds up the dogs. I lean into her hold in hopes of staving off the memory of his touch. But it's no use. No use at all.

+++

The Council and various members of the Stellar Warriors arrive at the Banks Facility roughly two hours after the attack to take stock of events. There had been only two deaths, but over a dozen people had been injured. Apparently, the wolves had relied heavily on tranquilizer darts and KO gas to gain access to the facility, and the Council was not pleased. They chose to gather in the observatory to hold their summit and collect information. It held just enough space for the Alaskan branch of the Council, all eleven members, plus a few extra.

"I wish they would hurry up," Nova complains. She sports a nasty black eye, made complete with a popped blood vessel that stains her sclera a vibrant red. Her sisters and I fair better, though we all sport some variation of black and blue across our bodies.

Naomi nods her agreement, but it's Noelle who responds to her sister. "I need a hot shower."

A hot shower. A warm bed. Some kind of laser removal treatment for the blasphemous mark on my hip. I still feel some strange phantom reverberation from our earlier contact. Small flashes of euphoria send little bursts of electricity throughout my body when my mind draws his face into focus. That handsome face with its cross demeanor and slightly crooked nose. Or his arms stacked with muscles and lined with ink. Or the way he seemed to tower over me. He exuded masculinity effortlessly, and there was no denying the fact that my body took notice.

"Callie?" My gaze snaps to Nova and her expectant expression.

"Sorry, what did you say?" I ask, giving a small shake of my head to rid myself of my reflections.

"Are you all right?" It's not the question she had been asking by the way her voice softens, and I catch the similar look of concern her sisters cast me.

"Just upset that they got away with the ring," I respond with a sigh. _Some Wardens we are_. As upset as I am to have been unable to protect the relics, I carry an altogether separate worry in my heart. What if the Council deems me unfit to serve the Wardens of Starlight at all? Will they rest the blame for tonight's events solely on my shoulders? Will they count this as my second strike?

"It wasn't your fault, Callie," Noelle tells me firmly. "The odds were against us. We were outnumbered, and the attack was planned. This isn't the first time the Banks has been attacked, you know."

"But it is the first time they've been successful," Nova counters.

"That's not true," Naomi corrects lightly, adjusting her glasses carefully so as not to rest them on the cut across her nose. "Three years ago, that rogue group of Eldritch Witches attacked and stole the Wand of Sorrow. A select group of Wardens and Warriors hunted them down and brought it back."

"Yes, but the Wand of Sorrow meant something to them. It held significant meaning. With it, they could control the shadows. Those wolves stole the Amethyst of Aztec ring. What the hell would they want with that?" My clipped rebuttal stops further protest. "I don't get it."

Nova frowns, mouth opening to speak when the iron doors finally open. We file in silently. The Council arranges themselves in a semicircle with three chairs sitting slightly farther forward than the rest. In the chairs sit Sterling Hall, Karen Baker, and Joseph Sawyer—my father.

"The Council is now prepared to hear your testimony regarding tonight's events. Noelle," Mr. Hall has his pen poised to take notes, "begin."

"The testimony would best be given by Ms. Sawyer," she responds. A murmur of discontent arises from the Council. "Ms. Sawyer took the lead position in response to the attack. She should give testimony."

"Very well," he says, voice neutral and pen still poised. "Ms. Sawyer, when you're ready."

I take a fraction of a step forward and begin, relaying the evening's time line in succinct detail. After completing my version of events, the Council turns its unnerving attention back to Noelle. She explains what occurred when she and Nova separated from the group. Then Naomi gives her account. After answering a multitude of questions, the Council dismisses us to review our testimony.

"Do you think they'll demote us?" Naomi asks, her nerves naturally frayed. The Council had directed most of their questioning toward the youngest Stavok, making their displeasure clear at her lack of action. My intervention on her behalf had done nothing to help.

"No," I tell her, my hand reaching out to give a reassuring pat on her shoulder. She gives me a small smile and shrugs out of my touch. I don't take the minor slight offensively. The Wardens of Starlight aren't known for being affectionate, even in such paltry measure. "They don't gang up like that if they intend to demote or reassign you. At least not in my experience," I say, fighting down a small swell of shame that surfaces at the mention of my past. "It's more pointed. Plus, only one member of the Council will address you. I think we'll be fine."

"We'll be reprimanded," Nova offers, and I nod in agreement. The reassurance does little to relieve Naomi's tension.

"You may enter," a cool voice calls as the door cracks open once more. We enter again, faces devoid of any emotion.

"After reviewing the events of this evening, the Council would like to remind the Starlight Wardens of the Banks Facility of the following: first and foremost, that you vowed to forfeit your lives to protect the Relics of Terra. Yet here you stand, all in one piece," Mrs. Baker remarks, a patronizing lilt to her voice. "Second, that leadership is based on seniority"—I keep my eyes trained on the wall behind the Council's head, well aware of their harsh regard—"unless otherwise sanctioned with Council approval. Lastly, the Starlight Wardens act as a cohesive unit. Wardens do not act alone in their duty, such as scouts or warriors, but as a team in all efforts. I trust this reminder will not need to be issued again?"

We give a clipped, "Yes, ma'am," in return. Mrs. Baker lets out a small sigh and leans back slightly in her chair.

"The Council would also like to commend the Wardens on their ingenuity. We recognize the unusual and difficult circumstances you found yourselves in; faced with a lack of support in an unstable environment, while being outnumbered threefold. You managed to take down four wolves in total and, by your accounts, injured several more. As such, we give further commendation to Ms. Noelle and Nova Stavok for the forethought of using tracking bullets in their pursuit of the attackers, and to Ms. Sawyer." My spine straightens as I look Mrs. Baker in the eye. "Releasing the dogs was a rather clever idea. One that paid off. Furthermore, the Council recognizes your quick thinking and leadership benefited the night's events instead of hampering them." _Gee, thanks_.

"Thank you," I reply, tipping my head toward the Council. She returns the nod and shuffles the papers in front of her.

"Now, onto the next matter: the retrieval of the ring." My heart skips a beat. If the Council has any sense, they'll choose me to go out with a small guard of warriors to retrieve the ring. Or better yet, they'll send me alone. I possess the knowledge and training of both Warrior and Warden, and can retrieve the ring without distraction. It will be like killing two birds with one stone.

I roll my shoulders back, chin lifting an inch. It has nothing to do with the fact that I would be able to do a little reconnaissance on the side. Find out more about the hulking specimen of a man who bore the fang that is our soulmark. Nothing. At. All.

"—which is why the Stavok's will go in two days' time to retrieve the ring," Mrs. Baker finishes.

"Wait—what?" I receive a collective of frowns at my outburst and feel myself color.

"Calliope." My father's voice rings heavy with indignation, and I bow my head.

"My apologies, I only thought—"

"Your thoughts are not what was asked for, Ms. Sawyer. In fact, before you so rudely interrupted, we were about to explain what is expected of you while your cohorts are away." I maintain my submissive stance, though a wave of resentment and unease takes hold. "You will stay behind along with a personal guard of Stellar Warriors to guarantee the safety of the facility and partake in your final examination with the head warden in a week's time. Additionally, you will catalog all the relics to assess the full damage of tonight's offense. Stavok's, you'll be briefed tomorrow with more detail regarding the retrieval of the ring. You're dismissed."

My shoulders sink as we exit the observatory and head down to the second level of the facility to our rooms. So much for my plans.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 3

Secrets to Keep

"I can't believe they don't want me to go," I bemoan, "or that I have to take this stupid exam, weeks early. As if being reassigned wasn't bad enough, now this? It's like throwing salt in an open wound. I have the training of both a warrior and a warden. I'm more than capable of handling this assignment."

Nova raises a brow. "And my sisters and I aren't?"

I run the butterfly knife over my knuckles in quick repetition. "I didn't say that," I tell her flatly, my eyes tracking her movements as she places another shirt into her duffle bag. "You're very capable of going out on assignment, but they're not even sending warriors out with you."

"We've all been trained in the art of combat, Callie," she reminds me tersely. I relax my rigid position and fold the butterfly knife closed in my palm.

"I know," I respond, voice placating and smooth, "but you've never been out in the field. This is the most experience you've had facing supernatural creatures, right?" She nods with a forlorn sigh and zips her bag closed. The triplets are two years younger than me, and though their training is just as extensive as mine—even more so as Starlight Wardens—they couldn't match my skill as a warrior.

"That doesn't mean we aren't ready for this."

I let my silence linger, flipping the knife back open and over my knuckles. "I just think—"

"—that you would be better suited for the mission. _I know_. But that doesn't mean you're right." Her words bring me to a standstill.

"Excuse me?" I ask incredulously. Nova crosses her arms over her chest, her waist-length hair catching in the action.

"Listen, Callie. Noelle might not have noticed because she was driving, but I saw that wolf almost take you _out_." I swallow the sudden lump in my throat, ignoring the discomfort I suddenly feel. "Just when I thought you were about to lose consciousness, all of a sudden it looked like you were about to break your back... and then he let you go. His face looked shocked. _You_ looked shocked."

"You were at least a klick away, Nova," I respond irritably, feeling my calm reserve waver. "How could you have possibly seen?"

"I had a scope on the assault rifle." The color drains from my face as I look away.

"He was shocked because I got a grip on his radial nerve and sank my nails into it."

"He said something to you after. What was it?"

"Some parting words about 'fighting like a girl.'"

The weight of Nova's regard feels like a ton of bricks. I fight to keep an outwardly calm composure, meeting her dark eyes unflinchingly until she unwinds. Nova offers me a small smile.

"I hate it when they do that. Can't guys come up with anything clever?" I let out a forced chuckle.

"Apparently not."

"You're sure everything is fine? I get why you're upset about not being chosen, but you seem more amped up about it than I expected you to be."

Nova comes to sit next to me, her thigh and the length of her arm pressing infinitesimally into my own. The truth crawls at my throat. Nova is my closest friend, and if I'm honest with myself, she is the one person who might not shun me for finding out my secret. The thought carries a strand of hope with it, and I allow myself to lean into her side, taking comfort in her steady presence.

"Can you keep a secret?" I ask quietly, eyes darting nervously to the half-open door of her private quarters.

"I am an expert at keeping secrets," she says with a slightly breathless quality to her voice. I cast her an uncertain glance, noticing the way she leans in closer.

"He didn't let me go because I pinched his nerve. And he didn't make some sleazy, predictable comeback about me being a girl."

"What happened, Callie?"

I worry my bottom lip, surprised to feel a nervous tremor run down all the way to my fingertips. Nova's hand brushes against my own, taking hold of it with a reassuring squeeze. "He wears my soulmark," I blurt out. Nova's grip tightens. Her widened eyes meeting my own as her lips form a small "O."

"He wears your soulmark?" she asks rhetorically. "As in, you have a _soulmark_?" The blood recedes from her face as her gaze falls downward to our joined hands. I give the faintest squeeze in response, holding my breath for her next words. "Oh, Callie."

"It's not like I planned it," I tell her defensively, trying and failing to pull my hand from her grip.

"I know that," she bites back frostily. "You don't get to choose if you have a soulmark or not. You're either born with it or not. I can't believe you never told me before now." My expression goes slack.

"What?"

"I thought we were friends, Callie. More than that even... _shit_." Nova screws her eyes shut and releases me.

"I'm sorry, all right. You are more than just a friend—you're like a sister to me. But you know the consequences I'll face if anyone else finds out I have it." My voice strains at the end, the harsh reality of the Wardens of Starlight's predictable retribution stabbing me squarely in the chest. Banishment, if I'm lucky. Death, more than likely.

"I would never tell anyone," she tells me earnestly, eyes lifting to meet mine. "I know how the Council would react. They'd tear the mark from your flesh with their bare hands, then banish you from the community for having it in the first place. Anything connecting a warden so _intimately_ to the supernatural is forbidden."

"Anything connecting a warden to the _supernatural_ is forbidden," I respond flatly.

"Where is it?"

I let out a brief sigh. "It sits low on my hip. It's always been hidden by my underwear, so I've never been too nervous about anyone spotting it."

"Wouldn't your parents have noticed it when you were young?"

"The shape only became more distinct as I got older. By the time I was eight, it was fully formed, and I didn't need my parents to give me baths anymore," I joke weakly.

"Right," she breathes, swallowing visibly as her gaze darts curiously to my waistline. "Can I see it?"

"Close the door." Nova rushes over to shut it while I stand slowly and unbutton my pants, tugging the zipper halfway down. When she returns to stand in front of me, she places her hands expectantly on her hips, but there are patches of red stealing up over her throat and cheeks.

"Hurry it up," she says jokingly. "I don't have all day."

I fold down my pants on the left side, pushing down my panties an inch as well. The mark is in sharp relief against my tan skin but doesn't look remarkably out-of-place due to the number of tattoos on my body. Nova reaches out before I can protest and runs her fingertips over the slightly raised skin.

"Does it hurt?"

I shake my head and step away from her gentle touch, redoing up my pants. "It's just like a birthmark," I mutter.

"A birthmark that just so happens to have an identical twin on some maniac wolf that also happens to house the other half of your _soul_." Nova takes a large breath after her mini-rant.

"Exactly." We share weak smiles.

"That's why you wanted to go on the assignment?"

My head bobs. "Partly. I still stand by everything I said, but yes. It is partly why I wanted to go—not to be with him. Obviously. I mean he's a lycan for goodness sake. I don't actually plan on going through with the binding process." A semi-hysterical laugh bubbles forth. "That would be insane. I would be exiled, and then for good measure, they would send someone to assassinate me for daring to humiliate the cause in such a way."

"I don't think they would do that...," she hedges. When she catches my unimpressed look, she lets out a hoarse laugh of her own. This one carrying a more honest tune. "They'll just kill you." We both burst into laughter at the gallows humor, the bent-at-the-waist-clutching-at-your-sides kind of laughter. When we finally trickle down into giggles, she takes my hand once more.

"It'll be fine," I tell her, though the words feel sour on my tongue.

"He's your other half. He was made for you," Nova scolds me lightly, "and you were made for him."

"Didn't we just go over the whole 'they'll kill me' thing?"

Nova squeezes my hand before letting go and taking a step back to begin pacing the room. "What were you going to do if you were assigned?"

I sigh and shrug pathetically. "Just observe. See what he's like from afar, I guess."

Nova frowns at my apathetic response. "That's all?"

"I already told you I don't intend to do anything about the mark, or anything equally as stupid." Her frown remains. "What?" I snap, feeling my defenses rising. "You and I both know the Council has my future neatly planned out for me."

"You mean Mrs. Baker and your dad?"

"I'll finish my training with the Wardens, stay for a few years, and then start my study as a council delegate."

"And marry Wyatt," she adds with surprising bitterness. Wyatt Baker, Mrs. Baker's only son. A founding family just like my own. A sinking sensation dwells in the pit of my stomach. Wyatt and I had dated years ago but ended things when I started training as a Stellar Warrior. _It wasn't part of the "plan,"_ he had protested to no avail. The Baker women always held positions on the Council, and Baker men always held positions as Head Stellar Warrior. _Not the other way around_.

I give another helpless raise of my shoulders. "It is what it is." Unless I find some way to validate a life without Wyatt to my dad, or forge a new path on my own.

Her lips purse unhappily as she stops her pacing, her hair swishing dramatically to the side. "And you're positive it's him? That the wolf is your soulmark?" There's a sort of desperation in her tone, a pleading, but I nod my head along sadly.

"You said you saw it yourself. I touched his mark and the reaction was instantaneous."

"All you did was touch it? You're sure he didn't seal the mark? Or anything else?"

"I'm positive," I tell her with more confidence than I feel. "There are words that have to be spoken while the soulmark is being touched for the sealing to happen,"— _at least that's what our books on the subject say_ —"The same goes for the other two steps; the marking and binding of the soulmark. Words are said. The soulmark is touched."

"And once all three steps are completed, the sealing, marking, and binding, your souls are joined as one," Nova finishes, staring off into the distance. I feel my stomach turn uneasily. So the books say.

"But he didn't say anything," I persist. "And _I_ didn't say anything. So we aren't sealed."

"And what I saw?" Nova questions somewhat cautiously.

"Shock and awe," I offer after a moment's hesitation, the truth spilling forth. "One second I'm on the verge of passing out. The next, we're both hit with a tidal wave of emotion. It was like being swept up in the sweetest storm as it rained down this tremendous heat and—" _desire_ "—fullness," I finish lamely.

"Fullness?" she asks dubiously.

I nod fervently. "It's hard to explain," I tell her, opening and closing my butterfly knife as I begin to pace as well. "It was as if I could feel this all-consuming _feeling_ in every part of my body."

She raises an eyebrow, arms slow to fold over her chest once more as her lips twitch upward. "Feeling?"

I blush. "Not that kind," I lie.

"Right." She snorts and goes to sit on the bed by her bag. "Well, if you want, I can do some covert reconnaissance on him for you? Find out the basics. Name, age, history, medical records. You know, just the basics."

The weight of my secret lifts fully from my shoulders, and I give a breathy laugh. "That would be," I pause, thinking of the right word and coming up empty, "nice."

Nova gives me a small smile in return, one that doesn't exactly meet her eyes as she pats the spot beside her. "You've got it. Now, show me that knuckle trick again."

+++

It's late, and the triplets left hours ago. The remnants of my displeasure linger in my muscles and mind. I appreciate what Nova is doing for me, but I still can't stem the jealousy I hold, or the stifling notion that things are falling into place, just as my father has planned.

My fists careen into the punching bag with ruthless efficiency, the bracers I wear enhancing my force and sending it nearly off its hinges. I grasp onto it, steadying the bag as I pant from my exertion.

"You're in a fine mood tonight, Calliope," comments a familiar voice from behind. _Wyatt._ I frown at the bag and keep my back toward him. His light footsteps echo in the empty gym until he comes to stand by me. I cast a wary look his way.

"What do you want?"

His eyebrow arches scrupulously while his gaze ventures the length of my body. I tense, but he sends me an easy smile, relaxing his stance and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Need any help?" His eyes flick to the bag and then to my bracers. "You'll knock it off if you keep going at it like that." I nod begrudgingly. There's too much adrenaline in my veins to stop now, and the whole purpose of coming to the gym is to tire myself out, so I can sleep tonight. Wyatt moves to stand behind the punching bag, placing his hands securely on it.

"One-two, weave, weave, two-three," he instructs me, voice dropping any lilting amusement in favor of something more serious. _Jab, cross, double weave, cross, hook_. I nod and bounce on my feet, taking in several deep breathes before going into the combination. Even with Wyatt stabilizing the bag and providing resistance, my hits push him and the bag back.

"How about something more... challenging?" I ask, stepping away from the bag after completing a repetition. Wyatt peeks his head out from behind the bag to study me.

"How long have you been going at it?"

I shrug. "Maybe forty minutes?"

He frowns. "And you want to keep going?"

I nod and put my hands back up in front of my face, bouncing once again on my toes. He gives a small shake of his head.

"Fine. Lead front kick, one-two, lead side kick, back kick." I catch the gleam in Wyatt's eyes and feel a grin tinker at the corner of my lips. That combination is more of a challenge.

Wyatt knows just how to push me—which is both a good and bad thing. With Wyatt I learned to push past my limits, exceeding my expectations time after time with him at my side. He gave me the confidence to believe in myself, but he also knows how to take that confidence away. Wyatt knows exactly what buttons to press and triggers to pull to bend me to his will.

My left foot nails the side of the bag with a sharp _smack_. As I plant it back on the ground, I twist myself around to deliver the back kick with my right. _Smack_.

"Feeling stressed?" he asks.

I feel my concentration waver for a moment, and my lead front kick doesn't land nearly as well as the previous. A frustrated air issues past my lips. _Jab. Cross_. _Am I feeling stressed_? I move with the bag, toggling from side to side before launching into my side kick and twirling into my back kick with vicious accuracy.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

I scoff, sending him a look that displays my skepticism. Talk to Wyatt? Never again will I let this man in on my innermost thoughts. My feet shuffle backward and forward as I find my pace again, speeding through the next interval with concentrated breaths. All the while his eyes are on me, staring me down in a way I'm much too familiar with. I'm lucky Wyatt never thought twice about my fanged soulmark. To him, it was just another tattoo among the many. A moon on the back of my neck. A trident down my forearm. A shield on my shoulder blade. A dozen other tiny insignificant markings to hide the one that meant the most.

"I'm fine," I tell him through gritted teeth, pushing on. The punching bag rattles with each hit of my fists and feet, Wyatt's small grunts of effort providing infinite satisfaction.

"Right." He snorts, pulling back and signaling me to stop. He shakes out his wrists, eyeing me with a small level of disapproval. "How about you fight against something that'll give you a real challenge?"

I take a couple of steps back, my breath coming in deep gasps as I attempt to catch it. "Are you suggesting yourself?" I ask dryly.

He gives a confident smirk in return, popping the knuckles on his right hand. "We both know I can give you what you want," he says, a husky edge to his voice. Not bothering to wait for my response, he strips off his shirt and goes to grab the hand wrap and a set of gloves. "No bracer power," he comments over his shoulder. "Just us. One on one."

I flick my wrists with purpose, and the luminescent light sinks back into the iron bracelets. If he thinks he can beat me, he has another thing coming to him.

"Ready?" I ask after he's taken a few minutes to warm up.

He gives a brief nod and circles forward. At first, we both pull our hits, dodging and feinting as we take up the violent dance. In no time at all, our movements become quicker. Harder. There is a comfort in this act with him. At least to me, there is. It touches the part of my soul that craves the fight, that yearns to inflict pain. My darkness; an all-consuming feeling of feral rage, that dominates me as I lose myself in a fight. It is considered a curse among our people, a blemish on one's sanity, but if I'm honest, the soulmark feels more damning.

Wyatt takes my hits with good grace, waiting me out patiently as I work out my aggression on his body. It doesn't take long for me to feel fatigued, which is of course is when he comes at me.

I should have seen it coming. I should have learned by now—should have remembered—that he knows me. He knows how I move and how to read my body. He can expertly predict what I'll do next and how to take advantage. Wyatt works his way meticulously inside and under my guard. Throwing hammer-sized blows to my torso until he all but levels me with an uppercut. I fall to the ground, sideswiping my feet out in retribution. His body lands close to mine with a startled grunt.

"I thought we were boxing, not kickboxing," he grumbles good-naturedly, nudging my calf with his foot.

I pull off my gloves to rub my jaw. "Good hit," I begrudgingly offer, hauling myself up onto my feet.

"Want to go another round?" He's up on his feet a second later, following me to the other side of the room where I put the boxing gloves away.

"No."

"How about a different workout?" His voice tumbles into that husky tone again, the one he so often likes to use to coax me into submission. An echo of feelings long since lost shivers their way up my spine as I recall our old "post-workouts."

"No," I tell him firmly, tossing my hand wraps into a laundry basket and briskly walking away. He jumps ahead of me, slamming his hand out against the wall to block my path. "I'm not getting into it tonight with you, Wyatt," I practically growl, rearing back my fist to deliver a swift punch to his arm. As if expecting this reaction, he uses my momentum against me and pins my arm against the wall.

"Were you always this feisty when we were together?" he asks with a charming smile, eyes smoldering with intent.

I snap my head forward, hoping to catch his nose with my head-butt, but he lets out a bark of laughter and slams me back against the wall instead. His forearm and elbow dig into my clavicle. A noise of frustration passes my lips as my eyes dart to the side.

"What do you want, Wyatt?" I growl.

He loses the smile, leaning forward until his forehead rests against my own. "You know what I want, Callie. What I've always wanted." I keep my eyes to the side, not daring to look into his honey-colored eyes. "You. Us."

"Don't."

"You've been avoiding me."

"I was reassigned," I remind him blandly, keeping my face expressionless as he trails his fingers along my neck, tracing the bruises. "I've also been busy. Besides, there's no need to avoid you. We aren't together anymore. We haven't been for years. There's no reason for me to see you."

He lets out an indignant scoff. "Ours is a small community, Calliope. Besides, after last winter. I—"

"Last winter was a mistake," I bite out, pinning him with a hard look. His fingers stall on the side of my neck. And I don't care if our Native Alaskan community is small.

"Apparently it was a mistake worth repeating," he tells me, all false charm and barbed words. "What was it, a dozen times? More?"

My palm rams into his lower sternum, and he lets out a grunt, pushing into me harder until our bodies are pressed tightly against one another. His head dips, and he nips near the bruises on my neck. I let out a startled gasp and go rigid.

"You can't run from me, Calliope. We were always meant to be together, and now that I've been assigned as part of the extra guard for the facility, we'll be seeing a lot more of each other."

"You didn't," I protest, rearing to the side and away from the soft pull of his teeth and lips.

He meets my horrified look with half-lidded eyes. "I spoke with our parents, and they approved."

I bite the inside of my cheek, fighting off the sharp sting of emotion that suddenly rises within me.

"Don't be that way, Calliope," he tells me tightly, his features hardening. "There's no need to get worked up about this. You and I both know—hell, everybody knows that we were always going to end up together. Save the theatrics, all right? You're acting like a child."

"Fuck you," I spit, stumbling backward farther. Wyatt reaches out for me, but a well-placed kick leaves him doubled over at the waist. He lets out a pained whine.

"Callie—" His glossy eyes send me a glare that promises vengeance.

"Save the theatrics, Wyatt," I deliver coolly. "You're acting like a child." As I walk away, a strange tightness surrounds my heart. Quite suddenly the idea of being bound to a wolf seems far more appealing than the alternative.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 4

One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

Proctor's Knife...

Hamelin Pipe...

Obsidian trident...

Eight sets of poisoned-tipped pilum...

Ammit Amulet...

Enchanted coral necklace...

Cataloging the relics is a shit task. What makes it even more shitty is the fact that we're shorthanded and relic storage totals three floors. I'm assigned the atrium—by myself—and I'm on the fourth day of the monotonous task. The cherry on top? Only one display case out of the hundreds that lined the walls had been smashed open and its contents removed. All other displays were left untouched in the assault. On every level. Yet protocol dictates a complete catalog of the relics.

Chains of the Wasted...

Sanctum's Collar...

Two sets of Spring Jade rings...

Five sets of Chameleon bracelets...

A dozen Daylight rings...

Vagrant's Whip...

I understand the reasoning behind the task, but that doesn't mean I like it. On the upside, the cataloging proves to be a great aid to my studying. I'm sure I passed my oral exam with Felicia the other day. Too bad there's no one to share in my hypothetical accomplishments. The triplets have been gone a little over a week so far, and between carrying out miscellaneous tasks to secure the Banks Facility, cataloging relics, and taking my oral exam, I'm feeling extremely restless.

Harpe Sword...

Ophelia's Kestros...

Onyx Bident...

Bone Sword of Shadows...

Tigre Claws...

Caster's Diadem...

Phoenix Fire Elixir...

The Council finally departed yesterday. They left behind more guards and Stellar Warriors. They'd also left behind instructions for newer, stricter protocols. Not that I'm privy to the changes. They are "above my grade," as my father put it.

"Are you almost finished?" I look down from the ladder I'm perched on. It's Felicia Metzart.

"Yes." _Thank God_.

"Thank God," I hear her mumble under her breath as she flips through some pages on her clipboard. Her glasses already rest low on the bridge of her nose and slide forward even more as she scribbles something down. "We're behind schedule thanks to that little attack while I was away, which means your written exam is going to be moved forward." She shakes her head with an exaggerated huff. "So"—she gives her pen a decided click and peers up at me—"since your oral exams went well, I'll need your assistance in some of my tasks before you take your written portion."

"Of course," I respond.

"Perfect. Finish up here, and then meet me at the observatory. Now that the Council is finished setting up shop in there, I can do my work. I'm assuming you read yesterday's memo about the solar flare?" I nod my head. "Good. The upgraded solar panels collected enough of the flare to finish the backlog of relics needing Borealis Matter impartation. And because the backlog is two weeks overdue now, the imparting process will be unstable. Hence, more hands are needed for the process. Your hands, to be specific."

"Seriously?"

"Since this will be your first time participating in the imparting process, I'll walk you through it with a non-relic. That way you can get a real feel for how it's done."

" _Seriously_?"

She sends me a glare, not at all amused by my genuine bewilderment. "I don't like repeating myself, Sawyer. We'll impart the Borealis on that butterfly knife you keep on you. Meet me in the observatory in ten." She walks away, flipping through her papers as she goes. The sharp click-clack of her heels sounds loudly in the tiled hallway.

It takes a long moment for the significance of the offer to sink in, and then I'm scrambling down the ladder, hesitating a beat later when I reach the last step. If I'm being offered the opportunity to work with Felicia, then that means I'm on track to become her protégé, which means being one step closer to becoming a master in the field and eligible for a spot on the Council.

"Damn," I whisper, gently knocking my head against one of the rungs of the ladder.

Partaking in the imparting process is a coveted role among the Wardens. Only a select few are allowed to handle the Borealis Matter and the instruments used to impart it into the relics. It's a job that requires meticulous precision and steady hands, since imparting too much could change the relic's natural disposition to dark matter. Too little, and its power can't be harnessed.

There's also the issue of residual Borealis Matter escaping into the contained environment and sinking into those who are imparting. In the wrong hands, the Borealis Matter can be used to make anyone superhuman in strength and speed, and who knows what else. This is the real reason why the process was entrusted to so few people. And I just made the list.

There's not much time allowed for me to dawdle heading to the observatory, but I find my feet dragging under me regardless. Did Felicia really mean to take me on as her protégé? What about seniority?

"Finally," Felicia remarks, tucking a strand of mahogany hair behind her ear as I enter the room. "Let's get going. We don't have all day."

The observatory houses a large aperture telescope that takes up nearly half the room. The other half is a combination of mirrors, filters, and crystal-like pieces of machinery that collect and store the Borealis Matter. It's hard to believe just a day ago the Council had taken up the space.

"Watch me," she instructs. "Metals, earthen, and precious stones all have different procedures. Set your blade on the table here."

I slip the knife from the back of my pants and place it on the table gently. Felicia clears her throat, eyeing me pointedly as she begins to press a combination of buttons from left to right. It follows a simple enough pattern, diverting only once to flip a switch near the bottom right of the machinery.

"Roll up your sleeves and dip your hands into the resin over there. Make sure it's up to your wrists. It will help with the handling of the knife once the imparting is complete. Since it's not a relic, we won't be imparting much, somewhere around 220BM." I can feel my eyes widen and my face pale, though I feel a stir of excitement. That kind of power is almost equivalent to that of an electric fence.

"Yes, ma'am," I breathe, stepping eagerly over to the barrel of resin she speaks of. "Felicia?" I ask tentatively, dipping my hands into the cold liquid carefully.

"Hmm?"

"Why exactly am I here? Why I am helping you?"

Felicia gives me a look of confusion, pocketing her pen and setting down her clipboard. "Your father came to me, along with a few other members of the Council"— _Mrs. Baker most likely—_ "and they expressed to me their interest in you taking on more responsibility."

I plant a false smile on my face, heart sinking as my suspicion is confirmed. There went the last of my hopes for planning my future myself. "I understand."

"Do you?" she asks, voice wary as she watches me pull my hands from the thick liquid. I nod. Felicia frowns at me, though it feels heavily of pity. "Listen, I know all about your history, but this is a great opportunity for you. You might not find the work here as action-intense as your old role, but it is stimulating. With that being said, the private fellowship under me is yours. Don't let me down."

"I'll do my best."

"Good," she says, approaching me and the basin. "Miles, stay on at the directory. I'll be helping Calliope on deck today." The older gentleman sets himself up behind a large U-shaped desk full of knobs, switches, and screens. Felicia pushes up her sleeves and dips her hands into the resin, eyeing my knife with unveiled interest.

"It was a gift," I tell her, "from my grandmother."

"I know all about your grandmother," she responds with a kind smile, the one that people usually wear when the subject is broached. Grandma Lynn was a fierce woman and a legendary Stellar Warrior. She died fending off a cluster of sirens from her team. The butterfly knife had been hers. "Maybe the knife should be considered a relic."

Felicia lifts her hands from the resin and strides toward the table. She has an eager look on her face as she peers down at the knife.

"What do we do?"

She sends me a brilliant smile. "First, we activate our bracers." I nod, and my bracers illuminate a second behind Felicia's. "The lasers will create a small-scale celestial sphere around the knife. It's our job is to maintain the sphere as the Borealis lashes out in small bursts and streaks. We use our hands to block these outbursts and guide them back onto the sphere's surface. Miles, adjust the lasers to a fifty-degree angle and dial the increments in ten."

"Will it hurt?"

Felicia shakes her head, sparing me a grin.

"Does it hurt Miles?"

"Nope!" he calls cheerfully from his seat, sparing me the same grin as Felicia. A nervous flutter of anticipation starts in my stomach.

"Don't worry," she says with a soft laugh, "you'll be fine. More than fine. Just follow my lead. Toward the end, the streaks will come more rapidly, which is one of the reasons why the bracers must be engaged. The whole process should take about ten or fifteen minutes."

I let out my nerves in a stream of air and mirror Felicia's stance: hands raised to my chest, palms facing outward, legs shoulder-width apart. A look of rapt focus comes over Felicia's features in the next instant; then she sends a decisive nod to Miles. The whirl of the electronics and machinery hum to life and a strange static fills the air. It lifts the hair on my arms and back of my neck. Another second passes by, and a concentrated stream of light erupts from the lasers, hitting the knife at each end. It lifts into the air, the lasers slowly ticking upward as a growing sphere of transparent golden light grows around the blade. It stops at chest level, the sphere no bigger than a foot in diameter.

"Ready for phase two: Borealis Matter Impartation." The whirl of machinery whines louder, with the delicate hum of electricity skirting the edges of my hearing. The sphere changes color, a delicate turquoise tinted more green than blue. The same color that floods through the etchings on our bracers. A wisp of blue light curls upward from the top of the sphere, and Felicia reaches out a hand to gently smooth it back over the curve.

"Will they all be that small?"

She shakes her head. "They grow a bit bigger and produce faster as the process continues and the voltage increases. You'll take the ruptures on your side and the top of the sphere. I'll take my side and the bottom. Understand?"

I lick my lips in anticipation and nod, waiting with bated breath for the next wisp to appear. It rises near the right side of the sphere, and my hand darts out eagerly to meet it. I suck in a harsh breath as a trill of energy skates across my nerves. My fingers gently flatten the wisp back along the sphere, though they have a distinct trembling quality to them as they pull back. The energy cuts abruptly from my fingertips and sinks past my muscles into my bones. Another harsh breath careens past my lips as the afterglow leaves me feeling _flushed_.

"That's...." I lick my lips once more, eyes darting nervously to Felicia as a blush rises to my cheeks.

"Intense?"

A somewhat strangled laugh surfaces from me as I nod my head. A wisp lashes out tantalizingly near the top of the sphere, and I smooth it down, noting this particular strand takes slightly more persuasion. It levels me with the same current of energy as the last. It pulses through my body in short bursts. _Like miniature supernovas_ , I think.

"Yes," I finally say, noting that the wisps and tendrils snaking out are increasing in frequency. They snap at my fingers, licking up my palms and delivering their pointed shocks. The resin that coats my hands begins to darken. Spider-like veins spread and spill across the protective coating with each lash of the Borealis. Soon a light sweat builds at the back of my neck. My breath comes in short, soft pants as my hands are set to work in tandem to corral the excess matter. A buzzer sounds from somewhere behind, and the workings of machinery slows down to a calm hum. The sphere recedes. The knife returns to the table's surface, and the lasers turn off.

My body is strung with power. It courses through my veins and brings about a heady sensation. Every movement I make sends a small thrill up my spine. I can feel it all. My muscles stretching. The shift of the air against my skin. How ridiculously ablaze I am.

"No wonder not everyone is allowed to do this," I say. "People would be lining up out the door to get their shot." Felicia and Miles laugh. I cave instantly and join in. _Holy shit_. "That's better than sex," I insist, walking with Felicia to a sink on the far side of the room to peel off our used resin.

"Sweetie, if you think that's better than sex, you've been having sex wrong," she tells me matter-of-factly. "Don't get me wrong, it is a rush. And it will give you a major high, but there's no payout. No... release, if you get what I mean. It'll just leave you feeling on edge until you can figure out a way to take the edge off."

I find myself coloring, eyes skirting to the observatory doors where I know Wyatt and Tucker stand on guard outside. My mind wanders back to a time when Wyatt and I were still together. The sex we had, had been great, but it lacked something. _Intimacy. Meaning._ Two something's, apparently. Toward the end of our relationship, the dynamic between us had changed. After I applied to train as a Stellar Warrior, Wyatt had gone to great lengths to express his displeasure. It showed in the way he treated me in the bedroom. The dominance of his actions left me feeling small and used, like he was trying to put me in my place.

"Ready to go again?" Felicia asks, walking over to the barrel of resin.

"Of course," I tell her tightly. She flashes me a knowing smile, though she interprets my mood incorrectly. Miles fetches the butterfly knife from the table and places it in a glass cylinder filled with a red liquid.

"Then let's get started on the rest of the relics."

+++

It takes close to six hours for us to make our way through the relics. All that remains is an ancient Viking Thunder round shield. Felicia insists on a break before we work on the last item, and I sigh in relief. My T-shirt has long since been stripped off, but the camisole I wear underneath is soaked. Even Felicia has stripped down to a workout tank and shorts, both of which were hidden beneath her lab coat.

"You look a bit wound up, Callie," Wyatt whispers jovially from behind me. The smug undertone of his voice reverberates across my bare shoulder and elicits a shiver down my arms. "I suppose the rumors are true about the imparting process."

"You're not supposed to be in here," I tell him a mite breathlessly while tossing away my empty water bottle. He steps into my line of vision, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"If you'd like, I can help you let off some steam. I don't mind being your... punching bag, so to speak."

"That's unnecessary," I tell him sweetly. "I can work it out by myself. You're not much company wise."

Wyatt's smirk drops, and the color rises on his cheeks. "I wouldn't let this fellowship position go to your head. The only reason you have it is because my mother insisted."

"And my father," I add. "I'm aware."

"As long as you know who put you there," he says, rolling back his shoulders and taking on an unaffected air. The words bring an uncomfortable pang, but knowing he's only saying these things to upset me makes them somehow easier to handle.

"Don't you have somewhere to be? Like somewhere far, far away from me?"

He reaches out a hand, but I sidestep the touch. The movement is abnormally fast, and the shock of it wears on his face. His hand falls lamely to his side. "You can't avoid me, Calliope. Not here, at least. There's nowhere for you to run that I can't follow."

There is a constriction of my lungs. An un-ignorable seizure of my muscles as a ripple of anger floods me. I grit my teeth against the heightened emotion, knowing full well that the Borealis Matter spurs it to such heights. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Felicia and Miles and become aware of how quiet the room is.

"You should go," I finally tell him. Wyatt presses forward, an earnest expression coming into his eyes. His hand reaches out to me once more, but it halts when the alarm lights go off overhead. Three red flashes, pause, repeat. Wolves. Again. Wyatt turns and sprints toward the observatory door. I follow not a beat behind, beating him easily.

Wyatt's body slams into my own, my wrist crumpling between myself and the door with a small but audible crack. Grabbing me by the shoulders, he hauls me away from the door, shooting me an incredulous look.

"You're not a warrior anymore, Calliope," he grunts, yanking the door open. "Let me and the boys handle this." The door closes behind him with a snap, and a series of clicks resound throughout the room. My eyes widen in panic.

"No," I mutter, tugging at the door handle with my good hand. Locked.

"Protocol states—"

"Fuck protocol!" I snarl at Miles, snatching my hand back to cradle my left wrist. A hand comes to rest on my arm as I silently seethe. My wrist gives a painful throb. It's broken. There's no doubt about it. Felicia turns me around, a dark scowl upon her beautiful features.

"Let me see it," she commands. I present my wrist to her, and she lets out an aggravated sigh. "Come on." I follow her to one of the smaller tables scattered across the room and take the seat she offers. "Lay your hand and wrist as straight as possible. Miles, grab some medical wrap and a couple of splints from the med kit. Quickly." Felicia adjusts my wrist carefully, ignoring my hiss of pain. "With the Borealis Matter so fresh in your system, you'll heal fast. I wouldn't be surprised if it's better by the end of the night, but if we don't set this properly now, it could heal incorrectly."

Miles returns with haste to work with Felicia on setting my wrist. I purposefully ignore the knowing looks Miles shoots my way throughout the process. _Let me and the boys handle this_. Wyatt's words play in my mind on repeat. Like the most annoying song ever.

"We're going to forget this little incident occurred, understood?" Felicia's voice holds a precariously tense note to it. I nod my head stiffly. Miles offers the same response, though a tad more eagerly. "Miles, lock down all the equipment per protocol. We'll help in a moment."

Miles walks off, and I keep my gaze steadfast on the metal table, squaring my shoulders as much as I can for the upcoming reprimand. "What were you thinking?" she hisses. I let out a small exhalation, head shaking dismally from side to side.

"I wasn't," I tell her. _It had been instinctual_. _Second nature_.

"You're damn right," she responds. "The atrium might house priceless relics, but the observatory houses expensive equipment. Equipment that is extremely hard to come by without raising a lot of eyebrows." My head bobs. Felicia lets out a frustrated sigh. "Look at me, Calliope." I do so. "This can't happen again."

Her eyes flick toward Miles surreptitiously, and I note the way he observes us from afar. "I understand," I whisper.

"Good. How's your wrist feeling?"

I give my fingers an experimental wiggle and scrunch my nose in response. "Shitty," I admit.

"Take a few more minutes and then come watch me shut down."

"Felicia." The 5'4" woman pauses midstride to pass me a look over her shoulder. "Wolves are attacking again." The red light continues to flash above us. By this point last time, the wolves had cut the power. Why hadn't they done so again?

"I'm aware," she says dryly.

"And the power is still on," I continue, following her with measured steps.

Felicia turns to face me, folding her arms over her chest, a look of annoyance stealing through her gaze. "I'm also aware that the power is still on. Thank goodness."

"But why?"

" _Why_?" She lets out a scoff and turns back around, walking toward a string of switches and levers running across a wall. "How should I know?"

The lights stop, and so do I.

"Great!" Felicia exclaims. "Now we don't have to continue to shut down. Miles."

"On it," he answers excitedly, quickly rebooting all that he'd turned off. I remain frozen in my stance, mind whirling a thousand miles per minute. It seems extremely unlikely for the wolves to attack again in so little time. They had gotten exactly what they came for. So why the second-round hit? Unless....

"Callie?"

_They aren't the same_.

"Callie?"

_It's a different pack_.

"Calliope!" My head jerks to the side at the sound of my name. Felicia and Miles both look at me expectantly. "Your wrist?"

I stretch my fingers. The muscle and bone are tight, but the pain has lapsed. I give a short nod of my head and join Felicia. It takes a great amount of effort to concentrate on her words, but by the time we are finished rebooting and imparting the final relic, I know one thing for sure. We have two enemies pounding on our front door. It's just a matter of figuring out who and why.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 5

Bad Reputation

I'm escorted back to my room an hour after we've finished the last relic. All of us are. The men who accompany us have no news to share, which is complete bullshit. I find myself pacing my room, anxiously waiting for Wyatt to turn up. Surely, he'll want to gloat. Or at least hold some tantalizing piece of information over my head, without telling me the full story. I will take what I can get.

"Knock, knock," Wyatt's voice calls as his knuckles rap against my door. The door inches open without my reply. "Can I come in?"

I usher him inside with an impatient sweep of my hand and plant myself on the edge of my bed. "Well?"

"They're dead." _Christ_.

"All of them?"

He nods, running a hand over his jaw. "Not the wolves, the dogs."

My stomach drops. "The... dogs?" Despite myself, a quiver runs through my voice. The dogs? They killed the fucking dogs? "All of them?"

"That's what I said, isn't it?" he snaps. My mouth shuts. I pale at the disturbing news. "They disabled the new perimeter alarms and took out the dogs before charging the facility. The atrium is a mess. We don't even know if they took anything or if they just wanted to cause chaos."

"Maybe both," I offer softly, mind whirling. I blink back the tears that gather along my vision. "Even Dakota?"

Wyatt takes a seat next to me, grabbing my hand and giving it a rough squeeze. "Sorry, Calliope," he mutters. I slip my hand from his hold and rub it along the back of my neck.

"Mongrels," I spit out. Wyatt's hand moves to rest on my thigh, and I let out a little defeated sigh. There is no point in scampering away like some scared rabbit.

"Your bruises are gone," he finally says after a minute, his eyes lingering momentarily on my wrist. I clench my jaw and slowly exhale.

"Borealis Matter."

Silence crawls into the space between us, broken by the squeaking of the bed as Wyatt shifts. I cast him a sidelong glance, but his gaze rests solely on the hand placed on my thigh.

"I'm sorry about earlier," he apologizes, "but you know how it is now." _Let me and the boys handle this_.

I raise a shoulder nonchalantly, letting my hands settle in my lap. "Forget about it," I tell him, even though I have no intention of doing so.

"I kept thinking of you out there," he admits, leaning in closer. "I couldn't help but think if you were there by my side we could have taken down the whole lot of them." His fingernails begin to dig softly into my thigh.

"Wyatt...." My heart skips a beat, knowing precisely what he intends to do next. Knowing I'll do nothing to stop it. _But why_? A small voice cries in my mind.

Wyatt twists, his lips planting themselves against mine in stunted urgency. We tumble back onto the bed, lips slanting over each other like an old habit. But there is nothing there behind it. No spark. No feeling. It's certainly nothing in comparison to the mere touch of the mysterious wolf's soulmark, but at least it takes the edge off this need crawling under my skin. Wyatt reels back after a long minute, taking in my lackluster performance with a sculpted frown upon his brow.

"What's wrong?" I shake my head, eyes flying to the wall. _Anywhere but him_. Wyatt leans back in slowly, letting his lips run along the length of my throat before nipping at my ear. "Upset that you had to keep the darkness at bay?" I suck in a sharp breath, shoving him away with both hands. He lets out a mean laugh as he almost falls off the bed, enjoying my fury.

"Take it back," I order firmly.

"Come on, Calliope," he cajoles. "No one takes on a nest of wendigo and lives to tell the tale if they don't have that killer instinct inside them. Own your darkness."

"Get out," I command, lacing steel into my words.

Wyatt hesitates before delivering a mocking bow. "The Council will be here in a few hours. I'd suggest you clean up and get ready for questioning," he says lightly.

"Why would they question me?"

He straightens, rolling back his shoulders and pinning me with a superior look. "I'm sure they'll want to question you after I finish giving my report of the events." I swallow hard, but say nothing more. He departs with a satisfied smile on his face, leaving me to stew and brood over what I might expect.

+++

The stirring sensation of the Borealis Matter has mostly passed. The proverbial "itch" scratched behind closed and locked doors. Afterward, I wait patiently for a Council crony to come and lead me away. They came. I went. And, well... it could have gone better.

"Ms. Sawyer, I had hoped not to see you so soon after our last meeting," Mr. Hall comments, shuffling the papers in front of him idly. He peers at me over the rims of his glasses. "But alas, as Mr. Baker detailed, you attempted to, and I quote, 'take charge of the situation and aid the Stellar Warriors. By force, if necessary.' In your insistence, you 'pushed and shoved' Mr. Baker—"

"That's not true," I tell the Council sharply. "Mr. Baker's account is wrong."

Mr. Hall takes off his glasses to clean them on the end of his shirt before responding, "And what part is wrong?"

"All of it." The Council breaks out into angry murmurs, and I catch my father's disgruntled scowl.

"Do explain yourself," he calls from his seat. I straighten, taking a calming breath before speaking.

"The alarm went off, and I rushed to the doors to activate the security protocols via the security panel. There was a bit of pushing and shoving, though not on my part. Mr. Baker was keen to exit the observatory and assist his comrades. I was keen on securing the observatory."

"I see," my father grumbles.

"I'm happy to have cleared up the matter. It would have been unfortunate for the Council to make a decision based solely on one report."

"And your supervisor, Felicia Metzart, can corroborate your story?" Mrs. Baker asks slyly. I give a brief nod. "How very interesting," she says confidently.

The smile I suddenly sport feels brittle. Mr. Hall opens his mouth to speak when I press on. "What's interesting?"

Mrs. Baker wears that cat-that-got-the-canary look. The one her son likes to don so frequently. "Well, I don't think it will come as a surprise to you when I say, between Wyatt and yourself, the Council is more inclined to believe the former given your... history." I swallow down the hurt that comes with her well-placed hit, the smile on my face fading. "You understand, don't you, dear? We'll certainly be sure to crosscheck the facts of the evening with Ms. Metzart and—"

"And when her version is the same as mine?" I ask. Mrs. Baker stops short at my interruption, the satisfaction waning from her smile.

"While doubtful, if your stories do align, then Wyatt will be reprimanded accordingly. However, if the inverse is true, then a reprimand befitting the situation will be applied to you."

"Which means?"

"Which means, Ms. Sawyer, you've been in front of this Council several times in the past year. All for disorderly behavior. We have been lenient thus far—"

"Lenient? The first time I made a mistake you completely reassigned me! There was no discourse to handle it," I shout.

"Enough!" my father cries, slamming his hands down on the table—one constructed of flesh and bone, the other of metal and fiber. The latter a direct result of an encounter with a ruthless vampyré. "That is enough. Your report of the evening's events has been recorded, as has your ill-mannered behavior. Go."

It definitely could have gone better, but at least afterward I was able to get some information out of the younger warriors, such as the Council's rapidly growing concern about wolf attacks and how the most recent attack is labeled as "personal."

I spin the butterfly switchblade around my fingers pensively. The feel of the cool metal running across my skin is beyond comforting, a fact I attribute to the Borealis Matter that pulses through both of us now. It has never felt more natural in my hands.

The vibration of my phone captures my attention. It's hidden somewhere among the numerous shelves along the walls. Nova: <<open image>>My thumb hovers over the downloadable link hesitantly before tapping down. I haven't heard from any of the sisters since they had left, but that's not unusual. Typically, when on mission, communication is strictly kept between the outbound agents and coordinating director. Which means the image is either a gag photo or....

The image comes through a few seconds later. A picture of a man's back. A man's bare back that is detailed with an assortment of images in black ink: a Celtic knot, a skull and compass, distorted ravens, claw marks, and paw impressions. Countless more. They do nothing to diminish the sculpted trapezius or broad shoulders that stack the body. Nor the straining muscles that compose his lats. Nova: <<open image>>I don't hesitate this time around. When the image loads, I'm greeted with the wolf's scowling face—at least half his face—as he wipes at it with a towel. His front is just as ripped as his back. And I can't help but think how well those broad shoulders fit his broad chest. Or how nice the dark hair spanning his pectorals looks. My thumb and forefinger separate on the screen, zooming in on the way said hair spears a direct path south. His abdominals aren't too shabby either. Though he doesn't sport a swimmer's trim waist, it's easy to see that he packs muscle everywhere. A fighter's body through and through.

Nova: _You're welcome._

Calliope: _How exactly did you get these photos?_

Nova: _I snapped a few pics on the new camera. Don't worry. I deleted the pics once I sent them to my phone._

Calliope: _You are brilliant._

I find myself smiling stupidly down at my phone, tapping the pictures again to see the wolf—not wolf, the man, I correct myself. They don't build men like that these days. Ones who take pride in their body and know how to take care of themselves. And probably know how to take care of others just as well. I swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. Nova: You owe me! ;pTo say the least. Ugh. What was I thinking letting her do this for me? It's not like I'm going to pursue anything with the man. Moreover, if her sisters get wind of the photos or our correspondence, I don't know if I can count on them to keep quiet.

A knock sounds quickly at my door. Two sharp raps and the issuer makes their way inside. I shove my phone in my back pocket, keeping a neutral expression on my face as my father shuts the door behind him. He's a tall man, with hair and goatee kept neatly trimmed. He doesn't look happy to see me, but that's not unusual.

"Calliope." I note his greeting comes out as more of a grumble than a salutation.

"Dad." I pat the spot next to me, giving him a wry look. He takes a step forward but doesn't accept my silent invitation. I feel my butt vibrate, and my eyes go wide at the sensation. Thankfully my father doesn't take note of my exaggerated expression.

"Your behavior today at the Council meeting was inexcusable. The way you act reflects upon your family, Calliope. I thought your mother and I taught you better."

"He lied, Dad," I tell him calmly. "Shouldn't he be the one getting the lecture?"

My father crosses his arms over his chest, the robotic hand fitted to his right wrist curling over his bicep. It was lost in a battle long ago, and a constant reminder of his failure. As well as a lesson he preached to my brother and me all our lives. Perhaps it's not a stretch to see why he's become colder to me after my incident with the Stellar Warriors. Perhaps he thinks I'm making the same mistake he did.

"Wyatt admitted his phrasing could have been misconstrued and corroborated your story." I let the silence linger, waiting expectantly for an apology I know will not come.

"Anything else?" My phone vibrates, the noise of the action covered by the sound of my voice. I shift in my seat and cast a sidelong glance at the door.

"Just because he corroborated your story doesn't mean I have to believe it. I know you, Calliope. Your grandmother runs through your veins more than your mother or me, but you are _not_ your grandmother. You are _not_ a Stellar Warrior. You're a Starlight Warden, and when the time comes, your mother and I fully expect you to become a member of the Council. It's far past time you gave up pursuits of combat and settle into a more stable role among the community. That means no more running into the fray headfirst. I didn't pay for four years of higher education so you could waste your life on the battlefront."

I quell the rush of emotion collecting in my throat. "I'm a good fighter."

"You might be a good fighter, Calliope, but you let your emotions get the better of you. That's why we like girls to take up more practical roles within the community, to avoid incidents like the one from last year—"

"When I tried to save that little girl? That incident?"

His face blooms red at my interruption. The mech hand flexes against his bicep. "You knew full well she was in transition to become a wendigo. Attempting to offer her a merciful death, letting that thing manipulate you—"

"She was still a little girl, Dad! Scared and unable to comprehend what was happening to her. Or why she craved—"

"Enough!" My jaw clenches as I stare down my father, taking in his wrath with more composure than I thought I could muster. "You let your emotions rule you, and you forgot your lessons as a Stellar Warrior. They are _beasts_ , Calliope. Dark creatures set on ravaging the good people of this earth. It is our duty to protect them, and you and your damnable empathy got over twenty people killed. The price the Wardens of Starlight paid to cover up your mess was immense. You should be thankful you're still here today."

My eyes flick to the floor. "You know it was never my intention for that to happen. I was going to put her out of her misery, but not the way the others would have had it."

"Beheading is the only way to kill a wendigo."

" _I know that_ ," I snap back. "That doesn't mean it had to be done so cruelly or callously. She was scared—"

"She was a monster." His words are soaked in venom and make me flinch. "They're all monsters, Calliope. Or have you forgotten your teachings? All supernatural creatures are born from the blackest of flames. They are drawn by the darkest of gods. They plague this world and it is our _duty_ and _honor_ to destroy them before they can ruin humanity. To even question it is blasphemy." My father let's out a noise of frustration. "Stupid, child."

The utterance is delivered with equal passion as his earlier words, and I force myself to swallow down my anger. I take a deep breath to calm my frayed nerves. Then ignore the third vibration of my phone announcing another new message. "I hoped that finding the child and her nest would earn back my favor with the Council," I admit.

"I know," he says with a tired sigh. The wind seems to have gone out of him, thankfully. "But that too provided its consequences. You know what they think now."

"That there is a darkness inside of me." My shame brings a flush to my cheek. When I had gone after the child and its nest, it was with a righteous fury in my heart. Consumed by the need to avenge the innocents killed, I let myself fall into the darkness, and drew from it shamelessly to finish off my enemies.

I didn't know then that I wouldn't be able to shake the darkness from my thoughts. Or that it would haunt me in every future fight and skirmish.

"The life of a Starlight Warden suits you well," he tells me after a long moment.

"Just as the life of a Stellar Warrior fits JJ?"

My father's scowl returns, deeper than ever. "The Sawyer family plays a crucial role in our community. We always have. As such, there are certain expectations your mother and I have of you and your brother."

"Shouldn't JJ be the one to serve on the Council? He's the oldest after all." The phone in my pocket goes off once again, this time earning the attention of my father's ire.

"We sent you to school for a reason, Calliope, and it wasn't so you could question your responsibilities to this family. JJ understands"—my cell phone vibrates—"you should try to be more like him."

Hadn't I tried, though? JJ was my idol growing up. He was the one who trained me. He was the one who helped me through all my trials. I always wanted to be like him. Another message comes through.

"Sorry," I apologize halfheartedly, reaching into my back pocket to silence my phone. My father shakes his head.

"Who is it?"

There's no point in lying when he will most likely demand to see my phone. I flash him the screen briefly. "It's Nova."

"And why is she contacting you?"

"She was asking for advice," I tell him, shoving my phone back into my pocket after switching it to silent.

"Questions should go to her director, not you, Calliope."

"The field of question is outside of the director's knowledge."

My father raises both eyebrows. "Meaning?"

"Nova requested information regarding the rings previous handling and history, including previous Borealis Matter implementations and aftereffects."

"And Mrs. Abernathy wouldn't know—"

"I just spent the better part of the day assisting in the imparting process. My grasp on the subject now far surpasses what Mrs. Abernathy and a majority of the community understand."

Something like pride flashes behind my father's eyes, which I'm sure I've read wrong. Then, he is nodding his head at my firm reasoning. "Very well. Be sure to keep your communications brief."

"I will."

He leaves without another word, letting me stew in our exchange of words. It feels like I'm fighting a losing battle. At every corner, I'm met with resistance, herded back into a role I do not want. Like I'm merely a pawn on my life's chessboard. I feel trapped, looking for an escape that doesn't exist. Curling up onto my side, I take my phone from my back pocket. Five new messages.

JJ: _Dad's on the warpath—stay clear till he cools off!_

_A little too late for that warning, brother_ , I think glumly. It's the thought that counts, and JJ is always thinking of what's best for me. Sometimes that means avoiding our father. The rest of the messages are from Nova.

Nova: << _open image_ >>

Nova: << _open image_ >>

The first image is of Noelle and Naomi huddled together against a tree trunk, reading from the same book. The second image is an unobstructed view of the wolf's face. He wears a heavy five o'clock shadow and the vague impression of a grin, the glint in his dark chocolate eyes playing into the illusion. His skin is deeply tanned, hiding the faint impression of scars around his right eye.

Nova: _Found out name_

Nova: _Keenan O'Neal_

A leaden sigh pushes past my lips. So, my soulmark has a name: Keenan. It fits him. A strong name, for a strong man. I bring the image of his face back into full focus, studying his features more intently. After minutes spent this way, I download and save the photos to a locked folder on my phone, then delete the messages, pretending like it never happened at all.

##### Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 6

Supernova

Angry over the fact that she lied for me, Felicia sets me to task cataloging the relics. All of the relics. On all three floors. Even though, once again, only the atrium took the hit. The room is a disaster. Several of the display cases are shattered, leaving the floor littered with bullet casings and glass. It takes me a full two days to clean up the room properly and another day to place orders for replacement glass.

Security at the facility is oppressive. A dozen more guards are brought in with strict new clearance protocols to enforce. It's a pain in the ass, leaving me access to only a few rooms. The mess hall, the observatory, the Relic Halls, and, of course, my room. Wyatt's right. I can't run away from him, but at least the other guards are more easily dodged than my ex. They keep to a tight rotation schedule, but by seven most leave to continue rounds and patrols outside of the facility. Including Wyatt.

It's late, sometime near two in the morning, or so I hazard a guess. The halls boast few guards, and I let my music play a little bit louder than necessary.

Vagrants Whip...

Harpe Sword...

Ophelia's Kestros...

Onyx Bident...

I'm only just beginning to catalog the items of the atrium, deciding to work my way down the floors instead of up. My pen deftly checks each item as my eyes roam the relics on display.

Bone Sword of Shadows...

Tigre Claws...

Phoenix Fire Elixir...

A soft stirring of my nerves turns my gaze unconsciously back to the trio of relics. The order doesn't seem right. Something is missing. My finger draws down the list I carry, stopping on the missing item: the Caster's Diadem. It offers invisibility to the wearer, and it's gone. Or maybe misplaced? Shit.

"Hey."

I almost knock half the relics from the altar I'm cataloging. Naomi stands tentatively in the doorway, half her face an ugly blackish-blue. Noelle pushes past her into the atrium, her eyes bloodshot, lip split. Naomi too steps further into the room, letting the door close softly behind her.

"Hey," I respond, the words falling short on my lips as I wait for the third of their trifecta to appear. "Where's Nova?"

Noelle sucks in a deep breath, eyes filling rapidly with tears.

"She's not here," Naomi says stoically.

I take them in more fully. They must have only just arrived. Their clothes are rumpled and dirty. Their bumps and bruises fresh. Nova must be in the hospital wing, and I don't have access there.

"What happened? Where is she?"

"Our recon was going as planned. We learned their schedule. We got their numbers. We figured out the general location of the ring, but then complications arose," Naomi says.

"Complications?" The sisters won't meet my eyes. "What complications?"

Silence, and then, "There was another pack. As well as a group of witches that hadn't been taken into account. Our tracking bullets led us to the right spot, but we couldn't have anticipated the number of supernaturals in the region."

"There was an attack?" The words feel too raw in my throat. Too steeped in honest fright. A terrible intuition gnawing at my conscious. Noelle fidgets with her ponytail, her left wrist wrapped up in beige bandages. She is unusually quiet and discontent. It puts me even more on edge.

Naomi nods, a frown coming to crease her forehead. "A couple of days ago, we were reporting to Mrs. Abernathy, trying to decide if we should return or wait for more backup to secure the ring. Our connection went dead and then...."

"The wolves attacked," Noelle says, finally finding her voice. Her eyes no longer hold their glossy quality. "The second pack started firing into the other pack's territory. It was chaos, and we thought we were safe up in the tree line, but then the witches got involved. Our cover was blown and—" Noelle takes two large deep breathes, her sister busy wiping at her cheeks "—then the vampyré appeared. We were halfway out of the forest to our car, and suddenly he was right in front of us."

"A vampyré...."

Noelle nods, lips thinning. "He smiled and thanked us. Then told us we had done a good job, but he couldn't afford to keep all three of us around. That he only required one body to get the rest of the job done." Something inside me clicks off. A numbness sets in as she continues. "He was so fast. He had her before we could even blink. And we couldn't fire without hurting her—"

"He took her?" The words sound oddly hollow coming from my mouth.

"He killed her, Callie," Noelle tells me, voice barely above a whisper.

_Killed her_. My head moves back and forth. The clipboard and pen fall from my hands to the floor. "No." _No_. Not Nova.

"It was a trap. The vampyré orchestrated everything. He—" Noelle continues.

"No!"

Noelle's mouth snaps closed at my interruption, and her eyes once more swell with tears. She strides forward, Naomi catching her by the arm before she can come over and—

"He turned her. In front of us. I know what I saw. I know what we saw," Noelle snarls at me, tears running down her face. "That monster turned her, and there was nothing we could do about it." Before I can make some snappy reply, she pulls herself free from her sister's hold and storms off.

"She's not really dead, is she?" Naomi nods. Her face twisting in pain as she lets out a sob. I run to embrace her, gathering her in my arms and letting my tears flow as well. "How could this happen?" I whisper, aghast.

Naomi pulls back, wiping carefully at her eyes and nose. "I think he set it all up, Callie." I stare wide eyed at the youngest Stavok. "Think about it. The wolves stole the ring for the vamp. Why else would they have taken it? He must have been there to get it from them."

I pace backward, shaking my head all the while. "That doesn't make sense, Naomi. How would he know to have attacked you then? And why would a pack of wolves steal a sun-walker ring for a vampyré? That's not even factoring in the other pack or the witches. What was their role?"

Naomi hops up onto the altar, her shoulder and back hunching as she takes in my critiques. "I don't know," she answers slowly, "but there has to be a reason for all of this. Maybe... maybe it was because of what we discovered and the vampyré wanted revenge or _something_."

"What did you find?"

"A crystal. Nova spotted it." Naomi's voice cracks over her sister's name, but she forges on. "It creates some kind of magical barrier."

I pause midstride. "A magical barrier?"

Naomi nods her head somewhat hesitantly. "That's what Nova said anyway."

"There was another attack on the facility. Just a few days ago."

"And here I thought this was still from the first time around," she replies dryly.

"Some people are under the impression that it's the same pack of wolves, but I don't think so. I think it was a different pack."

"I mean, after what we saw, I guess that could make sense. Two packs. Two separate attacks."

"So where do the witches and this vampyré fit in?"

Naomi casts a wry grin. "You're not going to believe this—the witches are working with the wolves who stole from us in the first place. The Adolphus Pack."

"Who's the other pack?"

"Noelle knows the name, it's kind of wordy and starts with a W. We called them the alpha pack and beta pack."

I run a hand through my long hair, resuming my pacing at the new information. The witches and wolves are working together and stole the ring. Meanwhile, the other wolf pack could very well be the culprit of the second attack and responsible for stealing the other artifact. So which is working with the vampyré?

"Was anything taken?"

"Huh?" My head snaps in Naomi's direction. "Oh, actually, yes. I think something did get taken. I just caught it before you came in." _And told me your sister was dead._ "The diadem is missing."

"The Caster's Diadem?" I nod my head. "Fuck." She slams her hand against the altar, sliding off and onto the ground. The burst of anger is so out of place to her usual demeanor, I almost jump. "That makes so much more sense!"

"What does?" I ask, alarmed by her sudden vigor.

"The attack came out of nowhere, Callie. One minute everything is calm along the border. I'm keeping watch while Noelle and Nova are speaking with Mrs. Abernathy. Then _bam_! Out of nowhere, this wolf gets stuck with a tree branch in the gut. It wasn't thrown. It just rose up from the ground and slammed into him!"

A nervous tremor clasps my heart. "What did the wolf look like?" I ask, going for casual and failing miserably. Naomi is too absorbed in her thought process to notice my discontent.

"Blonde. Just over five foot," she replies absentmindedly. She turns to me abruptly. "Don't you see? The other pack used the diadem to instigate the fight! A bunch of them ran out past the border to engage with the other pack, and then the witches were all flustered because of the fighting."

"Which is when you were spotted." She nods her head eagerly. "And the vampyré? How does he fit into the equation?" I ask.

Naomi slows her stride, knotting her fingers together as she begins to explain her reasoning. "Well, the vampyré wants the ring. Obviously. But the alpha pack and witches have it."

"And the beta pack has the diadem," I add pensively.

"And the beta pack started the fight." Our eyes meet. "And the vampyré, he thanked us. He must have been keeping tabs on all of us. Maybe he's in league with the beta pack, and got them to instigate the fight."

"That's a pretty big jump," I say slowly, but it does seem plausible. More than plausible. A surge of hope creeps into my heart. "And Nova... she really—"

"He grabbed her and forced his blood down her throat, then snapped her neck," Naomi says calmly. "She died with his blood in her system. In three days, if she doesn't manage to kill herself, she'll complete her transition and turn into a vampyré."

"And then the only way to kill her will be by decapitation or an ivory stake through the heart," I finish sourly.

Naomi sucks in a tight breath. "They're going to hunt her down like a dog once we submit our report. They're going to send out a faction to retrieve the ring, probably that crystal, and most definitely my sister." A cool chill runs down my spine at the thought.

"No—"

"Yes, Callie. They will. You know it. I know it. And so does Noelle."

I walk over to Naomi and take her by the shoulders, forcing her to stop pacing. "I wasn't trying to disagree with you. I'm fully aware of the Council's lack of empathy," I respond evenly, "which is why we can't let them hurt her further."

Naomi stills completely, her eyes going wide. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" I lick my lips nervously, releasing Naomi from my tight grasp. "—that we have to save her." The idea warms me, igniting a hope inside me I haven't felt in ages. We _can_ save Nova. We can take back the ring. All will be forgiven....

Naomi lets out a choked laugh. "She's already dead—he _turned_ her."

"But what if we could change her back?" I cast a wary eye about the room before stepping closer to Naomi and lowering my voice. The very suggestion of my idea is insane. Hell, there's an enormous chance it won't work, but we have to try. "Vogart's Blade."

Naomi's eyes widen. The blade is rumored to reverse vampyrism in the newly turned, but the records of such acts have long since been lost. I'm not surprised by Naomi's twisted expression, knowing how absurd I sound suggesting it, but I manage to keep my own wariness off my face.

"I don't know, Callie. What if the blade doesn't work? If it does work, then wouldn't the Council have it on our best Warrior?"

I shake my head with semi-forced conviction, lips thinning.

"The relic is too powerful. The Council would never chance it being out in the field where it could be taken or lost," I reason calmly. "You can bet they've got it hidden away here somewhere." Naomi avoids my gaze, chewing on her lip indecisively. "Come on, Naomi. If there's a chance to save her—even the slimmest chance to bring her back to life—shouldn't we try? She would for any one of us."

Naomi takes a deep breath. "I think I know where to look."

+++

I'm left waiting on the relics third floor storage for Naomi to return, a small backpack resting by my feet, filled with only the essentials for our secret mission. Naomi is packing and double-checking her notes about the location of the blade, but she's nearly positive its location is here.

I find myself oddly unworried about the threat of being caught. All I'm truly worried about is securing a big enough head start before the Council becomes privy to our escapades and sends a group to retrieve us. That, and whether or not my harebrained scheme will work. Please, let it work, I pray. The blade is our only shot at restoring Nova. It's also the only shot I have at being reinstated as a Stellar Warrior. If this worked....

The door creaks open a few minutes later to reveal Naomi slipping in. Her face is devoid of emotion, though the black and blue about her face tells a different story. She gives me a brief nod, tossing her bag to rest near mine.

"Did you get the tablet?" she asks. I nod, recrossing my arms over my chest. The tablet holds all personnel files of the Wardens of Starlight, including our tracker identification numbers. If Nova's tracker hasn't been disabled or removed from her forearm by the vampyré or herself, then our mission will be a hell of a lot easier.

"Do you know where it is?" I ask, not bothering to hide the slip of anxiety in my voice.

"Of course," she remarks stoutly, fiddling idly with her glasses. "I confirmed with Noelle, as well." Naomi catches my startled express with a steady look, walking past me and down the center aisle of the labyrinth of relics.

"You told Noelle?" I whisper harshly, casting a quick glance over my shoulder as I speed after her. "What were you thinking?"

"I thought that Nova is her sister too. She has every right to know what we're planning on doing. Besides, we need someone to cover for us, and she will." My lips press together in a firm line. There is no point in arguing, even if I had wanted to keep our plans between us. At least I can begrudgingly accede to her reasoning. Noelle can better ensure our head start. "She said it's in plain sight. The third shelf. Aisle D4. About halfway down."

We jog over to the aisle, hands skimming the boxes and their glass lids. Everything is pleasantly clean of dust, in part because of the recent cataloging.

"I thought it was going to be harder to find," I finally say once we locate the blade, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. I can feel my anxiety building, except I'm beginning to think it might not be anxiety at all. Being in the trenches of the relics is lighting my nerve endings on fire. _Like calls to like_ , I think as the vestiges of the Borealis Matter come to attention. It makes my bones feel heavy. My skin feels too tight. I'm hyperaware of the seconds passing as Naomi carefully removes the case and unlocks it.

"Chill out, Callie. I can feel the tension coming off you in waves." Naomi adjusts her glasses, wincing only slightly at the movement.

"Sorry," I say, forcing myself to take a few deep breaths. Naomi removes the blade. It's in remarkably good condition considering it is centuries old. The almost sickle-like shape of the blade looks particularly savage to me. The blade, made of onyx, is lined in quicksilver. Though the handle is of much poorer quality, it's sturdy after all these years. At least I hope it is, among other things. I curb the swell of doubt I feel, chewing on my bottom lip as Naomi tucks the blade away. "Ready?"

She nods and puts away the case, walking away with much surer steps to our gear. I'm startled back a step when she halts a foot away from our bags. Naomi turns around to face me, hair nearly whipping me in the face. I take another step back.

"Tell me the plan again," she asks a bit breathlessly, the color gone from her face. I square my shoulders and repeat the plan to Naomi.

"Nova's tracer is still active in the area you were in two days ago and—"

"I bet he left her for the wolves," she cuts in bitterly, sucking in a few sharp breaths and turning her eyes to the floor. Naomi's shoulders tremble. "That fucker."

"Hey." I reach out to Naomi, but she shrugs away my attentions. "Don't go there," I reprimand her firmly, stiffening as I shove away my lingering doubts. I needed to be strong. We only have some twenty-four hours to find Nova, and the threat of another Council meeting being called before we have a chance to leave, is too close for comfort. "We have the blade and the tablet. We'll get out of the facility, and Noelle will cover for us while we track down Nova."

"And once we find her... we stab her in the heart with Vogart's Blade and hope...."

" _And then_ she'll turn back into a human. The blade only works on newly turned vampyrés. It's the last necromancer tool in existence. It will work." _It has to work_. "All right? Then the three of us will take back the ring and hightail it home."

Naomi shakes herself of whatever doubt she carries and gives me a curt nod. I nod back, and we grab our bags, striding toward the door.

"Going somewhere?" We freeze. Naomi releases the door handle slowly, as we turn to face my brother. Our expressions kept carefully blank.

"Not at all," I respond. "What are you doing here, JJ?" He walks closer, out of the aisles and into the main corridor. His approach is too casual. Shit. "How much did you hear, JJ?"

"It's quite the plan," he remarks.

"It is." We stare each other down. His hands come out of his pockets to cross over his chest. I keep mine on the straps of my bag. "JJ—"

"Do you realize how much trouble you'll be in once they find out? They might go easy on you, Naomi, but Cal—" JJ frowns as if he's in pain. "—they're gunning for you. If you go out in the field, they might not let you back. You understand that, right?"

A tightness builds in my throat, but I dip my head in understanding. "I know what they'll do, but I couldn't live with myself if I let Nova become a chew toy for that pack of wolves. Something's going on down there. Something much bigger than the Council or anyone else knows about. We have to find out what it is and stop it."

"And Noelle is in on the plan too?"

Naomi takes a cautious step forward. "She's going to cover for us, for as long as she can. Nova's her sister too," she finishes softly.

"Okay," he says with a sigh, shaking his head. Naomi and I share a confused look. _Okay_?

"So...."

"I'm going with you," he says calmly, closing the space between us.

"You can't come with us. It's our mission."

JJ rolls his eyes at my insistence. "I'm coming. You really think you two are getting out of this facility without some kind of higher clearance? Besides, this has all the signs of a trap."

Naomi and I share another look, this one filled with understanding. "The vampyré," Naomi states. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Which is why you need me."

"She has me," I persist. "I got the same training as you."

"And I've been a Warrior longer than you and have more experience than you. This isn't a competition, Cal. If you want a fighting chance at this crazy plan of yours, then you need me." I let out a growl of frustration, rubbing my face with the heels of my hands.

"Fine. But we need to leave. Now."

"Okay," he says, breathing a sigh of relief. "Let me just grab my bag. I'll meet you in the atrium in ten minutes, then act as escort to the vehicle depot out back."

"Great!" Naomi chirps with false enthusiasm, spinning on her toes back toward the door. "Let's go." She yanks the door open wide only to reveal Wyatt's lonesome figure standing right outside. Shit.

##### Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 7

Lying in Wait

I've lost track of time, which isn't good for Nova's time is quickly running out. It takes three days for a person to transition to a vampyré, and between the sister's travel time returning to the Banks and ours back out... we don't have much time left.

Naomi is incensed with the addition of Wyatt to our group, but there is nothing to do about it. With no way to prevent him from coming, our only choice is letting him tag along. Wyatt's saving grace is commandeering a bush airplane to get us as far as Fort McMurry. Wyatt even paid off the pilot to take the remainder of the day off to extend our head start.

Signs for Calgary are appearing more and more frequently out the window. Hopefully, that meant another pit stop soon. The back seat of our hijacked utility van isn't exactly comfortable, especially considering I'm sharing it with Wyatt.

"Are you going to keep glaring at me for the rest of the ride?" he murmurs, lip quirking upward even as his eyes remain closed. He sits opposite me in the back, legs spread out in a wide V.

"Yes."

One eye opens. "You'll get wrinkles," he informs me.

"I'm hardly concerned," I hiss back. "Now, be quiet. Naomi is trying to sleep."

"I'm trying to sleep too, but you keep glaring at me. I'm afraid you're going to murder me in my sleep or something." I'm tempted too. His other eye opens at my adamant expression. "What?"

"Why did you insist on coming? I mean really, why? Your whole story back at the Banks was total bullshit. Who were you trying to fool saying you liked Nova?" I scoff, and Wyatt straightens at my curt tone.

"I do actually like her," he tells me with a scowl. "At least out of the three of them. Noelle's too uptight. Naomi is... weird. Nova's by far the most tolerable."

"You're a dick," I inform him, "and you didn't answer my question. Why did you insist on coming along?" His gaze darts almost worriedly to the front seat where JJ drives and Naomi rests beside him. Then he's shifting and moving to sit right next to me. "This seems unnecessary," I mutter under my breath.

"I came because of you," he tells me, voice low in my ear. My eyes look in the rearview mirror and catch JJ's hard gaze. He doesn't like that Wyatt came either. "Do you realize the amount of risk you're putting yourself in to save someone who is beyond saving? She's a vampyré now, Callie. There's no way between all this travel time her seventy-two hours aren't up. She's one of them. It sucks, but it's the truth. Your little Hail Mary pass with the blade isn't going to work. We don't even know if it works."

"You don't know that," I hiss back.

"Doesn't matter," he replies. "What I know is that the Council has plans for you. For us. And this plan of yours could get you killed."

My breath catches in my throat. "Plans?"

I cast a sidelong glance his way, watching as color rises to his cheeks. "I've made my intentions clear, and we both know our parents hope you'll serve on the Council one day. So, if I have to follow you across the country to try and save your friend—and mine—then I will. I won't let anything out there hurt you, and I'll help make sure we all get back. I promise." Wyatt catches my eye, and what I see makes my heart clench uncomfortably. Hope. It's going to be a long ten hours to get to Branson Falls.

+++

"The tracer is sounding off roughly twelve klicks southeast of our position, and it's on the move," JJ tells us, scanning the tablet, his eyes lifting to flick through the dense forest sporadically. Wyatt hovers nearby, rifle perched in his hold while two more guns rest on either side of his hips. Naomi and I are finishing adjusting our dragon skin armor and weapons. The tension in the air builds around us. We've navigated the van deep into the forest, courtesy of a dodgy unused road clogged with fallen branches and littered with ditches. We're lucky the van made it so far in, but even so, seven and a half miles—twelve klicks—will take a long while to cover.

"Well," Naomi says, "what are we waiting for?"

JJ leads the way, setting a steady pace through the foliage. Naomi and I take the middle, ready to hold ranks at the side if necessary, while Wyatt brings up the rear. The first hour and a half is made in silence. There are no breaks. No shared looks of contrite concern or weariness as we traverse the mountainous terrain. The trek would have felt more difficult if not for the canopy of leaves and the cool breeze winding its way through the branches. As it is, the dragon armor isn't exactly breathable fabric, but going without it isn't an option.

"Target is changing direction and heading west," JJ announces, pausing only slightly to tuck away the tablet and change our course.

"Toward us?" Naomi's optimism saturates her words, her head whipping about surreptitiously.

"Yes," JJ answers, voice clipped. We continue onwards silently, trekking through denser shrubs, along the alpha pack's boundary lines. When the little red dot signifying Nova stops some two klicks away, he has us do so as well. Naomi pulls out the topography map from her pocket, her finger running along a hand-drawn line through the forest.

"We're coming up to one of our old tree posts," she says. "It's almost a kilometer west of the alpha pack's boundary line."

"Which means we're in the beta pack's territory?"

She nods at my conclusion. "Yes, but the packs don't start manning the boundary line until at least three klicks north from here. We should be in the clear for now, but we should stay alert. There's still active wildlife in this area. Both predator and prey." _Predator and prey_? Just which are we? I cannot help but think that we are walking a perilous line between the two at the moment.

"Do the wolves wander?"

Naomi shakes her head, folding and pocketing the map once more. "They typically stick to a schedule."

"And you said they would patrol outward from what coordinates?" Wyatt asks.

"47°38'51.9"N 115°14'30.0"W," she says smoothly. "More wolves will be coming since nightfall provides better coverage for them."

"You didn't tell us that their patrol size increased toward nightfall during the brief," I respond, surprised and a tad miffed at her casual delivery.

She gives a short shrug, not bothering to meet any of our eyes. "I didn't see what difference it would make. I know the area. I know the schedule. We'll stay out of their way." She takes a quick glance at the tablet in JJ's hand. "She's moving again. Toward us. Faster."

Naomi walks off without another word, trying to take the lead. JJ catches up to her in two long strides, whispering something as they continue walking.

"She should have told us," Wyatt grunts, shuffling forward to stand by me.

"How many more do you think are going to come?" I ask quietly.

"I don't know," he says slowly, "but I think we should have brought more guns." We watch as Naomi and JJ come to a stop ahead of us, heads huddled together over the tablet.

"Probably," I remark sarcastically. Wyatt nudges my arm, a sort of grin trying to steal its way onto his face. "What?"

"Just like old times, eh? Out in the field. The odds stacked against us." I roll my eyes at his nostalgia, though I don't deny the comfort of familiarity it brings about. "Tell me something. Did you come up with this plan just to get Nova back, or was there some part of you just dying to get back out in the field one last time? Whatever the cost?"

I suck in a harsh breath. "Fuck you."

He lets out a bark of laughter. "Oh, come on! Not even just a little bit? I know how the anticipation always got you riled up before—"

"Would you just shut up? That isn't why I came up with the plan. Nova is my friend. My best friend. She's loyal, and she's good, and she didn't deserve this. We have the power to reverse it. So, why shouldn't we?"

"You know why, Calliope. We don't know if the blade works, and even if it does, it's too dangerous to have outside of the Banks Facility. In the wrong hands, it could start a war." I avoid his gaze, managing to take one step forward before Wyatt places himself in front of me. "You get that, right?"

"Of course I understand. I'm not an idiot."

"Says the girl who brought her brother and friend into warring wolf territory with a fledgling vampyré on the loose. Oh, and let's not forget the Eldritch Witches on patrol as well. This is a suicide mission if I ever saw one. One the Council would never have approved of... but hey, if you can manage to pull this off and get the ring back? Then maybe the Council won't banish or kill you. They might even reward you for your daring and ingenuity. Reinstate you as a Warrior. But I bet you already thought about that, didn't you?"

Heat gathers and spreads across my neck and cheeks. "Drop it, Wy," I order icily, unable to bring myself to deny his observations.

His hand reaches out and grips my wrist tightly. "I know you, Calliope. I know how you think. I know how you act. I know all about that darkness inside of you. Because you and me? We're two sides of the same coin." He lets his words sink in, but my mind drifts traitorously to an image of Keenan. His stern face and anxious plea the fateful night of our meeting. If anyone is to be my other half, isn't it the mysterious wolf? "You didn't just come here to save Nova and get the ring back, and we both know it. You can't honestly believe the Council will reward you for this suicide mission, even if you pull this off. At least not without all of our support and testimony." I catch the meaningful look on his face and feel a pit of worry develop in my stomach. "And if you don't pull this off, you'll need a lot more than that."

"I'm aware of the consequences I might face—"

"Are you? Really? Because if you don't, we all know what consequence you alone will face." _Death_. "Though, with the right persuasion, you could find yourself allowed to stay, at the very least." I go to reply, lips opening to administer a callous retort, when I see the glint in his eyes. His grip intensifies. "My family holds considerable weight with the Council, Calliope. More than yours or the other two founding families. Marry me, and you'll come to witness it firsthand."

"Wyatt—" His name cracks on my tongue as he pulls me back into his chest.

"We could have done this properly," he tells me heatedly, eyes suddenly wide and wild. "But you've cut that option to shreds. Marry me."

I shoot a desperate look over my shoulder at JJ and Naomi. They remain near one another, backs hunched and heads dipped forward. I swallow the lump in my throat. Feel my hummingbird heartbeat pulse all throughout me.

"We can't possibly get married," I finally say, eyes still locked on the other two. His fingers gently persuade my chin to the side, to face him fully.

"We need only a Warden's light and blessing to sanction a handfasting, plus a witness. We have both."

"We also need rings," I respond, tugging out of his hold. Wyatt pulls a cloth out of his pocket and unwraps its contents. "Wyatt," I breathe, closing my eyes as I shake my head. "We can't get married."

"Two rings, a witness, and a Warden. We've all we need. You just need to say yes. After all this mess is taken care of, we'll conduct the ceremony on the plane on our way back. It's the only way they won't find a reason to banish or kill you. Just think about." His hand reaches out faster than I anticipate, cradling the back of my head and pulling me forward into an earnest kiss.

"Keep your hands to yourself, Baker," JJ barks. I take two steps back in hasty retreat, hand flying to my lips as I stare aghast at Wyatt. His mouth trims into two thin lines, his eyes meeting JJ's in a menacing glare. "We're not here so you two can rekindle your relationship. We're here to help Nova and secure the Amethyst of the Aztecs. Understood?"

Wyatt grunts and straightens. "Understood." JJ's hard gaze lands on me.

"I understand."

Naomi touches JJ's arm, pulling his attention back to her. I catch the frown upon her brow, the worry etched plainly across her features as she steps toward him.

"What's going on?" I ask. Naomi nervously adjusts her glasses.

"Nova's movements are becoming sporadic," JJ tells us.

I look back to Wyatt, taking in his expression of the news. He too can tell something is off between the two. "So, is she headed away from us?" He shakes his head. "Then what's the matter?"

"She's still moving toward us, but faster than before. Much faster." There's unspoken meaning in the short sentence. Much faster? More like too fast. Not humanly possible fast. Our seventy-two hours is up. There is no other explanation for a target being able to move at such high speeds. "She's coming in at us in a strange pattern though. She'll arch one way, then dart another."

"But she's still coming toward us?"

He nods, then motions for us to gather closer. "Wyatt will take trigger point," JJ says, slipping to position himself at the back while Naomi and I once more take position in the middle. Wyatt slowly leads us forward by JJ's instruction, and a strange hush falls over the forest. It will be predator against predator should we encounter Nova, and the thought does not bode well.

Though my eyes should be tracking for movement, I can't help but steal glances at Naomi. Vogart's Blade is still snug in its sheath on her hip, but Naomi looks ready to exchange the gun she holds for the blade in a second flat.

Something catches my eye in the distance. A blur of movement too fast for the human eye to catch. Wyatt raises a fist, and the group comes to a halt. "How far away is the target?" Tension pricks at my skin while we wait for JJ's response.

"Less than one klick. Hold position. Wyatt, at the ready."

"Ready. Will shoot on command," Wyatt answers.

Naomi's head whips to the side to stare at him in shock. "Shoot? We're not shooting Nova. What the hell, JJ? This isn't the plan." My gaze darts across the darkening plain. My swirling, fluttering nerves skipping into overdrive as the group loses focus. Another movement. This one far off in the distance and accompanied by a shuddering of branches along a row of bushes.

"We're not going to kill her, Naomi. Wyatt's gun is loaded with—"

"We're not shooting my sister," she snarls, effectively cutting him off. "End of story."

"Listen—"

"No, I won't fucking listen! You listen to me."

"You guys," I hedge, gun poised and at the ready to cover my side if necessary, "we need all eyes out on the ground. We're in wolf territory, remember?"

Naomi growls her frustration, "Are you seriously agreeing with them?"

"No," I snap back, frustration and aggravation clear in my voice, "but I'm also not willing to leave us unguarded. And I seem to be the only one who—" A sharp crack sounds in the air, stealing all of our attention. And anything within a mile radius.

All eyes turn in shock to Wyatt, the crack of his gun still reverberating through the air. A strangled cry rears from Naomi's throat as she staggers forward. I roughly pull Wyatt back, receiving an undignified grunt in response. Heart hammering in my chest, I seek out Nova's figure in the fading light. Some 500 meters away, a deer wavers on its feet. A muted bleat echoes through the air as it buckles to the ground.

Naomi's fist drives into the side of Wyatt's face, her body twisting and adding to the weight of her punch. Wyatt stumbles, hands releasing the rifle to cup his jaw. "Jesus, Naomi! It was just a deer."

"It could have been Nova!" she shouts back. "You piece of shit, that could have been her!" Naomi launches forward once more, but I'm quick to step between the two, hands held high in surrender.

"Everybody needs to calm down," I speak softly, letting my hands lower slowly.

"That could have been Nova, Callie." I don't dare look over my shoulder at Wyatt, though I'm dying to deliver the same punch.

"I hit the deer with a tranquilizer. If you would have let JJ finish explaining a minute ago, instead of flying off the handle, you would know the rifle is loaded with two tranquilizer darts made for vampyrés. That deer will be out until tomorrow." Naomi's face is flush with anger, but her eyes scream uncertainty.

"That could have been Nova," she breathes harshly, unwilling to back down. "You would have shot her with a tranquilizer?"

"She's still a vamp, Naomi," JJ cajoles. "We're deep in wolf territory, and that deer is apparently wearing your sister's tracer."

"What?" I ask wide eyed. He nods, jaw clenched tight as he shows us the tablet. _Oh no_. The red dot remains at a standstill 500 meters from us. He stows it away and picks up his weapon once more. I trickle of apprehension digs into each vertebra along my spinal column. "Why would a deer have her tracer?"

" _How_ would a deer have her tracer?" Naomi asks, voice hollow with dread.

"Resume formation," JJ orders. In strained silence, we do as we're told. Wyatt spits out a thick curdle of blood as he snatches his rifle from the ground. He passes both Naomi and me an icy glare, but the point is moot. My Beretta M9 feels heavy in my hands as I direct the muzzle northward, a swell of adrenalin taking place of my apprehension. The Borealis Matter only heightens the sensation as I survey the growing shadows. There is still little chatter from the inhabitants of these woods, which means a predator still lurks nearby.

"Fall back," JJ commands softly. Naomi stiffens, casting a helpless look my way.

"But—"

"No buts. We planned accordingly for this scenario earlier. We stay at the ready, all of us, and fall back to the van." Cautiously we backtrack, JJ resuming the lead trigger position. A mile into our trek, JJ turns on a small flashlight attached to his belt. It's only half past nine, yet already it's startlingly dark. We most certainly aren't in Alaska anymore, I think. And the once helpful canopy now works to our detriment, spoiling the last vestiges of light as the sun sinks past a distant mountain peak. Thankfully, the walk back passes more quickly than our way out; JJ's pace to credit.

When we make it back to the van, weapons still at the ready, an uncertain calm takes hold. Naomi lets her gun drop to her side, the tension she carried all throughout our journey back dropping from her with a crestfallen look.

"Remind me again, what scenario is it we just experienced? Nothing happened out there. We could have still found her somehow."

"That tracer didn't place itself on the deer, Naomi," he says flatly, though some regret lingers about the edges of his tone. "The movement of the deer was too scripted up until the end. Too easy. It had all the signs of a trap. I couldn't ignore it. Besides, without the tracer still actually residing in Nova, the chances of finding her fall considerably."

"And we're not out of danger yet, Stavok," Wyatt adds, opening the side van door and placing his tranquilizer rifle inside, then his side guns. "This is still wolf territory, and we're bound to catch notice if we stay out here much longer."

"But it wasn't a trap," comes her biting response, refusing to remove her belt or armor when Wyatt holds out an expectant hand. "Nothing happened, JJ. Nothing. We could still—"

"No," JJ says harshly, all manner of civility gone from his demeanor. He wears the role of Stellar Warrior like some indifferent mask. Like I used to. No trace of emotion in body or voice. This is simply a job that cannot be done, and casualties won't be risked with the odds so high against us. Wyatt lets out a small noise of frustration when Naomi crosses her arms and turns to me.

"This was your idea, Callie. Back me up on this; we can't just leave. What about the ring? What if we used one of our tree posts to scout for just a day? We could keep an eye out for Nova and execute a plan to get the ring—"

"You want to take back the ring, then go out looking for your sister again with a pack of wolves and witches hot on our trail? All the while in the contested territory of said wolves?" Wyatt asks sardonically, walking forward, hand still outstretched. "Brilliant plan. Now hand over your weapons. We keep to protocol and catalog all items."

Naomi removes her guns, shaking with anger. Wyatt rolls his eyes to me as if to say, "See what I have to put up with?" But all I see is a girl coming to terms with the loss of a sister, finally succumbing to grief after my false hope crumbles all around us. There will be no retrieving the ring. No returning Nova. And I will face the consequences of my failures once again. Forced to marry a man I know I can never love, and lose the respect of my people for my rash decisions.

I catch the look of sorrow and resignation on Naomi's face and clench my teeth. _No_. We can't give up. We can't leave it like this. The blade has to work. Wyatt ticks something off on a clipboard from the van, setting aside Naomi's guns. JJ undoes his belt and armor, tossing them in the van and rubbing a hand over his head.

"Your gear, Callie," he says, somewhat tiredly, but I find myself shaking my head. He stiffens at the action, shoulders rolling back and face tightening. "Your gear, that's an order, Warrior." I shake my head more firmly, stepping back as the faintest hint of adrenaline kindles in my blood.

"I'm not a Warrior anymore, JJ. Besides, I won't be _anything_ if I don't stay and finish this. We all know that." I let my words settle, catching the varying reactions of everyone: JJ contrite, Naomi cautiously optimistic, and Wyatt furious. "If I go back without something to show for all of this, then I'm better off out here anyway. The Council will have my head for taking the blade and coming up with this plan, not to mention all the expended resources. Naomi, give me the blade. I'll finish this."

Naomi takes in a shaky breath, judging the distance between us, as well as Wyatt and JJ's alert stances. Both lunge forward when she grabs the knife and throws it to me. I catch it out of the air easily.

"Dammit, you guys," JJ curses, pacing backward. "This isn't the time for—"

"Calliope, we talked about this," Wyatt says calmly, taking a tentative step forward. "You don't have to worry about the Council."

JJ looks uncertainly between us. "What does he mean, Cal?"

"We agreed to wed on the plane ride home," he tells JJ. The forest feels uncomfortably quiet at his announcement.

Despite myself, I feel a tepid heat fill my cheeks. "No," I reply, straightening my spine, "you proposed the idea of marriage as a solution. I didn't agree with it."

"It's the only way, Calliope," he snaps. "Don't be stupid. This is the wendigo Church Hill all over again, at least that's what everyone will think. Now give your brother your gear back and get the fuck in the van!" His temper flies from zero to sixty in no time, echoing through the trees. It clears any remaining wildlife from the vicinity—not that there's much to begin with anyway.

The hair at the back of my neck stands to attention as I watch JJ stop. His head ticking to one side. Our eyes clash as his earlier words drill into my head... _all the signs of a trap_. Naomi and I flick our wrists at the same time, bracers igniting. The boys go tense, their weapons out of reach.

"I have an idea," a voice drawls. "Give me the blade, and in return, you can have my newest pet."

Nova pitches forward from behind the van, a quiet "oomph" sounding from her lips before she crashes to her knees. Hands tied behind her back with thick black rope, she keeps her head bowed forward, but it hardly disguises the state she's in. Her clothing is soiled with both dirt and blood, along with most of her skin.

The other vampyré steps out from behind the van in stark contrast to Nova. He's dressed entirely too nicely for the situation at hand, wearing dark slacks and a pressed long-sleeved shirt rolled to the elbows. Both of which are tailored to his long and lean body. The vampyré's silver-stained eyes are startling against his alabaster skin and high cheekbones, and they watch us with a bored expression. He looks as if he's some modern-day aristocrat. Maybe he was in his human life.

The moment before us hangs in suspense before we snap into action. Naomi darts forward, and I too, to stop her. With my arms locking around her waist, I swing her behind me. Knowing she'll only try once more to reach her sister, I do the only thing I can think of; I turn and stand at the ready with Vogart's Blade held threateningly at Naomi, leaving me exposed to the threat at my back.

There's only a second for me to spot JJ and Wyatt. Wyatt is the only one among the two to snag a gun, while JJ angles back to be nearer to the van. Fight and flight wage war inside of me. I'm poorly positioned—we all are—which make the logistics of both fighting and fleeing a challenge. A tendril of unease winds around me when the shrubbery around us begins to rustle.

"I'm sorry," Nova says quietly, voice cracking at the end. "I—"

"Hush," the vampyré commands. Nova's teeth snap together with surprising force, enough to fill the small clearing with the sound. "Good girl," he delivers smoothly. "The sire bond is a most curious thing, don't you agree? The will to disobey any command is nonexistent." His lips curl into a malicious smirk.

" _Bastard_." The word issues from Naomi's mouth with a foul vengeance. She holds a rigid stance with fists clenched at her side, her bracers burning bright.

"I can assure you, madame, I am not." I can practically hear the smile in his voice. "Your sister and I have had many enlightening conversations over the past few days. About guardians and ancient relics. About you and your friends. I assume the young woman presenting her back to me is the infamous _Calliope_ and the lovely blade in her hand is Vogart's."

No one answers. I swallow down the snaking fear inside of me, keenly aware of my vulnerabilities. The blade grows heavy in my hand as the weight of everyone's gaze falls upon it and me.

"No deal," JJ says.

Naomi's eyes seek her sisters in earnest, but by her look of misery, I can only imagine Nova's eyes remain downcast. I steal myself against the current of my emotions, forcing them to the side to focus on the situation at hand.

A howl cuts through the night air, soon followed by another. Then another.

"More company," the vampyré says dryly, "and here I thought this was a private party. Very well then," he continues with a sigh, "Nova, kill them. _Golems_ "—the shrubbery surrounding the clearing gives an angry shake—" _kill_."

In a tidal wave, they swarm us— _golems,_ grotesque creatures composed of old earth and rot. They stand some three feet tall and are shaped to form some beastly semblance of a man. In their possession are crude iron-wrought knifes and daggers.

We surge into action. Fighting to flee. Naomi flashes toward me, seizing one of my guns and immediately firing into the hoard to accompany Wyatt. I spin around as she steps past me, gauging the scene as my heart goes into overdrive. The vampyré is nowhere to be seen, but Nova—sweet and funny Nova—is barreling toward JJ. JJ who doesn't have a single thing to protect himself with other than his fists. With a strangled roar, Nova breaks free from her restraints, her eyes bleeding red and canines lengthening to deadly points. A bullet hits her shoulder, but it does little to stop her.

"No!" The scream pitches from my body just as a golem launches itself at me, along with three others. The blade cuts through them easily enough, but my fists do more damage with the help of the dormant Borealis Matter inside me suddenly flaring to life.

There is a firestorm occurring around me. Shots are sounding off at every moment, more than seem logical. My ears ring with shock, but there is nothing to be done about it. The fight drives me into a tunnel vision. All I can focus on are the little savages assaulting me. Their knives glance off my duster as I spirit around them. They haven't a clue to go for my legs with no conscious thought tumbling through their empty heads. It's lucky for me that they aren't creative with their method of killing.

They're senseless creatures, driven to obey the command of their master by dark magic. If they had any sense to them and attacked us with direction or coordination, we would be in much worse trouble. As it is, their bloodlust is enough to keep us on our toes.

"Wolves at six o'clock!" Naomi shouts. My foot plows through the chest of a golem when her alert sounds. I almost topple over as I attempt to spin myself around—the golem still lodged around my foot. With a vicious swing of my leg, it slides off and catapults into a few of the other creatures. The impact takes them out, and they crumble to the ground in heaps of black earth.

This is why we'll win. Because we work together as a unit, taking up each other's slack and watching each other's back. The methodical order by which we eliminate the golems balances me. It keeps the darkness away with its whispers of malice and menace.

I take a short moment to scan the forest. The wolves are difficult to spot, despite the brief flashes of light from their rapid fire. They hide amongst the trees, using the thick trunks for coverage against the threat of return fire. I swing my gun in their direction, letting off a flurry of shots toward the southeast.

"Motherfu—" I rip the golem from my back onto the ground with such force it bursts immediately upon impact. My chest heaves as I step in a tight circle. The golems still surround me. It seems like no matter how many I take out, more and more take their place. The whispering darkness in my head sounds louder.

"Fall back!" Wyatt shouts.

Wyatt manages to grab one of the assault rifles when his handheld is finished, taking out half a dozen golems with his usual precision. JJ is—I stop midstep, almost falling to my knees at the sight of JJ struggling to pull himself into the van with one arm. His feet fail him as his spare hand spreads itself over the growing dark spot across his abdomen.

"JJ!"

Naomi fumbles backward, reduced to using her body as a weapon to defend against the attack. The contractions of my heart feel like an assault all their own. I can't seem to get a grasp on my breath, and the spike of adrenaline at the sight of JJ does nothing to help. I fire the last of my rounds into the mass of unearthly creatures, but it's clear what holds their interest now: Wyatt, Naomi, and most importantly, JJ's blood. And more trouble is coming. Large dark figures start to bloom from all around. Wolves.

"Callie, let's go!" Naomi shouts, swinging her fist and knocking back a golem.

But I can't. I realize it the instant Wyatt starts firing into the hoard. There is at least a dozen golem still after us, and all of them standing between them and me. The darkness threatens to take control, my desire to destroy the golems almost blinding me to my senses. _I have to be strong_.

Though the gunfire from the trees ceases momentarily, I know they are closing in. The wolves. My heartbeat sounds loudly in my ear as I watch Wyatt begin to use the assault rifle as a club.

"Go!" I yell back, working at undoing my belt and dragon skin armor. "Take care of him!" Naomi scrambles into the side of the van, a flash of understanding crossing her face as I chuck the clothing off me. I run the blade over my forearm, letting it sink deeply into my flesh to draw fresh blood. "I'll find her. Just go!"

The hoard stills as one, each taking their time to turn and face me. Their glass-like eyes almost seem to gleam with hunger. I take a tentative step back, ignoring the pain in my arm and the heavy stream of blood. If it's blood they want. It's blood they will get. I just hope Nova and the vampyré aren't still lurking. The truck rumbles to life, stealing some of the golems' attention. At least they're out, I think, now time to fly.

I turn and race into the forest, heading straight for the wolves. It's a daring move. A stupid move, really. They could cut me down with their bullets easily, but they could have done so before and hadn't. I have to believe they won't now.

The golems give chase, just as I knew they would. Their hog-like grunting and hollering sounding nearby along with the beating of their stump-like legs against the ground. I can see them more clearly now, the wolves hidden amongst the trees. They press closely to the trunks, guns positioned at the ready in their hands.

"Fire!" The command comes from farther away. It spurs me on faster, along with the lurch of fear curled deep in my belly. The firestorm begins once again, bullets raining down every side of me in sharp _cracks_ that make my ears scream. But they don't fire at me. I fight the urge not to cry in relief, knowing all too well my fight is far from done. I swerve to the west, back from where we first came, ducking around trees and letting the commotion behind me drown in the sound of my heavy breathing. I can feel my energy depleting and glance at my injured arm. That's when I'm hit. A body slamming so strongly into my side I bash into the nearest tree and smash my head. _Hard_.

I slump to the ground, the wind knocked out of me completely, as my vision blurs around the edges. A hand pushes against my shoulder, sending me back against the tree trunk. My struggle is weak, pathetic really, but I do my best. It's a stupid move, draining me of my remaining energy and propelling me into unconsciousness.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 8

Dance with the Dark Side

Failure is always a bitter pill to swallow—even more so knowing it's your fault. And I failed. Failed Nova and her sisters. Failed my brother. Failed my family and the Wardens of Starlight. It makes me feel ill. I need more than a Hail Mary pass to turn the tide in my favor. I need a miracle. If those even exist. With my luck, the world has most likely run out of them.

Last night's end is still fuzzy in my mind, and from the way my head aches, I assume I have a slight concussion. The cut on my arm is healed, no stitches required, though a long pink scar remains. The results of the Borealis Matter, no doubt, I think to myself. How much longer can I count on it to boost me? When exactly will the mystical power fade from my bones? Will it ever? Even now I feel some intrinsic connection to the bracers around my wrists, a certainty that we are now... one. With any luck, the Borealis Matter will continue to work its strange magic and heal the remainder of my head injury. I cannot afford the disadvantage. Not when miracles are scarce.

I assume it's morning, which means JJ, Naomi, and Wyatt will be nearing Calgary. God, I hope JJ is all right. A stab of worry drives through my heart at the memory of his blood-soaked abdomen. He's okay. He has to be. There are protocols for battle-time injuries. While one drives, the other stabilizes the wound. Will it have been enough? My feet take me back and forth across the cell I've been placed in. JJ is strong, I tell myself sternly. He will survive, and so will I.

Vogart's Blade and my butterfly blade are absent from my person when I awoke, leaving me with only my bracers to assist me and another item on my list to take back from the wolves. As if I don't have enough on my plate. I know I have only a few days—a week tops—to finish this job. The others will return, and the Council won't hesitate to coordinate a counterattack. If that happens... I shiver at the thought. If the Council comes before I can complete the job, more pressing and permanent consequences of failure will hang over me.

I glance about the room, my eyes landing on the cell bars that keep me contained. Unfortunately, attempting to bend them using the bracers and the Borealis inside of me isn't an option. I can't afford to waste the Borealis Matter. Besides, they can't leave me in here forever, can they? Surely someone is watching my agitated movements from the camera at the far end of the room? Will they send someone down to interrogate me? Will they try and torture information out of me? I release a heavy sigh, stopping my pacing to sit on the cot in the corner of the cell where I had woken. They'll probably send him down to interrogate me and use the soulmark against me.

A new worry blossoms in my chest. I must stay strong. Keep my muddled head in the game.

A door opens and closes somewhere nearby. My heart beats a fraction faster. Footsteps yield a soft dull thudding as they make their way in my direction, and I look to the room's only door expectantly. Seconds seem like minutes as I wait for it to open, and then, it does.

I sit up straighter, tamping down my worry with ease. It's him, just as I predicted. Our gazes lock immediately, dark brown to dark brown. He pulls two chairs into the room behind him, setting them across from each other with but a few feet between them. He leaves the room once more to retrieve a tray filled with a small meal and approaches the cell with it in hand.

"Hungry?" A steaming cup of tea and a small plate with some kind of pastry sits upon it.

"Not particularly," I tell him, though we both know it's a lie. I give the food and drink a skeptical once-over to further my point. No doubt laced with some witchy mojo meant to make me more malleable. I haven't forgotten about the wolves' alliance with the witches.

He raises a thick eyebrow. "When was the last time you ate?"

"Doesn't matter," I respond curtly after his eyes wander briefly down my body. I'm not built like some kind of Barbie doll. I have hips and long legs, muscular arms and taut abs that I've worked hard for in the gym. I've a fighter's body... almost like his. Except where Keenan's facial features are strong, even a bit harsh, mine have a softer touch to them.

"Eat," he counters, the muscles of his forearm straining slightly as his grip tightens on the tray. It's my turn to raise an eyebrow at the roughened command.

"No."

He turns and sets down the tray on a thin metal table behind him. "I hope you're not thinking of starving yourself," he comments while crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"I'm thinking more along the lines of fasting. Or one of those diets where you don't eat or drink anything your captors bring you. You know, just in case they're trying to poison you."

"Sounds a lot like starving yourself," he tells me dryly.

"I can see how the concept would go over your head," I tell him sweetly. He grunts in response, taking something out of his pocket and going to the cell door. It opens a moment later, his large frame filling the space.

"We need to talk." He jerks his head toward the chairs and leaves me space enough to pass by him. "Hands behind your back," he tells me once I've seated myself. I do as he asks, barely restraining my smirk as he secures a pair of handcuffs just above the bracers.

"Did you want to continue our discussion on my eating habits?"

Keenan is good at keeping his discontent hidden behind a blank facade. Without a sound, he sits across from me, legs spread wide as he rests his elbows on his thighs. He barely needs to lean forward to disrupt my personal space, but that's the point. I stretch my legs out in the open space between his legs, crossing them at the ankles.

"We have both your knives, but couldn't get your bracelets off. Why is that?"

"Is that right?" I let my amusement show, a soft smile brimming on my lips. "I hadn't noticed."

His scowl informs me of his disapproval. "Why couldn't we get the bracelets off?" he asks again. My smile grows wider. The bracers can only be taken off by the wearer. Though, it isn't completely unheard of for the wearer's hands to be removed as well to do the job. He doesn't need to know that though.

"I'm afraid I can't say." Keenan leans closer, close enough that I can see a few faint scars running along the top of his scalp through his closely cropped black hair. "Trade secret."

He gives a slight nod, eyes darting to my lips. I let my smile fall faster than a greyhound out its gate. "Last night those carvings lit up with some kind of green light. What was it?"

"Hmmm...." I let silence reign between us, taking my fill of the sterile wall above his head. "If I correctly remember, that's _also_ a trade secret."

Keenan leans back in his chair, folding his arms back over his chest. "You seem to have a lot of those."

"What? Trade secrets?" He nods, and though his eyes go half-mast, they retain their piercing quality.

"If you won't answer questions about your bracelets, then we can talk about something else."

"Oh, you're definitely not getting an answer about the 'bracelets.' Tell me, if I had drunk or eaten any of that food you brought down, would it have made me tell you?"

Keenan pauses. "Yes." _Knew it_ , I think vindictively.

"By human alteration or witchcraft?"

Keenan straightens his posture, rolling his neck from side to side. A distinct crack sounds from the motion, and then he is staring at me once more, eyes more alert than before. "Witchcraft." Of course, it would be witchcraft. Thank God I didn't take any of it. "My turn," he continues, unperturbed that he has relayed this information to me. "Where's your soulmark?"

The question catches me off guard, and I pull myself upward to mimic his posturing. My crossed legs tuck themselves under the chair as I eye him more thoughtfully. He doesn't flinch beneath my studious regard, and I make sure to take my time this go around. Even sitting he is a large man, taking up more space than seems humanly possible. It would be intimidating to a lesser person, but it suits him. The muscles and tattoos and ever-present glower. It _fits_ him.

I take a deep breath, letting it release in a steady stream of air. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

Keenan snorts, and I dare think a hint of a smirk plays around the corner of his mouth. His own soulmark is on display, hidden somewhere amongst the myriad of tattoos covering his forearm.

"Well," he drawls, "you know where mine is. I thought it only fair to know where yours is."

"Life isn't fair," I tell him flatly. Keenan leans forward once more, taking his time to draw his gaze up my body. Though I keep an unaffected air, my heartbeat is not inclined to do the same. It races along as his eyes linger over my waist, as if somehow drawn to the mark hidden there. When his eyes return, they have softened. It's not what I expect.

"You don't have to be afraid of me—"

"I'm not afraid of you," I interrupt quickly. He quirks a wry grin.

"Your scent says otherwise, that and the sound of your heart." I force myself to calm, thinking of silent nights huddled beneath layers of fur-lined blankets and attempting to count a million dazzling stars. My calm returns. Mostly. "Impressive," he murmurs, shifting back only slightly.

"I'm not afraid of you."

"And you don't have to be," he continues smoothly. "You're my soulmark. I'll always protect you."

I swallow at that, feeling my heart give a traitorous leap at his words. _Starry nights_ , _Calliope_ , I scold myself, _think of starry nights_.

"Well," I begin, finally resolving my composure, "it's in your best interest to be afraid of me. You stole from my people, and we won't stop until we take back what's ours. What does a pack of wolves want with the Amethyst of the Aztecs anyway? What good will it do you?" I uncross my legs and set my feet shoulder width apart.

"We're keeping it safe," he assures me calmly.

I scoff. "That's our job."

"Didn't do a very good job of it, did you?" I purse my lips at the slight, though there is hardly a thing to say against it. "There's another pack who wanted the ring—"

"The something-wolfs?" I ask tartly.

Keenan grunts his affirmation. "The Wselfwulf's. They've made some deal with a vampire—"

" _Vampyré_ ," I correct.

"Are you going to let me finish?" he asks, tone deceptively light.

"Are you going to tell me something I don't know?"

Keenan scowls, but I shrug in return.

"They're working together, aren't they?"

"Yes," he answers, "they were trying to get the ring for the vamp. He goes by the name Vrana." Again, I shrug. He is only confirming Naomi and my disjointed theory. Keenan's eyes narrow upon me at the flippant action.

"I already told you, my people will retrieve the ring. It doesn't matter who has it. They won't stop until they do, and neither will I."

Keenan looks wary, letting his shoulders roll back. "You know, I didn't think I'd ever find my soulmark. Not all lycans do," he tells me with a sigh. "But here you are. Handcuffed in my alpha's cellar while I question you. I don't even know your name." He gives a short bark-like laugh. "Hell, I'm pretty sure you hate me."

The last comment stings more than it should. As offhanded as it may be, it hits a mark I thought well hidden. Hating the supernatural is the common thread among all Wardens of Starlight. Our purpose, to eliminate the supernatural and protect the people of Earth, binding us together. Except my track record of summoning the feeling wasn't so stellar. My lack of it had landed innocents dead. I let my eyes fall shut for a short moment. _Hate,_ I wish it was that easy.

"It's Calliope," I say, surprising myself as I offer the information freely. His eyes widen, lips parting slightly to mime the words. I bite my lip to keep from saying anything else. _Stupid girl_ , I scold myself internally.

"That's a beautiful name, Calliope. I'm Keenan," he finally says, leaving us both to color at the compliment.

"Don't," I tell him, feeling a wave of distrust and dismay flood my body.

Both of his eyebrows raise. "Don't what?"

"Don't talk like that," I force out, feeling my cheeks heat even further. "It's unnecessary and highly unprofessional."

His eyebrows hike higher. "Unnecessary? Unprofessional?"

"Yes," I sputter, feeling more flustered than necessary. My gaze dodges to the left as I give the handcuffs a frustrated tug. He's probably trying to soften me up with compliments, but I'm not a fool to that game anymore after Wyatt.

The heat of Keenan's gaze is unexpectedly suffocating. "A beautiful name for a beautiful woman," he whispers in a husky timbre. Another well-placed hit. I smother my blush and turn a furious glare his way. He has a sort of smile on his perfectly chiseled face. The kind that softens the appearance of a man his size. It comes close to breaking my resolve, a fact only I am privy too.

With my resolve weakening, I do the only logical thing I can think of. I activate the bracers with a harsh twist. Snarling, I rip my arms outward, the handcuffs snapping easily. Feet planted firmly on the ground, I give a mighty push and send myself and the chair back several feet.

Keenan stands slowly, body alert and very much attuned to my own. Though my previous movement reeks of hostility, I rise from my chair with a cool disposition. The air seems to seize around us, constricting with constrained energy.

"Calliope—"

I give him a devastating smile. The one I like to save for special occasions such as these. "Call me, Callie."

Keenan's eyes narrow. The muscles bound to his body, holding tight before he charges. I move just as fast. The Borealis spurring me on.

I spin around as he nears, snatching the wooden chair as I go to swing it around and smash it against him. He lets out a coarse burst of air, saddling sideways upon impact. The chair doesn't break, but the crack and crunch it makes inform me one more hit will do the job. So be it. I propel myself in a wider circle—chair still in hand—and arch it upward to hit his back. But Keenan is prepared.

He ducks my second attempt and catches me around my middle. The chair clatters to the floor, my hands finding new purpose in groping his face, thumbs aiming for his umber eyes.

"Damnit!" he curses, releasing me. Keenan dodges backward and levels me with a glare. "I don't want to hurt you, Callie."

"Can't say I feel the same," I pant, launching myself at him again. Adrenalin flares inside of me, and not a beat behind it is my darkness egging me on _. If I can subdue him for just a moment, I can make a move for the door_. He blocks my right hook and scores with his fist, driving it into my side and effectively pushing me back. I move with the hit, fists in front of my face as I skip backward.

A scowl threatens at my brow while I weave from side to side, fists launching themselves at Keenan's torso and face in rapid succession. He's pulling his hits, and now he's refusing to do little more than hold a defensive position while I assail him.

"Fight back," I growl. _Fight back so I can end this_. But he doesn't.

A spell of nerves begins to gnaw at my focus—at my drive and energy. His defense is too tight. There is no managing a solid enough hit to break his stance. I let out another growl, this one full of pent-up frustration. I have failed so far, but not in this. The thought drives away the nerves and the darkness, as I forcefully draw on the Borealis Matter. The bracers shine more brightly as I throw out jabs and crosses.

A side kick pulls a grimace from his face. _Good_. I slip close to deliver a left hook, but it's the move he's been waiting for. Keenan redirects my fist, and with his other, then punches me in the chest. The hit is pulled, but I'm still left reeling and gasping as I teeter backward.

"I don't want to hurt you," he tells me, a pained expression on his face, one that isn't caused by my attacks.

" _I_ want to hurt _you_ ," I snap back viciously, all too ready to launch myself back at him, the drive to put him down trumping all others.

"Why?" he asks breathlessly.

The question pulls me to an abrupt stop. With horrible realization, my mindless campaign falls out from under me. When did it turn from momentarily stunning him to putting him down into the ground in order to gain my release? I'd become senseless. Driven by the force inside me to inflict pain and death, and nothing else. _The darkness_. I take two steps back with a shaky gasp, eyes widening in revulsion at myself. Keenan approaches with cautious steps.

"Don't," I say in a ragged whisper. Dangerous thoughts fill my head. Some of them seemingly not my own. How did I not notice it coming to a head? If I can't differentiate between strategy and senseless fighting—senseless killing—then I'm no better than the monsters my people faced daily.

"It's okay, Calliope," he tells me gently in that gruff voice of his. "I'm not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you." My eyes shift to him and take in his proximity. When had he gotten so close? I shift back more, bumping into the cold bars of my cell.

"Don't." My teeth grind painfully together at the gripping panic flaying me. _Not again_. I can't lose myself again. He reaches out a hand tentatively, and I can't help but note how large and calloused it is. It nears my cheek with clear intent, but I break before I can feel his touch. "I said _don't_."

I lash out. My fist slams into the center of his face with superhuman strength.

"Fuck!" He stumbles back, both hands going to cradle his nose as his eyes water. "Shit, Callie."

I stand in shock, fist still held at the ready, but feet planted firmly in place. My eyes dart to the door at the opposite end of the room. My escape. Yet, if I leave now, I might not be able to gain access to the house again. And I don't know if my blades or the ring are here. Keenan straightens, his eyes guarded as he takes in my stance. I let my arm fall and take a step forward.

"I told you...," I say, contrite.

"I wasn't going to hurt you," he tells me harshly, his hand still pinching tentatively at his nose.

I roll my eyes. "Let me see."

"No." He wears a scowl meant to dissuade me, and the entire population, from coming nearer, but I give no credibility to it.

"Stop being a baby and let me see. I think I broke it." He shifts out of my reach. "I'm trying to be nice," I snap. _I've also decided to stay_ , I think to myself bitterly, _and it has nothing to do with the brute in front of me_.

"No thanks."

My hand darts out and grabs his wrist before he can stop me. His eyes widen in alarm as mine flash with triumph. When I pull his hand away, I don't take much account of the way my hand slips down a few inches, that is, until I feel it.

It's like being doused with ice water, bringing about a chill that wracks my body, only to be chased down by feverish flames. It is mind-numbing this feeling. This sensation. It dulls the senses and forces upon me wave after wave of intoxicating rapture.

The door to the cellar crashes open, and we leap apart, though our eyes are unable to release each other.

"Well, well, well," an oddly familiar arrogant voice coos. My gaze turns to him hesitantly, eyeing the newcomer with veiled interest. Had this man been one of the wolves robbing the Banks Facility? "Isn't this going to be fun."

Keenan's shoulders stiffen, his back going needle straight. He turns a vicious glare on the intruder, some twenty-something, raven-haired man with a devilish grin. It has little effect.

"It was nothing," Keenan manages to say past gritted teeth. I swallow at the harsh words, but make no move to speak up. The other man takes a step forward, mouth opening to address us once more when Keenan makes a beeline for the door. I watch with a grim expression on my face as Keenan's shoulder smashes into the man as he makes his escape.

"Don't take it too personally, sweetheart," the raven-haired man mocks, rubbing lightly at his chest as he observes me in my state of mild distress. _Too late for that_ , I think, wondering what kind of wolf I've been left to deal with this time. "Be a doll and get back into your cell, will you? Someone will be down later with lunch, while I attend to Mr. Grouch."

Though his words are spoken jovially, the underlining steel to them isn't something I'm willing to test. Nor are the two men who stand only a few feet behind him. I walk stiffly back into the cell. Closing the door with a heavy hand as I stare down the grinning wolf.

"Good girl," he mocks, before walking out and closing the cellar door firmly behind him.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 9

Girl Talk

Hours pass slowly as I drift in and out of fretful sleep. Though my body longs for rest, my mind is a flurry of activity, planning and plotting what to do next. A rapping sounds against the cellar room door, three quick knocks, one after the other, and effectively pulling me from my reverie. A blonde head pokes out from behind the door a second later.

"Knock, knock," she announces in a cheery voice, stepping fully inside. Her hands go behind her back as she approaches my cell. Head twisting with feigned curiosity as she examines the room. Not that there is much too examine now that the chairs and debris have been cleared.

I give her a long once-over during her perusal of the room. Long blonde hair. Blue eyes. Not exactly tall, but with the heels, she gains a few extra inches. _Barbie doll,_ I think faintly _._ It's a far cry from the last person I saw. Some lanky teenage boy carrying a tray with an impressively stacked sandwich and a glass of water on it. The new food tray replaced the old, my refusal still standing strong. But this woman brought nothing with her, except for that curious look on her face.

"You know," she drawls, eyes sparkling mischievously, "the last time I was down here, I thought it was some kind of sex dungeon."

_Huh_. I give a rather pathetic raise of my shoulders in response. My energy has long since left me since this morning, and refusing the food has left me feeling more drained than I want to be. "Interesting theory," I finally say as her expectant gaze lingers on.

"It's not," she assures me, leaning up against the bars of the cell, "but, rest assured, sex has been had down here." The blonde attempts to wiggle her brows then shoots me a wink instead. "The pack prefers to use this place as a holding cell of sorts—oh, I'm Quinn, by the way." She outstretches her hand to me, easily slipping it through the bars. "I'm a 'normy,' if you were curious about that. It's what I'm calling all nonsupernatural persons. And yes, I am working on a better name."

"How about human?" I offer halfheartedly.

She rolls her eyes, hand still extended and waiting expectantly. "That's so passé," Quinn informs me. "Are you going to shake my hand or keep sitting there brooding?"

"I'm concussed," I tell her dryly, "so no. I'm not going to get up and shake your hand." It drops back down to her side, but she remains leaning against the bars, giving me an unimpressed look. "And I'm not brooding. I'm _plotting_."

"Oh!" Her eyes sparkle with true interest. "I love a good plot. You know, before finding out that all of this was real—lycans, witches, and vampires—I was a _very_ distinguished thief." A soft humming stirs from her throat as she gains a far-off look in her eyes. "I could orchestrate some pretty grand schemes back in the day. 'The day' being just a couple weeks ago. You and yours should really think about upgrading your security system against _non_ paranormal beings."

Her words hit their mark, but it's the somewhat smug expression dripping from her eyes that makes my blood pressure rise. "You planned that? _You_?"

"Well, not just by myself. I have a partner in crime now—literally." She lets out a soft, breathy laugh. "Ryatt helped coordinate specifics since I'm used to doing more solo ventures."

"You," I breathe. "I remember you." And I do. She was the human hidden amongst the wolves on the night of the first wolf attack.

"Yeah," she responds, followed by a light scoff, "and I remember you. You tackled and pinned me to the ground. Then had some weird panic attack. Then"—her eyes go slightly wide—"you stabbed my boyfriend in the foot. He was not pleased about that, and you ruined a very nice pair of boots. Don't worry, it healed quickly enough, and he got a new pair of boots."

"I did not have a panic attack," I snap back. I'm surprised at the amount of venom coating my words, and from the looks of it, so is she. A flash of momentary distress flickers over her features before it smooths back down into a perfect mask of indifference.

"Fine," Quinn responds, tone bearing frost, "you didn't. _Whatever_."

"Is there a reason you're down here?" I finally ask, forcing my sour attitude down.

She flicks her hair over her shoulder. "I just thought you might like to know that we have your weapons here. And until we can figure out what to do with you, they'll be staying in our possession."

_How unsurprising_. "Like calls to like," I tell her dully.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" she asks after a moment's hesitation. I put on a bemused, yet patronizing look and draw myself up from the bed.

"You've heard the phrase, 'birds of a feather flock together,' right?" I ask as I approach Quinn's leaning form. She nods, lips thinning ever so slightly as mine stretch into a wide smile. "Good. Then you'll understand why it's not so hard for me to believe that a _thief_ , and her rousing band of wolf thieves, would decide to keep pieces of property that don't belong to them."

Quinn flashes me a false smile. "Gee, thanks for explaining that to me."

"You're welcome," I quip, walking back over to the cot and sitting down. There's a dull, yet persistent, throbbing at the base of my skull. It somehow radiates down into the rest of my body, making my new bruises slightly more painful. Fighting had proven to be a bad decision for my mild concussion. "Anything else?"

"It could be worse, you know."

"Worse than having priceless artifacts stolen from your community? Worse than risking everything to save a friend only to fail? Worse than being stuck in this glorified dog cage?" I scoot back on the cot, resting my back and head against the cool cement wall. My eyes trained straight ahead.

"Your stuff could be with the vampire." I turn my head to read the look on her face. The cool mask she wears seems to have dropped, replaced instead with something a bit more honest.

_Human_ , I think. What is this human girl doing here? And helping a pack of wolves, no less? The man she spoke of earlier, Ryatt, must be a wolf in this pack. And if this woman is allowed to know their supernatural secret, then she must be his soulmark. I pivot my gaze, swallowing past the odd lump in my throat.

"It's _vampyré_ , technically speaking," I correct her gently, "and you're right. It would be much worse if the vampyré got hold of our stuff."

Quinn lets out a little sigh and folds down to take a seat on the floor. "Vampyré sounds terribly chic in comparison," she voices thoughtfully.

"They're definitely terrible," I remark. We make eye contact. A strange understanding passes between us.

"I know," she says, a small frown pulling at her brow as her gaze darts to the floor. "The vampyré who was out there yesterday night—he's the one we're trying to keep all your stuff from—his name is Jakub Vrana. I used to work for him, and I know just how terrible he can be."

"Do you make a habit of working for supernatural creatures, or is it just a weird coincidence?"

A laugh tumbles from her mouth as she shakes her head. "The latter," she confides, stretching her legs out with a happy sigh. "I didn't actually know I was working for a vampyré until I met Ryatt, which is a whole other story that I will not get into unless tequila is involved."

"So, you took the ring to keep it away from this Mr. Vrana?"

Quinn stays quiet for a while, mulling over my answer. At one point, her gaze shifts to the camera in the far corner of the room, looking contrite.

"Yes," she finally says. "He's been after it for some time now, but we can't seem to ferret out why."

I raise my shoulders an inch then let them fall. "True daylight rings are something like the Holy Grail to vampyrés. They have all this power and strength, which only grows with age, but they're bound to the night. It's their greatest limitation, and a daylight ring circumvents that limitation." I hate to think about what Vogart's Blade might mean to the collection of vampyré on this earth, but it's one I cannot avoid. If the legends are true, it could turn back only the newly turned, which might not mean much to centuries-old vampyrés. Unfortunately, the blade is still a weapon to be coveted, and if knowledge of its true origins is learned, we'd have another problem on our hands.

"Gotcha."

"Anything else of significance happen last night that I should know about? Did any of your pack happen to grab a thigh-length jacket from the forest floor?" I ask the questions lightly and manage a cool veneer, though I'm desperate to know more news.

"I don't know about the jacket, but I can check for you," she offers. "The only other significant thing that happened last night was Mr. Vrana and his associate getting away."

The lingering worry I harbor over Nova washes away with Quinn's news. She is still alive. There is still hope. I settle back against the wall a bit deeper and let out a long, steady sigh. Good. This is good.

"Vampyrés are known for their speed," I comment. "It's not too surprising they got away, especially considering they were prepared for our arrival."

Quinn's eyes narrow. "He did seem unusually prepared, but the associate of his is a new addition."

"Interesting."

"It is," she agrees. "After hearing Ryatt's version of last night's events, it sounds like Vrana was more than prepared, for both you and your friends, along with the pack. Whatever those creatures were, they stirred up enough mayhem to distract the pack and your people from chasing after Vrana and his associate. It was a well-planned exit."

"It's unwise to underestimate a vampyré," I say, avoiding the topic she edges around.

"Trust me. I know." A dark look flashes behind her eyes before they focus on me with clear intent. "Vrana is working with a rival pack to secure the ring, but even they wouldn't have known you'd be coming last night. We certainly didn't expect to see you. Not after that small group of your people ran the other night during a different fight at the territory line. So how could Vrana have possibly known you would come back? He's not omniscient."

I focus on my breathing instead of Quinn's questions and implications. It comes at short intervals and makes the throbbing in my head seem more pronounced, especially as I try to think of an answer to give Quinn. Is it worth it to tell her the truth? What will it accomplish if I do? I certainly didn't trust this pack of wolves with the truth about Vogart's Blade.

"Well?"

"The new associate, she's my... friend," I choke out, a storm of emotion clogged in my throat. "My best friend. She was with the group that was out here the other night, doing surveillance on the wolves and the witches. Your Mr. Vrana took her."

"Oh." The small utterance passes as a condolence, and again our eyes meet. "He certainly likes to make a habit of killing people as a means to show off his power," she says bitterly.

"We did come for the ring," I tell her truthfully, "but we also came for her. We thought Vrana turned her just to leave her at the mercy of the wolves."

"What exactly were you going to do if you caught your friend? Aren't new vampyrés supposed to be crazy?"

"Not so much crazy, as they're driven by bloodlust," I remark, dodging the question.

"Sounds crazy to me!" she chirps. "Anyway, aren't you and your friends like, professional supernatural haters?"

"Professional supernatural haters?" I repeat dubiously. "That is—who said that?"

She waves a hand dismissively at my indignation. "It doesn't matter. It's totally obvious to anyone with eyes that you don't like supernaturals. Which begs the question as to what you planned to do with your newly turned vampyré friend."

"Turn her back." The words feel like bombs as they drop from my mouth. The weight of their significance heightened when said aloud to one of my captors. Quinn looks startled from their impact. "And we're not professional haters," I correct before she can chime in. "We're the Wardens of Starlight. We're blessed with the power of the Aurora Borealis to protect the people of the world from dark supernatural creatures."

"But vampyrés are dark supernatural creatures," she ventures softly.

I give a grim nod. "I know. But there was—there is—a small chance that if we get her back to our base, we can reverse the effects. The longer she stays turned though, the smaller our chance gets." The words are painful to say, but that happens sometimes when dealing with the truth. Chances of helping Nova grow smaller and smaller as the minutes tic by, but I'm determined to hold out hope.

"Reverse vampyrism? Like with a potion?"

I don't offer any confirmation, though I hear the trace of curiosity in her voice. "All magic—curses, spells, and charms—have a counteract of some kind. A way to reverse what has been done. A back door. A loophole," I explain. "Even the strongest of spells and curses do."

Quinn remains quiet for a moment, mulling over my words. I feel the seconds pass by like minutes, my mounting anxiety growing as the silence stretches on.

"I don't think everything has a reverse," she says pensively, her sharp crystal blue eyes cutting into mine. "What about soulmarks?"

Well, I didn't expect that to come out of her mouth. Nor the look of earnestness she wears. "The soulmark is a bit different," I concede, "but not in the way you're thinking. The 'curse' of the soulmark is being split in the first place. It's the coming together that is the counteract."

Quinn frowns. "But why did it have to be that way in the first place?"

"I don't know. Maybe it was some vengeful god or spiteful spirit who triggered the soulmark. There are too many legends and too much lore from a whole variety of different supernaturals to know." I give a fleeting shrug. "Maybe it's because finding your true soul mate was always meant to come with a price."

"Do you really think that?" I give another rise of my shoulders in answer. "What about Keenan? You know, the big guy you broke a chair against?"

I flush unwittingly. "What about him?"

Her eyebrows shoot to her hairline as she levels me with a look of exasperation. "Seriously?" I cross my arms over my chest and direct my gaze to the side. "You know, he might be gruff and moody, and he hardly ever breaks a smile, but he's pretty considerate, all things considered. And loyal. And when he does smile, it has a very swoon-worthy effect."

I let out a small huff. "If you like him so much, then why don't you date him."

"Don't get me wrong, Keenan's great. A total hunk, but he's not my type. I've always leaned more toward the rebellious bad boys, ya know? That reckless behavior gets me all riled up."

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask through barely gritted teeth, heart hammering in my chest.

Quinn lets one eyebrow arch delicately this time, her shoulders rolling back as that smug look ventures back onto her features. "We all know, Callie. That look of pure orgasmic bliss on your face when you touched the soulmark on his arm kind of gives the game away. Don't you think?"

A full flush covers my neck and cheeks at her brazen tone. "I did not have a look of... a look of...." I screw my eyes up momentarily as I sputter on. "There was no look, all right?"

Quinn gives me a pitying glance before pointedly looking at the camera across the room. "Are you sure you want to stick with that answer? Or should we review the footage?"

The color intensifies on my face. I can feel it. "That won't be necessary," I tell her tersely.

She stands, the motion made slightly wobbly by her tremendous heels. Her hands are quick to wipe away the small margin of dust and dirt that has collected on her clothing before she returns her full attention to me. "Did I mention you'll be having dinner tonight with him?"

"Excuse me?" The news startles the color from my cheeks.

Her head bobs along solemnly, even though a grin begins to play at the corner of her lips. Quinn walks toward the cellar door. "Yep! Someone will be down to escort you to a bathroom so you can clean up a bit, and then you'll be taken to the dining room. Don't worry, it will just be you and him."

"I don't think—"

Quinn's voice steamrolls over my protests. "All right? Great! They'll be down in an hour or so. Oh, and you should really try and eat something. It will help with your concussion. Plus, Zoe is cooking, and she's brilliant in the kitchen. Okay, see you later!" With a dainty wiggle of her fingers, she peels out of the room before I can say anything further, the heavy slam of the door getting the last say in the matter.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 10

Let's Make a Deal

The person they send down is—and I admit this quite begrudgingly—charming. Atticus looks like the boy next door all grown up and filled out with muscle. There's a disarming effect to his smile, one that makes it slightly difficult to keep a stoic atmosphere about my person. He wears it the entire time he escorts me to the guest room and bathroom, as well as to the dining room.

"What the...?" My voice trails off in mild disgust as I survey the simpering glow of the candelabra and spread of food meant for someone with a far more voracious appetite than me. This is the dining room? It looks to hold a party of ten rather than a meal for two. My feet are glued to the floor as I continue to appraise the room.

"This looks like Irina's work," Atticus laments, hand scratching at the back of his neck as he passes me a what-can-I-tell-ya type grin. "She's very enthusiastic about new soulmarks."

"She can take her enthusiasm and shove it up her ass," I mutter, taking my seat like a petulant child. "So...." I begin, stretching out my legs beneath the table. I'd been lent a clean set of clothes. Simple black pants and a quarter-length black shirt. Nothing fancy, but highly preferable to my dirt and bloodstained clothes. "Where is he?"

"Right here," a voice interjects from the other side of the room. My head whips to the side to see Keenan standing in the midst of the doorway, his bulking frame taking up the majority of it. He's changed too, but not into anything impressive. Unless that is, one considers how flattering the cut of the shirt looks against his sculpted torso. Or the way his dark pants hug his thighs. Keenan eyes the table speculatively, heaving a sigh as he enters fully into the room. "Interesting setup," he comments, eyes shifting to me.

"Have fun you two," Atticus says. "No knife fights please."

I roll my eyes, but give the knife snuggled up to my plate a somewhat lustful glance. I can't afford to waste my energy on another fight, even if my headache from earlier has washed away with the scalding hot shower I took. The last of what remained of the concussion will heal overnight, of this I'm certain, but only if I replenish my body with food.

"You look... clean," he says, taking the seat next to me at the corner of the table. I scoot my legs back at the action, pulling further into my seat to make my sentiments about the current arrangement clear.

"You look unscathed," I reply.

He gives me a wry grin. "Lycan healing and witchcraft."

I turn my attention over to the plates of food displayed on the table. A pot roast with baby carrots and onions. Creamy mashed potatoes. Green beans with what looks to be bits of bacon. A basket full of rolls and a large saucer filled with gravy. "Zoelle cooked," Keenan explains. "She owns a—"

I give a sharp shake of my head, cutting off his sentence. "I don't care." His hands pause midreach for the serving fork and knife placed next to the meat.

"I've been told it isn't laced with anything," he says carefully, continuing the process of filling his plate. "And even if it were, I'd be consuming whatever you did."

_The food does look good_ , I think. It smells amazing too. "What about our drinks?" I gesture weakly to the filled glasses of water set before us. "The food might not be laced, but my drink could be." Keenan sighs and stops what he's doing to take my glass and drink a gulp of the water.

"Satisfied?" he asks.

I sniff delicately. "Enough, I suppose." I let Keenan finish filling his plate before placing small scoops onto my own. My stomach might have won the battle, but my pride is in it for the petty war. I can feel his eyes weigh down upon me as I help myself to the food. They linger over my forearms that boast numerous tattoos, each undoubtedly looking for my elusive soulmark.

"I didn't ask them to do all of this," he says once I've finished and poke at my food with a fork. I give him a blank stare in return. "The dim lighting. The candle thing. The fancy food. We were just supposed to talk."

I spy a bit of color fuse his cheeks as he explains himself and hold back a smirk. "Just supposed to talk? The dinner wasn't supposed to be included?"

"No." He shakes his head, fork stabbing into a carrot. "I mean, it was. You haven't eaten all day, but I didn't mean for it to be so... elaborate."

"But you did want us to talk over dinner? Privately?" He gives a short nod, the guilty flush building on his face. "Like a _date_?" The fork drops from his fingers, landing with a clatter on the porcelain plate. "Careful, wouldn't want to ruin all this finery." I'm surprised at how teasing the words come out and reel back in my seat. Keenan doesn't notice, at least I don't think he does. His eyes are too focused on his dinner plate and cutlery.

"I'm sure I'd be forgiven if I did," he finally says, eyes returning to me as he subtly straightens. "This wasn't meant to be a date," he confides. "It was meant to be a negotiation. My alpha thought it would be best for me to handle the matter, seeing as we're soulmarks."

I scowl angrily at the reminder and stab into the mashed potatoes. It's not nearly as gratifying as I hoped it would be, but the forkful I jam into my mouth is. A tiny whimper escapes at the buttery concoction. _Damn_. When I dare to meet his gaze, I find him watching my movements with unveiled interest.

No. Not interest. There's too much intensity behind it. For a long moment, I'm reminded vividly of the way Wyatt used to look at me. The lust-filled glances. The wanting looks. But this is different. There is more to his gaze than just unbridled lust. There's a deeper want searing through it. It's the difference, I realize, between the way a man looks at you and the way a boy would.

"Good?" His rumbling vibrato rolls over my skin like a summer's breeze.

"It's... adequate," I mumble, scolding myself once again for slipping. My earlier honest conversation with Quinn, combined with my refreshing shower, has left me feeling a little too generous and open. _Too vulnerable_.

"I always thought the Wardens and their infamous warriors were just some scary bedtime story my mother would tell me to make me behave."

"A scary bedtime story?"

He nods, chewing his food quickly before responding. "There isn't too much to be scared of when you're a lycan, but I suppose the same could be said for all supernatural creatures. We're stronger and faster than humans. We don't succumb to illnesses easily. Of course, the threat of exposure haunts us, but other than that and the occasional sworn enemy, it's your kind that's meant to scare us straight."

"And do I scare you?"

I should have anticipated the attentive regard I receive for my question, but it still draws the hair on the back of my neck to attention. Our eyes clash in a battle of wills. Neither of us willing to break.

"No," he finally says. The word comes out harsher than I expect. My eyes dive toward my plate of food, already almost half gone due to my small portion sizes.

"Well," I begin, "maybe you should be. The Wardens are everything your mother told you about and more. So much more," I trail off in a whisper.

The room grows to a stout silence as we continue to eat, neither of us willing to end the hushed interim. Too soon my food is gone, my stomach aching for a few helpings more—

"Eat," Keenan grunts, eyeing me over a forkful of pot roast.

"I'm full." The look he spares me expresses his thoughts on the matter. I let out an impatient sigh. "Are we going to negotiate anytime soon, or were you waiting for us to talk over a shared dessert?" I mean for it to sound more sarcastic, but the passive hostility falls flat. It makes it sound more... wistful. Keenan stops once more, the look he passes me this time more considerate, pensive. He sets down his fork and knife and places his hands in his lap.

"We can talk now," he answers, face and tone solemn. "The safest place for the ring is here, Callie. Our pack is aligned with a powerful coven, and because of a magical barrier they've erected, no supernatural being with malicious intent can cross into our territory. Meaning Vrana and the Wselfwulf's can't get to us. Granted, the high amount of concentrated magic they're using to keep up the barrier does have the unwanted effect of drawing other supernatural creatures' attention." He frowns at the last bit, and so do I, my reserves drawing up.

"That hardly seems like a good reason to keep it. If anything, it will only make more trouble for you. Case in point, the Wardens and these other supernatural creatures," I argue.

"Tell me more about the blade we took off you," he requests.

"Excuse me?"

He shifts in his seat, one foot stretching out and bumping into mine. He doesn't pull it back. Nor do I. "The blade. It's old. That much is easy to tell. Why would you want to fight with it?" I temper my heartbeat and let my gaze flicker over the food once more. The strangest temptation runs through me to speak the truth, but I easily snuff it out.

"I thought we were negotiating the return of the ring, not making idle chitchat about my choice of weaponry. And for the record, I stand by my previous point and would further like to note that the Wardens are a _global_ force. We could hide the ring anywhere in the world."

"I'm surprised the thing is still usable, to be honest," he continues, ignoring my commentary. "I saw you using it on those creatures and thought maybe it was some magical dagger meant to inflict a heavier wound. But then I saw you cut yourself with it."

I rein in my annoyance at his persistence and take a deep breath, forcing a stiff smile on my lips. "It's an old family heirloom. My favorite, actually. I can show you how I like to use it if you're interested?"

Keenan holds back a smile. "I think I'll pass on that offer," he says, the right side of his lips defiantly curling upward. He ducks his head quickly to hide it and clears his throat before looking back to me. I'm surprised at how the simple action draws a strange flutter to my stomach. "The ring then."

"Yes, the ring."

He pauses, clearly searching for the words to begin what I'm assuming to be a scripted negotiation. "Having spoken with my alpha earlier, I'm confident that the ring can be delivered back to your people," he says, "as long as you agree to a few conditions."

I sigh and lean back in my chair. "Go on then," I say. This is bound to be interesting.

"The ring will be sent back with a small guard of wolves and Eldritch Witches to the Banks Facility. Terms will be—"

"Absolutely _not_ ," I snarl.

"Why?" he asks calmly.

"A small guard? The Wardens won't stand for it. The Banks has been hit twice with wolf attacks in recent weeks, and you want to bring combat witches into the mix? They'd destroy every last one of you then use your blood as a message to any others who would dare try something similar. We don't forgive and forget," I tell him savagely, feeling my hostility grow.

Keenan looks fit to spit, his hands balling into fists as a quiet rage settles across his features. It's a glimpse of the hardened warrior I know he must be, one unwilling to submit to a person they deem inconsequential.

"Fine. Then the ring will be sent back with a few of ours to a select group of your people, after which, the envoy will return unharmed." My righteous anger dies down at the modified terms, but his hardened features still set me on edge. "Of course," he murmurs, "during this transaction, you would be required to stay behind as an act of good faith. As the pack's ward, of sorts. After all, you did say your kind kills mine. I'm not sure how much we can actually trust your people with not killing us."

I bite my tongue to quell my retort. Of course, they expect me to stay behind... but is it really as an act of good faith? Or does Keenan have more selfish reasons coming into play? My stomach gives an upsetting grumble, distracting me from my immediate thought.

"There's plenty of food," Keenan continues in that soft murmur, his eyes compelling me to sate my obvious hunger. I avert my gaze as I snag another roll, tearing it into a few bite-size pieces before indulging. There is a strange stirring in my blood as his gaze remains on me, one I'm not wholly comfortable with.

"Did your alpha come up with this plan B or you?" I ask.

"I did," he responds coolly.

I make a humming noise, popping another bit of bread into my mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "He trusts your negotiating skills that much?"

"He trusts _me_."

My eyebrow knocks upward in speculation. "What are you, the third? You don't seem like the beta type. Maybe the fourth? You have to be somewhat high ranking in order to make a deal with the enemy without your alpha's supervision."

"I'm the fifth." Another noncommittal noise sounds from my throat as I avert my gaze to my plate. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see Keenan tense very subtly. _Men and their egos_. "And though we might be 'enemies' as you put it, we have a common interest in keeping the ring out of the hands of the vampires."

"Vampyré," I correct absentmindedly, "and how long exactly did you think your pack would keep me as their ' _ward_ ,' hmm? My people will expect me to return. Along with everything I came here with, which includes my duster and my weapons. You can't really expect me to stay here forever," I finish a bit dramatically.

Keenan sighs a bit ruefully, a tender smile crossing his lips. "It was worth a shot, I suppose." He lets the weight of his full regard rest upon me, the same heavy look to his eyes as before. The one filled with want. _With need_. I swallow, losing the strict words at the tip of my tongue. I can hear my shallow breathing as the seconds tick onward. The sound of my heartbeat an echo in my ears.

"You...." I shake my head, attempting to clear my thoughts. This couldn't be. _We_ couldn't be. "I'm promised to someone," I tell him hoarsely. "He'll come for me." _Because he thinks I'm his property_ , I think bitterly.

Keenan doesn't respond right away. A strange energy builds around him as he moves one hand to toy with his dinner knife. His fingers move it methodically between his fingers in a figure-eight while his regard narrows.

"Promised to whom exactly?" he asks softly. I open my mouth to speak, but a rather unnerving smirk paints itself on his face. "The one dying in the witches' house?"

My heart contracts. "What did you just say?" I whisper aghast. "What are you talking about?"

The point of the knife drives into the table with a soft thud. "The one with his stomach ripped to shreds," he informs me calmly, eyes tracing every movement I make.

_Oh God_. JJ. Not him. My eyes flutter closed. Why hadn't he made it into the truck? How could they have left him behind? A wave of nausea rises from the pit of my stomach. And they are having the witches hold him prisoner? _Fucking wolves_. My eyes flash open and meet Keenan's watch with a mighty glare.

"Take me to see him. Now," I demand.

Keenan pulls the knife from the wood and slams it flat on to the table. The whole thing reverberates with the collision. "I think a new deal is in order," he says, voice still achingly calm. "The man, ring, and blades can all be returned to your people once he's healed, but you stay, Calliope. You stay and you complete the sealing."

My jaw drops open at the ludicrous proposal. _Complete the sealing_ _and create an unbreakable bond between this wolf and myself_? I can't. My family would disown me. A future with Keenan is unthinkable. It's completely unheard of, and yet my heart gives a wild beat at the thought.

"You can't be serious," I argue, but Keenan makes no move to correct himself. A flood of emotions run through me. Anxiety, fear, anger... curiosity.

I know they all must run across my features in harried succession, but I can't seem to pull myself together. All the while, Keenan remains undisturbed. My hands clench into fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of my palms as I rake over his proposal. Stay here and complete the sealing to ensure that JJ and the artifacts are returned safely? I don't know if I can do it, but I know what JJ would do.

He wouldn't hesitate. He never has when it came to me.

He would take the deal and someway find his way back to our family, but he would make sure I was out safely first. I wish I had his strength and fortitude. If it was any other in my position, a true Stellar Warrior, they would remain steadfast and reject the deal. The Wardens of Starlight don't compromise with the enemy. Yet here I am, willing to do just that in order to save one life. JJ would do the same for me, I think grimly steeling my resolve.

"I'll accept with the following conditions. First, before you release the man, I want to see him so I can make sure he's unharmed by your witches. That he's fit to travel."

Keenan nods stiffly. "The second?"

"The blades stay with me," I tell him with a shaky breath. "They belong to me. I'm their protector."

"Agreed," Keenan says immediately after I've finished, a flash of triumph flaring behind his eyes with a sprinkling of gold. "We'll complete the sealing tonight," he tells me, standing abruptly, "after I relay the news to my alpha."

##### "Wait! What?" I cry, standing as well, but he is already halfway out the door. It slams shut behind him. The telltale sound of a lock sliding forcefully into place after it.

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 11

Sealed

I'm escorted to some study. An honest to God study. It's done up in rich cherrywood, accented by leather couches and chairs, and a large desk. I navigate the room in what can only be described as an agitated manner.

What am I doing? Have I gone insane?

Only a complete idiot accepts the deal I just did. And why is there something so dastardly akin to hope rising in my chest? I have plans. Plans that are going up in flames faster than I ever thought possible. No Nova, no relics, and now JJ and this ultimatum. This isn't how it is supposed to go. I'm meant to return victorious and prove everyone wrong. Show them I'm capable and reliable. That my head is in the game.

Then everything will fall back to its rightful place. I would return to my station as a Stellar Warrior and follow every order faithfully till the day I die. Nova would be reunited with her sisters. JJ would rise high among the ranks and restore honor to our family name.

But what if none of those things occurred as a result of my victory?

Wyatt's words come back to haunt me. Do I really think if I'm victorious the Council would hail my return? Chances are the Council would still punish me, whether through traditional means or by enforcing their own sense of justice. Like finally forcing me into a preordained life. Forcing me to marry Wyatt and live out the rest of my days as his little wife. Sitting behind some desk and doling out new protocols as a member of the Council, my greatest hope of achievement to pass some new law or settle a dispute.

I'm not made to be a judge. I'm an executioner through and through, and therein lie the problem. That dark ache inside of me has too much hold over me. How can I ever be trusted to wield such powerful weapons when I'm no better than some mindless harpy when it comes down to action?

Can I ever fit into the cookie-cutter role they want to place me in? Would I ever be happy?

_Can I ever be happy with my soulmark_?

I trip over my own feet as the thought stumbles through my mind. I cast a furtive look about the room, double-checking I am alone and no one sees my blunder. What am I thinking? I can't possibly be thinking of Keenan as a viable option.

He's not awful, well, too awful. For a wolf. Stoic, yes. A bit grim, most certainly. But also... collected. Put together. Like he's in control of himself and the beast that I know resides inside of him. I'm aware these are dangerous thoughts. Especially as I was brought up learning lycans have no absolute control over the beast inside of them. The fateful curse upon them does more than restrain the wolf. It drives them mad.

But maybe that isn't exactly true.

I shake myself at the thoughts. Notions like that got me kicked out of the Stellar Warriors. Doubting my teachings. Going with my gut and letting my emotions cloud my better judgment. Just like my father said.

I stop my pacing as I pass a window, gazing out into the darkened world. Will the Stellar Warriors come for me? Or just the relics? I'm not quite sure.

I issue a long sigh. None of it matters. JJ is what matters. Getting the relics back matters. Whatever might happen to me is just... collateral damage. It's not personal. I nibble at my bottom lip. I will take responsibility for my actions. No more moping. No more being self-centered. I'll make matters right. There is no—

The door slams open, the force of the action making me jump. I whip around, unprepared to face this particular emotion: anger. And he is most certainly angry by the glower on his face. It softens only marginally when he spots me near the window. Then he's off toward the other end of the room where the decanters full of liquor and crystal glasses are stashed.

"And here I thought I'd be on the receiving end of a warmer reception," I mutter to myself. Keenan shoots me a stern look over his shoulder, the amber liquid splashing hazardously into a tumbler. Enhanced hearing. How annoying.

"Sorry," he grumbles after downing his glass and setting it back onto the rolling cart.

"You got what you wanted," I comment. "I thought you'd be... smugger about it."

He takes a few steps toward me, folding his arms over his chest and letting his feet stand shoulder width apart, as if he's about to deliver important news. I straighten in response, eyeing him dubiously. "I didn't imagine it happening this way," he admits, softening considerably once his confession is aired. "I didn't think it would ever happen, actually, but at the very least I thought I would have had the chance to know you before we..."

I raise a brow. "You know me," I tell him. Keenan looks faintly awestruck at my confident words, and even I feel a small bout of astonishment. Forging onward, I battle down the minor flush that creeps onto my cheeks. "Fighting is intimate," I say carefully. "You can learn a lot about a person you've fought if you pay enough attention. Are they an honorable fighter? Do they adhere to some subset of rules? Or are they the type to shake your hand just before stabbing you in the back?"

Keenan nods along slowly. His gaze turning into one of appraisal. One warrior to another. "Agreed," he finally murmurs, taking another step forward, "but you have to admit, our circumstance does come across as a bit... dramatic." He grimaces at the word, and a laugh bubbles up from my chest.

"Yes," I agree wholeheartedly, surprised by how quickly my anxiety evaporates at his words. "I would definitely categorize fighting to the death as dramatic."

Keenan's coming smile turns a bit wry. "For the record, I was fighting to subdue you. Not kill you."

"You were choking me."

"To force you to lose consciousness," he rebuts easily.

I lick my lips a tad nervously as an unsteady silence balances between us. My earlier ambivalence returning. "Maybe we can reconsider our deal. Instead, we can agree that you'll let me go along with the others to avoid all the unnecessary drama," I offer.

The frown resurfaces, prickling at his brow as a sigh falls heavily from his lips. "I'm sorry, Calliope. I can't. There's too much to lose at the moment. At least if we're sealed, there's more bargaining power for future attacks or coalitions," he tells me.

I turn back toward the window, gazing at my solemn expression in the reflection of the glass. _Of course_ , I think, _I'm a pawn in another's game once more_. Another piece of property, to another man. To a stranger. A wolf. I hear Keenan walk away, and the gentle rattling of the liquor cart sounds as Keenan prepares another drink. I attempt to compose myself in the interim. I shouldn't take it so personally, yet I am. Why?

The crystal tumbler crashes against the drink cart, seizing my attention. I catch Keenan's stricken look over my shoulder and frown.

"I'm sorry," he tells me earnestly.

Reluctantly, I turn back toward him, wrapping my arms comfortingly around my waist as I put on a stoic mask. "Don't be."

"Not...." He shakes his head in frustration and walks determinedly toward me. "What I just said, it upset you, and I'm sorry." My eyes go wide. _Enhanced sense of smell_. Stupid lycan abilities.

"I wasn't upset," I argue.

"I'm not very good at talking to people," he continues, as if I haven't spoken at all. "I try to think more logically and strategically than most, and sometimes it makes me come off as rude or detached. So, I'm sorry."

I shrug a shoulder. "It's fine."

Keenan's lips thin minutely. "It isn't. I'm pleased I found you, Calliope, and that it's you who I share this mark with. You're a formidable woman. Especially if you're fighting is anything to go by," he tells me warmly. I swallow at the compliment, the familiar stirring in my blood occurring once more. It makes my skin feel hypersensitive and my heart give a somersault.

"Oh."

"And beautiful," he tells me.

" _Oh_."

"How am I doing?" he asks, voice dropping slightly into something huskier. I find myself caught in his gaze; lips gently parted as my chest begins to rise and fall a bit more steadily. The stirring grows. It makes my palms warm, and my fingers flex as our eyes continue in their deadlock. And I can tell that same stirring is winding its way through Keenan. His eyes, which are already a deep caramel, seem to darken further. Split second fractures of gold piercing through the iris are the only hint that the beast inside him is at attention.

Keenan exhales, visibly shaking himself from whatever spell we've both fallen under, an embarrassed flush climbing his cheeks. "There's one more thing," he admits, the anger from earlier trespassing back into his voice. "The food tonight was tampered with."

My eyes widen at the information, all feelings of warmth disappearing as I take a step back. "With what exactly?" I ask curtly.

"Zoelle is a witch," Keenan tells me, softening his posture, "but she has a rather peculiar talent when it comes to cooking."

"Which is?"

"She can impart emotions into her cooking," he laments. The frown on my face deepens. "If she's feeling anxious, then whoever eats her food will feel anxious. If she's feeling happy, then whoever eats her food will feel happy. It's why her little bakery does so well. She can also impart intentions into her food."

"Intentions?" The word falls flat, my reserve of calm leaving me.

Keenan nods and lets out another sigh. "Zoelle could be feeling anything while she cooks, which is why having the intention of what she wants her patrons to feel at the forefront of her mind is so important. If she does, she can impart that into her cooking instead. I'm not sure of the exact mechanics of it all. I don't like magic enough to learn about it," he finishes with a grunt of disapproval.

"Keenan," I ask tightly, "what did she do to our food?"

"She made us 'open-minded' and 'receptive,'" he confesses.

I chew over the supposed "intentions" and hate to admit that I am not as outraged as I feel I ought to be. _Stupid witches and their stupid magic_ , I think bitterly.

"I guess that isn't completely and utterly terrible," I admit begrudgingly.

Keenan scratches the back of his neck, head bowing slightly to look at me through half-lidded eyes. "About the 'receptive' part. Quinn, the blonde you met earlier? She's the one who mentioned that particular intention, which means it might mean something more."

I find myself swallowing. "More? As in... what exactly?" My words come out breathier than I intend them to, and so I bite my lip in retaliation, hoping to stem the come-hither quality of my voice. Keenan's eyes lock onto the action, nostrils flaring as he steps not toward me but to the side. I'm acutely aware of the change in his body language. Though held loosely, it is wound in anticipation. Ready to pounce at a moment's notice. And his eyes... his eyes slowly burn into me.

"I would hazard a guess to say something more akin to desire," he murmurs, continuing his path and slowly circling closer. I follow his movement with rapt attention, beginning to shuffle in a tight circle so as not to let him at my back. "Which might make the sealing more intense."

"Then maybe we should wait until the magic wears off," I offer, "and complete the sealing tomorrow."

Keenan shakes his head. The only hint of displeasure showing in the corded muscles of his neck. "There's no time. As we speak, the pack is preparing for more attacks. Since crossing the border yesterday to investigate your disturbance, there's been a rather dramatic increase in the spotting of unusual and foreign entities in the forest."

"You mean more supernatural creatures?"

He nods solemnly, inching closer when my gaze flits to the window thoughtfully. "Whatever is out there wants the power we possess, and since witnessing our entering and leaving the magical border without incident—"

"It's made them curious. More daring," I finish, locking gazes with him once more.

"It's a veritable shitstorm out there, which is why we do this tonight while we have the opportunity." The temperature in the room rises, or maybe it's just the way Keenan looks at me that brings my blood to a boil. "Where is it?" Keenan's eyes sweep over my body meaningfully as he closes the space between us.

I'm hit with a rather intoxicating dose of adrenalin as I let my hand fall to the mark that lies low on my hip. Keenan's eyes glue themselves to said hand, and a sudden reckless desire thunders through me to show him exactly where the soulmark lies. My fingers cross the distance to the fastening of my black pants and a low growl rumbles forth from Keenan.

It's the magic driving me, I reassure myself as the button slips from its closure and the zipper inches downward. With both hands, I adjust my clothing to reveal the dark mark upon my skin. It rests intimately against another tattoo, seemingly apart of it. Which is the point. Keenan's growl cuts off abruptly as he shifts into my personal space, his hands snatching my wrists a tad too tightly and pulling them away from my clothing.

"I think," he tells me in a smooth baritone, hands releasing me to refasten my pants, "that it would be best to use my soulmark for the sealing." His Adam's apple bobs as his eyes travel north to meet my own.

"Agreed," I reply. My earlier constraint wades into the deeper recesses of my mind, falling away as his lips inch toward mine, my focus completely captured by his slow and measured movements.

The weight of one hand rests heavily on my hip, while the other comes to cradle my jaw, tilting my head upward. His cognac breath perfumes the air between us. "May I?"

My bottom lip finds its way between my teeth again. _Why bother asking_? I think somewhat sorely as my bruised pride pops up. _Because he's different_ , I defend to myself, _because he cares when he doesn't have to_. I nod as best I can, the action caked in uncertainty. What harm is one kiss?

When his lips press to mine, I am pleased by their warmth and fullness. They expertly free my bottom lip, only to take it prisoner between his own. A thrill of excitement runs down my spine at his diligent attention. The meticulous working of his lips and tongue turning out delicate gasps and moans from my throat, ones I never knew I could make.

His hand slips to the dip in my lower back, urging me closer with the lightest of pressure. I accede, pressing my body into the hard panels of his chest and abdominals. Keenan hums his approval, kissing me deeper and leaving me absolutely _breathless_. How can a kiss be so hypnotizing? As if with a mind of its own, one of my hands begins to drift up his obliques, the other anchoring itself near the crease of his elbow, fingers digging into the slope of his bicep.

"Ready?" he breathes the question against my lips as my hand glides along his forearm. I nod mutely. Keenan need only say a few words as I touch his soulmark, and the sealing will be complete. It's simple, really, and certainly no reason for my nerves to be such a jittery mess as my fingertips near his soulmark. _I'm doing this for JJ,_ I repeat over again to myself.

The instant my skin touches upon the edge of the mark, I am drawn into a void of nothing and then... everything. A thousand brilliant stars surround us. A vibrant cord of light winding around us as Keenan speaks, "Let it be known that thee are found and my soul awakened." Our eyes meet and my heart gives a sudden leap. "The stars incline us, and so, _we are sealed_."

A whimper escapes me when his fingers thread through my hair and pull me into another kiss. My own hands clamp onto him as a burst of sudden need catapults through me, like some kind of shooting star. Its blazing tail, coiling tightly around us. _The books at the Banks Facility never detailed_ this _part of the sealing, or any of these feelings for that matter_ , I think wildly.

Keenan issues a groan as I melt into his possessive hold. A flip suddenly switches within him as he begins to dominate the kiss truly. He drives me backward until my back hits the cold window. With a gasp, I arch away from the cool glass, my hands momentarily releasing their grip on his body and severing our intimate connection. A whine issues from my lips, but is stifled by the pressure of Keenan's own. He disengages from me slowly, his lips leaving me last as he straightens.

"Are you all right?"

The words get stuck in my throat as I catch the look of reverence and admiration beaming down at me. His watchful amber-spiked gaze trails attentively over my expression, as if he's memorizing this exact moment.

"I—" _shouldn't have enjoyed that_ "—should go to bed."

Keenan takes a deep breath, and for one terrible moment, I think he is about to lean in toward me again to steal another kiss, but he does quite the opposite. With a heavy exhale, he takes a large step back, allotting me more than enough room to make my escape.

"Of course," he rumbles, all calm and cool disposition. It throws me off guard, this new confidence. The look in his eyes reads of calculated patience. Patience for what though? "I'll escort you to your room."

"That won't be necessary," I tell him.

Keenan purses his lips. "Someone will escort you, regardless," he responds. I nod a bit stiffly and move past him with a measured cadence toward the door. I would take what I could get. Keenan doesn't further pursue the matter, standing idly by as I go. Thank God. My thoughts tumble into turmoil as I'm seized by my new reality. One in which I am forever bound to this man—this wolf. There will be no returning from this, I think hollowly, but at least JJ will be all right. If I can't save myself, at least I can save him. 

##### Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 12

Brother Where Art Thou?

There is a hole in my heart I never knew about. A tiny, minuscule thing that's now half full. How had I never noticed it before? It's all I can think about now. Well, that and the current dismal state of my life. I've just done something irreversible and equally unforgivable. A real warrior would have never acceded to Keenan's demands. A real warrior would have waited the situation out patiently, for surely the full force of the Stellar Warriors would rain down upon this pack in only a few days' time. So why didn't I wait?

_Because you want an escape_.

The thought worms its way into my mind, bringing with it a sharp twist to my stomach. I can't bear the treasonous reasoning, even if it's but a passing whisper in my mind. I push it away. There is no going back now. The only thing I can hope to do now is make sure JJ is sent off with the ring and try and do right by Nova. If I can find her.

Keenan dropped by in the morning to my new "holding cell"—a room on the second floor guarded by two wolves—informing me we'd visit the injured male later in the day. His delivery was brief, yet stained with overtures of jealousy in his voice, a sentiment I further encouraged with a sardonic response.

Now I wander the neatly manicured subdivision, a pair of wolves huddled together behind me, trailing my movements. I don't mind being followed. I expected as much to happen. What does rub me wrong is the way everyone peeks out of their homes to catch a glimpse of me. Like I'm some exotic animal.

"Callie!" I turn at hearing my voice shouted from across the street. It's Keenan, exiting a small home and pocketing a set of keys. He jogs across the street to meet me, giving a brief nod to the two wolves behind me.

"Hi."

"How are you?" he asks, eyes combing over me. I raise a shoulder deftly, focusing more on taming the sudden erratic beating of my heart than a real response.

"It's only been a few hours since you last saw me," I finally say when he continues to wait patiently for an answer.

"It's been roughly six hours since I last saw you, which I'd consider being more than a few," he tells me.

I look at him with mild shock. "You've been counting the hours?" I ask, somewhat incredulously.

Keenan gives me an impish grin. "I might have," he admits. "You've been on my mind a lot today."

The comment makes me catch my breath before I stuff my hands in my pockets, shifting my gaze up the road. "It's just the soulmark," I inform him without emotion. "It drives the need and want to complete the process of joining our souls. We've only sealed the soulmark. Hence, why I'm on your mind more."

"That's one way to look at it."

"It's the only way to look at it," I refute, glaring at him to emphasize my stance on the matter. _There will be no marking or binding_ , I think stoutly, _my end of the bargain has been met_.

Keenan sighs and takes a step back, pointing toward a truck parked across the street. "Are you ready to go?" I nod my head eagerly, half a step ahead of him before he can say anything more.

We drive in relative silence toward the witches' headquarters. Just Keenan and me. No auxiliary wolves to watch over me. Briefly, I wonder if this is because of the wolf's territorial nature, or because Keenan believes he can handle me on his own. Either way, I'm pleased to have less company on this venture. Especially since my hand keeps creeping closer to Keenan's, and the chance of anyone noticing my transgression leaves me feeling mortified. Just because the soulmark is sealed doesn't necessarily mean the marking or binding must happen. It's just a very probable outcome. After all, the whole point of the soulmark is to identify the other half of one's soul. The sealing, marking, and binding are the steps that bring the halves together as one. If only the process didn't drive my senses into overdrive and rid me of all rational thought.

My gut clenches, whether in dismay or anticipation I'm unsure. My head tells me the former. My soulmark tells me the latter.

It's odd to catch myself drifting toward Keenan, no matter how involuntary the action. The Wardens of Starlight aren't exactly known for being overly affectionate. Or affectionate at all, but as far as I've gathered, the wolves are. They're close-knit in every aspect of life. And they liked it that way.

"We're here," he announces, pulling up outside a large house on a tree-lined street.

"This is their headquarters?" I ask doubtfully.

Keenan nods as he unbuckles, tossing a rather bored look toward the home. "The Elder Triad lives there. The leaders of the Trinity Coven."

I approach the house a step behind Keenan, keeping a wary eye out for anything out of the ordinary. I don't like being cooped up in a house full of wolves, and now I'm about to enter a house full of powerful witches—I can't imagine things being much worse. At least I have my bracers on. The iron cuffs never felt so comforting heading into witch territory.

"They won't bite," he tells me with an amused look.

"Of course they won't," I grumble back. "That's what vampyrés do. Witches cast spells and curses, you know, like your friend Zoelle." Keenan's amusement fades with a grimace.

"Sorry about that," he laments, ringing the doorbell. "Zoelle didn't mean any harm to come from it. I think she just wanted us to be able to communicate without getting into another altercation."

"Quinn didn't."

Keenan frowns and looks as if he is ready to scold me, or at least justify her involvement when the door jerks open.

"Hello!"

What the...?

"Hi Luna," Keenan offers kindly. "May we come in?"

"Of course!" the petite woman practically squeals. Keenan enters, snagging my hand to tug me in after him, but I continue to stand stock-still. My eyes stay trained on the... on the....

"What are you?" I ask once the door is closed. Her hair just barely reaches her shoulders and is an icy white. Her eyes are a startling violet. Even her skin seems unnatural. The longer I stare, the more I think I see an odd shimmering quality to it, as if something is slithering beneath the surface.

Luna stands more proudly. "I'm a fairy!" she chirps.

My jaw drops as I take a step toward her, eyes wide as I inspect her more closely. A warm hand wraps around my upper arm, but I easily tug out of Keenan's hold.

"You're a fairy?" I ask dubiously.

She nods her head enthusiastically. "Yes, though you wouldn't know it from looking at me. Gran and Aunt Mo put a glamor on me to hide my wings and flowers."

I toss an incredulous look to Keenan, but he watches us interact dispassionately. I take a step back away from her, my head slowly rotating from side to side. "Fairies don't look like you," I inform her, feeling oddly flustered. Luna looks startled and then confused, her wide eyes turning to Keenan expectantly.

"She is," he affirms with a grunt.

"No," I reason stubbornly, "fairies are small and green with pointy teeth. Not—" I wave my hands in Luna's direction. "— _this_." Ethereal and gorgeous.

"But," Luna looks hopelessly between Keenan and me, "I am a fairy. I'm from Hollow Woods!"

Keenan's hand comes to rest on my upper arm again, this time tugging me back toward the staircase. "It's all right, Luna; I'm sure Callie is confused."

"I'm not—" I begin to growl in frustration before Luna cuts me off.

"I'm a fairy," she insists with a stomp of her foot. "You're talking about _imps_. They're green and small. They have lots of pointy teeth." She dazzles us with a wide smile. "See," she says eagerly, "not pointy!"

This can't be right. It can't be. Everything I've learned at the Banks described fairies so differently. No bigger than three feet tall. Boney green bodies. A mouthful of needle-like teeth. No wings or _flowers_.

I glance frantically at Keenan. "I—"

"You know what I call imps?" Luna casts a suspicious glance around us before whispering, " _Hellspawn_." Hellspawn? "The ones you fought last week. Don't you remember, Keenan?"

"We really have to be going now, Luna," Keenan says, his grip tightening a fraction on my upper arm. "Please tell whichever Elder is around that we'll be upstairs with your guest."

"Oh." Luna seems to deflate before us, her gaze wandering up sullenly to the stairs. "I'm not allowed to go up there and see him," she tells us with a pout before wandering away.

"What the hell, Keenan?" I seethe on the stairs landing, wrenching my arm from his hold. "First your pack makes nice with a coven of witches, and now fairies? They're not even from this world," I hiss indignantly. "And from the sound of it, your pack is dealing with a lot more than just curious passersby."

"Now isn't the time, Callie," he tells me firmly, jawline set to hold his stern facial expression.

"You tried to tell me the ring was safe here," I continue to argue, feeling my anger rise. "It obviously isn't with all of these attacks. And if the ring isn't safe, then JJ can't possibly be safe. I want him and the ring out of here before nightfall."

Keenan's jaw ticks. He steps up onto the landing step with me, towering over me once more. "I've already told you, your lover and the ring will be returned as soon as he's healed. The witches have been taking care of him, so I'm sure he'll be in a state fit to travel soon."

"My lover?" I choke out. Keenan's eyes darken a fraction, but his intense regard doesn't waver. "He's my _brother_ ," I tell him bluntly, pushing past him up the stairs. I feel a small pang of guilt in my heart and realize a short second later that it doesn't come from me, but Keenan. I fight the urge to turn around and face him and argue till I'm red in the face. It isn't the time or place.

"It's the third door on the right. The one at the end of the hall." I follow his instruction, knocking gently on the door before opening it without delay.

"JJ," I breathe. He lies prone on the bed, shirtless and with a sterile white bandage around his waist. No one else occupies the room, but a number of miscellaneous bottles and bowls are scattered across a large dresser near the bed. I close the door behind me as softly as possible, not wanting to wake him from his slumber.

A sheen of tears clouds my vision momentarily, and I hastily work to blink them away. He's alive. That's all that matters. A lonesome tear escapes and falls down my cheek. I quickly dash it away, afraid that with it more will follow.

"Cal?" his hoarse voice whispers.

"JJ." I'm kneeling by his bedside before I can blink, my hand reaching out to take hold of his. "You're okay."

He grunts, blinking away the sleep as he works his way up higher on the pillows. "I've been better," he tells me gruffly, sitting up straighter. "How did you find me? How did you get here?"

I swallow past my swell of emotion as the memories come rushing forward. "The full force of the swarm was too much. I cut myself to draw the golems attention and led them to the wolves hiding out in the woods. I heard the van peel out, but I thought you were in it, JJ. Why weren't you in that van?"

"I rolled under it. I don't think Naomi or Wyatt saw. I think they thought what you thought, that I made it into the van."

"But you didn't," I whisper horrified.

He shakes his head grimly. "Some of the golems took chase after the van, but they didn't get very far once they realized I was still there."

"So how did you survive?"

"The wolves," he says bitterly. "You?"

My mouth goes a bit dry. "The wolves."

"I don't like this, Cal," he whispers, eyeing the door suspiciously. "We've got to find a way out of here. They've got me on forced bed rest, but whatever the witches have given me has sped up my healing process tenfold. I could be good to go by tomorrow. We just need to make a plan."

"There's already a plan in place, JJ," I tell him softly, not daring to meet his eyes. "I made a deal with the wolves. Once you're able to travel, you and the ring will be sent back to the Banks Facility."

JJ's face screws up in confusion. "What? How did you—"

I shake my head sharply, effectively cutting him off. "I stay. I stay with the blade." JJ opens his mouth to speak, but I give his hand a sharp squeeze and shake my head more slowly, giving a sidelong glance toward the bedroom door. He nods with understanding, regarding me with solemn eyes.

"So, they just get to keep you? For how long?" I shrug and keep my face composed in a neutral expression, turning my gaze back to his. "You didn't have to make this kind of deal, Callie."

I give JJ a sad smile, mustering an ounce of warmth to it. "Come on, JJ. You can't always save the day. Besides, this was all my idea in the first place. It's my responsibility to set things right."

"You know we'll come back for you. The full force of the Wardens. Do they know that?"

"I know they'll come back for the blade at the very least," I tell him with a weak laugh. This time JJ is the one to squeeze my hand, and with a surprising amount of strength.

" _I'll_ come back for you, Cal. Always."

I shake my head sadly. "Don't make more of a mess of this than it has to be. Follow orders, JJ, and do right by our family. We both know there's no real coming back from this for me. It doesn't have to be that way for you too."

JJ looks pained at the words but doesn't argue. He pulls his hand from my grasp, resting it gently on his abdomen with a rasping sigh. I curl my arm inward and duck my chin down to rest it on my forearm.

"You'll stay with me?" he asks tiredly.

"For as long as I can," I assure him. He frowns back at me.

"Where are they keeping you?"

My fingers toy idly with the end of the blanket. "The alpha's residence." JJ's eyes widen. "It's fine. My accommodations have been recently upgraded from prison cell to heavily guarded guest room. Anyway, I don't know why you're making that face at me. You do know you're staying at the coven's leader's home, right?"

"The old ladies?" he asks dubiously.

"There's a fairy here too, JJ," I tell him, real excitement tingeing my voice. "And she's not at all how you'd imagine. She's beautiful. Completely unearthly. Snow white hair. Purple eyes. She says the witches glamoured her wings and flowers away."

JJ slowly shakes his head, and my idle play comes to an end. "That's not what a fairy is, Cal. They're—"

"I know! Green, gross, and gnarly teeth. But she says she's a fairy and whatever we described is an imp."

"But that's not what the books say," he continues, a bit condescendingly.

"Well," I give another shrug and straighten my back, "maybe the books are wrong."

JJ scalds me with his glare, so much so I have to look away in shame. "The books have been around for centuries, Cal. We've learned everything from them. When have they ever been wrong?"

His comment is a sharp reminder of my past wrongs. "They haven't," I whisper dejectedly.

"Don't let them fool you, Callie. They can play nice all they want, but never forget what they are. They can't be trusted."

I sink down to sit fully on the floor. "I know," I mutter, feeling a pang of guilt once more, this one all my own.

Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 13

Lesson Learned

Keenan gathers me from JJ's room when the witches come to apply more of their medicines. I make a note of their faces. One has cocoa skin and hair pulled back into a neat chignon, her eyes green and piercing, cat-like almost. The other has her white hair plaited and draped over her shoulder. Her alabaster skin is covered in scars, but they don't mar the kindness in her eyes. They are "the aunts," Keenan tells me as we make our way down the stairs. Even as we leave, I can hear them making a fuss over JJ: shaking out his blankets, opening the lone window at the far end of his room, the tinkling of glasses and bowls whose contents will no doubt be smeared across his skin. He answers them in short responses, ones I strain to hear as we reach the landing step. Then a round of laughter sounds from the room. Including JJ's.

"He's fine," Keenan tells me quietly, placing a hand on my lower back and urging me gently forward. "They know what they're doing."

I allow Keenan to guide me toward the front door, but I can't help but glance around for the not-fairy. She's nowhere to be seen.

"She's in the forest."

Keenan holds the door open for me. "Good for her," I mutter. His sigh of frustration is almost inaudible as I steam past him toward the truck. The remainder of my time with JJ hadn't gone as planned. I hoped to receive some kind of praise or acknowledgment for my plan but had been dealt a monotonous lecture on the importance of our cause.

As if I need reminding of the people we have sworn to protect, or that we are in the midst of terrible and powerful creatures. I know, for heaven's sake. After an hour of hearing himself speak, JJ finally took note of my putout demeanor and wrapped up his lecture. He clasped my hand and told me he would always be my big brother. That he would always look out for me and make sure I got home safe and sound.

Then I lied to his face and told him I'd be waiting. _Waiting_! The soulmark felt like some ugly brand against my skin as I hid the truth from him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Keenan asks once we've gotten into the truck and fastened our seat belts.

"Not particularly," I respond, resting my head against the passenger side window and gazing at the witches' house.

Keenan's hand envelops my own, capturing my full attention with ease. "Are you sure?" The question is low and soft. It takes me unaware when combined with the solemn set of his brow and the concern pulsing through our bond weakly. My chest constricts as I nod dumbly and pull my hand from his.

"Let's not pretend like you didn't hear every—"

Keenan shakes his head swiftly. "I was downstairs with Luna. I may have heard bits and pieces at the start, but I did my best not to listen. Thankfully, Luna can be quite the handful, so I was distracted easily enough with her ramblings."

"Oh," I murmur, averting my gaze to the dashboard.

"You're upset," he says simply. My disagreement is on the tip of my tongue when Keenan reaches out and cups my chin. He turns my face back toward his then releases me. "You are," he continues, baring his forearm and pressing his fingers to the soulmark. "I can feel it."

"It's nothing," I tell him dispassionately, schooling my features into one of indifference. "We just talked."

"Clearly about something unpleasant."

I shrug. "It was nothing I haven't heard before. Can we go now?"

Keenan sits back in his seat and pulls out the keys. When the engine rumbles to life, he passes me an unreadable look. "Big plans tonight?" he asks gruffly. For a moment, I am struck stupid by his blasé comment until I recognize the wry note of sarcasm in it. A gurgle of laughter pushes past my lips at his remark, one I try desperately to cover with a scoff. The smirk that plays on the corner of his lips tells me I haven't succeeded, but at least the heaviness inside my chest is lessened. I even let our fingers brush against each other on the way back.

+++

Dinner is a lackluster affair. A plate of food is brought to my room, per my request, but I merely poke at the white fish and rice. I can't seem to get the conversation with JJ out of my head. Nor the niggling notion that I've made an awful mistake in sealing the soulmark and not telling him. What will happen if the Wardens do come for me and I am separated from Keenan? Slowly go mad? Sink into a depression I can never fully recover from? Be forced to marry Wyatt and forsake the soulmark? There is far too much nervous energy careening through my body for me to have much of an appetite. I need to fight to clear my head. Or at least get my hands back on my butterfly knife. My hands feel incomplete without it.

A knock sounds at my door. "Come in," I call, pushing aside my plate

Keenan's head pokes around the corner of the door, his eyes quickly darting to my half-eaten plate of food before turning their focus on me. "Busy?"

I fight down the urge to grin and quell the stir of excitement in my stomach at his presence. It's just the soulmark. He steps more fully into the room when I don't immediately reply.

"I'm obviously not," I finally respond.

"I was wondering if we could pick your brain for a bit?" he asks casually. I raise a brow.

"Who's 'we'?"

"A few of the top-ranking wolves and myself."

My eyes narrow on his neutral expression. "About what?"

"Other supernatural creatures."

I capture a lock of hair and twirl it loosely around my finger as I weigh the pros and cons. If I go along, I can potentially learn more about Nova's whereabouts and even more about the magical barrier. It also meant sharing trade knowledge with the enemy, something I'm hesitant to do.

"All right," I agree unenthusiastically as I stand, brushing imaginary crumbs from my lap. If it means learning more about Nova or the dangers JJ could encounter on his way back to the Banks Facility, it's best to go.

We walk to the study we were in yesterday. In it are six men and two females. From the bunch, only two faces are familiar to me. Atticus gives me a smile and nod as I enter with Keenan. He makes room for us to stand around the large desk, very clearly nudging aside the other familiar face. One with dark hair and a devious smirk. His eyes scream mischief as they follow our entrance.

"About time," he tells us jovially. This is the man who kissed Quinn, I realize, the night of the first robbery. The boyfriend, Ryatt. "Shall we all go around and say our names and favorite hobby?" I scowl at his imprudence and cast my gaze around the gathered wolves.

"I'm inclined to agree with Ryatt," a man with olive skin and dark hair that reaches almost to his shoulders says. He has piercing green eyes, even more so than the witch I met briefly earlier with JJ. From his words and stance alone, I know him to be the alpha. "I'm Xander," he continues coolly, not minding at all the minor glare I send in his direction. "You've met Atticus, my beta." Atticus bumps me with his elbow and sends me a wink. "Beside him is my younger brother, Ryatt. Our third." Ryatt inclines his head, the wicked smirk still plastered across his face.

"Kevin," a surly looking redhead offers. "I'm the fourth." He bears a fresh black eye and keeps tossing scowls to the raven-haired beauty next to him. The woman's hands are stuffed in the pockets of the long vest she wears, but I'm sure they're coated in bruises.

"Irina," she says with an overly sweet smile directed my way. Her eyes take a leisurely path in their assessment of me. I don't bother to straighten under her regard and wait for the next man to announce himself.

The lean blond smiles softly at me, head ducking as he gives me his name. "I'm Micah."

"Keenan's protégé," Ryatt pipes in. The lean man sends a short glare Ryatt's way, but his eyes don't make it past the other's collarbone. He must rank much lower in the pack if he can't meet Ryatt's eyes, which begs the question as to why he's here in the first place. Keenan is only ranked fifth, after all.

"Hi, Calliope," a dainty woman with golden brown skin waves shyly at me from across the desk. I give her a small, strained smile in return. "I'm Zoelle."

My smile drops. "So, you're the one who likes to mess with peoples' emotions?"

She rolls her eyes toward the alpha, a scowl emerging over her features. "I just wanted to help facilitate a calm and open-minded environment. You were hitting each other earlier!" Zoelle's voice is flush with agitation, as well as her cheeks. "It was Quinn who kept harassing me to do the other one."

"Was that supposed to be an apology?" I ask dryly.

She huffs. "I can't help putting emotions into my dishes. Okay? It's just a part of my magic. At least I didn't make you angry or sad." She crosses her arms defensively and seals her lips shut.

"Don't worry, Calliope. You're not the first person to fall prey to Zoelle's particular magic. Think of it as a test all new members of the pack have to pass," Ryatt says.

"I'm not part of your _pack._ " I spit the word out with as much venom as I can muster. All of the wolves' shoulders sink in response, the somewhat lighthearted mood dropping out of sight.

"She's right," Xander comments, meeting my glower unflinchingly. "Not until Keenan's marked her. For now, Calliope is a ward of the pack. Her position here will help to maintain a ceasefire of sorts with her people." Everyone reacts a bit differently, but the tension does ease out of the air at the alpha's confidence.

"Let's just get this over with," I say begrudgingly. "Tell me about the crystal you have. The one that attracts the other supernatural creatures."

"It's called the Wielding Crystal of Dan Furth," Zoelle says. "It's an important artifact to my people and very powerful."

"How powerful?"

She chews on her lip, eyes skirting over to Xander briefly before answering. "It acts as a booster of sorts. Radiating a supernatural energy that stimulates the growth of the products of the land. Like plants or already in place magical spells."

"How exactly does it stimulate their growth?" I bite out.

"By enhancing their efficiency, potency, and power. Tenfold."

I suck in a sharp breath, eyes going wide momentarily before I curb my reaction. "That's... _a lot_ of power for a bunch of witches and wolves to have."

"It is," Xander says seriously, spreading out a topographic map of the region onto the desk. "The crystal's primary use is to keep a vengeful and rival pack out of our territory. They've proven that they'll do whatever it takes to bring us misery, including siding with a very dangerous vampire."

"Vampyré," Keenan corrects absentmindedly. A short burst of pleasure unknots the nervous energy in my stomach at the casual comment, and I find my focus easier to keep.

"Don't forget siding with other witches or sorcerers," I add a tad snidely.

Xander arches a brow, jaw ticking. "What do you mean?"

"The golems," I continue, trying to find the area where we were attacked. "They're _magically_ animated beings made up of the earth; like rocks, mud, and sediments. Their sole purpose is to serve their master's will. And even though their purpose that night was to follow the will of the vampyré, they were created by a witch or sorcerer—a powerful witch or sorcerer considering their numbers."

The wolves look at me in obvious interest. _There's one trade secret down the drain_ , I think. Oddly, I don't feel too uncomfortable in sharing the information. I'm more surprised and irritated they don't know anything about golems considering they're allied with witches. Do these wolves really know so little about their own supernatural community?

"Interesting," Xander murmurs, finger pointing out on the map where we're located. He draws an oblong shape with his finger to encircle the town and surrounding forest area. "We experience the majority of attacks from the western line. In the beginning, all we had to worry about were the Wselfwulf's, now...."

"The crystal is drawing the attention of other supernatural creatures. The power calls to them," I finish. "It doesn't help that there's a not-fairy in the picture."

"A not-fairy?" Zoelle voices, eyebrows rising to her hairline. "What do you mean?" The eyes of the room fall to me again.

"We have hundreds of books on the origins and lore of supernatural creatures, as well as a collection of their strengths and weaknesses. And those books don't say anything about fairies looking or behaving like _that_ ," I tell her, mandating my voice and tone into something nonnegotiable. That woman—Luna—couldn't be a fairy. It went against everything I learned in my training and growing up.

"But she says she's a fairy," Zoelle responds, the eyes of the pack returning to her. "Shouldn't she know what she is?"

I shrug and examine the map, keeping an unaffected air. They asked for my expertise. They would get it. "Whatever she is, she isn't from this world," I continue coolly. "She carries her own source of power, one that may or may not be amplified by that crystal. There's a good chance it isn't just the crystal the other supernatural creatures are after, but her as well." It's a good guess at least. Otherworldly creatures typically house their own bundle of power inside of them unlike anything on Earth. Well, they do if my teachings are true. Assuming the crystal amplifies Luna's power isn't such a leap.

The group breaks into a swell of chatter, one that simmers down with a raise of Atticus's hand. "That might be true, but that doesn't change what we need from you: information. We need to know how to protect our people, and we count Luna as one of our own. She's innocent in all of this—"

"Annoyingly so," Irina mutters loudly enough under her breath for everyone to hear.

"—so whatever information you can tell us about these creatures. How to defeat them, their strengths and weaknesses, anything to push them back and give our people a rest. The Wselfwulf Pack isn't just calling on the supernatural to join their bogus cause," Atticus tells me. "Since they can't cross the border—no supernatural can without receiving an express blessing from the Elder Triade—they've begun to bring high tech devices into play. Drones, in particular. They're trying to take out the crystal, or the witches who stand guard over it."

"So, technology, wolves, witches, sorcerers, vampyrés, and golems," I list off with a sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'm impressed. What the hell did you do to piss off so many of your kind?"

"For your information, the vampyré problem is a recent development due to our witchy counterparts. The Wselfwulf animosity goes back several years when the pack initially split. They never really got over the slight," Irina says with a haughty air.

"And lycans do love to hold their grudges." Only the witch nods in affirmation to my comment. "What other creatures have you encountered?"

"We've had a few shape-shifters who didn't know any better. Along with two creatures that looked similar. Both green, with large black eyes and mouths full of daggers," Atticus explains. "One group comes straight out of the trees and has no visible ears. The others come crawling out of cracks in the ground, like some horror movie. Those cracks keep cropping up closer to our border. We're getting anxious that one of these days the latter will figure out how to open up a crack on our side of the borderline."

I stare at the map on the desk, my thoughts reeling at a hundred miles per second. I know the first creature, but the second... the second is what I know to be a fairy. Giving that answer will undoubtedly confuse the group and recircle the conversation back to fairies and not-fairies. A conversation I do not want to have.

"The first creature you mentioned sound like goblins. They're otherworldly woodland creatures, ergo why they appear to come out of trees. They can sift through them. The second are imps, by Luna's definition. Where have they appeared?"

Keenan leans over me, his finger pointing out several spots on the map along a hillside. I barely register the pattern he makes as his finger trails downward toward the town—toward the crystal—when his body presses up against my side. He runs hotter than the average human, and his body heat penetrates through my clothes. It's... distracting.

"...and here," he states in a low voice. My fingers itch to tuck my hair behind my ear as his breath passes through the strands, my concentration smarting as his scent hits my nose. Pine and frankincense. A hint of sweat.

I clear my throat subtly. "And the vampyré?" My heartbeat is already slightly elevated due to Keenan's nearness, a fact I can't deny to the wolves in front of me, but I can use it to my advantage. I'm eager to know if Nova or Vrana are setting their own pattern, but it's not something I want to let them onto. I shift my weight and let my body bump into Keenan's lightly.

"We've spotted him here and here. The first time at night. The second sighting during a bad storm," he says, voice still pitched low. "The cloud coverage was enough for him to be out along with the thick canopy of the tree line."

"Both spots are within a few klicks of your perimeter," I mention, disguising my disappointment with my commentary. Two sightings positioned so far apart don't leave me enough clues to suss out their possible whereabouts. "He's never been spotted farther out?"

"We don't venture far past our boundary line," Keenan tells me, his voice taking on a semi-irritable tone. I turn my face to look at him, surprised to see a flash of ire directed the alpha's way.

"Keenan," the alpha's voice dips with a warning, enough so that each wolf around the table straightens. I too find myself straightening and gazing at the imposing man at the end of the desk. Xander's hands are placed on the table in two fists, knuckles edging on white.

"Why the hell aren't you out there? Maybe if you showed some force or action all of these supernatural creatures would take a hint. Including the vampyré." The wolves remain silent at my critique.

"Because," Xander says, the hint of a growl in his voice, "this isn't a game. Men and women are risking their lives out there—"

"And they will continue to do so until you _beat_ your enemy. Once and for all."

Xander clenches his jaw. "I can't risk it."

"You _won't_ risk it," I correct him sharply, unafraid to needle the alpha with the harsh truth, "and because of your unwillingness to grow a pair, you'll probably lose everything regardless. Stop pussyfooting around and stand your ground. Get them off your land. I thought you were wolves, not scared dogs." My reprimand is not appreciated. The wolves stiffen in response, their alpha doubly so. _Whatever_ , I think viciously, _I never said my advice would be nice_. Besides, seeing the alpha get so wound up feels like pure vindication for this entire situation.

"And if I do, I could lose everything. It's a catch-22," he snaps back viciously, slamming his fists on the table. "These are real people with real lives. Real jobs. Real families. I'm asking them to take time away from all of that to help guard our borders. To protect our allies while they provide extra protection to the crystal. I won't ask them to risk their lives in a needless attack that could cost them their lives."

I take a deep breath, rest my hands on the desk, and lean toward him. "I think you're forgetting something." Xander regards me with icy rage, and though it draws the hair on the back of my neck to attention, I keep my cool composure. "This town and the _innocents_ who live here. Don't you get it? You haven't just aligned yourself with a coven, but this _town_ as well. Honestly, I couldn't give a damn if you lost every single wolf and witch in your campaign, but the _real_ people of this town? They don't deserve to be caught in the middle of this mess, and make no mistake, they are. If this war is personal between you and that other pack, what do you think they'll do next? They've gone full 21st century on you now with drones. They've joined forces with other supernaturals. If they can't get to you, who do you think they'll go for next? Your neighbors. Your colleagues. Your friends. So man up," I continue passionately. "Every war has casualties, Xander."

Xander snarls and launches himself away from the table in a few angry strides. It brings far more satisfaction than it should knowing I've gotten under his skin, but it lessens when Zoelle watches on anxiously before rushing over to him. She places a comforting hand upon his back, and he leans into the touch, head bowing toward hers. I avert my gaze, the moment turned terribly intimate. Even the wolves around the table shift uncomfortably.

"Down, girl," Atticus rumbles quietly from my side.

"What have you been doing so far to manage the attacks?" I ask with a ragged sigh and turning back to Keenan. My nose nearly bumps into his chest, and I startle back, nose twitching in agitation at the near slight. "Excuse you," I mumble.

He offers me a quick smirk before he replies. "We've been attacking from a defensive position."

"Keenan is our resident military man," Ryatt interjects. "He's got a good head for strategy and tactics, and advises us on our movements."

"Is that so?" I ask mockingly. Keenan gives a short grunt of acknowledgment in response. "If he's so good, then why are you still taking a defensive position? You're _wolves,_ up your game. Go after these guys and take them down."

"I've advocated for a different method," he responds.

I snort. "Hopefully one that isn't so passive."

Keenan leans into me. His body presses flush against mine once more as he bends his mouth to my ear. "I wouldn't call it passive at all." A shiver falls down my spine at his words, but I refuse to peel back even an inch and give him ground. He pulls away slowly, but the impression of him lingers as he inches back.

"Oh honestly." Irina makes a gagging noise and looks sullenly toward the alpha who is still in deep conversation with the witch. "Get a room you two."

"They have rooms," Ryatt counters. "They're just separate."

Irina turns a quizzical brow toward us. "How dull," she replies.

I roll my eyes at the unsolicited opinion and glance at Keenan. "What exactly are your thoughts on new tactics and dealing with all of the supernatural creatures creeping about?" _And how might they affect my quest to track down Nova?_

"We've stuck faithfully to a defensive position," he answers, voice stronger than before as he addresses the room, "which is why a feigned retreat would suit our needs perfectly."

I pass Keenan a somewhat impressed look. "Have your frontal force fake a retreat," I murmur, mulling over the idea. "Draw out your opponents in the pursuit then launch a second assault with an even stronger force that's held in reserve. It's not a bad plan. I guess." Keenan rolls his eyes at my blasé tone. "But you'll need to do some reconnaissance to find where your enemy is holding out in the first place. You know, venture out past your territory."

"I'm aware," he grunts. "We've got our own set of drones arriving tomorrow."

The regard of the wolves is slightly unsettling. Their piercing gazes drill into me as I speak with Keenan. It makes me feel self-conscious of the advice I give. Am I saying too much? Am I overstepping my position? Probably both. _Why do I even care_?

"That's great and all," I say, after a long moment's silence, making sure to cast a speculative look toward Xander, "but you're not going to get to use Mr. Military over here unless the leader of the pack gets his head out of his _ass_."

The wolves seem startled at my use of language, at least Kevin and Micah do. Atticus, Irina, and Ryatt wear matching grins. Xander turns a scathing glare my way, and the room quickly reverts back to its earlier tension, the alpha's displeasure once more rolling through the room by the wolves' rigid postures. Keenan's hand spans itself across my middle back, startling me momentarily. The steady connection provides an odd amount of comfort, a settling of my frazzled energy. I don't know whether to attribute it to the soulmark, or the fact that I am unused to such casual contact.

"Listen," I plead, "you're about to have way more trouble than a bunch of vindictive wolves and pesky gremlin knockoffs. The Wardens will come." Xander and Zoelle make their way back toward the desk, the group adjusting to their presence once more. Atticus moves to stand by his alpha's side, but the reassuring presence of the beta does little to lessen Xander's glower. "We sent out three, then sent out four. Now you have two of us under your roof and our relic still in your possession. They're going to come full force, and that magical border of yours? It's not going to keep them out. We're not supernatural."

"Xander..." Zoelle's grip tightens around the arm she holds in her grasp, "maybe we should do what they're suggesting."

A pained expression crosses the alpha's face. A visible tremor courses through his body that seems to echo over each wolf. "You're sure they're coming?" he asks through gritted teeth.

I nod dumbly at the look of helplessness beseeching me through his eyes. "They will come. They won't stop until they have what's theirs. If all is returned, then at least you won't have the vampyré to deal with anymore."

"Well, it looks like our little supernatural poacher is proving her worth, brother," Ryatt comments, eyeing me slyly out of the corner of his eyes.

"First off, I'm not little," I snap. "I'm just as strong as any of you. Second, I'm not a poacher. I'm a Warden. My job is to protect the people of Earth from—"

"Us?" he offers blithely.

I bristle, as does Keenan behind me. " _Yes_."

The room quiets. Ryatt's smirk turns cruel. Past him, the alpha and beta look to me in disappointment. The toxic vice of guilt clenches around my gut, but just what do I have to feel guilty for? My life's purpose is to protect the people of the earth from the supernatural. They can't be trusted. I know this. They're monsters. Beasts disguised as men who think only to the needs of their dark desires... and....

These are real people with real lives.

Real jobs.

Real families.

Xander's earlier words storm my defenses. My carefully crafted beliefs and teachings suddenly smothered away by his passionate reasoning.

"No need to get so testy, darling," Ryatt coos mockingly. Before I can help myself, my fist snaps forward and lands on the side of his nose with a satisfying _crunch_. "Fuck!" Ryatt stumbles backward, hands gingerly pressed over the offended olfactory organ. With wild eyes stained with amber, he snarls and darts forward.

"Let's go," Keenan grunts, his arm coming around my middle and jerking me away.

"Don't call me darling!" I shout at the raging wolf. Blood seeps out of the small cut on the bridge of his nose, as well as from it. The sight brings a righteous flare of joy, even more so when Atticus bars him from coming after us with a curt command.

"What the hell was that?" Keenan speaks harshly in my ear as he tosses me out into the hallway.

"He doesn't know when to shut his mouth," I reply, breath coming in short bursts as I curb my adrenaline. "He's fine," I continue snidely. "He'll heal in an hour."

Keenan ushers me away from the study, past my room, and down the eccentric grand staircase. "That's not the point," he finally says, voice strained.

I step away from his guiding touch and stop. "Then what is the point? And where the hell are you taking me?"

Keenan gives me a somewhat pained look, stopping as well and turning to face me. "Just... follow me, all right?"

"No," I say stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Why should I?"

"Just trust me." Keenan extends his hand to me, the pleading look on his face seems completely out of character for a man of his size and stature. A lump forms in my throat as I stare at the large, calloused hand. "Please."

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 14

Hit Like a Girl

"You want to fight?" I stare in a stupor at Keenan as he diligently wraps my knuckles in protective material. He nods, eyes peeking at me through thick, dark lashes that I somehow have only just noticed. The corner of his lips quirks upward, leaving the faintest impression of a dimple in his stumble-stained cheek.

"Yes," he tells me. "I was like you once. Ready for every hit that could come my way. Even more ready to dole out a punch or two myself as a preventative first strike. I was a pretty unruly kid."

"I'm not a kid," I reply testily, yanking my hand out of his hold. He takes it back patiently and finishes wrapping it.

"You're right, you're not, which is why going around hitting people when they get on your nerves isn't okay," he gently scolds me. I avert my gaze to the forest behind him, the endless trees and scent of earth a calm backdrop to the outdoor workout place. "My dad left us when I was ten, but the lycan gene passed onto me through my mother's side, so that made things slightly easier. She put me in mixed martial art classes, and since I was never a straight-A student, once I graduated high school, I enrolled in the army. It gave a lot of stability to my life."

"The army?"

"The army and fighting. It helped me control the anger inside of me. An anger that was naturally heightened and unstable due to the lycan gene." His eyes flit from my reaction to the hand he still holds carefully within his own.

"I'm not angry," I argue, once more slipping my hand from his hold to rest at my side. _Liar_.

Keenan observes me with a mild look of disbelief on his face. "You don't have to lie to me. Anyway, if you do feel the need to get out your anger," he hedges at my growing scowl, "I'd prefer it if I was your punching bag."

The comment draws the blood from my face with Wyatt immediately coming to mind. It hadn't been too long ago when he was the one asking that, but for entirely different motives. Keenan gives me a cautious smile, one that does something strange to my heart and draws a tingling sensation from the soulmark.

"I'm not angry," I tell him again, the words feeling like lead as they exit my mouth. I lick my lips nervously as I draw back toward the rack of free weights, my heart thumping madly in my chest. "I just... have this—" My eyes squeeze briefly shut. "—darkness inside of me. I know that sounds like an excuse, but when I start fighting, sometimes it's as if all I see is red. I can't _not_ go after that kill shot. I can't _not_ take down my enemy. There's always this rush of power that comes with it. It's what makes it so hard to ignore because I need that power. Sometimes it's what tips the scale in my favor and leaves me the one standing at the end of a fight."

The weight of my confession lies heavy between us as I wait for Keenan's verdict. _Why am I even telling him this?_ "Does this feeling only get aroused when you're fighting? Not before or after?"

"It's only during the fight," I confirm cautiously, finding myself breathing easier by the look on Keenan's face. He doesn't look at me as if I'm some sick fanatic. Or some dog that needs to be put down. His gaze is solemn yet knowing, as if he understands this dark feeling inside of me.

"It's not unusual to feel that way, Callie. There are plenty of people in the world who do. All things considered, I don't think it's too surprising that you feel that way, this conflict of emotions. You've been conditioned—"

I blink owlishly at his assessment. "I haven't been _conditioned_."

"—to kill. The way you fight speaks of your years of experience. You're an excellent fighter, Callie, but that's all your life has revolved around. Am I right?"

"You just said you grew up fighting," I respond defensively, watching him with wary distrust.

"I did, but fighting was an outlet for me. Later in life, it became something more meaningful to me because I was saving people's lives—"

"I save people's lives!"

Keenan takes a step toward me, his body language posed as nonthreatening. "I know that," he reassures me. "What I'm trying to say is that the fight for you was always about the kill. The importance of making that kill, because it meant saving lives. But maybe somewhere along the way it lost that importance and changed into something more like sport. And that's where that darkness stems from. I'm not going to condemn you for enjoying the kill. I know the satisfaction that comes with taking out the bad guy, but it's still taking a life. We have to respect that or else we're no better than the _real_ bad guys."

I spin round to hide the filter of emotions as they stream across my face. My hands grasp onto the weight rack now in front of me as if it's a life jacket. For it's the only thing managing to keep me upright after Keenan's rather keen evaluation of my person. But is he right? Yes. No....

_Maybe_.

"I only want to be honest with you, Callie. This thing between us, the soulmark? It isn't going to be easy. But I figure the least we can do is be honest with each other," he tells me, voice raw with sincerity.

"So, you decided to psychoanalyze me?" I give a piteous laugh, dragging a shaking hand along my jaw as I rein in my baser emotions.

"That anger you have? The darkness? It's a problem, and if we're going to be together—"

"Who the hell said we were going to be together?" I ask, turning around to face him, mouth agape at his gall. His crestfallen expression seals my lips shut, and I set my sights on the concrete floor.

"You know what will happen if we're separated." Keenan lets his response drift off into the rocketing silence between us. I nod my head reluctantly. "Being together doesn't have to mean being together in that way. We can just be friends," he tells me. "Hell, I've already told you I'd be glad to be your punching bag. If that's what the soulmark amounts to, so be it."

I take my time to think over his words and settle my flood of emotions. "And what about my little 'problem'?" I finally ask.

"We'll work it out, all right? First, we'll try and pinpoint when you began to feel this way. Once we do, we might be able to better understand and resolve any feelings or misgivings you're holding onto. After that, I can teach you some techniques to calm and center yourself during a fight. Whether it be repeating a phrase or envisioning something to draw your focus to, we'll figure it out, " he tells me calmly.

"Have you done this before with somebody?" My eyes run over him appraisingly. "This has a weird _Karate Kid_ vibe to it."

"I have. With myself. Troubled kid, remember? It might not work for you, but it's worth a try. But today we're not going to do any of that. Today we fight to get all that energy out of you. You seem like you've healed up from the worst of your injuries." Keenan takes a step closer and raps his knuckles against my braces. "But maybe without these?"

"These stay on," I tell him pleasantly, masquerading the knowledge of the darkness's origin with an overly sweet smile.

"Fight me without them," he rumbles, the challenge clear in his twinkling eyes. "When was the last time you fought without them?" I heave a sigh and walk around him, pressing my thumb against the top lip of the bracer. It lets off a series of clicks before unlocking from my wrist. I do the same to the other, turning back to him after placing them carefully on one of the workout benches.

"No one is going to take them, right?" The accusation stands clear in my tone, but Keenan wears that familiar serious face when he nods back. "I'm trusting you." _I really am_ , I realize. Hope and fear tangle together inside of me uncomfortably, which I guess is what I get for trusting a wolf.

"Ready?" I follow him wordlessly to the makeshift-fighting ring, noting briefly the flash of happiness in his eyes.

"Ready."

+++

Sparring with Keenan is much different than sparring with a fellow Stellar Warrior, or any Warden of Starlight, for that matter. He's well practiced in different styles and shows me as such during our warm-up. It's during the warm-up I realize how heavily I relied on my bracers. I feel sluggish compared to him. The familiar weight of the bracers is gone from my hits and leaves me overcompensating.

It's not pretty.

Distracted by the missing element, I ignore the obvious tells from Keenan's body language and eat mat time and time again. It's only after a few rounds in the ring and a whole lot of curses that I am able to more evenly match Keenan.

But I'm still eating mat. Hard.

"Ugh." The groan I issue is full of frustration. Normally I enjoy panting and howling and clawing beneath a handsome man. Just not when the panting is from sheer lack of breath. The howling issuing in response to pain from a near crippling kneebar. The clawing done as a last-ditch effort against Keenan's back to gain release. " _Ugh_."

"Better," Keenan notes, extending his arm to me, not at all breathless. _Ass_. My hand locks gingerly around his wrist, careful not to touch the soulmark that lies only a few inches below it. Once I'm on my feet, he glides over to our water bottles, tossing me mine with a flick of his wrist.

"Mm-hmm," I mutter sarcastically, taking a swing. "I lasted a total of three minutes that time." Keenan looks entirely too pleased with himself at that. "Don't look so smug," I gripe, tossing aside my water bottle. "If I had my bracers, you'd have face planted a dozen times too." He shrugs and takes another slug of the water, the grin on his face achingly wide.

I also typically enjoy being under a well-versed man. Just not when said man is bringing me pain and not pleasure.

"You need to learn to fight without the handicap. No enhancers. Just you. Make it personal again. Make it mean something. The darkness is just a state of mind; you can get past it."

I issue a heavy sigh, making my way back into the middle of the ring. "I thought today was just about getting out all of my energy?"

Keenan gives me a short shrug. "It never hurts to start a bit early," he admits. I scoff, eyes wandering to the side at the small audience our practice has brought; e.g., Keenan handing me my ass repeatedly for the better part of a half hour. Atticus even has popcorn.

"You can do it, Callie!" Quinn shouts from Atticus's side, fist pumping in the air. "I got money on you, girl!"

I catch Keenan's eye roll just before he pairs up against me, fists raised and on the balls of his feet. I let my eyes linger a tad too long over the droplets of sweat making their way through the thick thatch of hair covering his pectorals and down—

His fist sails an inch past my face, skimming my ear as I weave to the side. My left hook darts out in retaliation, finding a home on Keenan's chin. He remains unfazed, going in for my body at a pace I can hardly keep up with it. I spot a familiar gleam in his eye—the one that means he's about to take me down—and grind my teeth in vexation. Twisting does me little help with his legs clipping my own.

I don't fight the fall, not with the way Keenan continues to pursue me. Tucking my shoulder in, I hit the mat with a dull thud and roll. My idea to spring back up is foiled when his heavy body is suddenly atop me, a muscular arm stealing around my neck as his elbow jabs into my ribs.

In a whoosh, the air rushes from my lungs, my hand tapping at the arm wrapped around my neck in defeat.

"Not better," he says as he eases off me.

"Fuck you too," I mutter under my breath much to the amusement of... everybody. Quinn raises both eyebrows at me, an expectant look on her face. This time I stand without his help, rubbing my rib as well as the side of my boob.

"Who's winning?" Ryatt asks, bounding over to Quinn and sitting by her side.

"Keenan," the small crowd replies.

"Why is she touching herself like that? Is this the kind of fight we have to be paying to view?" Ryatt continues to ask.

Keenan eyes can't help but drift to the workings of my hands. Like him, I've stripped down to the bare essentials, which meant I'm standing in a borrowed sports bra and workout shorts. My lack of clothing doesn't bother me, but Keenan's regard, no matter how slight, brings an unwelcome warmth to my skin.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I roll my eyes, turning slightly away from the group as I continue to work the spot. "What, with you beating me up or narrating my problems to the world?" Keenan cringes and casts me a sympathetic look. I hold back my smirk and place a solemn frown on my face instead, an idea blossoming in my head. "I could do with a little less of the latter. The former I can handle. I'm a good fighter despite my showing," I tell him quietly. Keenan nods and steps forward as I raise my fists with lackluster. It's poor form, I know, but it's all the better to lure him into a false sense of security. I turn my back even more to the crowd and let out a soft sigh.

"I'm sorry, Callie." I nod my head to indicate my readiness, and Keenan, the absolute sucker, absently nods back. "We can stop if you want for a while. Have these guys clear out."

"I thought you said I could trust you, Keenan." I hit him with the saddest puppy dog eyes I can manage, my hands dropping to my side as I face him. My soft-spoken words stop Keenan in his tracks, a look of abject horror coming across his face as my words sink in.

I capitalize on the moment, pivoting into a powerful roundhouse kick. It hits, and Keenan stumbles back. The gathering of wolves lets out excited crows as I plow forward. Just as Keenan did before, I crowd into him, relentless as ever, and drop to the ground to deliver a punch to the back of his knee.

On a regular person, this combination would have taken my opponent to the ground. But not Keenan. The giant man wobbles slightly then rights himself. The next thing I know, I'm on my back. The crowd groaning with me as we land. But I refuse to be cowed into submission this time, even if the weight of Keenan's body is too much for me to knock off.

"Cheating, huh?" he asks, the closest to breathless I have heard from him all evening.

"You're the one who nodded back," I counter, "and it wasn't cheating per se."

Keenan lets the weight of his flushed body dig into mine a bit more. "It was definitely cheating."

I lock eyes with Keenan and wrap a leg around his hip, arching so that my body presses into his sensuously. His eyes visibly darken as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Sometimes you have to play dirty to win," I whisper into his ear, letting my body writhe beneath his.

Cracks of gold emerge in his eyes as he visibly gulps, unwilling to take his eyes off me as I boldly hold his gaze, even if I color at the catcalls we receive from the crowd.

"Calliope," he growls, hips shifting forward ever so slightly even as his hold on me lessens. "Stop." I don't, earning an extra loud holler from Quinn as I hook my other leg around Keenan's waist.

"Now why would I do that?" I ask breathlessly, not at all bothering to hide the sudden grip of lust as I rock my hips against his. His growing arousal presses intimately against my core. It leaves me overly attuned to the fact that he need only angle forward a tad more to hit my sweet spot.

"Holy shit," I hear Atticus exclaim, echoed by several of the other males. "Should we... intervene?"

Quinn scoffs, and out of the corner of my eye, I see her steal the popcorn bowl. "Absolutely not," she says loudly. "Show 'em what you got, girl! Those hips don't lie!"

With my legs locked securely around his waist, Keenan has a rather difficult time extracting himself from me. Though he dutifully tries. The action frees up my hands, and so I defiantly drag my nails down his chest and over the slick abdominal muscles he possesses. Keenan grits his teeth at the action, but not from pain. His length hardening further to press more insistently against the V of my thighs, earning him a soft moan.

The minor sound is all it takes to break the large man. He swoops downward, hands diving into my hair and dragging me up to meet him in a searing kiss. One I don't fight.

Now this is the type of "beneath a man" I can get behind—well, under, to be exact. The world fades away as his lips claim mine in a bruising kiss, the shouts and encouragement from the wolves dying out in my ears as his guttural moan intones around me. I purr back encouragingly, and almost falter when his hips grind back down into my own.

"What the hell is going on here?" Xander roars. That's my cue. Keenan stiffens above me, pulling back to stare at me wide eyed just as I deliver a knock-out punch right between the ribs.

" _Omph_!" Keenan glares as my next punch aims dangerously close to his groin. And then we are flipping over so that I am on top. "Cal—" My forearm and elbow in his throat cut off his exasperated plea.

"I said what's going on?" Xander shouts again. Keenan's arms are splayed comically to the side to show he is no longer touching me inappropriately.

"Do you tap out?" I pant, continuing to throw my weight into his throat. My hips sink down into the still very present hard-on he possesses, but nobody else but me can see. Keenan holds my eyes with a fierce glare and slaps his hand on the ground.

Quinn's squeal of excitement is pitched particularly high, but I laugh and smile regardless, peeling slowly off Keenan so that he can adjust himself. Xander strides over to us, his face a mixture of displeasure and amusement. I shrug my shoulders at the man and stand.

"Just showing your fifth how it's done," I casually remark as I snag my water and toss Keenan his. He remains on the ground, staring up at the sky.

"She cheated," he explains with a half-hearted sigh.

"You should have seen it, Xander!" Quinn calls. "It was pay-per-view level shit." I keep my back to the wolves as they yammer on excitedly, taking off my knuckle and hand wraps.

"We'll make pack of you yet, Callie," Ryatt shouts, earning a few hearty cheers. The comment has the unusual effect of souring my mood, discontent riding through me as his words brand themselves across my mind.

"Thanks for the fight," I murmur, slipping out of the ring and vanishing away into the house.

+++

Baths are great for many things. They offer great solace when one wants to be left alone. Provide "shelter" to people during natural disasters. They can even make a fine gin. Tonight, I solicit its services to soak away my aches and pains, and have been, for the past forty minutes. My toes nudge the hot water back on, filling the tub up precariously high to rewarm the water.

Why did I let Ryatt's words get to me? Why?

My eyes slip close as I contemplate my indisputable answer: I'm afraid. Afraid that I'm letting go of my dream to be a Stellar Warrior. Afraid that I have accepted Keenan's deal too easily and let down my family and friends. Afraid that I've taken the easy way out of my problems with the Wardens and will be branded a traitor and coward. Afraid that I don't mind as much as I let on.

What am I going to do?

Today had been a huge flop. I'd learned next to nothing about Nova's whereabouts. JJ will be leaving soon. And I'm getting a little too comfortable around the wolves. The stresses are piling up like building blocks, teetering tenuously as I continue to add to their load. And then there is the soulmark.

Absentmindedly, my palm covers the fateful brand.

I don't know why I'm letting myself get so worked up about my future. In reality, it's already been narrowed down into two paths. Accept the soulmark and the pack or somehow return to my people and eventually go mad. To do either would be an act of betrayal. One that I might not survive. To put it simply, I'm screwed.

The water splashes as I rub my hands across my face, disturbing any chance of tears spilling. A strand of hair falls from the loose topknot I wear. The end instantly becomes soaked and sticks to the side of my neck. With a nudge of my toe, I turn the running water off.

"Callie?" Keenan's soft voice breaks me from my reverie.

The door to my bathroom squeaks open, a veil of steam momentarily obscuring Keenan from view. When it clears, I note his eyes are steadfastly downcast. He steps in, clearing his throat a mite awkwardly as he shuts the door behind him. "You've been in here awhile."

"Yep," I reply, making sure to pop my P. "It's all right, you can look. I've got a ton of crap in here, so the water is murky. Your eyesight isn't _that_ good."

Keenan hesitates a moment before his eyes find my face. "You left pretty abruptly."

"I'm aware."

"Why?"

I sigh, averting my gaze to the green-tinted water made courtesy of a bath bomb. "I just didn't want to be gawked at anymore." I steal a look at his disbelieving expression, confirming what I already know: he doesn't believe me. I wouldn't either. I might be a decent liar and able to keep my cool under duress, but there's just some things you can't hide. Especially not when a pack of wolves is studying your every move.

"I brought you something." He presents a basket, which looks comically small in his hand. I'm surprised I didn't notice it before and peer at it curiously.

"What is it?"

"They're special bath oils. The witches—"

"Pass."

We stare at each other in a silent standoff at my abrupt reply. I have no desire to ease my aches and pains using magic. I convey my determination to Keenan silently, and with an exhale, he walks toward me. Taking a knee by the side of the tub, he places the basket next to one of its clawed feet.

"It's here if you need it." My chest tightens unusually. "And I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again, Callie. I'm here for you if you need me. You can trust me."

I swallow down the wild and desperate desire to hold his words close. To bask in their warmth, security, and sincerity. _It's just the soulmark_ , I remind myself. I pull my knees to my chest and hug them close, my chin resting neatly upon them.

"You must really like the sound of your own voice," I respond blandly, the words forced. It's a fact I'm all too aware of as my floundering emotions surface too close to the edge. When did it become difficult to force disdain? When did he move from enemy to....

I shut my eyes to the torment of my thoughts and reach blindly for the washcloth hanging along the edge of the tub. When my hand bumps into another, I flinch in response, eyes startling open only to watch with bated breath as Keenan slips it in the water before running it across the length of my back.

"I've never heard that one before," he responds gruffly. "People tend to mock me for my silence if anything."

"I would have thought they'd take a jab at your sparkling personality," I rasp, mildly stunned by his gentle treatment. His eyes stay steadfast upon his work, never venturing toward my look of wonder or the nervous sheen of my stare.

Keenan runs the washcloth from shoulder to shoulder, then in small circles on my back. "Despite all the shit you tossed in here," he says, "I can still smell your distress. It's faint, but it's there. I know we don't really know each other, but you can talk to me. I'm a good listener if nothing else."

I scoff, brow pulling into an effortless scowl as I direct my regard toward the wall in front of me. Keenan doesn't pause once in his ministrations, nor his attempts to get me to confide in him.

"I'm your soulmark, Callie. You've got me to watch your back for the rest of your life. No questions asked. I know it's not the most appealing thing to you," he tells me. "You've made it plenty clear on your views of the supernatural, but I hope you can see past that. See the man in me and not just the wolf. I might not always have the right words to say, or any for that matter, but I'm dependable. Reliable. I take pride in my work and make an honest living down at Nate's Family Auto Shop in town. And when something is mine, I take care of it."

I shrink out of his touch with a roughened gasp, eyes flying toward his earnest expression. Words feel stuck in my throat. Thwarted by what's left of my pride. He had said it himself, hadn't he? I turn my gaze back to the wall, breath falling in steady puffs. I have my beliefs. I've been taught the horrors wrought by Keenan and his kind—of all the supernatural. Yet a reckoning of doubt shouts at me to believe otherwise. Keenan is... he is....

"I'll leave you to finish up," he says softly, draping the washcloth back along the edge of the tub and preparing to stand. _Say something, say anything,_ _Callie_ , I think desperately to myself, but no words surface. Keenan begins to rise, and I feel the trickle of disappointment lance through our soulmark. It breaks my resolve. There is too much disappointment rounding out my horizon. Tonight, I could be spared from it if just for a little while longer.

My hand shoots out and grabs hold of his wrist, gripping onto it like a lifeline. He stills, his eyes digging into the side of my face as I stare into the water. My grip loosens enough to slip down further into his open hand, fingers curling tentatively around his calloused palms.

Keenan sinks back down slowly onto his hunches, before maneuvering himself into a more comfortable seated position. His fingers remaining locked on mine until the water grows cold around me. And even then, I realize with chagrin, I don't want him to let go.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 15

Down the Rabbit Hole

There's something to be said about the importance of human contact. Of human connection. How the simple pressure of skin upon skin eases doubts and provides reassurance that you're not alone in the world. Or the deep comfort it provides as some roughened grasp holds you together. How it effortlessly proves you are alive.

I didn't realize how much I craved it until I came here. Nor how quickly a few casual touches would turn into something more meaningful. I've become enraptured by spotting it amongst the pack. Everyone touches one another. A hand upon the arm. A warm embrace. A bump or a nudge in jest. The absentminded caress of one to another. They are always touching, these wolves. Always connected. Always in contact.

The Wardens of Starlight didn't teach me that. And for all the support they provided me throughout my life, cheering me on from the sidelines or securing me scholarships, they never were quite adept with human connection. The Wardens of Starlight connect with the cause, and it's in that they are connected to one another. We don't hug. We rarely shake hands. Nova was the only exception. She didn't seem to mind casually touching, but only with me. You'd think they'd act differently, more affectionately, considering the dangerous nature of our job and our rather short lifespans as a result.

I adjust the bracers on my wrists, thoughts slipping to last night. When the water had finally run cold, Keenan helped me from the bathtub. Eyes averted like a gentleman. After securing me in a towel, he placed a kiss on my head and left. The bracers were left on my bed for me to find.

It's early in the morning when I wake. Early enough that I don't expect to run into anyone as I make my way downstairs to head to the indoor workout room. The weather is awful outside, with rain and wind beating against the house in a fury. When I near the gym, I stop short, hearing Keenan arguing with Xander.

"She might be your soulmark, brother, but she's dangerous. I'm not letting off on the guards with the bracers back in her possession. Especially since her brother is set to leave in an hour. She might go after him," Xander tells him. "Speaking of, I thought I remembered telling you I wanted to see the bracers. I don't remember mentioning you giving them back to her."

"You did see them: outside yesterday, specifically. And you're right, you didn't mention giving them back to her, which is why I did," Keenan responds smoothly.

"They make her stronger somehow," Xander gripes. "I don't want her lashing out at one of the wolves."

"She's not going to." There's a brief pause. "And Ryatt brought it upon himself yesterday. He's not upset about it; we talked." I inch closer to the door. Xander's next words are slightly muffled, but Keenan's are crystal clear. "Callie is smart. She's not going to try and sabotage the pack out of malice. She's not like that."

"I didn't realize spending two days with her let you know her well enough to say that," Xander challenges somewhat caustically.

Keenan lets out a soft warning growl. "She has honor and lives by a code. She's a warrior. And yeah, maybe her whole life she's been told to hate us, but that doesn't mean she does. At least I hope she doesn't. I don't think she does."

Xander remains silent for a moment before responding. "I don't think she hates us, brother, but she sure as hell doesn't like the position she's in. I hate to think she'll be unhappy here, but I have to do what's best for the pack. Which means—"

"I know what it means," Keenan replies resentfully. I straighten at the strict sound. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"No," Xander says with a sigh, "it doesn't."

The floor creaks underneath me as I lean my ear closer to the door. A furtive silence follows, and I mentally scold myself. _No use in hiding now_ , I think. Without a second of hesitation, I walk through the door and come face-to-face with the two wolves.

"Morning," I say, striving for casual as I walk past them to the far corner of the room. Hushed words are spoken as I stretch, but I don't take offense. This morning my heart feels a little lighter. The burdens I carry, not so insurmountable as last night.

"Good morning." I twist and spare Keenan a small smile at his greeting. "I wasn't expecting you to get up so early."

"You have military time. I have warden time." Keenan nods at my explanation, face unreadable as he watches me continue my warm-up.

"What were you planning on doing today?"

"Weights, I guess. I'll probably go at the punching bag a bit too. Don't worry, I'll try not to knock it off," I tell him sweetly, flashing my bracers at him.

"Can I join you?" The question makes my heart skip a beat.

"Sure," I reply. "We can even spar again if you want and work on some of those techniques you taught me yesterday."

My throat feels uncomfortably dry as I wait for his response. He's watching me closely. Too closely for comfort, surely. I try not to let the underlying heat in his gaze shake me, but my throat gives a traitorous bob as I lock eyes with him. He has clearly already worked out, his workout shirt half soaked in sweat, body glistening.

"I'll get the hand wraps," he finally says. I stare at his retreating form, trying and failing to ignore the way the soulmark prickles my skin. I rub at it absently, but it grows stronger the more I seem to acknowledge it. That isn't good. A fluttering erupts in my stomach as Keenan returns.

"Here!" I remark overenthusiastically. "Let me." I reach for the wraps, but Keenan looks at me in confusion, keeping them tightly in his hand.

"It will be easier if I do it," he reasons, pulling away from my searching hands.

I paste a false smile on my face. "I've done it a thousand times before on my own. I assure you I'm more than capable of doing it."

A frown threatens his face. "You don't have to do it on your own anymore," he tells me with meaning.

My hands still, eyes darting nervously to his. I'm suddenly doubly aware of the shift in the air between us. Last night changed things. Another layer of intimacy has been added to our unconventional relationship. One I can't deny. Keenan stirs forward an inch, never breaking eye contact as his hands reach out tentatively for my own.

Goodness, he really is quite... large. _Masculine_.

Muscular and tall are an intimidating combination, especially when the face is disinclined to wear a smile. But there is something about his serious attitude that is appealing. No one would ever doubt Keenan's ability to do anything he set his mind to, and I am terrified to find myself thinking that I'd like to be something he set his mind to.

It's just the soulmark, I tell myself with markedly quicker breath.

Keenan leans in as his hands take mine, his face unreadable except for the smallest hint of wonder. I swallow as I feel the wings of the butterflies drive into a frenzy in my stomach. When had the fluttering turned to butterflies?

"I know," I finally whisper back. Something unreadable passes behind his eyes. Something that makes me suck in a sharp breath as his gaze narrows on my lips. For a moment, the world stills. Then, I am surging forward on the tips of my toes to press my lips firmly against his.

Keenan locks up as my lips move skittishly over his own. I'm not usually so clumsy, but I can barely think with the sound of my heart pounding so loudly in my ear. Then I feel it: shock. It seems to rattle through the soulmark followed by... more shock. With a gasp, I pull back, wide eyed and feeling foolish.

"Oh my God," I say, completely mortified by my actions. "I'm so sorry. I thought—no! I wasn't thinking at all. Just forget I said anything or did anything. All right?"

I attempt to secure my hand back from his custody, but Keenan holds tight.

"Don't be sorry," he rumbles, easily pulling me back into his personal space. "I'm just surprised."

My head shakes fiercely from side to side. "I shouldn't have done that. I thought you were leaning in. So then _I_ leaned in. I'm so stupid." I squeeze my eyes shut to avoid his piercing gaze, when his hand squeezes mine.

"You are not stupid. You're... magnificent." My eyes shoot open to stare at him, the moment only lasting for a second, long enough to see his head dive in toward mine.

Keenan's hand slips behind my head, as his other leads mine to the center of his chest. Relief brings a pleasant sigh from my lips against his. Any previous doubt quickly swept aside as his tongue teases and taunts me. I find myself leaning into him, and his arm steals around me in response. The kiss is languid but thorough. Enough to steal my breath and make my soulmark burn.

_Kissing Keenan feels natural—right_ , I think. But it's with this unforeseen realization that I pull back. Beneath my hand, Keenan's muscles tense, as though he is ready to pounce once more at a moment's notice. _And I wouldn't mind at all_ , I think faintly.

"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, voice pitched low. I shake my head. "I didn't bite you, did I?" Again, I shake my head. "What is it then?"

I can't verbalize a response. _Because I don't have one_. Because he didn't do anything wrong and kissing him is so damn right. The answer resonates deeply inside of me. Another unignorable fact between us.

"Nothing," I rasp, holding still as I continue to stare at him. Keenan stares back, his eyes searching for something more than my words can provide. My heart is fit to burst as I stand in his arms, attempting to decode my fight-or-flight response. He must sense my inner conflict for he leans forward and captures my mouth to answer my unspoken questioning.

His mouth opens just slightly. Enough to cradle my bottom lip between his own, giving him ample opportunity to drag his tongue across it. The taste snaps us both into action, and I am pulled flush against him. I tug at his lip with my teeth, taken in by the hot-branding want coursing so suddenly through my veins. Keenan makes a sound that seems to echo between my thighs. _Oh lord_. This is so wrong. How can he possibly be making me feel so good?

The feeling resonates through the soulmark, and I am once more reminded that my life is now dictated by it more than anyone or anything else. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing if it means more of this. This warmth and comfort, and the sensory overload of him. As his lips continue to work on my own, leaving me deliciously close to breathless, Keenan's hands tighten down upon me. As if he never wants to let me go.

I feel myself tremble against him, and suddenly I'm kissing him with a vengeance. Hands grappling his arms and shoulders. Legs securing themselves around his waist. Lips furiously battling with his. Keenan matches my enthusiasm, kissing me as if this is the last time our lips will meet. Like he is ravenous.

I'm not sure if I want to be devoured, or devour him.

A heat stirs strongly below my waist, one I am unable to ignore. I maneuver my lips away with a whine, tilting my forehead to rest against his. I need... more.

"Mark me," I whisper harshly against his lips. Keenan freezes. His fingers dig painfully into my waist as he frantically tries to read my expression. I'm shocked by my declaration but find myself more shocked at the fact that I have no regret in saying them. The soulmark is already sealed between us. It was only a matter of time before the marking and binding happened. Or so I rationalize to myself.

"Are you sure?" His voice comes in a ragged whisper.

The soulmark quivers against my skin, and I give a slight inclination of my head, my heart stuck in my throat as he swoops back down to kiss me.

His hand weaves into my hair, skewing my ponytail effortlessly as he guides my head to kiss me deeper. I moan against the onslaught and let him lean me up against a wall, my legs locking more tightly around Keenan's waist. His hands move faster than I can keep track of. They glide over me expertly, exploring every dip and curve to leave me panting. When his fingers slip teasingly beneath the waistband of my workout shorts, I let out a harsh gasp.

"The—" _soulmark_.

Keenan steals the breath from my body in a harsh gasp as we catapult into a cosmic chasm of feeling and sensation. I submit to the magnitude of the simple touch with a keening noise, head tossing back as my hips drive forward into his touch. Keenan lets out a noise of his own. It sounds with primal need through his throat.

He allows his hands to wander up my torso, his normally hot touch suddenly scorching. Calloused fingers leave burn marks in their wake as they savor my flesh. My nails dig into his shoulders as he adjusts his stance and creates more space between us. My abdominals tighten in response, and I'm flooded with gratitude over my more muscular build. With some effort, I still manage to grind my hips against his hardened length.

We both hiss in response, Keenan's hands catching my waist and slowing my movements to a torturous pace. When I begin to pant from the exertion, he gives a stinging slap to my thigh, his head falling to my shoulder as another growl tears from his throat.

"I have to draw blood for the marking, Callie," he whispers harshly.

I nip at his earlobe in response, breath coming in hot pants over his clean-shaven jaw. It's all he needs to precede. Keenan closes the distance between us, crushing me to the wall with his body and rolling his hardness against me in such sweet splendor that I near my edge.

His lips work their way across my shoulder and to my neck. "And now I lay my mark for all to see," he growls against my skin. "By blood, be one."

My cry echoes throughout the room as stars burst behind my eyes, slipping over the edge with only few strong strokes of his attentions. Never before have I felt so alive or connected to something. Not even with the Borealis Matter, but even it will fade from me eventually.

The bond I have with Keenan won't. It will never grow weak. Only stronger.

Keenan's hands fall to my thighs, gripping me almost painfully. His tongue bathes and soothes the bite mark on my neck. Each stroke becoming softer and more languid than the last, his lips caressing the length of my neck as I settle into his embrace.

"Knock, knock, lovebirds."

My eyes startle open, but find nothing but Keenan's imposing frame rigid, completely blocking my view. He sends what I can only assume is a murderous expression at whoever has dared to interrupt. The animalistic show of possession, though startling, doesn't bother me as much as it should.

"What?" Keenan asks in a clipped voice, one much tamer than the growl he just released.

"No morning greeting?" The man, whose voice I now recognize as Ryatt's, lets out a chuckle. "That's not very—"

"What?"

"We've spotted one of them."

Keenan stiffens, though the movement is hardly detectable. If I hadn't been so securely pressed against him, I might not have been able to notice.

"Who?" I breathe.

"One of the vampyrés. The girl." I suck in a harsh breath and maneuver myself out of Keenan's hold with surprising speed. "Which poses to be a problem considering your brother is set to leave quite soon with a certain package." The ring. Nova.

"We have to go. Now."

Ryatt makes a tsking sound with his tongue, taking a step forward cautiously, his eyes still trained on Keenan's body language. "If by 'we' you mean members of the pack and not yourself, then yes."

My heart gives a painful lurch in my chest, a protest ready on my lips when Keenan takes a calculated half step in front of me, partially blocking me from Ryatt's view, again.

"She is pack."

Ryatt can't help but spare me a quick once-over, eyes lingering over my neck. A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

"Indeed she is, brother," he concedes with a slight inclination of his head. _Indeed I am_. I can feel the difference... I can feel the pack. They are the strong and steady undercurrent to the soulmark, but it still pales in comparison to the fierce river that is the tether between Keenan and me. I can feel him. Feel his rolling jealousy and possessiveness. Feel the constant pouring of affection directed at me. I wonder if I'm feeling breathless due to it or the news.

"Where is she?" I ask.

The wolves pass each other an unreadable look, before Ryatt's lazy gaze turns back toward me. "The southwest borderline. Near to where we found you and your gang."

I ignore the slight and process the information. "Take me there," I tell them. "Send JJ now, and I'll distract her."

"She's a newborn vampyré, Callie," Keenan replies. "She's too strong. Too fast. We'll hold off on your brother's release, set up a wide parameter around the vampyré's location—"

"No," I persist earnestly, my hand shooting out to grab hold of Keenan's arm. The room goes oddly quiet around my next words. "Don't do that. Send JJ away. Now. But let me deal with the vampyré, please. I... I know her. She's my friend. She's the reason we came back in the first place."

I turn pleading eyes on Keenan, pouring all my want and hope through the bond until his face softens. He sighs and turns to the third.

"Well then," Ryatt breathes, "far be it from me to deny a lady's deepest desire. I'll let the big man know, and then we can go."

+++

We navigate the woods on a mix of ATVs and motorized dirt bikes. I ride on the back of an ATV with Keenan, eyes scanning the rapidly disappearing forest line in front and behind of us. The weather gives no reprieve, the rain coming in heavy sheets from the sky, while the wind tosses through the trees with a vengeance. The brigade of vehicles slant to the left as one, slowly spreading out farther and farther from one another to cover more ground.

"Breaker 1-9, do you copy, Callie?" Keenan's voice crackles to life in my ear.

"Affirmative. Over." Our ATV slows to a stop so that I can hop off, the other off-roaders spearing out into the dreary day. I pass my helmet off to Keenan, squinting into the rain as I stare at my blurred reflection in his visor. Our hand's brush, and the connection between us brightens like a solar flare. "I'll be okay," I say softly, knowing my words are too muted amongst the rain, but that our proximity grants him the ease to understand. For a second, a surge of fear plunges through the bond before being snuffed away. Keenan gives me a curt nod, his sentiments quite clear regarding my plan, and peels off.

I dodge backward to avoid the muddy backsplash, barely able to do so. My brilliant plan is to act as bait and draw her out. To cut a small slice in my skin and hope the scent of my blood reaches Nova before the rain can wash it away. If she came, I would keep her occupied for as long as possible, giving JJ and the ring the time they needed to make it out safely.

My trusty butterfly blade is tucked into a holster on my side, but Vogart's blade is decidedly missing. I haven't been granted access to the artifact, despite my passionate argument. Which means the second, and very much _undisclosed_ , part of my plan, can't happen. There will be no attempting to change Nova back today, but I can at least tell her of the blade and give her hope.

Of course, this grand plan of mine works only if all my teachings are wrong. That Nova still possesses her right mind and won't kill me the instant she smells my blood. If not... well, that's why the wolves are creating a perimeter, and I have my bracers and butterfly blade.

With a twist of my wrists, the bracers illuminate, the power of the Borealis called to life from inside of me. I let out an exhale and shake my head. I can't allow myself to be taken under by the rather intoxicating sensation. If I'm to face Nova, I need to be completely levelheaded.

"Warden in position, over," I speak clearly for the mic to pick up as I give a slow walk around the small clearing.

"Pack in position, over."

My hand slips to my waist and removes the butterfly knife. From habit alone, I let it flip open and around my fingers with expert ease. It feels oddly warm in my hand, no doubt from the Borealis Matter it now hosts inside of it. When I finish my tricks, I hold the handles tightly within my grasp and press the flat side of the blade against my forearm. I wish desperately for my dragon skin armor, but there is nothing I can do about that. The wolves have not been able to find it, for whatever reason.

"Please find me, Nova," I whisper, stealing myself for the quick pain of the blade. My hand jerks back, but the blade doesn't touch my skin. I jump at the cold touch on my forearm, but can't rip my arm from the vampyré's hold.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 16

Revelations

"What are you doing out here?" She all but snarls at me, eyes flitting across the forest.

"What am I...?" My brow scrunches in confusion. "I came out here for _you_. To save you."

Nova scoffs and releases me, taking a few large steps back. She eyes the forest line nervously, shaking her head. "There's nothing you can do to save me," she spits, but sorrow lines her words.

I take a moment to look at her. Nova crosses her arms at my inspection, but it doesn't stop me from my cataloging. She's soaked through. Her long hair hanging in thick wet strands that cling to her neck and shoulders. She still wears her standard issue Warden-wear. Its stains dampened and hidden due to the inclement weather. She looks... worn, but there is no difference in her appearance otherwise—except for the cooler tone of her tawny skin and the hunger in her eye. "You have to go. Get out of here."

"Nova...." I lick my lips nervously and shift forward. "I have the Vogart."

Nova stills, eyes widening and filling with hope. Her bottom lip trembles. "You do?" I nod my head fervently, and Nova stands before me an instant later. "Where? Is it on you? Do you have it now?" Her hands fly over my body in a panicked search, and there is nothing I can do to stop her. Even if I wanted to "Where is it?" she asks, her eyes bleeding red with sudden hunger.

"It's not on me," I confess, holding my breath as I wait for her next move, aware of my vulnerability.

"I...." Her voice shivers with emotion as her eyes flicker back to brown. "I'm sorry," she whispers hoarsely.

"It's all right. It's all right," I soothe, reaching out tentatively to touch her arm. I'm surprised she doesn't flinch back. Instead, Nova stands perfectly still, like a marble statue, as she gazes at me in despair. "They have it, but I can get it. I can use it on you."

Her perfect veneer splinters as her eyes go glossy. "I don't think I can last that long," she grieves, eyes closing shut as if in pain. "He keeps making me come out here. Night after night. Trying to draw out the wolves or the witches or you. That's why you can't be here. I'll have to tell him—tell him everything—and if I don't...." Nova wheezes, eyes a brilliant scarlet once more as they open to stare at me. "He'll punish me. He already punishes me. He won't let me feed, Callie. He's starving me. He's ordered me not to feed, and I can't fight it. I can't fight the sire bond." Nova's hands knot themselves into her hair as she lets out a pained moan and begins to pace.

"It will be all right," I try to say, but she only moans louder. I take a few steps back and tighten my grip on the blade.

"No, it won't! It can't be! Look at me." She turns her tearstained face toward me. "I'm a monster. Just put me out of my misery, Callie. I can't stand this hunger. I can't stand the thought of hurting someone. Please," she begs, dropping to her knees. "Please kill me."

I stare at Nova in horror. I can't possibly.... There is no way I can bring myself to do that. Not to her. Not when her sisters are counting on me. Not when I so desperately want to right this wrong.

"You're not a monster," I tell her harshly, surprised by the candor in my voice. "You've kept yourself in control this whole time around me, and we both know you didn't have to. You could have taken me out easily."

Nova stares at me, bottom lip still trembling but unmoving otherwise. "I'm so hungry," she cries softly, shoulders sinking. "And I can smell them, you know? The wolves surrounding us. And they smell good, Callie, so much better than just your average human. It doesn't matter that it's raining. I can smell them even from here. Even like this. My senses are in hyperdrive. I bet they have guns, don't they?" A hoarse laugh issues from her lips. "To take me out? Just let them, Callie. Let them do it. And tell my sisters—"

"No!" I interrupt viciously. "Don't say another word." Emotions clog my throat, the rain feeling suddenly colder as it seeps its way to my bones. I press my fingertips against the earpiece. "Keenan, do you copy? Over."

"Roger that. What do you need? Over."

"Swear to me you won't let anyone harm her." The line stays static for too long. Long enough that Nova and I both turn uneasy eyes toward the forest line around us. My heart clenches painfully at the look of raw hope on Nova's face. One I'm sure is mirrored on my own.

"Roger that. Callie, don't do anything—"

"Over and out." I snap into the receiver before pulling it off and pocketing it. I reholster the blade next, hands shaking with nervous energy.

Nova stares at me wide eyed. "What are you doing?"

_What am I doing_?

I swallow. "Tell me honestly. How much of you is left? How much control do you have?"

"I... I'm still _me_ , Callie. But this hunger is unrivaled. It's unignorable. I'm a predator now, more than I've ever been in my life. The hunger is just a part of my nature now. I can't help it," she tells me, "but I think I can control it. I have so far. I just don't know how much longer I can if I don't feed. He won't even let me eat a fucking rabbit."

"Then feed on me."

Nova stares at me aghast, shaking her head from side to side. "I won't."

"You said it yourself; you won't be in control much longer if you don't feed," I argue, stepping closer to her kneeling form.

"He told me I couldn't."

"Couldn't what?"

"He said...." She frowns as she tries to recall his exact words, trying to hide the desperate hunger form her expression. "He said 'I may not feed unless I give him what he wants.'"

"And what does he want?"

"The ring. One of the wolves or witches. You." Her breath hitches on the last word, a different kind of longing and loss drawing into her gaze. I drop down to my knees in front of her.

"I thought you said he wanted you to draw us out."

"He does," she says, sniffling and wiping the rain and tears from her face.

"Well, you did it. We're beyond the border. So feed. Feed on me. I trust you. You won't kill me." I slip my hand into hers, amazed when she squeezes my hand back painfully tight.

"Callie... I don't think I would ever forgive myself if I hurt you."

"You won't," I assure her, griping her back with equal ferocity.

Her eyes flit across my face, searching for reassurance. When she finds it, she takes a deep breath, licking her lips. Nova leans forward, hand rising to my face to caress my jawline and tentatively run her fingertips over my lips. My breath hitches, as does hers.

"When you told me he was your soulmark, I was crushed. Could you tell? Did you know?" She lets out a weak laugh, fingers still tracing my cupid's bow. "And I'll admit, I thought that if we had to take out any wolves during our recon, I would go for him. That way, even if you were forced to be with Wyatt one day, maybe you could find comfort in me. I knew if you found your way to him that there would be no hope for us." Her eyes drop to my neck. "I don't suppose there's any chance you haven't sealed the mark, is there?"

My mouth feels suddenly dry, even with the smattering of raindrops slipping past my parted lips. "Nova...." The tone of my voice gives me away, but she only shakes her head softly. A small, wistful smile gathering on her lips.

"It's all right. It was a fool's hope." Her eyes alight back to mine, the scarlet that stares back at me leaving me speechless. "Just one kiss, before...." Her lips press swiftly against mine, the action freezing me almost completely.

Her lips are unnaturally cool against my own. But they are soft. Softer than I would have ever imagined as they move tenderly against my own. The kiss is brief, yet I find myself short of breath when she pulls away.

"You know," she murmurs, "I don't need to breathe anymore, but somehow you still manage to take my breath away. Funny how you can still do that even now without trying."

"Nova," I whisper back, not knowing what to say.

"Shh. No more talking. I'll only take as much as I need. I promise." Then without another second's hesitation, she dives toward my neck. I catch the barest glimpse of her fangs and then—

" _Ahh_." The startled cry shoots out of my mouth before I can help it. The pain, though not the worst I have felt, is unequivocally the strangest I've felt before. Especially knowing my blood is being drunk straight from my body. The hot wash of it spills over my shoulders past the seal of her mouth, and Nova gives a hearty moan, biting harder. "Careful," I mutter as I grit my teeth against the pull of her mouth.

She makes no reply, only holds me more securely as she lessens the drag of her gulps. I feel a fever break on my forehead, a strange heat unfurling inside me as she continues to feed.

"Oh." My eyes flutter closed as a wave of desire rides through me unexpectedly. _What is this_? How can I possibly be feeling this way? A gasp tears from my mouth as a particularly deep pull is initiated by Nova, accompanied by a guttural moan from the woman. It's as if it pulls straight at my core. "Stop," I rasp.

It takes her a moment, but she does. She licks at the wound, sending a caustic shiver up my spine as I feel the puncture marks close. Nova's breathing sounds heavy in my ear, a heavy metallic tinge to her breath. Her head turns ever so slightly and accidentally brushes her bloodstained cheek against my own.

"Thank you," she says, still breathing heavily. I give a dim nod, closing my eyes to the pain that radiates from my neck and the lingering pleasure in my loins. "Callie, I—" A sharp crack echoes through the forest, and I am suddenly on my back with Nova above me. Red veins run from the bottom of her eyes, fangs fully extended as she lets out an angry hiss toward the west.

"Get off her!" Keenan shouts. Another shot is fired, and Nova grunts in pain.

"Nova, get off me! Get off me! He'll kill you!" The next shot rings out, but Nova rolls us to the side faster than I can comprehend. My head spins at the action. "Nova," I pant, pushing at her with effort. Even with the strength of the bracers, it has too little effect. "Run."

She looks down at me fretfully, her scarlet eyes reverting to brown. I can hear Keenan's heavy footfall and give one last push.

"I love you," she whispers hoarsely. "I won't let him hurt you." She goes to touch my face one last time but thinks better of it, sprinting off in a flash of speed.

"Are you all right?" Keenan comes sliding down next to me, mud splashing onto both of us at the action. He wraps me up in his arms to sit me up.

"I'm okay," I croak, wincing at the motion. I raise a hand to stop the rain from pelting in my face, suddenly feeling extremely cold and weak.

"She bit you," he snarls, eyeing the mark on my neck with anguish, "and you liked it."

I suck in a harsh breath. If I had more blood circulating in my system, I'm sure I would have been blushing. "I couldn't help it. Vampyré fangs release a toxin that make their meals more malleable. Besides, I told her to. Vrana's starving her. She was going crazy."

Keenan's features harden as he lifts me up. The roar of engines sounds in the background, but my focus is entirely taken by the man holding me. "She's a vampyré, Callie," he scolds me harshly. "She would have killed you."

I swallow painfully, but stare him determinedly in the eye. "And you're a lycan. You're just as capable of killing someone. She might be driven by a hunger for blood, but you have a wolf inside you that's just as untamed and wild as that hunger." My answer shuts him up effectively, and me, if I'm being honest.

"We're going home," he grunts.

+++

I'm immediately given a slew of potions to drink from Zoelle when we return. Her face is crestfallen at seeing my bloodied shoulder and pallor but sets firmly a second later, ordering me into the kitchen, where I am fussed about until I'm fit to scream. I give my account to both Keenan and Zoelle, then Xander once I have finished with them. It feels like ages until I'm allowed to go back to my assigned room, Keenan hovering closely behind me.

"Wait," he says once the bedroom door closes behind us. "Let's talk before you take your shower."

"Keenan," his name comes out in a whine. "I'm tired and cold. I just want to get out of these clothes and under some hot water. Can't this wait?" I don't bother to turn around to face him. I can feel his body heat on my back, mere inches away.

"All right," he utters. I walk away from him and lock myself in the bathroom. I don't need visitors this time around.

When I'm under the fall of hot water, I feel as if I can finally breathe. Whatever tonics and potions Zoelle forced down my throat are slowly working their magic. Thank God. Nova had taken too much by just an ounce or so, enough for me to feel it.

I turn my back to the stream of water, letting it pound against the back of my neck and shoulder. The Wardens would have my head if they learned of my actions today. Allowing Keenan to mark me? Check. Allowing a fledgling vampyré to feed on me? Check. What else will I find myself doing before the end of the day? Announcing my allegiance to the Adolphus Pack? Or have I done that already by allowing Keenan to mark me?

I exhale long and slow. Everything I've known is being turned upside down. Lycans aren't mindless beasts set to kill at the slightest insult. Vampyrés can control their hunger. And Wardens sometimes do act like poachers. Maybe that is the darkness inside of me? Maybe I have become too desensitized and no better than a lowly poacher. The thought gives me a stomachache, but if Nova can rein in her thirst, then I can rein in my darkness. Perhaps the key to doing so is to reteach myself about the creatures I fought, find out for myself what they are made of instead of relying on my teachings.

I dread to get out of the shower, but know my time is reaching its limit. Locked or not, Keenan will be coming to get me sooner rather than later. When I emerge from the steam-filled bathroom, Keenan is waiting patiently by the window. Arms folded across his chest, face expressionless though adorned with a downward tilt of his mouth. His body language communicates his frustration, but it's the bond between us that speaks to me of his fear. And his anger.

"Hey."

"Why don't you take a seat? Zoelle said you should rest as much as possible to recover from the blood loss."

I raise a brow and sit on the edge of the bed. "What did you want to talk about?" My hair is bundled atop my head in a messy bun, but droplets of water drip down my neck. I wipe them away.

"Why did you let her do that?"

"I told you," I say, not bothering to hide the aggravation from my tone. "He was starving her. She's one of my best friends, and I made a promise to her sisters that I would find a way to help her. If drinking my blood helped her to find some sanity, or help her stand strong against Vrana, then who was I to deny her?"

"She could have killed you," he argues.

"She didn't," I counter swiftly. Keenan turns his regard toward the rain outside, his disappointment washing through the bond. "I know why you're really upset," I finally manage to say, "so do you want me to say it, or you?" Keenan doesn't say a word. "It didn't mean anything, Keenan. It was just a chemical reaction—"

"It didn't look like a chemical reaction," he grouches.

"It was, all right?" He remains silent for a time before turning his stormy gaze my way. "And the kiss, it didn't mean anything. At least not to me. I never knew Nova felt the way she does about me."

"I don't want other people touching you. Men or women." There's that possessiveness again. In his speech and in his eyes. "We're the ones who are meant to be together."

I force myself to steer my gaze to the floor. His words aren't wholly unappealing. And that might be a problem. For I find the thought of being with someone else wholly unappealing. I glance back to Keenan, finding his stormy regard still aimed my way. It's nothing like the way Wyatt would have gazed at me in this sort of situation. Wyatt would have looked like a child denied his favorite toy. Keenan looks at me as if he would tear the world apart just to be at my side.

_Wyatt_.... The thought of him makes me cringe, but I can't help but compare the two. Keenan reacts with a deeper slanting of his mouth.

"I'll leave you to rest," he says simply and heads toward the bedroom door. I realize my mistake almost too late.

"Wait!" I cry. "You don't understand. I was thinking about Wyatt, not you." Keenan's scowl deepens, and I find myself cringing at my own words. "That's not what I meant either. Well, it is, but it isn't. I was thinking about Wyatt, but nothing particularly nice. That's why I cringed. Not because I wasn't thinking about you." I take a deep breath. "I'm not making any sense, am I?"

Keenan stops, though he still looks put out. He opens his mouth to respond when a few quick raps sound at the door. Without waiting for permission to enter, Irina opens it and steps inside.

"Keenan, Xander needs you."

Keenan's mouth trims to a short, firm line, and he gives me a meaningful look.

"You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting," she continues dryly, sparing me a glance as she tucks a strand of perfectly straight black hair behind her ear. She was not among the pack sent out to try and fetch Nova and looks disgustingly stunning in simple, everyday clothes. Jeans, a 3/4 length black shirt, with not but a ring to garnish the ensemble. My eye catches the dark impression of a sideways 8 on the inside of her wrist, an infinity symbol. She doesn't seem like the type to sport tattoos, could it possibly be her soulmark?

She catches my regard and arches a brow haughtily. "Nice ink," I comment dully, eyes darting between Keenan's slow movements and Irina's disposition.

" _Humph_."

I roll my eyes at the rather-childlike reaction, but in doing so catch the glint of her ring once more. The deep purple is brought out by the nest of gold that holds it. Irina notices my stare and tilts the ring out of view, her body straightening somewhat defensively. I pass a brief look of confusion to Keenan but note he too is oddly tense. Even through the bond, I feel his sudden spike in fear. Why?

My heart jumps a beat.

"Can I see your ring?" The color falls from Irina's cheeks.

"I have to be going as well, I'm afraid. It's not just Keenan that Xander wishes to speak with," she explains, turning her back on me. I cover the distance between us in a few quick strides and grab hold of her upper arm. "Release me this instant!" she shouts in alarm, trying to shake me from my hold.

"Let me see that ring," I snarl, yanking her hand out so I can see it. "Oh my God." I release her as if I've been burned, stumbling back a few steps as I stare in horror at the two of them. "You lied to me."

Keenan takes a wayward step in my direction, eyes wide, full-fledged panic adorning his face. "Calliope—"

"You lied to me!" My breath comes in heavy pants as my own panic sets in. "I trusted you. And JJ...." I bend at the waist, hands on my knees as I try to process the information. "Did you even let him go? Or was that a lie too? He's still at the witches, isn't he?"

"No!" he shouts over me. I see his approach and move backward with jerky steps. "No, I swear. He's gone, but the ring...."

"You lied to me." Tears flood the side of my face. There is no point in hiding them. My disappointment and sorrow score the bond between us. It aches all the way to my bones. "What the hell is going on?"

"Keenan had nothing to do with it," Irina tells me. "Xander had very strict orders in place that the man be sent with a false ring. No one was allowed to let on or say anything. Or write anything. There was no way around the order."

"I trusted you." I whisper the words more to myself than the others. "I trusted you, and you betrayed me. You manipulated me—"

"No, I swear—"

"Get out!" I scream. The wolves look horrified at my reaction, but they don't fight me. Irina tugs at Keenan's hand.

"Keenan, let her be. Give her time." Keenan is reluctant to go but does with lead feet. I want to yell and scream at the door. I want to tear the entire room apart, but my hollowed-out heart leads me to the bed, where I collapse in a fit of tears.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 17

Walk on the Wild Side

I resume my "fast" almost immediately after Keenan and Irina leave. At least, that's what I tell the people who try to bring me food later in the day. Not even Zoelle's gentle chiding from outside the bedroom door can stir me from my spot against the foot of the bed. I pay for that particular insolence later. Her magical medicine wears off more quickly without food in my stomach.

No one pushes the matter. We all know the truth, and that is I'm too sick over the pack's deception to have any appetite. How could I be such a damn fool? Haven't I learned anything? It's like the wendigo fiasco all over again, except this hurt so much more. I have been maneuvered and manipulated effortlessly. I let the soulmark blind me. I let my emotions win.

There would be no going back now. My people would never accept me. Likewise, remaining with the wolves isn't an option, but can I escape from their clutches? With the witches as their allies, they can easily bind me to this prison. Not to mention the binding effects of the soulmark itself....

A knock sounds on the door.

I shift in my seated position, stifling a groan as my back gives an angry creak in response. I had fallen asleep on the ground, refusing the comfort of the room's hospitality out of spite.

A knock sounds on the door once more.

"Calliope?" _Ah_. They sent the alpha. "Let's take a walk." The issued order is surprisingly strong and effective. I find myself rising from the ground without a second thought before attempting to slam on the breaks. But my feet continue to take me toward the bedroom door. I let out a growl of frustration. I should never have let Keenan mark me. It linked me to the pack and made me susceptible to the alpha's commands.

"You're a dick," I tell him flatly as I open the door. Xander spares me a small smile.

"Follow me." The order rolls over me smoothly, and my feet shuffle along accordingly beside him.

Xander takes me to the forest, leading me to a small brook that winds curiously through the trees. It's peaceful here. The sound of the water rushing past covers the gentle rustle of leaves as a breeze comes along. I would enjoy the scene more if I were alone.

"I wanted to explain to you why I sent your brother away without the ring," Xander says.

My shoulders rise and fall unenthusiastically. "It doesn't matter. It was my mistake for trusting any of you to keep your word. Wolves are notorious tricksters. It's in all the legends."

"You should know Keenan wasn't informed of the ring swap until early yesterday morning. I don't believe you managed to catch that part of our conversation," he continues smoothly. "He wasn't pleased, but the blame rests on me. I'm responsible for the well-being of this pack, and allowing your brother to leave our territory with it was not an option."

"The ring—"

"Could not be kept safe with your people. I know your argument well, Calliope. Keenan made it on your behalf, but the fact of the matter is we stole it once already. And your people have yet to secure it back from us."

"They will," I tell him seriously. "You don't know them. They won't stop until they have it. Once they learn that it's a counterfeit, JJ is the one who will face the repercussions. As will I. You've royally fucked things up, you know? You and your pack of wolves."

Xander sighs, the placating expression he wore during his little speech slipping off to a grimace. "I'm sorry for that. It wasn't our intention to cause harm, none of this was. Since we learned of Vrana's desire to acquire the ring, the conclusion made by our allies was for the ring to reside within our territory. It really is the safest place for it, Calliope. No supernatural enemy can penetrate our border with the crystal in our possession."

"The Wardens of Starlight aren't supernatural," I remind him, kicking at the soft clods of dirt near my feet. "And please stop calling me Calliope. You sound like my father." _And Wyatt_.

Xander shoots me a side-glance, a smirk treading on his lips. "Callie then," he remarks. "Be that as it may, we're still well equipped to handle your people."

"They train us like mercenaries, you know. From a young age, they teach us how to fight and defeat supernatural creatures. Dying in the name of the Wardens is an honor, so don't think for a second they won't risk it all trying to defeat you."

A long pause follows my statement before Xander continues thoughtfully. "The Wardens are human. My wolves don't harm humans and are under the strictest order not to. When the time comes— _if_ the time comes—the Wardens will be subdued rather than eliminated. We'll use tranquilizer darts, standstill bullets crafted by the witches, and the witches themselves to hold them at bay."

The words are not what I expect and bring about a slew of confusion to my already fraught emotions. No doubt he's trying to make up for his act of betrayal and placate me with another lie. And for what? So I'll go running back into Keenan's arms? Become another pawn in someone else's game.

"You don't believe me?" His voice is filled with wry amusement. It captures my attention unexpectedly, for his smirk softens. "I don't blame you. Not after what happened with the ring, but that's okay. You can be mad and rage at me all you want, Callie. But no one else in this pack deserves your ire." I spare him a pointed glare, one that he returns. The alpha's mild disappointment quivers through the pack bonds and is aimed my way. I scoff to cover the feeling of remorse I feel as a result.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't try and dictate my feelings," I tell him stiffly. The pressure of his disappointment evaporates.

"You're right," he murmurs. "I apologize. Again. But, Callie, what I said is true. I'm the only one who deserves your anger, and, well, maybe the Elder Triad from the Trinity Coven by that estimation. Not Keenan though. We made the decision and are the ones who implemented it."

A wind rustles a few leaves from their branches and into the brook. I shiver at the gentle chill in the sweeping air and wish longingly for something warmer than my thin cotton shirt. Xander rests his hand on my shoulder. I look to him in surprise as the action brings an almost immediate sense of comfort.

"You said there would be repercussions for yourself and your brother?" I nod my head along dumbly. "Would it help if you could call home?"

I stare at him flabbergasted, words caught in my throat. "What? Why? Why would you offer me that?"

"You're part of this pack, Callie, whether you like it or not, and your happiness and well-being are important to me. It's my responsibility to see that you're taken care of and safe. That extends to those that you love. If calling one of your people will help circumvent trouble your brother might encounter, then you should call home. Besides, the circumstances that brought you into my pack are largely the result of my decisions. I want to do what I can to help make your full transition into the pack be as easy and seamless as possible."

"I don't know what to say," I tell him honestly, staring at him in confusion and leaning out of his touch. The comfort it brought departs with the motion, but it has already done what it's meant to do: calm me. Soothe my irate nerves.

"Listen, Callie, I wish you and Keenan could have met under different circumstances. I wish the pack wasn't at war, because if it wasn't, and if you and Keenan did meet under different circumstance, the pack would be celebrating. Our pack is blessed with an unusual amount of wolves finding their soulmarks, and every mark found is cause for celebration. I wish we could give you two more. It's what you deserve."

"Well," I say, once I can drag the words up my throat, "we can't always get what we want. Besides, it wouldn't matter in what circumstances I met Keenan. I'm still a Warden. He's still a lycan. My family and my people will never allow it."

Xander frowns at my words. "Do they know about the soulmark?"

I let out a rough bark of laughter, shaking my head and shifting my weight as another cool breeze comes rushing through the summer day. "No. Though it might have been simpler if they did. I would have been exiled or killed sooner. Probably the latter." I chance a glance at the alpha and find his face filled with a mixture of anger and remorse. I give him a lame one-shoulder shrug as part of my reply. "It's just the way things are. Any mark of the supernatural variety upon a Warden is forbidden. It's heresy. They would never understand. They would never accept this."

Xander sighs, peering out into the forest pensively. "I suppose I'm not completely surprised by the information, though it does make me feel sick to my stomach."

"You're telling me," I retort with a scoff. We share a look, matching grim grins splitting our faces.

"When I discovered Zoelle was my soulmark, and granddaughter to one of the most formidable witches I'd yet to encounter, it wasn't exactly smooth sailing for us. Though, I doubt that would surprise anyone. It's fairly common for the supernatural to stay amongst their kind, but aligning with the witches has been the best thing that's happened to my pack. It felt forced at first, but over the months, the alliance has turned into something more. A true friendship has formed between my pack and the Trinity Coven.

"I don't know why we were all so adverse to each other in the first place. It seems ridiculous looking back on it, but that's the price we paid for listening to stories passed on from our ancestors. To holding onto old prejudices and not bothering ourselves to forge new friendships. Our alliance and friendship frighten the supernatural community because it's an oddity. But it also frightens them because it signals a change. A possibility of a different future for our kind, without the hierarchy that's in place now. Change is hard, but especially more so for those who live their lives in black and white when it's meant to be in full color."

I let out a breathy laugh, giving Xander a once-over. His hands are stuffed in his jean pockets, and the pensive look remains on his face as he stares out into the distance. "Damn," I say, "that was... mildly impressive."

Xander grants me a smile that changes his entire demeanor. He seems lighter and happier. Strong and capable. And I realize as the undertone of his gratitude reaches me through the pack bonds that he means every word he's said, that he does care for my well-being and that of all his wolves, that he won't let harm fall to the Wardens.

I offer him a sad smile. "The Wardens aren't big fans of change. Unless they pass a very rigorous inspection and is agreed upon by all sitting Council members. In _every_ region. Anyway," I continue with a sigh, "the soulmark and this whole mess are really just the cherries on top of my already perilous standing with the Wardens."

"What do you mean?"

"I wasn't lying when I said they train us like mercenaries from when we are young. We're taught that eliminating the threat of supernaturals is paramount to the survival of the human race, and it's our divine purpose to do so. Not everyone wants to kill though, not everyone is cut out for it, but I was. I understood and believed in the purpose. I was good at it—I am good at it. But somewhere along the way, once I became a Stellar Warrior, I wavered. I made a huge mistake."

Xander's hand falls to my shoulder once more, and with it, that same relief and comfort, along with something else, a gentle urging through the bond to continue. I don't acknowledge the silent order, the past already slipping readily from my mouth. The proverbial flood gates open.

"We learned of a recently transitioning wendigo through our network of Shadow Scouts. Since wendigo are much easier to eliminate in the early stages of their transition from human to wendigo, only one warrior needs to be sent to take care of the problem." I take a shuddering breath, feeling my voice fill with thick emotion. "They didn't tell me it was a little girl. And nothing can really prepare you for that, you know? For seeing something like that in person. That monsters can wear the faces of the truly innocent. When I found her, she was crying and scared.

"All I remember are those big crocodile tears and the way she was shaking. She didn't understand what was happening to her. She couldn't comprehend that this evil spirit was taking possession of her body or that soon her body would turn gaunt and frail to the point of emaciation. How her skin would stick to her bones and her eyes would sink into her unrecognizable head. That her body would turn to rot and she would become a monster. And I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill her. Not then anyway, even if it was the right thing to do."

I'm barely cognizant of the tears spilling down my cheeks as my story goes on, only that the strength of the alpha's touch seems to be the only thing keeping me grounded.

"It's all right, Callie. You did do the right thing."

I shake my head fervently. "But it wasn't," I tell him with a wet, hysterical laugh. "I hid her away, and when I went back to get her in two days' time, she was gone. I found her by chance. She'd turned faster than I anticipated and had managed to trap a small congregation in a chapel as they met for Sunday mass. She killed them all. It was a slaughterhouse, Xander. She got away from me then too, but I found her. She was with a nest of three full-fledged wendigo, and I killed them all. I _slaughtered_ them. The Council removed me from the Warriors and made me a Starlight Warden because they said no Stellar Warrior could have possibly taken on that many wendigo without housing a darkness inside them. Without being a Ripper at heart."

He tugs me under his arm and into his side while I dash away my tears and take a few breaths to collect myself. "What's a Ripper, Callie?"

"It's what they call Stellar Warriors who carry the darkness inside of them. The ones who connect a little too closely with the creatures we kill. If you're lucky, you're exiled. Since my father holds a lot of weight on the Council, he was able to have me moved into a different order of the Wardens of Starlight. A lot of people didn't like that decision."

"That's a lot of pressure and stress to put on a person," he comments lightly. "Did you ever have anyone to talk to about it?"

"We're not really talkers or sharers," I explain. "We're not a lot of things."

Xander gives me a little squeeze, and I'm reminded of how much these wolves rely on physical contact to connect with one another. That, and how much I've come to crave the contact and connection in so little time.

It's turning out to be my undoing.

I pull away from Xander and place myself at arm's length away from him, gazing into the crystal-clear water of the brook. "What? No comment?"

"I believe the reason you were able to do what you do, was with an enormous sense of guilt and anger. Both of which can drive a person to do nearly impossible things. Not because of some 'darkness' inside of you. Just pent-up human emotion that came out of an already violent outlet."

My throat gives a betraying bob. "You don't think I have a darkness inside of me?"

"Maybe you do." Xander shrugs. "But maybe you don't. Either way, those lessons you've decided to do with Keenan should help. He's a good man. He's smart and levelheaded, and I'm sure he'll be able to help you."

"I'm not sure that's the best idea anymore," I confess. We stay silent for a long moment, each lost in our thoughts before Xander breaks the silence between us.

"Listen, Callie, the reason I brought you out here was to explain to you why you saw Irina with the ring, as well as to try and mend the rift between you and Keenan."

"I was curious about that particular detail," I confess. "Why not give the ring to the witches?"

He crosses his arms over his chest, assuming the stance of parent ready to lecture. I make sure to keep my listening ears on. "Irina is the fastest wolf in the pack. If trouble should arise, she'll leave with the ring immediately. She's practically as fast as a vampyré once she hits her stride. We didn't give the witches the ring because that's what they'll assume. That's where they'll go first, and Irina can slip away. Callie," the threat of an order lingers in his tone, "tell me about the dagger we found on you."

"I took a vow," I manage to say, the hidden truth of the dagger poised at the back of my tongue. I swallow uncomfortably. "I can't tell you that. Please don't make me."

"It will be all right, Callie. I don't plan on telling anyone else; this will remain between you and me. Tell me about the blade."

I suck in a hasty breath, a curl of helplessness settling in my stomach at the order I can't refuse. "It's Vogart's Blade, the Last of the Necromancers and Creator of the Vampyré. Lore has it that if the blade were to pierce the heart of a newly turned vampyré, it would change them back."

I'm not sure how I expected Xander to react to the information, but it wasn't with such stout silence. His shoulders seem to deflate from their rigid posture as the seconds pass, a look of remorse skirting his features.

"That's why you wanted it the other day. You wanted to turn your friend back." I nod my head. "But what if it didn't work? You would have—"

"Killed her?" I whisper hollowly. "I know. It's what she would want. It's what she asked me to do yesterday."

"And instead you let her feed on you?" The incredulity in his voice is hardly covered by his confusion.

I brush my hair behind my ear. "She needed help. She still needs help, and I think I can give that to her."

"I know this isn't what you want to hear, but I'd like you to consider letting me pass the dagger into Irina's protection. That way she can leave with both the ring and knife should things take a turn for the worse."

"My family will still come," I warn him. "And frankly, between all the other supernatural creatures knocking at your door, it's them that you need to be worried about the most. When they come, these woods will be painted with blood."

Xander frowns in thought. "Then I think it's for the best of everyone if you make that call to your family today."

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 18

Too Little Too Late

Xander and I return to the manor shortly after our chat, parting ways when he heads toward the garage. He instructs me to use the phone in his office, and so I go there immediately. I don't know many people's number by heart. Those that I do I can count on one hand.

"Was it 5-3 or 5-2?" I mutter to myself as I stare dumbly at the phone in my hand. I punch in the former and wait with bated breath as the other line rings.

"Hello?"

Thank God.

"Noelle? It's Callie." I can hear her sharp intake of breath followed abruptly by the rush of air over the phone's mouthpiece, along with hurried footsteps. After a minute and some indiscriminate noises, she makes her reply.

"What the hell is going on, Callie? They sent a troop out to retrieve the artifacts and look for you and JJ. You're in a lot of trouble. I shouldn't even be talking to you right now. I just hid myself in a supply closet near the observatory for heaven's sake."

I sigh and slump against the large office desk. "Short version?"

"Yes, please. And I already know it was a trap, so skip that part. Naomi and Wyatt are back, but nobody knows what happened to you or JJ. What happened to you guys?"

"JJ hid under the van and got left behind, and I used myself as bait to help the others escape. We were taken in, me by the wolves and JJ by the witches. But they sent him back, Noelle. The witches sent JJ back yesterday morning as a truce of sorts. An armistice."

"And you were left behind?"

"Yes. With Vogart's blade and the ring."

Noelle curses under her breath. "So they have both of the artifacts?" I swallow tightly at the accusation.

"Yes," I force out, "and you should know they sent JJ back with a fake ring. They told me they would send the ring as well to sweeten the deal, but it was a lie. I'm telling you because I don't want JJ to take the blame for it. Will you help him if it comes to that? Vouch for him?"

"Christ, Callie," Noelle says, taking her time to give me her response. "I will. I'll help him, but on one condition."

"Name it."

"Tell me... did you find her? Have you been able to help her?"

My throat tightens. "I found her. She's in rough shape, but, Noelle, she's okay. She's strong, and she's going to be okay." A not-so-quiet sob drifts through the phone line, and I blink back my own tears. "I told her about our plan, but she's having a tough time working her way around the vampyrés orders. I'm still going to try and save her, all right? I'm not giving up on her."

"Thank you," she says with a hiccup.

"Don't thank me yet," I joke.

Noelle lets out a weak laugh. "Anything else I should know?"

I let my mind run over the days I've been here. There is no way I'll be telling her about the soulmark, and it doesn't seem necessary to touch on Luna.

"You know about the crystal, right?"

"We overheard a conversation about a crystal, but Nova was the only one ever to spot it," she admits. "It was too deep into their territory, and Nova seeing it was a miracle in and of itself. Why?"

"It's called the Wielding Crystal of Dan Furth. Have you ever heard of it? It's created this magical border around their territory that keeps other supernatural beings out of it."

"Hmm, I don't think I know what— _oh no_."

"Noelle?" I stand up straight as I hear a small commotion in the background. There's a muffled voice, a squeal of protest, and then a door slamming shut.

Heavy panting resounds in the earpiece. "Calliope?"

_Oh no_. "Um... hi, Felicia."

"What the _fuck_ , Calliope. Explain. _Now_." I relay an even shorter version of the story to Felicia, with plenty of apologies strewn throughout my words. "You're an idiot," she tells me savagely. "Stealing from the Wardens? Assisting the enemy? What has gotten into you, Callie? There's no going back from those crimes, and make no mistake, they are crimes."

"I know," I tell her forlornly, "but I can't change what I've done."

"What you can do is get back those artifacts and intercept the Stellar Warriors before they reach you and rain hell upon that town and its inhabitants." I feel a stone of dread hit the pit of my stomach.

"What do you mean 'rain hell'?" I rasp.

"It means that the artifacts aren't the only thing the warriors are after. They're out for blood after the latest slight, and no doubt they'll go for that pretty crystal too," she hisses back.

"Wait, wait! Slow down," I beg. "What latest slight? And what do you know about the crystal?"

Felicia makes an impatient noise, one I became familiar with at the Banks Facility and know means she's on her last nerve. "Another lycan attack. They killed a Council member, Callie. As for that crystal, well, it's extremely powerful and currently in the hands of a very powerful coven. It's messing with the balance of things, and they'll either take it or destroy it."

"But the crystal isn't hurting anyone. It's protecting people," I reason weakly, horrified over the news. I can't see Xander sending his wolves out to needlessly attack the Wardens, but the other pack might, especially if they're still working with Vrana.

"It doesn't matter, Callie." She sighs. "It doesn't matter because they're gunning for the wolves regardless. Just keep out of trouble, all right? Make yourself scarce if you can. The Borealis Matter that's running through your blood right now will last you a long while as long as you only tap into it sparingly."

"Really?"

"Yes, really," she scoffs. "Did I teach you nothing? Artifacts are routinely re-implanted with the Borealis on—"

"On a two to three-year basis," I finish. "Thank you," I whisper.

"I hate that you're in such a scrape, kid," she tells me, the aggravation still in her voice, "but I hate even more that I'm out an apprentice. You put me in a spot. So just follow my last advice and don't interfere with the Wardens. Stay out of their way. They won't go easy on you if they find you. And definitely, get away from those wolves and witches. You're going to get yourself killed if you don't." The comment makes me gulp.

"Felicia...."

She sighs over the phone. "Wyatt hasn't exactly had anything kind to say about the scenario, and Naomi doesn't have as much credibility as him."

That _dick_. "Thanks for the heads-up, Felicia. I really appreciate it. And I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry for putting you in this position."

"Yeah, yeah," she mutters. "I hope I don't see your face around here anytime soon, Calliope."

"Bye, Felicia," I whisper back, hearing the line cut off before I even finish saying her name. "Damn," I curse aloud, running my hands through my hair.

They're coming. I knew it, but by her warning, it sounds as if they are already well on their way. They might even be here today, and if that's the case, I have to do something. Innocent lives could be lost, I think gravely, human, wolf, and witch alike. I have to warn Xander. They'll want to inflict pain upon their enemies, not knowing they're probably being played by Vrana. Surely, he instructed the other pack to antagonize the Wardens, knowing they won't discriminate against which wolf pack they go after.

I slam the phone down into its receiver and book it out of the study, only to run face-first into a broad chest.

" _Omph_!"

"Whoa, slow down there." I take a step back and look up at Atticus. He shoots me a flirtatious smile. "What's going on, warrior girl?"

"Now really isn't the time, Atticus," I say. "I have to get ahold of Xander or—"

"Me? I am the beta after all. What's wrong?" The frown that forms on his face doesn't suit him. "Callie, what's wrong?" The order is subtle in his voice, but it's still present.

"I think the Wardens are coming today. And they're not just in it to get the relics back, Atticus. The other pack has been causing trouble up in Alaska, and they want to hurt the pack. It's not going to be pretty. We have to do something. We have to warn the others that they're coming."

A litany of emotions flies over his face before he gives me a curt nod. "I'll find Xander and send a message to Zoelle. See if you can't find Ryatt or Keenan and let them know. They'll know what to do."

"Atticus—" He sprints off down the hallway before I can finish. My mouth closes with a snap before I follow his lead, making my way as fast as I can back outside toward the forest. Hopefully, I'll intercept a wolf out there.

I'm only a few yards from the forest line before the sun is covered by an ominous dark cloud and casts a shadow over the land. A brief look above and a deep breath later warns of an impending storm. Great. When I hear my name being shouted, I skid to a halt and turn around. Keenan is flying toward me, a look of distress on his face.

"What's wrong? What is it?" He slides to a stop in front of me, hands cupping my face as he searches for any outward marks of distress. "Atticus said to get to you immediately. That something was wrong." At the touch of his hands, I feel the full force of his concern. It's almost overwhelming and most definitely distracting.

"They're coming," I tell him with a shaky breath. "The Wardens are coming. I spoke with a friend from home—"

"When did you speak—"

"That's not important! The point is, is that I did, and I think the Wardens are closer than we anticipated. They're out for blood, Keenan. The other pack has been messing with them, which makes it personal now for the Wardens. They'll try and take out as many wolves as they can, and I think there's a chance they'll go for the crystal as well. We have to hide it."

Keenan has a sober furrow in his brow. "I don't know if we can move the crystal, but we can try. Come on, I'll take you to it. The witches should be on duty, and we're bound to run into some of the wolves on patrol."

I'm about to pull away and sprint into the forest when Keenan swoops down and claims my lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers knot themselves at the hair near the nape of my neck, tilting my head back to kiss me deeper, more fiercely than ever before. I moan into his mouth, kissing him back with equal fervor. When he pulls away, I'm gasping for air.

"I'm sorry," he breathes harshly, his hands smoothing themselves down my arms before taking my hands. "I couldn't say anything."

"I know," I tell him in a hushed voice, still trying to calm my racing heart. "It's all right. Xander and I spoke. I think I'm growing to understand the true power of an alpha order myself."

"Are you sure you're all right?" The question lingers in the air, heavy in its innuendo.

Out of habit, I chew on my bottom lip a bit nervously before cautiously nodding. "I think I'd be better than all right knowing the crystal was out of harm's way, and the witches and wolves are prepared for what's headed this way," I tell him gingerly. I don't want anyone getting hurt from the Wardens or the pack that I now find myself tied to. "Maybe something can be done to turn their wrath toward the other pack?"

Keenan shakes his head. "I'm sure the Wselfwulf's were hoping this would happen. I'd bet my life's savings that they're staying far within their territory for the next few days." We share a look of dismay. "Let's go."

With my hand still in his, we race northwest. I try to tell Keenan multiple times to run ahead of me, he is clearly the faster of us, but he refuses to leave my side. The gesture is sweet, but stupid. Still, we run as one, racing as quickly as we can to the location of the crystal, intercepting no other wolf from the Adolphus Pack. Maybe Atticus got to Xander or Ryatt, and they told the wolves and witches to retreat?

"We need to move the crystal," Keenan announces once we arrive. He is barely out of breath while I catch mine discreetly by his side. The three women standing around the large purple and pink quartz give Keenan a dubious look.

"Not gonna happen," a woman with short red hair states. "This spot was scouted for the crystal to take root here. There's no telling what might happen to the energy border if we move it."

"It doesn't have to be moved far," I try to reason. "It just needs to be hidden. The Wardens have sent their warriors to come and take the crystal—possibly destroy it—and they'll stop at nothing until they do. Even if it means killing everyone who stands in their way."

None of the three women look particularly impressed by my speech, though the redhead does wear a more pensive look. "We can cloak it," she suggests with a mild shrug, "but we're not moving it."

"That's not good enough," I argue.

"Tough," she snaps.

"Then cloak it!" I respond heatedly. "Then get the hell out of the forest. Anybody wandering these woods will be fair game to them, and then they'll go hunting in town. You need to go back and figure out how to protect all of those people."

"Is she serious?" the brunette nearest to the crystal asks Keenan.

"Where is everyone?" he asks, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The three women pass Keenan another look of incredulity. "It's the shift," the brunette answers. "Wolves and witches are rotating out for their breaks. No one's on the border except for us at the moment. I'm sure everyone will take a post soon. Hopefully they'll bring umbrellas. I hate running shifts in the rain."

"Keenan...." My voice trails off in warning. Something doesn't feel right. Maybe it's paranoia, but I feel like we were being watched. The skin on the back of my neck tingles, and the urge to switch on my bracers is unusually harsh.

"I'm sorry, but aren't you like, one of them?" the other brunette asks. Her hair is plaited down her back. "Or have you switched sides now?"

"Just move the fucking crystal!" I snap, lunging toward it. "Or I'll do it myself."

A burst of purple light blasts from the palm of the redhead before I have time to react. It should hit me squarely in the chest, but Keenan dodges in front of me. He grunts at the impact, stumbling backward into me. A muted cry tugs at my vocal cords as the hit vibrates through the bond. It is electrifying in the worst way.

"This isn't the time for fighting," Keenan snarls. "She's with us, and right now she's trying to save all of your lives, as well as everyone else's. Don't believe us? Then take it up with one of your elders _after_ you move the crystal. They've already given the go-ahead, and we don't have time for this." This time the women look at each other with uncertainty, Keenan's forceful words seemingly doing the trick.

"Oh, hello! I didn't realize we would have visitors," Luna's sugary sweet voice turns all of our heads. In her hands, she holds a large pot with green sprouts poking their way tentatively out of the dirt. She wears a large smile, but I'm surprised to see her purple eyes a startling crystal blue and her hair a pale blonde instead of icy white. Even her skin has lost its etherealness. The witches must have given her a more powerful glamor to wear. Luna walks up to us, eyes sparkling with genuine mirth. "Isn't it a beautiful day?"

"Luna," Keenan starts, turning his body to face her, "we need to move the crystal."

His words obviously shock her for her mouth becomes ajar, bobbing up and down comically as she looks to the witches for confirmation. "Surely this cannot be done. This is the crystal's home. Here." She shifts the pot in her arms and points toward the ground upon which the crystal rests to prove her point.

"Trouble is heading our way," I tell her.

Her eyes widen, if possible, further. "Not rokama?"

My brow scrunches in confusion. "No," I speak slowly, sparing Keenan and the witches a quick glance.

"More hellspawn?"

"No," I say again, agitation creeping at the surface of my tone. "The Wardens. My people are coming."

"What are Wardens?" she asks. The pain of my fingernails in my palms does little to calm me.

"The Wardens protect ancient, magical relics. They also hunt the supernatural, and right now they're hunting all of you. And they want the crystal. We have to move it."

Luna's face pales. "Not hellspawn?"

This time I release my growl of frustration, moving out from behind Keenan's protective stance to standoff once more. The air around us crackles with energy as the witches take in my posturing. The fingerless gloves they wear let off a distinct shimmer.

"I just said it wasn't—"

Luna's finger points nervously out behind us. We turn to look. Oh no. Sickly green creatures are scattered in the near distance. Their ugly faces turned upward to sniff the air. Ears perked in the air. They slowly inch their way toward the border. From their mouths, an odd clicking and chattering sound.

"Shit," I breathe.

"It's all right, between us and the fairy, we can take them out. The others will be along shortly," the redhead reasons, turning to face off with the demons.

"If Atticus got to Xander, then no one is coming in for their shift," Keenan voices. "He'll want to keep everyone well away from the border, including all of the witches. We need to leave, now, and take the crystal."

"It's not as if it will take long," she huffs impatiently. "Come on, Luna. Show them what you're made of."

Luna shuffles uncomfortably with the load in her arms, backing up minutely. Her head moves slowly from side to side. "I can't," she says unhappily. "I've used up my magic for the day tending to the gardens and the border. Besides, I'm not overly fond of violence. Diana said I didn't have to fight anymore since it makes me uncomfortable."

My eyebrows rise to my hairline as I shoot Luna a look of disbelief. She looks back at me mildly offended, but that's not what ends up capturing my attention. It's the red dot wavering over her chest. A sharp _crack_ echoes through the forest.

"Get down!" I scream, throwing myself at the fairy. She drops her potted plant with a shriek before I tackle her to the ground, releasing another cry as we land. "Are you all right?" I ask raggedly in her ear, pulling back up when I see the others begin to crowd around us out of my peripheral.

Luna shakes her head in a daze, her hand lifting to the growing spot of red inches above her heart. She opens her mouth to speak, a gurgle of blood accidentally spilling forth with a hacking cough. Panic leaks into every facet of her body. Eyes widening. Breath pitched to a frenzy. Body locking.

I press my hand dutifully against the wound. "Get back!" I shout once more over my shoulder just as another shot sounds. An instant later, a smattering of crystal shrapnel embeds itself into my calves. The shattering of the crystal lets off an angry chinking in the air.

"Take what's left of the crystal and go!" Keenan commands, but as I look back at the scene, the witches and Keenan are frozen.

The magical border lets out an angry crackle in response, brilliant crimson and violet sparks hurtling from fractures that appear by the dozen all along the magical divide. Some slowly smooth back over, while other points of fissures remain gaping open.

"Oh, Goddess." One of the witches groans in horror. "Millie, Sarah, take the crystal back to the house as fast as you can," the redhead orders.

"But, Jane!"

"Go!" she orders more harshly, sweeping her hands up in an arch. A strange mist ascends into the air from the ground, creating a wide, hazy barrier between us and the splintered border. "I'll hold them back for as long as I can. Send help." The woman with the plaited hair lets out a distressed sob, glancing back over her shoulder at the approaching figures in black still a ways out. The Wardens are here.

"Jane...." Her voice trails off only to find her next words replaced with a sharp _crack_ as another bullet tries and fails to penetrate the newly erected barrier.

"Go, Sarah," Jane tells her coolly, eyes trained on the misshapen bullet lodged in the barrier, conveniently eye level with Sarah.

The two witches say not another word. Their hands rising in time as eerie words fall from their lips. The crystal quivers and rises slowly from the ground between them. They take a step, nervously eyeing the splintered barrier that wraps around their territory, but nothing happens.

"May the Goddess guide the light within you, from this world to the next," Sarah says somberly. Jane gives a jerky nod, hands shaking as another bullet crashes against her barrier.

"Tell them—"

"We will, Jane," Millie assures her, and then the two witches are off as fast as they dare go, the crystal glowing brightly between them.

"Can you get her out of here?" Jane asks, voice strained. "They're closing in too quickly. Both the hellspawn and the people in black."

"Can you move with me, Luna?" I ask hastily, and she whimpers her assent. I help her to stand, ignoring her cries as the pain becomes too much. "It's all right," I murmur to her, arm wrapped securely around her waist as she leans fully into my side. "We'll take this one step at a time and get as far—"

"Here, let me." Keenan tries to take my spot, but I push him away.

"You have to run and tell the others," I protest. "You're faster, Keenan. The witches are slowed down because they're moving the crystal, Jane is protecting us, and I have to help Luna. Which means _you_ have to be the one who gets the others. You're our best chance. Go."

Jane lets out a startled cry. I stare helplessly at her misty barrier, watching in alarm as it begins to flicker. Her body visibly shakes from the effort to keep it erect. "Get the hell out of here!" Jane shouts.

"I can't just leave you here," he snarls. Our mutual terror twines together through the bond, making my next words cut all the deeper.

"You can," I shoot back. "We both know I'm right, Keenan. And if anyone has a shot at stalling them, it's me. Not you. Not Luna. Not Jane. You have to go; you just don't want to. And I get it, okay?" Emotion clots my voice. " _I get it_."

Keenan visibly shakes at my words while I continue to hobble along with Luna. His eyes waver from brown to gold. "I can't—" Before he can say another word, he lets out a snarl of rage, twirling around and flinging something lanky and green to the ground. The hellspawn are through the border. Jane lets out a curse, and then foreign words echo through the air around us followed by a clap of what sounds like thunder. Keenan grabs the hellspawn out of midair when it dares to attack him again. It's neck twisting with Keenan's deadly hold before going limp. He drops it to the ground, panting lightly.

"Go. If I can take you on and win, those little hellions don't stand a chance." My words don't alleviate the mood, but they do get Keenan to turn and sprint off into the forest with an angry scowl.

"Hellspawn," Luna corrects me between gritted teeth as we pick up into a canter. She is considerably paler when I cast her a glance, and I note she is increasing the amount of weight she leans on me.

"Stay with me, Luna. We'll be out of range soon enough and can hide," I promise.

Luna stumbles. Her wracking cough filling the air as an ominous rustling sounds from behind us. "Can't," she chokes, falling to a knee. I twist my wrists, and the bracers ignite with their light. With little effort, I call forth the Borealis I house inside me and use my strength to maneuver us behind a thick-bodied tree.

"Don't move. Don't make a sound," I tell her quietly as I slip into a crouch. My body thrums with energy as I assess my surroundings.

Jane's cry pierces the air before abruptly cutting short. It draws a cold shiver down my back. I have nothing to protect us with, except my body. And I have absolutely no idea on how to kill the mongrels closing in on us, since I've never been taught about them. But Luna was.

"Luna," I whisper, "how do I kill them? Luna?" I gently nudge her foot, but the fairy only blinks back at me owlishly, a hand pressed weakly against her wound.

"Kill?" Tears cascade down her cheeks.

"Not you," I hiss. " _Them_."

One of them grows bold and creeps closer. It walks on all fours like some kind of primate; back hunched and knuckles digging into the ground for support. The hellspawn's eyes are black with a filmy yellow crust around them. It doesn't look as if it sees, so much as it hears or smells.

"I could really use some kind of weapon," I mutter to myself, shifting back onto my heels. I regret leaving the manor without my butterfly knife as my vulnerability becomes starkly apparent.

"Cal- _e_." Luna stretches out her hand to me, eyes closed as her lips tremble. A sharp point presses grotesquely against the skin of her forearm, piercing it with aching slowness. I watch in muted horror as the bone-white object continues to grow and lengthen from her body in my direction. It reaches almost a foot in length before she snaps it off with a grunt of pain, eyes flaring a startling purple before returning to their glimmered state. "Kill."

I take the bone stake, swallowing past the lump in my throat and turning my attention back to our enemy. And just in time. One of the hellspawn comes out from behind the tree we hide behind, launching itself at me with a feral snarl. I roll with the impact, worming a foot between its body and myself to kick it off. It flies overhead as I tumble safely back into a crouch. I barely have time to position myself better in front of Luna before another one launches itself at me.

And then another. And another.

I can feel the darkness in me crawling forth as I knock back the vermin, one after the other. It craves death. Death granted by my hands, and before I can help myself, I snap the neck of the next hellspawn and whip it across the forest floor. My breathing comes in sharp pants as the hellspawn collect around us, their needle-like teeth protruding in crooked lines from their unhinged jaws. The darkness dares to surge forward, but with a snarl of my own, I push it back down. I will not lose myself in it. Not today. Not _now_. In my mind, a picture of a never-ending night sky filled with bright starry dots fills my thoughts. _Breathe and focus_ , I chant to myself. _Don't let the darkness out_.

"Come on, you filthy bastards," I mutter as they drift forward.

A shot rings out, loud and clear through the forest, and a second later I flail backward as a jarring pain pierces my stomach. My hand darts to my stomach, but when I pull it away to see the damage, nothing is there. Still I ache. The bond between Keenan and I corrodes in agony.

"Keenan." His name is a hoarse cry on my lips before they attack, spearing me to the ground as their teeth battle each other to gnash at my body. I shriek in pain. Trying— _trying so damn hard_ —and failing to escape. Luna's cries pierce the air behind me. Teeth capture a chunk of my left arm, tearing from it flesh and muscle. My scream seems to curdle as I jerk uncontrollably in pain, watching in horror as the beast devours my flesh. It triggers something inside of me, and my darkness surges to the surface. I knock a hellspawn off me and then another. But it is not enough. Not even with the Borealis helping to fuel my rage.

Pain racks through my body, to a point at which I think I may pass out, but at least Luna is no longer crying. The thought brings me little comfort knowing the reason why. A scream swells in my throat, one that scratches and aches upon its release.

Something gnaws at my ankle. Something bites deeply into my thigh. _It's too much_. A sob wracks my chest, jarring pain stemming from what seems like every part of my body as they continue their feast. I don't expect the one with its claws sunk deep into my belly to be torn away. It lets out a startled yelp, it's gnashing teeth coated in my flesh and blood. A second later, another is tossed from my body. Then another. And another. I scoot weakly backward, gasping for breath. Soft splashes of something wet land sporadically on me. Rain, I think dimly. I let my eyes drift shut, but am surprised when cool hands cradle my face gently.

"Callie? Callie, are you all right?" Nova's voice is as achingly cool as her touch, and my eyes open to see her face half covered in blisters. How fast must she have run to find me with the threat of the sun looming behind the clouds? How did she find me at all? A wet sob bursts from my mouth in reply, and she cradles me to her chest, slipping her arms under me to pull me close. "Shh," she murmurs rocking me. "Hush now. It's all right. I can help you. You just need to drink my blood, and then we can be together. Everything will be okay."

I shake my head weakly against her chest, forcing myself to push away from her. "No," I manage to get out.

Nova lets out an angry growl, her gaze darting furtively around as the forest comes alive with the sound of gunfire and the pattering rain becomes heavier. Before my eyes, her skin seems to be smoothing over, her wounds healing. "We don't have time. I can save you. Let me save you," she begs.

"Can't," comes my blood-soaked response.

Nova's eyes narrow on the fresh splatter of blood across my chin and cheeks, her eyes slipping into crimson as her nostrils flare. "But...." She must read the desperate plea in my eyes because she lets out a growl of frustration, angry tears welling in her eyes. "Fine, then take these. It will help you heal faster," she says, carefully lying me back down to take off her bracers. "They don't work for me anymore anyway, and he only let me keep them to be mean. To remind me of my old life and what I'd lost." The bracers unlock around her wrists with the correct pressure from her fingertips, and then she is slipping them onto my forearms above the other pair. The fit is tight. Uncomfortable. Yet they pale in comparison to my other injuries.

Nova helps me activate them, her eyes watching with barely veiled envy as my back bends from the culminated power. "Shhh!" Nova casts another harried look around us, her hand slapping over my mouth. "They're coming, and I can't... I can't stay. Just tell them I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything," she says to me in a rush, hand slipping away. "He made me tell him everything. Everything about the Wardens. Everything about the relics."

My hand reaches out to grasp hers tightly, the pain in my body dulling ever so slightly. "Everything?" I gasp.

She nods her head regretfully, beginning to stand. "He knows about the blade. I'm so sorry, Callie. Please don't tell me you have it on you."

"No," I rasp, pulling myself to my elbows shakily. "Irina—" Nova's hand slaps over my mouth once more in a panic.

"Didn't you just hear what I said?" Animalistic terror frets about her words. "I have to tell him everything, Callie. Oh no." She shifts uncontrollably backward, landing clumsily on her butt. "He ordered me to... and the border is down in patches... I have to—"

"Don't." My own panic rises with the realization of what I've just done. "It's not with her. It's... it's...." But my harried excuse is no use. The tears spill forth from her eyes as she shuts them. When they open, they are a familiar brown.

"Tell my sisters I love them," she whispers raggedly, then is off in the blink of an eye. The sound of gunfire increases mere seconds after she spirits away, leaving me to deal with the aftermath.

_I can't feel him_ , I think brokenly, trying and failing to feel Keenan through the bond. Except, there is nothing there.

It's so disturbingly bare that it rouses a pain deep in my heart. One I never knew I could feel. _I can't breathe_ , I think weakly, the pain in my body once more overwhelming me. _I can't breathe_. Luna's piteous moan is the only thing keeping me from losing control. I pull myself toward her, dragging my lower half with labored breaths.

"Luna," I croak weakly, but her slumped form makes no response. Her body is littered with bite marks and angry gashes, but I can hardly tell if any are life-threatening. She's far too covered in blood. "Please," I beg, "please, wake up."

"I've got another one!" a male voice shouts, one that is vaguely familiar.

A white-hot pain spears through my middle back, as the military-issued boot makes impact. I grit my teeth against the pain, collapsing into the dirt without protest.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" A fistful of my hair is bunched in an angry fist before I'm yanked roughly upward onto my knees. "The little bitch, traitor," the veteran Stellar Warrior all but snarls. "Just what should I do with you?"

A rather vicious yank and my head snaps back. Throat exposed. His hot breath skirts over the delicate flesh, and my heart thunders in my ears.

"Haven't got anything to say for yourself?" He forces my head to turn toward him. _Devin Watercress,_ _second in his class only to my brother and one to hold a grudge_. I hock the blood and phlegm clogging my airway and spit it in his face.

"Fuck you," I snarl back. He releases me in disgust, angrily wiping at his face before eyeing me with fury. I steel myself for the knockout blow that is certain to come my way when Wyatt appears out of the blue.

"Calliope." He grimaces at the sight of me, stepping between me and the other warrior. "What the hell do you think you're doing, Watercress?"

"Orders are—"

"I know what the fucking orders are, you moron. So, I'll ask you again; what the hell are you doing?" I can't see Devin's face, but I'm hopeful that it's scared shitless. It isn't wise to get on Wyatt's bad side. "Get back with the others, now. I'll take care of Calliope Sawyer."

I watch Devin's retreating figure with relief but find myself unconsciously stiffening when Wyatt crouches down next to me.

"You've really done it this time, Calliope," he tells me, "but don't worry. I'll get you out of it." He stands. Before I can make my reply, he reaches for his semiautomatic and smashes the butt of the gun against my forehead. A bursting pain eclipses all others, and then I am pulled into blissful darkness.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 19

Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die

Another day, another holding cell.

My body radiates an ache so deep, I'm not sure where one pain begins and another ends. Flashes of gnarled teeth and rotting breath steal into the forefront of my mind, and the urge to vomit is almost impossible to ignore. Not that there is anything in my stomach to purge. A few measured breaths resolve the minor issue, but it does little to calm my shaking nerves.

I'm back in Alaska. Back at the Banks Facility, tucked away in a cell meant for the worst of our kind. Traitors. Apostates. Thieves.

_Check, check, and check_.

The only balm to my wounds is that I can once again feel Keenan through the bond. He didn't die the other day, and the relief is tremendous. Even with two thousand miles between us, the bond is still there. As weak as it is, it gives me something to hold on to. It anchors me.

I'm not sure what day it is, or how long I've been here. No one has come, at least not while I've been awake. Thankfully I've been washed and put in new clothes. My wounds tended to with baseline effort.

A door opens and slams closed in the distance, and my eyes watch the long, poorly lit hallway dispassionately. The footfalls that sound are heavy. Masculine. My hands curl into fists at my side as anxiety builds in my stomach. I hope it's not Wyatt. Or worse, my father.

I suck in a sharp breath of relief when the distant figure passes under one of the working hallway lights. "JJ." I force myself to my feet, wincing in pain as I shuffle toward the bars of my cell. "You're alive. You made it." Tears blossom in my vision, and I happily blink them away.

When JJ stands before my cell bars, we reach out to each other, hands grasping onto one another as tightly as possible.

"What happened to you?" he asks, voice holding a distinct tremor. I give him the CliffsNotes version, inwardly pleased when I'm able to keep my composure the whole way through.

"What are they going to do with me?"

JJ has trouble holding my gaze, swallowing uncomfortably. "You'll go before the Council. The full Council."

My heart gives an unsteady lurch. "What?" I gasp. "The full Council? Are you sure, JJ?"

"They called them all in. The Peruvians, Argentinians, Estonians, Spaniards, Mongolians, Botswana, Moroccan, and Australians. All of the Councils, from all over the world."

"I'm in that much trouble?" I whisper.

JJ visibly swallows. "It's not just you, but there is a theory...."

I take in a shaky breath and feel my legs begin to cramp. The bite marks strewn across my body throb in tandem. "Just tell me."

"Your record was reviewed in full, Cal. You know you have marks against you for pursuing a career with the Stellar Warriors against the recommendation of the Alaskan Council, not to mention the wendigo incident. Now this? They think you're—" He cuts himself off with a shake of his head before barreling on. "—cursed. They think the root of all your disobedience comes from the darkness inside of you, and it's been working its will upon you all this time."

I pull myself from JJ's hold and slowly limp back toward the long stone bench I'm allotted. "They _honestly_ think I'm cursed?" I give a hoarse laugh. They'd certainly hit the nail on the head.

"They think you should have been exiled when the Church Hill wendigo incident happened," he continues.

"Maybe I should have been."

"No," he tells me vehemently. "No, Calliope. Don't ever say that, do you understand? Our family has always been held to a higher standard because we're one of the Founding Four. There are others who've made the same mistakes, worse some still, and they're still with us today. You shouldn't be treated any differently."

"What do you think they're gonna do to me, JJ?" I ask after a long pause. "We both know this trial is all for show. It's the punishment the Council is interested in." _It's about putting me in my place_ , I think, _once and for all_. "Nothing more."

JJ directs his gaze to the concrete floor. His jaw working silently, as he works out how to break the news to me. "There are... a few options. Exile, which would be the most lenient. Execution"—my heart gives a most painful lurch in my chest, chin dipping to my chest as I take in a shaky breath—"obviously not as lenient, but quick."

Our eyes meet through a shimmering gloss of tears. I give him a weak smile. " _Obviously_."

"Or...."

JJ takes too long to respond, the discomfort on his face showing. "Or what, JJ?" I whisper.

"There has been a third proposal. An option for you to stay." Again, he stalls.

"Just tell me, all right? Just, _tell me_."

JJ's gaze turns stony. "They'll bring in the Occult Scholars to perform an exorcism. They'll begin with the Purification Rites, then the Absolution Mantle, and finish it with a Purging."

I feel as if the floor has been pulled out from under me. And though I am seated, I find myself slumping forward, almost unable to catch myself as JJ cries out my name.

"They haven't...." My head moves dumbly from side to side. I cast my gaze back toward JJ and lick my lips. "They haven't performed an exorcism in over a hundred years. And after the last one," my words stutter along as I feel my body begin to tremble, "they deemed it too cruel. JJ—"

"Hey, hey." JJ drops to a knee and reaches out to me. "Shhh, it's going to be all right, Cal. The exorcism—"

"All right, JJ?" My wretched laughter echoes against the cold concrete walls as tears fall freely down my face. "It's not going to be _all right_. They'll waterboard me, whip and beat me without giving me a single means to protect myself, and then they'll...." The words are almost too much for me to say. For men, purging means taking poison to cleanse the body. If the man survives, the darkness is said to be rid and he can rejoin the community with all past sins forgotten and forgiven. For a woman.... "Who's the man that petitioned for the exorcism?"

I hardly recognize my voice, as flat and detached as it goes. We both know I know who it is. I just have to hear it. I have to.

"Wyatt," JJ says lowly.

"So, after I'm 'purified' and 'absolved,' they'll let him _rape me_ for the _Purging_? And if his seed doesn't take—if I don't get pregnant—then it will somehow prove the darkness inside me can't be purged? How the fuck is any of that right?" My hand slaps angrily against the stone. A miserable sob wrenches from my chest at the barbaric unfairness.

JJ rubs both hands over his face, taking a few deep breaths as he straightens. "Cal, that's not all you would have to do."

"What?" I ask, aghast.

"They'll make you kill the prisoner to prove your loyalty. After losing the ring and the blade, they thought it the simplest way to demonstrate it. Of course, they'll also expect your full cooperation during the trial as well. You'll answer all their questions honestly and to the best of your knowledge."

"I can't." The words come out broken and mangled as I stare at JJ in anguish. "I can't survive that, JJ. I'd rather be dead." JJ nods stoically in response.

"If I could find some way to get you out of all this, I would. I just don't even know where to begin, Cal." Silence falls around us, enveloping us within its solitude.

"JJ," his name falls quietly from my lips, "what prisoner?"

"They snagged one of the wolves. Some big guy with a ton of tattoos. He looks like a mean son of a bitch. They're keeping him pretty heavily sedated to keep him under control."

The world tilts on its axis. I thought... I had thought....

"JJ, you have to help me get out of here. You have to help me." I surge to my feet and lunge toward the cell bars to support myself. JJ takes hold of me through the bars, eyes wide at my state of pure panic.

"Cal, I—"

"You can't let them hurt him. You can't. We have to save him. Get him out of here."

JJ's face pinches in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about, Cal. That dog took out—"

"I don't care what he's done," I tell him harshly, a burst of adrenaline rushing through my veins and keeping me upright. With a low cry, I seize JJ by the shirt and yank him forward, breathing in hard, shallow rasps. JJ bangs against the cell bars. A look of fear crossing over his face. "I don't care. You have to get us out. Do you understand me?"

I barely recognize myself in the reflection of his eyes. "Cal, calm down. This is the darkness—"

I give JJ a shake, feeling far too satisfied when he bangs once more against the cell bars. "There is no such thing as 'the darkness,' JJ. It's just some made-up story to coerce us into submission and keep us in line. Do you want to know what's real? This."

I release JJ and yank down the side of my pants to reveal a smattering of tattoos, and the one among them that is so much more.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" he barks, taking a step away from the bars.

"This." I jab at the impression of the fang. "This isn't a tattoo, JJ. I was born with it, and that man has the exact same one on him. It's—"

"A soulmark," he breathes, taking another step back. "Jesus Christ, Cal! That can't be. It can't."

"It can, and it is, JJ," I tell him, moving back to lean against the bars. "And the man they've taken as prisoner—"

"No." JJ's head moves quickly from side to side. "No."

"Yes." I don't know if it's my softly spoken insistence or the expression I wear upon my face, but JJ quits his tremulous actions. His shoulders sinking as his face falls into a grimace.

"Cal—"

"Please, JJ. Please, I'm begging you. Help us. Find a way. You always find a way." I've never seen JJ look so torn. So defeated. I can see the tears of frustration cloud his vision.

"I...." He moves backward uncertainly, body tensing as he avoids my gaze. "I have to go, Cal."

JJ's name is a mere whisper on my lips as he turns heel and strides away. For the briefest of moments, I thought he would stay. I thought he would help. Now? Now, I am sure I've just sealed my fate.

+++

Nobody comes for me. No food is sent. Nothing. It leaves me feeling hollow inside. Hopeless. As if I'm nothing myself. There's nothing more I want than to have Keenan's arms wrapped around me, rather than my own. I've come to find solace there. A sense of security. A new home.

The pulse of his life is still weak through the bond, and now I know the true reason why. No doubt my comrades have been giving him a quicksilver tonic combined with a tranquilizer. It would guarantee his submission and his weakness. The thought brings another bout of angry tears to the surface, but I brush them determinedly away. My tears will do neither of us any good. I have to reserve all my strength for the trial to come.

Somewhere in the distance, a door opens and slams closed. I sit up a little straighter on the bench, my body screaming its protest. My wounds feel as if they're on fire, and I've never felt more tightly strung. _I need more medicine_ , I think grimly. Otherwise, infection is almost guaranteed. My heart stutters to a brief stop when I hear not one, but two sets of feet make their way toward me.

It's Nathan, the guard usually stationed at the atrium, and another older guard. Both wear grim expressions.

"Calliope Sawyer," Nathan states, coming to a stop before the cell door, "we are to escort you to the Auroral Bastille. Please remove your bracers and any other tokens on your person that are the property of the Wardens." Not the observatory? No, I think to myself, it could barely fit the Alaskan Council.

"Hi to you too, Nathan," I respond lightly. "I'm glad to see you're well after that first attack."

The minuscule downward turn of his mouth expresses quite plainly his displeasure in having to be here. I'm sure I mirror it.

"Remove the bracers, Sawyer," the other guard reiterates. "You've been stripped of your titles and are required to return your gear."

_Oh._

It stings more than I thought it would. The words stabbing deeply into my heart, and draining me of hope. It takes but a moment to remove both sets of bracers, my fingers lingering over the smooth metal fondly one last time before I set them down beside me and rise.

"I'm ready," I tell them, walking stiffly to the door as they open it. As I exit, each guard takes me by the upper arm to guide me forward. Thankfully Nathan is on my left side. His grip isn't nearly as tight as the other guard's and lies considerately below where the hellspawn took a bite out of me.

"We don't have all day," gripes the man on my right.

"Let's not pretend you have anything better to do," I snark back. The guard whirls on me, his fist hitting my cheekbone with enough force to snap my head to the side. I collapse into Nathan, who lets out a cry of alarm.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, man?" he shouts, leaning me against the wall and stepping between us.

"What the hell am I doing?" he retorts. "She's mouthing off. Scum like her who mouth off are dealt with accordingly. She's a thief and a slut for messing around with that pack of wolves. Hell, I bet she probably planned the whole thing with them."

"Fuck you," I spit out. The man lets out a snarl and lunges toward me, but Nathan is there to stop him. He pushes him back into the intercepting hallway, not expecting the dart that suddenly appears in the man's neck.

"What the—" Nathan says with a grimace before rushing to the man's side. It's a bad idea on Nathan's part. The second he breaches the other hallway an identical dart impales itself into his neck. "—fuck." Both guards collapse within seconds of each other, and another pair of feet quickly sound.

"What are you doing here?" I ask in amazement as Noelle and Naomi round the corner.

"We don't have much time," Naomi says as her sister races back into my holding cell. "We've secured the van they were going to transport you in to the Auroral Bastille."

"What about—" I hiss in pain as Naomi maneuvers me away from the wall, her arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

"Here, help me put these on her for a moment," Noelle says once she's back at our side. A throaty cry ushers from my lips as the bracers are placed back on my arms. Both sets.

"How fast can you go?" Naomi asks. I activate the bracers and let their energy sweep through my body.

"I can keep up," I promise. Noelle looks ready to jet off, but my hand on her wrist stops them both. "Thank you."

"Just keep trying, okay? Don't give up on her," she responds after a moment, voice growing nearly as thick with emotion as mine.

"I won't. I swear it."

"Come on, they're waiting outside," Naomi tugs at my waist and we dart off through the maze of hallways and stairways. "Come on, Callie. You can do it," Naomi encourages from behind me as we traverse up another stairwell.

My body burns with the effort. "I'm trying," I pant.

"Hurry it up," Noelle calls down from above. "The cameras are on a timer and our time is almost up. We need to get to the van. _Now_."

"Come on, Callie," Naomi cajoles, her hands giving me the boost I need. "Do it for Nova. Do it for that guy out in the van. Just push past it, Callie. You're stronger than this. Stronger than all of us."

Her words have the desired effect. Something inside me—a lightness and warmth—swims through my veins. Even as I stumble up the stairs, knocking my knees and palms painfully against the hard concrete, I keep going. For Nova and Keenan and myself.

Noelle ushers us through a heavy black door, once she has scanned the perimeter, her gun held securely out in front of her. "Follow me, in three, two, go!"

We race around the corner of the building, and there, only a hundred yards away, is a black van.

"Drive till you reach the old Lander's farm. They'll be a black truck for you to switch to. The keys are hidden in the exhaust pipe." I nod, hardly able to believe this is actually happening.

"Where is he?"

Naomi gestures in the direction of the back. "JJ put him in the back already along with a bag of some provisions. Be careful with it, all right? I put something in there that has to be handled with a lot of care. We also put that weird stake you had on you when you arrived in there. Promise you'll be careful, okay?"

My bottom lip quivers. "I will."

Naomi throws her arms around my neck, pulling me into a fierce hug that I return with equal zeal. "She loved you, you know?" she whispers into my ear.

I nod my head once more, blinking back tears at this final goodbye. "I know," I whisper back, pulling away and out of her arms.

Noelle comes to my side and passes me a burner phone. One of those tiny Nokia's so popular in the early 2000s. "For when you see her again," she says before wrapping me in a similar hug. "Ready?"

My ragged breath sounds heavy in the air around us. The night is at its darkest, but it will only last for another hour or so. "I'm ready." The girls spare me one last glance before racing back into the building. I barely wait until their backs are turned before hobbling over to the rear of the van. I deactivate the bracers and feel the remnants of their energy linger in my cells. I can't afford to use up their power.

My hands are on the door handles when he steps out from the other side of the van. His robotic hand training a gun straight at my head. My breath catches in my throat as I slowly take a step back, hands raised weakly in the air.

"Dad." Another cautious step away from the van, and I am granted a sickening new view. JJ, lying on the ground, body unmoving. "Dad, what did you do?" He must have attacked him after he helped Keenan into the van.

"It's far past time you take responsibility for your actions, Calliope," he tells me stonily, "but to know that you manipulated your brother into helping you."

"Just... just let me check on, JJ. Okay? Please, Dad, just let me see if he's all right."

He lets out a growl of frustration as I attempt to tread cautiously toward JJ. "He'll be fine. Now, walk back to the building, Calliope. I'll be right behind you with that _thing_ in the back."

The hopelessness returns full force, almost knocking the breath out of me as my father takes a determined step toward the van's back doors. Before I can think otherwise, I dodge in front of him. Plastering my back against the van doors to block his access. My father stares at me in shock, the gun in his robotic hand wavering.

"Move," he snarls.

"No, Dad. Just let me go. Let us go," I plead. He opens his mouth to speak, but I plow on. "I know I'm a disappointment to you, okay? Staying here won't change anything. No outcome of the trial will end happily for our family or me, so just let me go."

He struggles with hearing my plea, jaw tightening minutely. "Calliope—"

"Please, Dad," I beg. "I won't be a bother to you anymore. I swear. It can just be like I was never here. Like I never existed at all. I promise I won't come back. I promise I won't cause any more trouble. I'll be good."

My father shifts uncomfortably. "You don't have to do this, Calliope," he reasons. "The Council is willing to go a different route tonight. It hasn't been done in a long time, but—"

"You mean the exorcism? You would let them do that to me?"

His face turns red before running pale. "Wyatt is a respectable young man. He's far better than that beast in here could ever be for you."

I shake my head, biting down on my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as I try to quell my growing distress. "How did you find out?" His gaze darts to JJ for a split second. "He's not a beast, Dad. He's a kind, good _man_. He's my _soulmark_."

The word makes my father's lips press together in a firm line. "You're letting your emotions get the best of you, Calliope. Empathy for these monsters will only get you hurt or killed. When will you learn, you _insolent_ child?"

"I'm not going to end up like you, Dad," I keen, my eyes moving purposefully to his prosthetic. "And my emotions? My empathy? They're not a weakness. You're wrong."

I use his momentary surprise against him, calling upon the Borealis Matter inside of me to rush him and knock the gun from his hand. It takes him a moment to realize what I've done, but by then it's too late. The gun resides in my grasp, and I hold it unflinchingly in his face.

"So, this is your choice?" he says with a scowl, dropping to his knees at my gesture.

"Best damn choice I ever made," I tell him, before pistol-whipping him. He falls on his side, hands weakly rising to push himself up, before dropping to the ground in a slump.

I rush to JJ's side and spot the small, feathered dart protruding from his neck. Carefully I roll him onto his back, my fingers gently pushing back his hair. "Thank you, JJ. I love you," I whisper to his prone form.

I desperately wish to stay and make sure he wakes, but I know my time is up. If I have any hope of escaping with Keenan, I needed to leave immediately. And so, with one last parting kiss on his forehead, I stand and go.

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Chapter 20

Forever and Always

It takes three days to get to a safe spot and for the cash we've been left to run out. Three days for Keenan to fully come out of his drug-induced state. And three days before a nasty fever takes hold of me.

Once Keenan is lucid, he finds a way to contact the pack. They reach us in less than a day. I've never been more pleased than to have a pack of wolves converge upon me. Keenan, still weakened from the high dosage of quicksilver tonic is particularly growly and possessive when Atticus has to carry me to the new vehicle.

"You came," I comment hoarsely as Atticus ducks into the car and pulls me into his lap. "Don't forget your seat belt," I mumble, feeling particularly fatigued. The combination of the wolf's higher body temperature and the beta's natural ability to ease my pain take the edge off the stress I've been feeling the past few days, as well as some of the pain.

"Seat belt." He sounds properly offended, and I stay awake long enough to look up at him in concern. But Atticus isn't upset at all. He wears the kindest smile with the tiniest, teasing crook to it. "Sweetheart, I'm a lycan. I don't need a seat belt. I am the seat belt." His arm squeezes me more tightly as if to emphasize the point, and I give a slight whine of protest. This time his displeasure is real, the smile dropping from his face fast faster than I can blink. "Don't worry. The pack's got you now, Callie. Rest." And so I do.

+++

It's too hot.

Much too hot to be comfortable, at least. I feel myself come to with a rhythmic pounding in my temples, mouth parched, and limbs aching. The room that comes into focus is not one I am familiar with. It has crisp white walls and little decor besides a large pinewood dresser.

"Where am I?" I mumble, eye alighting on a figure in the corner of the room. It is Keenan, his large frame slumped in an uncomfortable position in an unfortunate looking high-backed chair.

"You're safe," a velvet voice chimes. I turn my head sluggishly toward the opposite end of the dimly lit room. A woman with a plethora of scars hovers over a small rolling cart, her hands busy mixing something. I've seen her scars before.

"JJ. Witch," I manage to say.

"Maureen," she tells me. Maureen walks over to my bedside and pours me a small cup of water, holding it gently to my lips. When the first drop of liquid hits my tongue, I let out an appreciative moan, gulping down the water with haste. "More."

She accedes, and the process is repeated.

"Better?"

I hum in agreement.

"You should try and sleep some more, my dear," she chides in a velvety voice.

"Where am I?" I ask once more.

"You're at Mr. O'Neal's residence." _Who?_ I must wear my look of confusion well, for the woman gives another kind smile and gestures in the direction of Keenan. "Your wolf."

_My wolf_. It has a nice ring to it. _Better than "Mr. O'Neal_ ," I think dimly. I forgot O'Neal was his last name. He's always been just Keenan to me. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday. You've been here about five days now." My lips part to speak, but Maureen holds up her hand. "Try not to speak, dear. You've been in and out for the better part of these five days with a nasty fever."

I let my eyes drift shut, nodding once more in agreement. My body seems to only know pain at the moment. From my head to my toes, there is the feeling of flames. "Hot."

Maureen fetches me another glass of water, then a glass or two of something that is most certainly _not_. I have trouble keeping it down, cringing and coughing weakly as the concoctions make their way down my throat. Thankfully, they provide instant comfort to my sorer parts and wash away some of the fog in my head.

"The bites," I croak, "are toxic."

"We've gathered," she tells me. "It took a day or two to figure out what worked best in healing you, but we've got it now. We just need to let the medicine do its work."

"Luna?"

"She's going to be just fine," comes her velvet reassurance. A small sigh issues from my lips with relief. My eyes crack open to look at Maureen tiredly. "She's a bit shaken up, but her body is different than yours. She's already mostly healed from her injuries."

"Fairy," I rasp.

Our eyes meet. "Yes. Now _sleep_."

There is something rather mesmerizing about the way she says the word "sleep." I feel as if I've been re-tucked into the bed, my pillows fluffed, and a cool touch drawn across my skin to ease the heat. It's almost like magic, and all from one simple word.

And so I do.

+++

"You can't keep me in this bed forever. You do understand that, right?" Keenan keeps his back toward me as he grabs a new shirt for the day and slips it on. The stark black of his tattoos are clearly visible through his plain white tee, as are the definitions of his muscles.

"Not forever," he agrees with a grunt.

I roll my eyes. "It's already been ten days. Ten days, Keenan."

He slams the dresser drawer closed with a bit more force than necessary, then turns to face me. "And of those ten days, you were asleep for eight of them. The witches say it's too soon for you to get out of bed. So, you're staying in bed."

I let out a groan of frustration. "I'm pretty positive I wasn't asleep for _that_ long," I grumble. "Besides, I hate being cooped up inside, and if you would just give me the bracers back—which, by the way, I am still mad at you for taking them off me in the first place—then I'm sure I would heal at ten times the speed I am now." Keenan looks unimpressed at the end of my rather long-winded sentence. I'm sure I look... winded. _I am winded_ , I think morosely.

"Be mad at me all you want, but technically speaking, you took them off. I'm not going to apologize for getting you to do it in one of your very _rare_ states of consciousness. Besides, the witches said—"

"The witches don't know anything about them," I interrupt heatedly. "I want them back."

"Like I told you yesterday, and Maureen, and Xander, the magic doesn't work well with them on. Once you're better, I'll give them back. I swear." I avert my gaze stubbornly to the window. "You should get some rest," he tells me with a sigh, walking over to my side and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

"I've literally slept for a week," I tell him blandly. "I think I'll pass."

Keenan heaves another sigh before dropping a kiss atop my head. "I'll be back later," he murmurs against my hair. "I need to get back to the shop."

"Fine by me," I mutter sullenly, refusing to meet his gaze still.

"Xander's planning on coming by later today to see how you're doing," he informs me as he pulls away. "Go easy on him, okay?" The odd request turns my attention Keenan's way. "He, uh, has some news he needs to break to you."

"Okay," I respond.

Keenan departs with one last kiss, this time on my upturned lips. With little to do outside of reading the pile of cooking magazines Xander had been commissioned to bring the other day at Zoelle's insistence, I feel myself begin to doze.

"Callie?" The husky voice of the alpha lifts me from my light slumber sometime later. I come to with some cooking magazine still open on my lap, my neck stiff from the awkward position I held.

"Hi, Xander."

He stands pensively in the doorway of Keenan's bedroom, before stepping inside. He looks tired, more tired than me, if possible. His dark hair is drawn back in a messy style, with several strands daring to fall out of place. His skin, naturally warm in color, lacks its usual luster. Likewise, his green eyes are drawn, heavy with the weight of the world. He's wearing something startlingly close to Keenan—a white Henley shirt and dark wash jeans—but he doesn't do them the same justice as Keenan. This alpha might be muscular and lean, his source of power drawn from his pack, but Keenan is _strong_. In every inch of his body.

"Keenan said you had something to tell me."

Xander nods and goes and leans against the dresser opposite the king-sized bed. I worm myself up into a somewhat more comfortable sitting position, giving up as soon as I find something close to reasonable. I spot my reflection in the mirror above the dresser and pause momentarily.

I look as good as I feel—like shit. My normal glossy, dark chocolate hair is flat and greasy. A hair tie would be greatly appreciated at the moment, as well as a brush. At least with those two items I could brush my disastrous hair and braid it so it doesn't look so messy. My usual tawny skin is also deprived of its typical glow, much like Xander. Days kept out of the sun and stored away in bed fighting away death will do that to a person. It doesn't look like I have won yet though. My brown eyes hold a hurt to them, an echo of my body's sentiments.

I exhale softly. I will get better soon.

"It's about the blade and the ring." Xander's voice is oddly detached and breaks me from my reverie. It has the unnerving effect of making me uncomfortable, a fact he is quick to latch onto. "Sorry," he mumbles, straightening and composing himself into something more stoic. "They're gone, Callie."

"What's gone?" I whisper back, grasping onto hope that he isn't talking about what I think he is.

A flutter of pain crosses over his expression. "Irina and the relics."

I feel as if I've been punched in the gut. Oh God? What have I done? "This is my fault," I tell him hoarsely. Xander shakes his head firmly, but I continue. "It is. Nova saved me in the forest, and I told her. I told her that they were with her, but I didn't know she knew who Irina was. I should have known better—"

"You were being eaten alive, Callie," he reminds me. "I know all about it. You told Keenan, remember." _Had I_? I give a small shake of my head to negate the fact.

"I don't remember," I confess.

Xander strums his finger along the dresser. "Lydia said you might be a bit fuzzy about details for a while, but for the record, I know. I know, because when she questioned you, you told her what happened. You told your friend you weren't in possession of the ring or the blade, and thank God for that. There's no telling what she might have done to you if the blade or the ring _was_ on you."

"She wouldn't have hurt me," I tell him defensively.

He levels me with a stern glare. "She might not have wanted to, but if Vrana ordered her to, then there would have been nothing she could have done not to." I swallow at the reprimand. "And then you told Lydia that you told your friend it was with Irina."

"Yes," I concur, feeling oddly hollow. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for."

I stare at Xander in astonishment. "Of course, I do. Your sister is gone. The relics are gone. Does that mean... does that mean he has them?"

Xander gives a curt nod, and I force myself to find some modicum of composure like the alpha. "The only one to blame is me. I should have been more vigilant regarding the Wselfwulf's activity. I should have taken your warnings more seriously the first time around. But most of all, I should never have let Irina convince me to let her guard them."

"We'll find her," I promise. "We'll find her and get the relics back."

The words I speak are spoken with confidence. We will find Irina, and we will find the relics. And after that—after that, I will find a way to save Nova. There is just one thing I need to know first. "How? How did they find her?"

The alpha leans back into the dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suppose it would be better if I start at the beginning. Atticus ran into Zoelle soon after he saw you, and she called her grandmother. I was already driving over there, so when I got her call, I sped the rest of the way there. We came up with a plan quickly based on what little information we had. We were going to give them what they wanted: blood."

"How many did we lose?"

Xander gives me a reassuring smile and steps forward to place a hand on my ankle. "Not as many as you're thinking, Callie. It was thanks to your warning that it wasn't more." Xander pulls away. "We assumed that if the Wardens were going to attack, they would do so when the border was least protected."

"During a guard shift," I fill in. Xander nods.

"We held everyone back and had Diana send out the Eldritch Witches in full force, with a rather brilliant plan. Instead of truly fighting the Wardens, the witches orchestrated a grand illusion. The Wardens _thought_ they were fighting the pack. They _thought_ they were taking hits."

"But it was all in their heads?" Again, he nods. I find it difficult to swallow as a wave of emotion bubbles forth. "But we did lose people."

Xander's face turns sober. "We did. Jane Whitman, Mercy Hollaway, Jenny Beckman, and Kira Sanders. The Wardens fell back fully when they realized their minds were playing tricks on them, that and the hellspawn didn't feel like discriminating. They became overwhelmed quickly, and I believe once they had you and Keenan subdued, they felt it enough to retreat."

"How did Vrana find Irina?"

"It appears we underestimated Vrana. Again. He's been one step ahead of us the whole time, manipulating the entire situation. He instructed the Wselfwulf Pack to target the Wardens, and the Wardens played right into his hand in seeking revenge. When the crystal was successfully compromised and the border fractured, he got in. We don't know where he entered from, but he must have seen Irina making her getaway and stopped her. If it weren't for the rain, she would have gotten away," he comments with a menacing frown. "Regardless, he was more than aptly prepared that day to secure the ring."

"We'll get it back. We'll get them all back," I tell him again.

"We will," he says, offering me a small smile in return. "But not at this exact moment. Rest, Callie. Sleep, that's an order."

I huff in protest, feeling the weight of his command settle across my eyelids. A yawn stretches my mouth open wide, and I snuggle back into the mountain of pillows behind me unwittingly. I'm out before he leaves the room.

+++

"It's been weeks."

Keenan and I stand in his kitchen in a standoff. I hold the heavy ceramic casserole dish close to my chest, while Keenan waits expectantly with his hand outstretched.

"Just give it to me. I can put it away and you can—"

"Sit? Rest?" I growl back, shifting backward with narrowed eyes. "No fucking way. Did you not just hear what I said? It has been _weeks_ , Keenan."

"And you only just got over that latest infection a week ago. You don't need to do any heavy lifting. You should take it easy, Callie."

"It was a _tiny_ infection. Besides, Maureen gave me the all clear three days ago, Keenan," I argue back, "and this is not heavy lifting. It's doing the dishes!"

"You're not ready," he counters, stepping forward and into my personal space, "and you're too short to put it back above the fridge."

His hands take possession of the bottom half of the casserole dish and tug. An incredulous noise sounds from my throat, as I tug back.

"That's why Zoelle brought over a step stool yesterday. Everything in this house is made for giants! And I am not too short. I am 5'9. You're just too tall." I give a hearty tug back, succeeding in only moving myself.

"Give me the dish," he orders.

"No," I snap back. A short-lived tug-of-war ensues, ultimately resulting in the casserole dish crashing into pieces on the floor between us. "Shit." With a sigh, I sink down onto my hunches along with Keenan and begin to pick up the larger pieces.

"Let me—"

"I can— _ouch_!" I quickly pull back my hand and place my finger in my mouth. Giving Keenan an irate look, I stand and step carefully toward the sink. "I told you I could help," I mutter angrily, thrusting my hand under a cool stream of water. "If you hadn't tried to take that piece from me—"

"You wouldn't have cut yourself?" he asks dubiously, coming over to my side to check my minor wound.

"No, I wouldn't have," I argue back.

He takes hold of my hand gently, turning it to inspect the small gash along my forefinger and middle finger. "I'm sorry," he rumbles, a troubled expression on his face. He turns off the water and grabs some paper towels to press against the wound.

"You can't protect me from everything, Keenan. It's a lovely thought, but it's just not possible." He colors at my softly spoken words. Through the bond, I can feel a flare of irritation, followed closely by a swell of regret and guilt. "Keenan—"

"I'll run upstairs and get some bandages for that," he tells me, "and I'll take care of this mess, all right?" He leans forward and presses a kiss to my forehead, even though I've tilted my face accordingly to receive one on my lips. I watch him leave with a frustrated look.

True, my recovery has been a rocky one, with a few close calls throughout the three weeks I was bedridden. Though the pack and coven rallied to help my recovery through whatever means necessary, it's taken its toll on Keenan. On myself as well, if I'm being honest. I don't like being so weak, nor does Keenan. It leaves him overly protective and stressed. Now that I'm starting to feel better, I hoped the underlying tension would ease between us. Maybe if he would talk to me about what is really bothering him, I think sullenly to myself, we would be in a better place.

I maneuver around the broken ceramic and head upstairs to the master bathroom. Keenan is hunched over the sink, body stiff and the medical supplies sitting in a neat row to his left.

"Hey." My utterance snaps him to attention, and he whirls around to face me. "Are you okay?"

He says nothing, only looks at me with those soulful brown eyes, his hard jawline ticking subtly to keep his words at bay. His next movements are almost mechanical as he tends to my cuts and bandages them carefully.

"Keenan?"

He gives a shake of his head and swallows hard, stepping past me and into the bedroom. I let my anger seep through the bond and watch as he stops midstep.

"Stop walking away from me," I growl. "Talk to me, Keenan. What's wrong?"

"You're not ready," he tells me, refusing to turn and face me. "You're not strong enough yet to be doing anything."

"Keenan—"

"I know you hate it. I know you hate being stuck in bed and being stuck here." He breathes heavily, spinning around to confront me. "But if you don't give your body what it needs to heal, then you won't. You need to _rest_ , Callie. Even before Maureen gave you the go-ahead, you were finding any excuse to sneak out, and we both know it didn't do you any good."

I grimace in guilt. "I do hate being in bed," I agree softly, "but I don't hate being here. Or being stuck with you. I want to be here, but, Keenan, I have to start building my strength back up. I need more than just rest to recover now. I'm ready," I stress, letting the last two words hang heavy with meaning.

"You're not, and that's okay," he tells me just as meaningfully.

"I am ready," I argue, "and it's about damn time you accept it."

My heart rate steadily increases as we hold each other's gazes in another standoff. This one I'm going to win. Before I can talk myself out of it, or Keenan can walk away, I take hold of the bottom of my shirt and lift it over my head, tossing it to the ground.

"I'm ready," I repeat, trying to give my words a more sultry edge as I peel off my leggings.

Keenan's eyes darken as they focus on me. Each sweep of his eyes draws a flush across the length of my body before his intense inspection starts to get the better of my self-esteem. Especially when his gaze lingers over my gnarled scars. My legs bear the most of them, with pinched crescent moons and long stretches of puckered pink skin. But it's my left arm that makes me the most self-conscious. A sizable piece of flesh is missing from the upper arm, leaving not only an indentation, but a constant pain I'll have to deal with for the rest of my days.

"Are you going to, you know?" I gesture impatiently toward his clothes. "All this stalling is ruining the mood."

Keenan strides toward me, a flicker of understanding crossing his features before he cups my face in his hands and kisses me.

"You're beautiful," he breathes reverently against my lips, "and brave, and I'm so damn lucky to have you in my life, Calliope. But there were so many times where I almost lost you this past month." His lips press back against mine more fiercely, a desperate moan sounding from deep inside him as he pulls me closer. I gasp when he releases my tender lips, my hands clutching his shirt so tightly I might have pierced the fabric.

"But you didn't lose me, Keenan," I utter the words against his stubbled-stained cheek, nuzzling my nose along his jawline, "and I didn't lose you. We have each other now, and that's what matters."

"I love you, Calliope Sawyer." Keenan's eyes are closed as he speaks the words, his hands languidly running through my hair, down my back, over my hips, and back up my sides. "The past month has been hell, but that day in the forest—" His voice catches for moment. "—I felt you, baby. I felt every bite and hit and claw. I felt your fear and your grief. It felt like someone took a can opener to my guts, and there was nothing I could do about it. But I can now, and sometimes I still feel that old hurt lingering inside of you. And damn, baby, I can't stand that you're in pain."

I bow my head to rest it on his chest, let his hands continue their exploration of my skin. Deftly they climb up my back and unclasp my bra, before tugging the item lightly off me. Keenan bends me backward, his head dipping toward my breasts. When his warm, full lips ensnare the rosy peak, I release a soft cry, my fingers weaving into his hair.

"You never need to feel that way again," he growls stoutly into my skin, lavishing my breast with attention. "I'm here now, and I've got you, Callie."

Keenan tugs me upward and captures my lips in another intense kiss, guiding me back toward the bed. His clothes come off in pieces as we make our way slowly toward its middle. First his shirt. Then his pants. I give an impatient tug to his boxer briefs only for him to catch my hands and bring them to his chest.

"Keenan," I utter his name on a sigh as he traces kisses down my torso tenderly. The gentle foreplay has built a kindling fire up to an almost impossible roar. I squirm beneath him, my hips lifting upward to find some relief. He groans above me, body stilling as the hard outline of his cock presses firmly against the flimsy underwear I still wear.

"Slow, Callie," he mumbles against my skin, his golden stained gaze flicking to my face as he helps me out of my panties. "We don't have to rush this, baby."

The sweet endearment makes my heart clench painfully. "I just want—" Keenan shushes me gently before removing his last article of clothing as well.

"I know what you want," he tells me confidently in a husky baritone that makes my whole body shiver. His hands help guide my legs around his large waist before teasingly running the head of his cock along my slick heat.

"Keenan." His name comes out more a whine than a growl, and his pleased smile almost makes my heart melt. He adjusts himself slowly above me, continuing his teasing motion and effortlessly driving me mad with want. His hand splays itself across my hip, thumb daringly close to my soulmark, while he rests upon his other forearm. Our eyes meet, and I am left breathless.

For though his eyes are full of want and hunger, it is not for sex. _He's hunting me._ My hands clutch at his biceps as the realization hits. Not just the man, but the wolf inside of him. All those times of patiently watching me. Of cutting things off before they got too heated and letting me decide the pace. And now the wolf finally has me in his clutches.

"I love you," I whisper shyly to him. The intensity of his regard hardly lessens at my words, but his satisfaction slips through the bond between us.

"I love you, too," he replies back heatedly, angling his hips and sliding effortlessly into me. "I'm never gonna stop—never gonna let you go," he groans. My moan is stilted by his lips slanting over mine. It has been so long, yet never has it felt so right to be with someone. To be with my soulmark. My soul mate.

As Keenan's hip rock against mine, angling himself inside me deeper with each thrust, I let out a small mewl. I can feel him so acutely. Everywhere. Not just inside and out, but all around me. His lips fall to my shoulder as he begins to pick up his pace, my hips joining in the primal rhythm and making him shudder.

"Damn, Callie," he groans against my skin, teeth nipping over the sensitive flesh as if in rebuke. "You really love me, baby?"

I pull his face toward me until it is level with my own. "Yes," I tell him firmly, just before a gasp is pulled from my lips. "Yes, don't ever doubt it. We've been through—" The words become lost as his thumb brushes over my soulmark. My hips press incessantly against his with unrestrained desire.

"Bind yourself to me," he whispers harshly against my lips. "Be mine, forever and always."

I whimper as my need grows. The heat inside me building to a crescendo around Keenan's driving thrusts. "Yes," I breathe, tilting my head submissively to the side. "I bind myself to you, Keenan. Forever and always."

The bond between us changes. It shifts, growing wider to some unfathomable depth before softening. Until there are no means to tell where one ends and the other begins. I give a soft cry. Eyes widening. Back arching. My fervent need bursting into stars before my eyes. Keenan holds me close as my climax reaches a fever pitch, driving into me with almost painful thrusts as his release shudders through him.

When we settle, he flips us around and pulls me against his side. My hand skims over the dark hair coating his chest, breathing in soft pants as my heart slowly winds down.

"What now?" I ask.

"Now?" Keenan replies, eyes slipping back to molten brown. "Now we take back what's ours."

#####

#####  Wardens of Starlight | Epilogue

The highest ranking among the pack gather in Xander's study at the Adolphus manor one early morning in late September: the alpha male and female, the beta, the third through the fifth, and both Quinn and me. The room holds its breath, mimicking its occupants, as the alpha male paces the room.

"It's been two months since they've been taken," he recites, words razor sharp in their delivery. "How is it that we haven't been able to find a single trace of them yet?"

It is my first meeting with the gathered group, and I watch on somewhat wearily. Everyone wears varying expressions of guilt and displeasure at the alpha's anger and disappointment. I too am shifting uncomfortably from his sentiments, but find solace in Keenan's nearness. He stands next to me, arms folded across his chest. His face held impassively as he regards the alpha.

"Ryatt? Quinn? Anything?"

Quinn shakes her head sadly. "It's like he just vanished into thin air," she responds. "His penthouse in Denver went up for sale and sold last month. His belongings moved to a storage unit. He didn't take anything with him."

"Except for Irina, Nova, and the relics," Xander growls back, slamming his palms down onto the study desk with enough force to splinter the wood. Everyone flinches, except for Keenan, at the outburst. Even me.

"Xander, we're doing everything we can," Zoelle reminds him calmly.

"Where are the witches on scrying for her?"

Zoelle's face falls. "Something is still blocking their efforts. They think Vrana is still in league with the Stormrow sorcerers, and that they've erected a blind over them so that they can't be found by magic or otherwise."

Xander's anger vibrates through the pack bonds, and again the room shifts in discomfort. It's not until the alpha takes a deep breath and straightens that the tension finally breaks.

"I don't even know where to begin to look," he murmurs.

"Are you sure she's still—" My question is cut off by an abrupt shake of the alpha's head. He turns to face us, his face impossibly hard yet torn with grief and worry.

"I can still feel her through the pack bonds. It's faint, but she's still there," he tells me tiredly.

I chew on my bottom lip for a moment. "Have you tried reaching out to others in the supernatural community?"

"I'm afraid that's a no-go, darling," Ryatt says, giving me a sidelong glance. "Our association with the witches makes us the so-called black sheep of the supernatural community."

"What about Vienna?" The eyes of the room turn toward me.

"What about Vienna?" Xander asks back softly.

I shift a bit uneasily under his regard. "It's been the seat of the power for the Ancients for the past four or five centuries, coinciding with the rise of the Hapsburg empire," I say carefully. It's obvious the room doesn't know their vampyré lore. I continue with a steady breath. "If my teachings are correct, true daylight rings secure the wearer a place in the Court of Vampyrés. He'll have to prove the ring is real and present himself to the Court, but that's just an educated guess."

"Vienna, Austria?" Quinn asks to clarify. I give a brief nod, and a smile splits across her face. "I've always wanted to go there. Divine shopping. Road trip?"

"No more road trips," Keenan and I say at the same time, sparing each other a special glance. A thrill of hope echoes across the pack bonds as Xander's grim expression softens.

"Let's make a plan," he murmurs, stepping closer to join our circle. "They've been gone for too long. It's time we get her back."

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# Mr. Vrana

Prologue

"Say it to me again," Xander demands, his voice cutting out and back in. Reception in the forest is not good.

I take a breath to steady my irate nerves and adjust the grip on my cell phone. Though we are only half-siblings, Xander acts as if we are blood, and tends to err on the over-the-top protective side, even if I'm more than capable of the handling the mission. I can imagine him in his study, his body taut and radiating stress. If he were in the van with me now, I know he'd have my hands in his—the grip too tight for comfort and yet perfect all the same.

I release the breath with a small sigh. "I run south and stick to the forest. I don't split ways with O'Riley and Mathis until we've hit Yellowstone."

"And then?"

My fingers tighten, and the sound of the phone's plastic casing fracturing reaches both our ears. I let out another breath and remind myself that Xander is only concerned for my well-being and that of the Adolphus pack. _Our pack_. He's just doing his job as the alpha and ensuring I know what to do. After all, if I fail, there is no telling what the consequences might be. I _must_ keep the Amethyst of the Aztec and Vogart's blade out of the Wselfwulf pack's hands, as well as the vampyrés, at all costs.

"Then I keep running. I know the plan, Xander, all right? No one is getting their hands on me, the ring, or Callie's little knife." Though, little is hardly the word to describe the wicked sickle-like blade. "The car is pulling up to the drop point. I need to go."

A beat of silence, and then, "Be safe."

I swallow. The thick coating of emotion in his voice triggers a wave of uncertainty in my gut. "I will be. I won't let you down or the pack."

"Stay alive, Irina." The weight of his command, even through the phone and at this distance, is immense. I feel the burden of his words wrap around me like a vise and suck in a sharp breath to steady myself.

"I will," I say, not liking one bit the way my vision begins to cloud with tears. "I'll be back in no time, brother."

"Be smart," he whispers.

"Always." The line goes dead just as a surge of adrenaline floods the pack bonds. Something is happening north of here. A confrontation. A chase.

Our car pulls to a stop on the dirt road, and O'Riley and Mathis exit the car alongside me.

"Good luck," Valerie says from the driver's seat, before driving away back toward the real action. I watch for a moment longer than necessary to steel my nerves one final time. Rolling my shoulders back, I tilt my chin up high.

"Shall we, then?" I spare a quick glance at the towering men accompanying me on my mission. O'Riley and Mathis aren't ranked terribly high in the pack, but they are fast, which is why they were chosen to go with me.

Not as fast as me, but passable nonetheless.

"You've got everything you need?"

I nod at Mathis, mentally listing off the items in my possession. _Ring, check. Blade, check. Cash, check. Burner phone, check._

"It's a long run to Fort Collins."

"I'm aware of the distance, Mathis. I'll make it to the Lovota pack in no time at all." O'Riley snorts at the bored expression I pass to the other man, while I stretch my legs one last time. The Lovota pack is small and tends to keep out of the disputes of the larger packs, but they made an exception for us thanks to Atticus's smooth negotiations. "Ready, boys? Let's see if you can keep up."

And then we are off. The earth disappears beneath our feet as we race along the familiar terrain of our territory. We weave through the flora with ease, soon finding ourselves near the most southern end of our land. The men flank me on either side, the sound of their breathing matching my own as our feet dig more deeply into the earth. Soon the world blurs past me in vignettes of greens and browns.

Our pace doesn't slow when the rain begins to fall. If anything, it urges us on faster. When the ground becomes slick with mud, I find myself panting from the exertion to maintain both speed and balance.

"Come on, then!" I shout over my shoulder, teetering momentarily, only to correct myself with a grin.

A clap of thunder sounds from afar, and I slow my speed to search the tree line for O'Riley. He's nowhere to be seen. My heels slam into the ground. I shoot a look over my other shoulder. No Mathis either. _Shit._

"I was wondering when you would notice."

The velvet voice sends a shiver down my spine. I whip my head around to face the mysterious man, my ivy-colored eyes narrowing on him. He is dressed to impress with Oxford shoes, a black tailored suit, and pale blond hair swept artfully back out of his face. The rain does little to hamper his style. My active wear is a stark contrast to his outfit.

The man takes a step forward, the tilt of his lips mocking me with false sincerity.

"I wasn't expecting company," I say.

A gust of wind tosses the rain against my back and into the man's face. I don't bother to smother my smirk. Upon catching my look, he drops his facade of pleasantry. In the blink of an eye, he is in front of me, only a few feet away, well within range to strike out with his fist or feet.

"The ring, if you please."

My eyebrow hikes upward, and I shift my feet to stand shoulder width apart. "You're the vampyré?" I ask.

He inclines his head, his eyes never leaving my face. _This is the elusive Mr. Vrana_ , I think, after the Amethyst of the Aztec ring so he can walk in the light. At least he isn't after Vogart's blade. The magical blade is a powerful weapon and is rumored to turn vampyrés back into humans. What would Vrana do if he got his hands on it?

"I thought you would be taller," I finish after my long and contemplative silence.

Surprise gleams behind his eyes at my unimpressed tone.

"My apologies," he murmurs. His crystalline blue eyes are fanned by thick eyelashes, enough to make a girl notice and be jealous. Lucky for me, I know precisely what devil I'm speaking with. The silver flecks in his eye give away his trade secret: his true age. __

"My apologies as well," I say, adrenaline seeping into my veins as I keep my cool facade. "I'm afraid I can't give you the ring. It belongs to a friend of mine. You understand, don't you?"

He sneers. "That ring is mine." The flash of Mr. Vrana's fangs is all the warning I get before he attacks.

He moves like lightning, but I am quick enough to defend myself against his vicious assault. Until I'm not. One well-placed strike to my torso, and I become momentarily paralyzed.

Hit after hit lands, his blows pushing me back and toward the ground. I grit my teeth as another of his punches lands in my side, then another to the bottom half of my cheek. Black spots burst in symphony across my vision as I tumble to the ground. I am well versed in combat, but the vampyré is proving quickly to be out of my league.

_Stay alive_.

I cannot decipher whether the thought is my own or Xander's lingering command, but it is enough to keep me moving. I roll into a crouch, my hand withdrawing the blade from my side holster. The vampyré shoots me a glare, and the wolf inside of me rises to the challenge. It pushes at the bounds of its control within my body, but the lycan curse holds it back. It cannot seize control and guide my movements, nor can I shift at will to even the playing field. But I can listen to the instincts it drives into my mind and limbs.

A surge of wild abandon courses through me.

"You're not getting this ring," I say, a pant falling past my bloody lip.

The vampyré laughs humorlessly and begins to circle. He removes his jacket, tossing it onto the forest floor without care. Next, he unfastens his cufflinks, making a show of rolling up his sleeves. I watch with unease, mirroring his movements with smaller steps of my own. His skin is alabaster, even more so than mine.

"As I said before, the ring belongs to me. If you want to see your friends alive, I'd advise you to hand it over now."

My mouth opens to reply, but the words catch at the back of my throat. There, near the crease of the vampyré's elbow and half-hidden by his rolled sleeve, lies a dark impression on his skin. A mark. I school my features and inhale. The vampyré's last blow must have distorted my vision for the mark on his skin looks similar to the one upon my right wrist. Too similar.

"I'd advise you to find a different ring. Purple really isn't your color, leech."

Mr. Vrana takes my bait and hurtles toward me with incredible speed. I wait until the last possible second before diving low and striking out with the blade. The vampyré lets out a curse as the curved edge slashes through his clothing and flesh. Blood pumps through my veins at an accelerated pace at the sight, the wolf inside me howling at the small victory.

"I did offer to be lenient," he rebukes. I catch the steely undertone in his words and force my body to remain loose and at the ready. Yet when he strikes next, I am wholly unprepared. My speed is no match for his, my strength a pathetic comparison.

My back hits the forest floor, and my breath is lost in a painful _whoosh_. With a hand around my neck, Mr. Vrana keeps me pinned, the pressure of his fingers increasing with each passing second. I struggle to regain control.

_Stay alive_.

My lungs burn with the effort to capture the scantest of breaths, but to no avail. I lash out at his arm only to be thwarted.

"There's no use fighting it," he says, snagging my hand with the ring on it. He pries open my fist and works the ring off my middle finger. All the while, black spots begin to dot the sides of my vision.

_Stay alive_.

I turn wild eyes to the arm pinning me down, tracing a path toward the mark I saw before.

_Stay alive_.

He doesn't notice my intent, too consumed by his victory. I don't have time to second-guess myself. My hand shoots out, not to knock the ring from his hand or force away his chokehold, but to lay a hand on the mark. My soulmark...

Our reactions are instantaneous. The vampyré releases his hold on me and attempts to retreat, but my grip is ironclad. I arch my back with a mighty gasp, gulping in air like it's my first breath. It only heightens the sudden sensation of liquid fire encapsulating me. Us. The vampyré eyes me with astonishment. His lips part, and his eyes widen as he absorbs the truth.

I sink my nails further into his skin, jaw clenching as I do as my alpha commands: stay alive. "Let it be known that thy are found," I say, voice hoarse. "My soul awakened. The stars incline us, my love, and so we are sealed."

A shock of electricity draws a whimper from my throat. My body thrums with energy as some intrinsic part of me ties together with this... devil. Trembling with unexpected want, I release him. He falls to the side on his knees, staring at me aghast, before a sneer, full of hate and disgust, covers his face so completely I am at a loss for words.

"You're going to regret that," he promises darkly. His fist flies at me without restraint, and then there is only blackness.

### Acknowledgements

To my marvelous husband who has been there every step of the way— _thank you_. Your support and efforts to help me grow this series into something memorable is endlessly appreciated. I'm so excited to keep growing with you and to take the world by storm.

To all my friends and family, thank you for your support and putting up with my writerly ways.

A special thank you to Felicia, Christy, and Kim for being my beta readers!

A second round of special thanks to Hot Tree Edits, especially Virginia, Randie, Donna, Becky, Peggy, and Kristina, for all of their help and editorial efforts, and generally whipping my books into shape! _Thank you._

Last, but never least, thank YOU. I hope you've enjoyed the Soulmark Universe... these books are only the beginning.
