by Bella Jacobs
And the coin worked every time.
Every. Single. Time.
Assuring me Wren had never forgotten about me. If she had, the charm would have lost its power, and our connection would have faded away.
Some magic stands alone, but it takes two to hold onto a love spell.
That’s what the charm is really about. On the surface it’s a tracking spell, designed to help me home in on Wren’s location when we’re far apart. But at its core it’s a gift from a little boy who loved a little girl and wanted to make sure she would always be safe.
Or as safe as he could make her…
As the wind whips faster, tossing the tops of the trees back and forth like slam dancers at a punk club, and dark clouds sweep in from the west, carrying the fierce rattle-drum of thunder closer to our part of the woods, I have to fight the insane urge to stop, pull Wren into my arms, and tell her I’m sorry for all the ways I’ve let her down. To tell her that I care, that I still want to be someone she can trust and confide in, and that I will do whatever it takes to earn the right to be her friend again.
But there isn’t even a second to waste, let alone the time it would take for that conversation. Storms aren’t what they used to be back in the days before the Meltdown. As the ice caps disappeared and the climate shifted in response, storms grew teeth and claws. They became predators who prey on the weak and unprepared.
Flooding caused by super storms is now responsible for as many deaths per year as heart disease, and I would personally rather face down an armed member of the Kin Born army than weather a monster storm in unknown territory with no shelter.
“There!” Kite shouts to be heard over the rush of the tossing leaves, and jabs a finger at a large, hollowed-out log not far off the trail. It’s on a slight rise, lifted above the rest of the forest floor by the rock formation it tumbled down onto long ago. It should give us the protection from runoff we need. “You and Wren take cover,” Kite continues, holding his hair away from his face as he turns his back to the wind that’s whipping faster with every passing minute. “I’ll get the others and guide them back.”
I nod and reach for Wren’s hand, knowing Kite has a better chance of finding his way back than I do. I was trained in tracking, but that was in the domesticated woods of Southern England, where the forest has been beaten into submission by thousands of years of humanity stubbornly imposing its will on nature on an island with limited land mass.
Here, the forests are still wild and new, untamed and determined to stay that way. These woods fight back, a fact I’m reminded of when Wren trips on something lurking unseen beneath the leaves and falls to the ground, Luke’s coat riding up to expose the bare back of her thighs and the curve of her bottom.
I avert my eyes as I reach down to help her up, able to read the mortification on her pinched face. I keep my arm around her waist as we close the distance to the fallen tree, wishing there was something I could do to make at least this one thing better.
But maybe there is…
We climb into the hole on the side of the tree and crawl deeper in, over to the higher elevation on the right. It’s a large space, with room enough for both Wren and I to sit comfortably without hitting our heads, and it’s been dead long enough that rot has given way to a smooth, hard petrification. It will do for all five of us, though I would like to get one piece of business done before the others arrive.
As the first hard drops of rain begin splattering down outside our shelter, I reach for the close of my pants.
Wren glances over, her brows lifting sharply.
“I’m going to give you my boxers,” I explain. “So you’ll have something to wear on bottom as well.”
She nods, her face creasing with a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude. “Thank you. That’s very sweet.”
“It would have been sweet if I’d thought of it before.” I strip off my khakis, pausing for a moment to glance Wren’s way.
She averts her gaze with a soft laugh. “Sorry. I was distracted.”
“By my manly thighs?” I tease as I quickly guide my boxers off and my pants back on, not liking being exposed from the waist down any more than she must have for the past day. Empathy—I need to get fucking better at it if I’m going to mean something to her again.
“No, distracted by the flamingos,” she says, a smile in her voice. “I didn’t take you for a secret flamingos under your pants kind of guy.”
“I’m full of surprises.” I pass the boxers over and take my turn averting my gaze as she tugs them on. “I’m also sorry,” I add softly. “I’m sorry I haven’t made this easier on you and that I couldn’t get you out sooner. And that I haven’t made time to tell you how happy I am to see you again. You were never far from my thoughts.”
She stills, the rustling sounds fading away now that she’s dressed. I could turn back to her now, but I continue to study the swirls in the stony wood, wishing it were that easy to read the story of a human life. If I could just roll up my sleeve and show Wren the rings, the slim, sickly years of sickness followed by years that were hard in a different way. Hard because I was weighed down by a destiny that was so much bigger than anything I had ever imagined—griffins are princes in our world, Kite wasn’t kidding, and a shifter royal court is as fraught as any other—all while a weak part of me wished I was back in Seattle.
Back with Wren, where I was sick, but at least I was just a kid expected to do kid things, like playing and pretending with my best friend.
“Do you remember the story you used to tell about the man trapped in the tree?” Wren asks, raising her voice to be heard over another crash of thunder. “The one where he had to be cut down, losing both of his legs, before he could remember who he was and go find the wizard who had stolen his family away?”
“I do.” I turn, studying her face in the rapidly fading light. The storm is almost here, and the world is nearly night black. If the others don’t get here soon, they’re going to be stuck in the downpour.
“I think this is kind of like that,” she says. “No matter how hard anyone tries to make it easy for me, there’s still going to be pain and bleeding. There’s no way to get from who I was to who I need to be without it. Birth is a beautiful thing, but it’s also…violent.” Her forehead wrinkles as she adds in a softer voice, “And dangerous. But that’s not your fault.”
I reach out, covering her hand with mine, amazed by her all over again. “You always were smarter than I was.”
Her lips curve. “Not true. I seem to remember my math homework being more of a joint effort than my parents would have preferred.”
“I’m good with numbers. You’re smart in the ways that count.” I pull in a breath, holding it for a beat as I debate the wisdom of further confessions, but in the end, I can’t help myself. “I’ve missed you, Snow. More than I can say.”
Wren shifts her hand, turning it over until her palm presses against mine, and our fingers have space to twine together. “I’ve missed you, too. Thank you for the flamingos.”
“You can have my flamingos any time,” I say, loving the way she smiles in response. She’s so beautiful, so brave, and I want to kiss her so much it takes my breath away.
I’m debating the wisdom of asking if I can kiss her, of leaning in and seeing how we might fit together as more than friends, when bright-white light pulses through the air. It’s a strobe effect so intense it leaves a shadowy imprint of Wren’s profile on the backs of my eyes as the world goes dark once more.
A beat later, thunder cracks open the sky, the boom fierce enough to make the wood beneath us tremble and Wren clutch my hand. A moment later the skies open and the clouds unleash their full fury, pummeling the wood over our heads, making conversation impossible.
I’m about to stick my head out into the rain to see if I can spy the others when the tree trembles again, this time from the force of the impact as first Creedence, then Luke, then Kite land on the damp wood at the entrance and quickly crawl up to dry ground.
>
Wren releases my hand as she scoots closer, making more room for the others, sending a flash of irritation through my chest. But it isn’t as strong as the jealousy that squirmed through me when the sounds of Wren enjoying Kite’s intimate company threatened to make me physically ill.
Now, I have the memory of her hand in mine and her smile and a flash of connection that gives me hope that someday I may have a chance to show her how I feel about her.
And blow Kite’s performance out of the water while I’m at it.
Pleasuring a woman is definitely one of the pastimes at which I excel, and I can’t wait to put my skill to use making Wren come apart beneath my hands, my lips, my tongue…
Creedence interrupts my less than pure thoughts—holding up a hand with three fingers raised and shouting something I can’t hear over another explosion of thunder. I shake my head, but he’s already repeating himself. “Three shifters to the north, following the road. No way to know if they’re Kin Born from a distance, but Kite was getting a bad vibe.”
Kite nods, his face suddenly paling as another pulse of lightning illuminates our hiding place.
We weather the next quake of thunder in silence, the five of us in closer quarters than we’ve shared thus far, making me keenly aware of our differences. There’s the evergreen and earth smell of bear, the muskier aroma of wolf, the salty-sweet scent of cat, and beneath it the new smoke and cedar scent of Wren.
Up until a little over an hour ago, I’d had no clue that she might start developing powers so quickly, and I have no idea how to help her control them. My handlers only gave me enough information to complete the first stage of this mission, assuring me guidance would be provided for Wren when the time was right.
I don’t know what’s normal for a Fata Morgana or extraordinary or somewhere in the middle, but I can’t help but find Wren’s fiery display impressive and her smell comforting. Sure, she’s capable of torching our shelter, burning it to the ground in moments with all of us in it, but her scent ties us together, uniting the separate notes into a perfume that smells safe and…cozy.
We aren’t safe, of course, but sitting here surrounded by people who are the best bet for a future for the planet, I can’t help but feel hopeful.
“Then when the storm stops we’ll stay away from the roads,” I say when it’s finally quiet enough for conversation. “And veer west to look for a town with a bus station.”
There are nods all around, and then, one by one, eyes grow heavy and fall closed. It isn’t long before the rest of them are asleep, Luke and Creedence with their feet propped up the opposite side of the log, Kite passed out while still sitting cross-legged with his head tipped back against the wood, and Wren with her cheek on my shoulder.
I’m tired, too, but I fight to stay awake a little longer, stealing a moment of peace in the relative safety of this warm, dry place, with Wren finally close and safe, the way I’ve been dreaming of for so long.
Chapter 23
Wren
The bus we jumped on at a hamlet so small I’m not even sure it had a name dumps us out in Anacortes, Washington several hours later, right on the coast of beautiful Fidalgo Island. It’s a perfect early summer day with clear blue skies washed cleaned by yesterday’s storm, wispy white clouds, and all the sunshine a beach lover could ask for. Along the rocky shoreline, white daisies sprout from between the stones, seeming to promise that life will find a way to be beautiful no matter how hard things get.
But my hope is faltering fast.
Every time I see Kite’s bandaged palm and the exhaustion clear on the other men’s faces from being forced to spend the night in a log before trekking eight more miles on foot to the bus station, guilt rises inside me so fast it feels like I’m choking on it. I’m an accident waiting to happen, and I have no idea how to control myself or the dangerous potential lurking in my body.
I didn’t mean to catch fire, but I did.
Who knows what I might do next time?
Shoot lasers out of my eyes? Spit poison?
And what if something like that had happened while Kite and I were in a more intimate situation than with his hand on my knee? The thought of what I could have done to him is horrifying. Stomach turning. I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours, but when Luke plunks a muffin onto the picnic table in front of me, I don’t hurry to unwrap it.
I just sit, staring at the blueberries smeared against the plastic wrap, feeling a strange sense of empathy with the squashed fruit.
“You should eat,” Luke says, taking a massive bite of what looks like a ham sandwich. “It’s another ten miles to the reservation and Kite said we’ll be walking. Better to sneak in the back way in case the Kin Born have spies watching the entrance at the road. They know he’s worked for the resistance in the past, and threatened to attack his family if he tries to come home so…”
I know he’s right, but the most I can bring myself to do is scratch at the top of the wrapper, peeling a corner free from the rest, before dropping my hands back into my lap with a sigh.
Luke doesn’t say a word, but that isn’t unusual. Since his first “I’m not a fan of you assholes” sentiments down in the basement, he’s been pretty tight lipped. He’s either the strong, silent type by nature, or he’s plotting to kill us all in our sleep.
I peek up at him through my lashes, hoping he’ll look less intimidating in the cheery sunshine, but no dice. With the snarling wolf tattoo on his neck—the fangs partly visible before the design disappears beneath the collar of his tight black tee—his eyes so dark brown they’re almost black, and the inch-long scar on his right cheek, he looks like a man who could kill you with his bare hands without breaking a sweat and then go right back to eating his sandwich.
“Yeah, I’m scary. But I can’t catch fire and walk away without a mark on me,” he says, making me blink faster. “So you’re still holding the trump card.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, ducking my head. “I can’t believe I said that out loud. I must be losing it.”
“You didn’t. I’ve seen that look in enough eyes to know what you were thinking.” He takes another bite of his sandwich, chewing and swallowing before he adds, “But you don’t have to be scared of me. I’m not going to hurt you. Like I said back at the house—as long as Dust gives me what I want, I’m on your side. Growing up the way I did, you learn the importance of loyalty pretty fucking quick. Besides, I don’t hurt women,” he adds, swiping a crumb from the corner of his lips. “Especially women who can burn my skin off.”
“I don’t know how I did it. It was an accident.”
He grunts. “Too bad, I picked up some marshmallows at the shop just now. Was hoping we could make s’mores later.” His tone is so flat and emotionless it takes me a moment to realize he’s joking.
I exhale through my nose as my lips twitch at the edges.
“Eat.” He reaches across the table, finishing the job of unwrapping my breakfast. Or brunch, I guess, since it’s nearly eleven in the morning. “Take this and put it in your face. You’re too skinny. You’re never going to survive the workouts I’ve got planned for you unless you get some meat on your bones. As soon as we get to our new digs, we’re going to up your protein intake. I want you loading at every meal.”
My eyebrows lift as I reach for the muffin, breaking it in half. “What kind of workouts? You do realize I have exactly zero experience in a gym.”
“That’s all right,” he says. “I can get anyone in fighting shape. We’ll get you running, punching, kick boxing, add in some dirty street moves. The people we’re up against use weapons, but in the shifter world it comes down to hand-to-hand combat more often than you would think. You need to be able to kill a man with nothing but your body if you have to.”
I balk, blinking faster. “Oh, well… I guess learning to defend myself is important, but I can’t… I can’t even imagine.”
He studies me, brow lifted. “You can’t imagine offing someone?”
I shake my h
ead. “No, I…I can’t. I couldn’t. I take spiders outside to set them free. Life is important to me.”
I pop a bite between my lips and force myself to chew, even though my mouth suddenly feels desert-wasteland dry. Luke was in prison, for murder, they said. I haven’t had time to wonder who he killed and why before, but now…
“The Kin Born killed my little brother,” Luke says, making me wonder if he’s secretly a mind reader. “I killed all six of the men who jumped him while he was at the movies with his girlfriend—who they killed, too, even though she was just a sweet kid from West Covina who did nails for a living. And I don’t regret it. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.”
“I’m sorry.” I feel like I say that a lot lately, even more than I did when counseling troubled kids.
Sadly, it doesn’t seem like any of these men have travelled an easy road.
But that’s probably why it’s so easy to start caring about them. I’ve never been able to identify with people whose personal history is all sweetness and light and well-lit paths through fields full of flowers. The damaged souls who’ve fought their way out of the woods to emerge barely breathing at the fringes of society are the ones that speak to me, the ones whose hearts vibrate at the same frequency as mine.
It’s a sad vibration sometimes, but it has a depth and beauty those well-lit people lack.
“I can absolutely understand the impulse to get revenge,” I say, not wanting him to think I’m judging him. “I just don’t think that I, personally, am capable of doing something like that. No matter how much I might want to.”
He shoos a fly away from my muffin with a tight flick of his wrist. “You’d be surprised what you’re capable of when properly motivated.”
I make a noncommittal sound as I press crumbs into the tip of my finger. “So is that why you went to prison? The police found out you’d killed those men?”