by ReGi McClain
Along the way, Ylva linked her arm in Harsha’s and drew her aside. “I’d hoped to have time to talk to you before today, but we were all so busy.” She slipped a thick envelope into Harsha’s hand. “I need to warn you: Ralph got pretty rough in the sack after the change, so I wrote down a few tips for dealing with overenthusiasm werewolf style.”
Certain her face matched Seraph’s hair, Harsha stammered, “Th-thank you.”
“Anytime. If you need tips in the future, feel free to ask. Or send Zeeb to Ralph. He’s developed fine skills over the years.”
As much as Harsha liked her new parents-in-law, she decided right then and there never, ever, ever to take Ylva up on her offer. Ever. She wondered if Zeeb knew his mother had planned this talk and what he thought about it.
They arrived at the house, giving Harsha an escape from the awkward conversation. She stood on the porch and exchanged handshakes and hugs with their guests as they went into the house. After the guests went inside, Zeeb scooped her up to carry her over the threshold.
Seraph herded Maura and Kel ahead of them. “Come on, you two. Zeeb and Harsha need a little time alone.”
Maura wrinkled her nose. “They smell like mating season.”
The heat on Harsha’s cheeks, lingering from her conversation with Ylva, blazed.
“Mating season?” Pekelo sniffed.
“Oh, look! Cake!” Seraph bustled them toward the dining area.
Zeeb chuckled at Harsha’s embarrassment. He carried her into his room, now their room, and set her down on his—their—bed. “You’ll get used to it. Most hiders aren’t reserved.”
“Oh? Then you won’t mind being the one to read this. You can tell me the gist of it.” She held out the envelope.
“Huh?” He took it, opened the envelope, and peeked at the letter inside. His cheeks flamed. “Whoa! No!” He held it out at arm’s length, pinching the tip of one corner. “I’m not reading that!”
“But you said ”
He coughed and dropped it into a wastebasket. “Um, yeah. Not reserved. So, ready to go?”
“Go?” Harsha’s girlish longing for a faerie tale honeymoon had crashed and burned somewhere between Italy and Kauai, and the ashes blew away with the jet streams. She’d been looking forward to starting her new life with nowhere to go. The mere thought of traveling made her grumpy. “I thought we agreed to stay home.”
“Don’t worry.” He handed her a coat, picked up a bag, and took her by the hand. “Follow me.”
He led her out the front door to avoid the reception on the other side of the house. They strolled and talked in the evening sun, holding hands. Zeeb pointed out birds’ nests and animal tracks. He told the stories of the creatures they belonged to as if he knew them by name, lingering until the woods dimmed. She listened, entranced by the intimacy of his knowledge and grateful to be away from the bustle of the house. She hadn’t realized how much she’d needed the space. She felt tension easing out of her shoulders, felt her senses coming awake, felt anxiety melting.
The lake rose into view. Brilliant golds and reds strained upwards to gild the wispy clouds, bounced back, and fell to shimmer and play on the water. A rowboat bobbed on the surface. He handed her in, settled himself and their bag, and rowed.
Harsha watched him pull the oars through the liquid sunlight in silence. Now and then, a fish leapt from the water, tossing sparkles and rippling the light. She felt them swimming beneath her with senses long atrophied, now brought to life by the transfusion of merfolk blood and the new health she enjoyed. The woods, the water, the sky, all filled, lifted, expanded, and filled her again, until she felt weightless.
Across from her, dominating all, she felt Zeeb. The push-pull of his muscles working to move them across the lake, the warm blood pulsing in his veins, the movement of his eyes as they traveled over her, his passion-laced scent entreating and inviting her to share everything with him.
He pulled the boat up to a small dock. A log cabin stood a few feet inside the tree line. Zeeb handed Harsha out, grabbed their bag, and pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “Be right back.”
Harsha watched him jog up to the cabin, open it, and step inside. Her nervousness returned. She bounced on her toes, speculating as to what he’d planned for them and glad, now that she thought about it, they’d be spending their first night together away from a bunch of hiders with super senses that would pick up every sound she made.
Dim light spilled out the windows and Zeeb emerged. He still wore his wedding suit, but his tie hung loose and he looked nervous. “Okay. Ready?”
Harsha, smiling like an idiot and not caring, bit her lip and nodded.
Zeeb returned his own idiotic smile and scooped her up to carry her in. Fire danced in an uncut stone hearth. On the coffee table in front of the fire sat a bottle of wine and a tray of hors d’oeuvres. Pink rose petals covered a futon couch laid out as a bed and candles arranged throughout the room added their warm glow to that cast by the fire.
“Surprise.”
Harsha squealed and clapped. “It’s beautiful.”
“No.” Zeeb put her down and slipped off her coat. “You are.” He wrapped his arms around her.
She lifted onto her tiptoes and locked him in a kiss.
Where Zeeb Went
Author’s Note: You probably noticed that, although Zeeb is an absolute wreak after his first change in Faeted, taking wolf-form doesn’t usually cause him any problems. In fact, he enjoys being a wolf at times, usually when he wants an excuse to avoid talking. This side story explains why his first change was so traumatic. It started as a character development story and I haven’t refined it much since then. I think it’s kinda fun and I hope you enjoy it.
Zeeb heard Harsha sigh and roll over again. He’d done his best to wear her out earlier, but Seraph, as usual, kept him from pushing her. Now, with the full moon sharing the sky with the sun, she sounded wide awake. The situation forced him to take a risk. He stripped off his human clothing and eased the zipper of his tent down.
Every bone in his body screamed for the change. Gritting his teeth against the agony, he snuck out of camp, taking time to place each step to avoid snapping twigs or rustling the underbrush. The moment the tents faded from view, he dropped into his wolf form with a sigh of relief. He gave himself a good shake to release some of the tension caused by holding off for so long.
Resisting the urge to howl at the moon, he started to trot. He needed a good, long run to take him far, far away from Harsha. That blasted woman smelled too good for his good.
As he ran, he sniffed around for anything to help him locate a fae. The thought of meeting one made him nervous, but he’d seen something in Harsha the day he took her out training: crippling disbelief suspended by far-fetched hope. To his chagrin, his entire being responded with equal desperation. He needed to find a fae for her as much as she needed him to do it, danger notwithstanding.
His attraction to her confused and disturbed him. Although his clientele consisted primarily of men and his isolated home limited the circle of his friends, he met plenty of women as intelligent, beautiful, and charming as Harsha. More to the point, his sensitive nose told him which ones wanted him. Whenever he ran a charity marathon, a handful of aroused women introduced themselves, and the female werewolves that came to his parents for treatment responded to him with perilous enthusiasm. He kept his distance from both. Their pheromones smelled nice, but not right.
Until Harsha. That stubborn, little woman smelled like heaven wrapped in bacon. Well, halibut, actually, but still. Mmm…
He shook his head. Fae. Focus on finding fae. Bending his will to the hunt, he sniffed for magic. The stuff gave off a strange, spicy-sweet scent similar to cloves. He found traces of Seraph’s brimstone and…
He bared his teeth in a growl at the telltale stench of one of Younkins’ scent-masks wearing off. An agent was following them, after Seraph again. Younkins didn’t know what he was in for if he ever succeeded in capturing a juveni
le dragon. Otherwise, Zeeb guessed the man would leave it alone. Dragons kept themselves out of sight and out of mind these days, but kidnapping any of their few younglings would lead to war of some kind. Kidnapping Seraph, who was the dragon equivalent of a princess, would mean open war.
Zeeb shuddered. On her own, Seraph needed no one to protect her, but Harsha’s presence would prevent her from defending herself, so he ran back to camp to keep watch. With the scent-mask wearing off, Younkins’ man would be desperate and careless, therefore dangerous. Sure enough, Zeeb scented the SoPHE agent a few yards from camp. He gave the man a wide berth and put himself between his sleeping friend and the agent.
Harsha rustled in her tent and whispered something to herself. Zeeb ducked out of sight to watch. She poked her head out, looked around without noticing him, then shuffled out of the tent wearing her sleeping bag like a massive scarf. Ducking under the low flap while trying to keep her sleeping bag and knees off the ground, she looked awkward, for a change, like a goose carrying a sack of potatoes. It was cute. Once she worked her way into the open, she went straight for her backpack to pull out her tea things.
Zeeb watched her brew the concoction that smelled much like magic. It mingled with her personal scent to produce an intoxicating fragrance, luring him. He fought back the urge to approach. In spite of her sleeping bag, she looked cold. He could fix that. His large, furry wolf form was perfect for snuggling, but she’d probably scream and run if he suggested a cuddle. Especially since, as a canine, he couldn’t form words. Of course, she’d probably scream and run if he suggested a cuddle in his human form.
Zeeb sighed, settled down for his vigil, and wished things were different. He knew better than to flirt with clients. He used the fae’s love of flowers as an excuse to pick bouquets for her and stayed near her over uneven ground, to offer his hand and catch her if she fell, but otherwise kept his distance. A mere brush of her fingertips made his heart pound, but she never reacted the same way to him. No attraction leaked into her scent when he touched her.
The SoPHE man oozed closer, his nervousness stinking up the night air and drawing Zeeb’s attention back to the matter at hand. It didn’t make sense. Younkins never sent just one agent against a powerful hider like Seraph, let alone one who spent the majority of her time with another powerful hider. Maybe the agent was just sent to observe. They did that sometimes. They’d watch their target for months at a time, looking for weaknesses. Zeeb decided not to make an issue of it unless the man got too close. He could talk with him tomorrow, in human form, and make his point then.
The agent came within twenty yards of the camp. To Zeeb’s surprise, he wasn’t watching the tent where Seraph slept. He was watching Harsha. Zeeb narrowed his eyes at this new puzzle. Younkins didn’t target humans. Not even humans who kept company with hiders. At least, not that he had heard. Maybe they thought a hostage would get them what they really wanted. Or maybe they’d started collecting control subjects for their experiments.
An electric rope, a constraint SoPHE used against magical hiders, materialized in the agent’s hand. Zeeb got to his feet. Fine. If that was the way Younkins wanted to play it, he’d make his point tonight, preferably without Harsha finding out about the agent stalking her. She seemed absorbed in her tea. He hoped she wouldn’t notice him, but surely seeing a wolf in Alaska would be less alarming than seeing a mad scientist holding an electric rope. Silent, he stepped into the open.
The SoPHe agent paled and sent a reek of fear into the air. With no magic for the rope to interfere with, the constraint served only to irritate biologically enhanced hiders like Zeeb. It vanished, replaced by the quivering nozzle of a silencer-covered gun.
The scent of Harsha’s fear exploded behind Zeeb. He kept his eyes forward, on the agent. The man struggled to keep the gun aloft. His eyes bugged out of his sockets and his breath trembled with the rest of him. Either this was a new SoPHE agent, or Younkins disliked him and he knew it.
Harsha fell. Zeeb whipped his head round to check on her. She squeaked in her endearing way and retreated to the tent and zipped herself in, safe and sound with Seraph.
Baring his teeth, Zeeb turned back to the agent. The man fired his gun. The ordinary lead bullet bounced off Zeeb’s hide. Oh, Younkins hates you.
The man managed to turn and take three steps before Zeeb sank his teeth into a shoulder. Before the man could cry out, Zeeb dashed his head against a tree, knocking him unconscious. Blood flowed over the werewolf’s tongue, teasing the monster in him. His stomach gurgled.
He dragged the agent away from camp. He didn’t eat humans, in spite of the tantalizing pork-like flavor of their blood, and happily for this human, his bite wasn’t contagious, like most werewolves’ bites. A mile away from camp, he stopped to think about the best thing to do. The man’s head needed attention and he’d bleed to death if left alone in the wild. Zeeb wasn’t sure, but maybe if he pushed himself, he could make it to Minto and back by morning.
He dropped the agent and wriggled under him. With the man draped across his back, he ran. For the first time since starting this trek, he blessed Harsha’s weakness. If not for their strict pacing, they might be much further from civilization by now. He reached the town around four in the morning and stalked into the alley of the small medical clinic. There, he dropped the agent on the doorstep. The rest was up to the humans.
Pressing himself to the edge of his physical limits, he made it most of the way back to camp before the moon left the sky. His human form possessed only half the stamina of his wolf form and he was crawling by the time he reached camp. He dragged himself into his tent and collapsed. Harsha’s scent wafted by. He closed his eyes and dreamt of her.
About the Author
ReGi McClain is an easily-amused, and subsequently distracted, daydreamer. She writes contemporary and high fantasy novels and short stories in multiple genres. A Californian by birth, she currently resides in Anchorage, Alaska. Yes, she is usually cold. No, she doesn’t really like snow. She does, however, enjoy hiking, camping, and foraging for wild berries.
Although ReGi’s writing often has little to do with the Bible or, as Keith Green so aptly put it, Churchianity, she is a devout fundematic bapticostal. Psychologists, professional or amateur, could probably analyze her stories into little pieces and come up with deep spiritual meanings. Maybe. Most of the time, she’s just writing something she finds interesting or entertaining.
For now, the best place to find ReGi is on Facebook at https://facebook.com/regi.mcclain.5
Coming soon in the Beautiful Abominations series
Silver and Lead
Because a Bird loved a Fish
Also available from Smashwords
The Swineherdess
After months of planning and preparation, Inga is ready to complete her quest to rescue Dresden from a cruel king. The Swineherdess is a short story set in medieval Europe. It contains some violence, mild gore, suggestive language, reference to rape, and period expletives. Recommended for readers over 12.
Contents
Copyright
Full Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Faeted
Where Zeeb Went
About the Author