Col: His Destined Mate

by Georgette St. Clair

  They were silent, both fighting back tears as Lily slid behind the wheel.

  “Bye, girl.” Lucie said, in a thick voice.

  “Bye.” Lily whispered, and tears finally fell from Lucie’s eyes.

  “Just go already, will ya?”

  Lily nodded, turning on the ignition. And then she was off, knowing full well that Lucie was watching her, and would continue to do so until she was out of sight.

  Chapter Two

  The pounding music had been silenced, and all four of his Bredren, along with their human friends Miller and Simon, were gathered around Col now. “You’re sure it was the ancient language?” their Vixar Tybalt demanded.

  “I’m sure of nothing,” Col said, shaking his head. “There was some dark sorcery afoot, that muddled my senses.”

  “Dark sorcery? Is that what we’re calling beer now?” Barric sneered at him.

  “Fool, this modern swill is like water to us, as you well know,” Col scoffed. “And even the strongest ale would not dull my senses so.” Barric’s lips peeled back in a growl.

  “You call me a fool? I wasn’t the one who let himself be captured and carried off to a cave to be carved up like wild game.”

  “Come a little closer and say that,” Col said, with a dangerous smile and rage blazing in his eyes. One of these days Barric would push him to the point that he could not hold himself back. He couldn’t wait.

  “Enough!” Miller snapped. “We await Tybalt’s orders.”

  Barric shot him a dirty look, but quieted.

  Miller Armstrong was already in the sixth decade of a short, human lifespan, but the Bredhren had a great deal of respect for the retired Waryeor. Although a millenia separated their time of service and his, they considered him as one of them in spirit and in heart.

  He stood about an inch over 6 feet, but while shorter in stature than the five Bredhren, none of whom stood shorter than 6 ft 4 inches, his military carriage and quiet air of authority carried through. Although Simon was there when they had awakened, Miller was the one who effectively brought them into the 21st century, introducing them to the implements of modern warfare, the advances in hand to hand combat drawn from other cultures, and even instilling them with the group discipline they had sorely lacked.

  This was one of the few things that the Bredhren agreed on.

  They hadn’t been a War-Pack prior to their thousand-year slumber. They had been the elite Waryeors of their respective armies and units, forced together by circumstance to become Bredhren. Or at least they would be, once they were bonded in battle.

  They hadn’t even shared a dialect or customs, but the same ability to talk telepathically in wolf form allowed them to quickly pick up a common language in human form. At least enough to communicate, however rudimentary it might be. They spoke in a mishmash of what they had learned from the nearby Medieval Re-enactment Faire’s “olden days” lingo, Youtube videos, and reality show TV.

  They knew that Simon, the human who was charged with their well-being, despaired at what they did—or didn’t— pick up. Something called “nuance” that to a Waryeor had never been a priority. Except it was important to Miller too, so they did their best to smooth over their rough edges.

  Col looked around the backyard space, his Bredhren all wearing the same type of t-shirts and cargo shorts that Miller wore. He had supplied them, along with the other clothes in their closets.

  Beside them, Simon stood apart, the only one that didn’t have the training – or the physique, or the physical reflexes - to be a Waryeor. He was almost as tall as Miller, but where Miller was still in prime condition to fight, Simon was younger, lankier, and stood with his shoulders almost perpetually pinched upwards, his thick framed glasses constantly needing to be pushed back up, a dark brown lock of hair always flopping onto his forehead.

  Unlike the others, his t-shirt had an image on it. It was an image of a dragon, with the words “Got Dice?” underneath. Simon was a warrior in what he called “Table Top,” and he had his own Bredhren that he met up with once a week.

  Col had just finished recounting what had happened, and Barric was of course the first to say something cutting.

  “You were rendered unconscious by two males who were not Waryeors?” Barric’s contempt showed in the curl of his upper lip.

  Col stiffened, feeling a surge of anger – at both Barric, for his incessant needling, and himself. He did not understand what had happened to him, but when he found those two men, he would find out the truth of what had weakened him while he dismantled them piece by piece.

  “At least they were not two pox-ridden doxies who lured him with their feminine wiles,” Aylwyn smirked at Barric. Barric responded with a snarl and a modern gesture that involved only one finger.

  “Either way, we must needs shift quickly and savage the two who would dare threaten a Waryeor,” Merek snarled, ready to spring into action. Barric growled in agreement, always eager to shed some blood.

  “Alpha, what are your orders?” Miller’s quiet voice cut through, reminding them to acknowledge their Vixar, or leader. They all turned to the one who seemed unlikely as Alpha of a pack of trained killers, with his fine cheekbones, sensuous lips and handsome visage. Tybalt nodded at Miller and spoke.

  “Barric and Aylwynn, shift and go scout for any signs of the two who abducted Col. You are only to scout and not engage. We don’t know how they were able to incapacitate Col. Merek, shift to wolf form so you can stay in contact with Barric.”

  Merek grunted an assent and shifted, an enormous black wolf in his place. Barric was the only one so far who was able to send and receive messages consistently, until their War-Pack solidified. Ironic, as Barric was the one most resistant to the group coming together, especially with Tybalt as Vixar.

  Barric and Aylwyn shifted as well, a wave of energy that surged out, Simon and Miller bracing themselves from the impact. In Barric’s place stood a giant wolf with brown and white markings that exuded danger, and Aylwyn’s wolf had a silvery coat, that posed no less a threat. They were the size of black bears, their paws lethal maces tipped with razor sharp claws. Their powerful legs propelled them into the woods, in the direction where Col had emerged.

  Simon pushed his glasses back. “There’s a human out there—two—who know of Col’s existence. They’re probably already gone, and unlikely to report what they’ve seen given that they’d have to admit to the kidnapping and possibly trespassing.”

  Tybalt nodded. “Those words hold much merit, young Simon.”

  “And if they are connected with The Dark Warlord?” Col asked.

  “Well, if it’s him, then it’s best not to let them know how many of you there are, or even to confirm that Col is a Waryeor,” Simon concluded.

  “It would be wise to prepare for the eventuality that they are connected,” Miller said. Tybalt nodded in agreement.

  Col watched the Vixar carefully, as a good Secaris – second in command - should. He respected the chain of command too well to question the leader, but he shared the concern that despite all the drills, all the time Miller had spent with them, perhaps they weren’t ready. They knew so little of this new world.

  The Dark Warlord was destined to awake in the same year as them. There was a danger, though, that he had awakened many months earlier. Col needed to be mentally sharp, to be prepared – and he had been anything but, back at the cave.

  Tybalt glanced over at Simon. “You know of this modern world. Two men were on your lands, and they captured Col, we know not how, and were prepared to sacrifice him, while chanting in words that were not English. Is this…common? Because in studying your news reports and history books, it would not appear to be so.”

  “Not common at all.” Simons brow furrowed and he chewed his lower lip. “The two possibilities are serial killers doing some kind of weird ritual – or the one that you call the Dark Warlord.”

  “It was not him,” Col said. “I would have recognized him. But perhaps a servant of his.”
/>
  Col felt a ripple of energy as Merek shifted back into human form. “There’s no sign of them, Vixar.” Merek stood. “They must have left almost immediately after Col did, although they can’t even seem to pick up Col’s scent either.”

  “A blanking spell,” Tybalt muttered.

  “A what?” Miller asked.

  “It means some magick is afoot,” Merek said.

  Magick. That might also account for his senses scrambling, Col thought.

  He looked at Merek. They were all still in a kind of shock, wakening in a world that was far stranger to them then they ever could have imagined when they agreed to make the ultimate sacrifice, a thousand years ago. Their families, their friends, were long dead and gone. In this world, they did not spend their days in glorious battle, serving the Sorceress of Plenty; they had to hide their true nature.

  But the pain was double so for his Brodher. Merek’s twin was a Mage, but he, along with one other, had been discovered missing when the five had awakened.

  “Shift back and tell the two to return.” Tybalt ordered. A burst of energy and Merek’s wolf did as his Vixar asked. Tybalt addressed the rest. “Tomorrow at daybreak, we will go in human form with Miller and Col to the site.”

  “Smart,” Miller said. Col nodded. There was no question that Simon would stay behind. His contribution to the team was his skills at technowizardy. Miller would ensure that photos would be taken, and he’d bring them back for Simon to enter into his huge database.

  Simon kept a massive database, with an especially watchful eye on certain types of anomalies – the type that might lead him to the identity of the people who’d wiped out his entire family when he was a child. It also was meant to keep watch for signs that their enemy had re-awakened, which was prophesied to happen in the same year as the Bredhren.

  Col saw Simon tapping his sternum, as he was wont to do whenever he felt stress.

  He did it a lot around the Bredhren.

  Cadmus looked around the furnished house he had rented on the outskirts of Gardendale. He would have preferred a five star hotel, but there were certain rituals that he needed to carry out, that would be frowned on in a hotel. Guests would likely object to the sound of agonized screams in the middle of the night.

  Besides, he was here to scout the area, and see if it would be a worthy site for relocating His Terrible Majesty and faithful followers, The Merciless.

  He would have to endure being surrounded by cheap polyester draperies and furniture made of wood composite in the meantime.

  His lip curled in a sneer as he saw Billy Bob, completely making himself at home on the recliner. It was an upgrade from whatever duct-taped, flea-ridden monstrosity that the dolt no doubt had in his trailer.

  “By all means, make yourself comfortable,” Cadmus said, in his most cutting tone, knowing that his sarcasm would be wasted.

  “Thanks, Boss!” Billy Bob beamed. The inbred moron had certainly hit the jackpot when he had offered to clean the windshield of Cadmus’s rental car with his one good dishtowel. Cadmus had briefly considered taking him as a sacrifice for His Terrible Majesty, but Billy Bob’s life force was barely worth the effort of draining. Instead, he hired him as an assistant for the duration of his stay.

  Cadmus sighed, and trudged upstairs where his laptop was. And also a distance from Billy Bob, who was getting ripe enough to pierce through Cadmus’ Dior Pour L’Homme. He was tempted to do a blanking spell, but with the way his magicks were interacting with the energies of the area, he might not be able to localize it to just Billy Bob. He didn’t even know if the one he had tried back at that mineshaft worked.

  The thought of that magnificent creature he had captured made him smile with grim resolution. He would need to gather some magickal ingredients to power up the talisman that would lead him to it. But that would have to wait for the moment. First, he had to have a video-conference with that odious Micah, to update His Terrible Majesty on his progress.

  He sat in front of the cheap particleboard desk, the smooth laminate surface an abomination against his skin. Along with the Kardashians, IKEA was a scourge on modern life. This was a world that Micah and other youth like him inhabited. Cadmus rued the day he had kidnapped him as a child, not realizing that the five year old boy he had abducted would grow to become a highly effective suckup to His Terrible Majesty. Sucking up was an express lane to the leadership of the Merciless.

  The leadership that Cadmus had enjoyed until recently.

  He stabbed the power button on his laptop, hating the feeling that he was checking in to someone who was rightfully his subordinate, hating the reliance on technology, which was a new form of magick as far as he was concerned. He’d mastered all the texts on dark magick only to be flummoxed in the last few years with cyber technology, in a new language that he just couldn’t seem to learn.

  Maybe it was a price for his facility with the Olde Ways. Maybe he was fast becoming a relic, as Micah certainly seemed to believe.

  Even this town, Gardendale, had changed so much since he was last here. His cover was that he was here scouting a new home for a tech company’s relocation, and it made sense, as Gardendale had recently become a bit of a tech mecca.

  Ugh, technology. That was what had tripped him up before. A stupid watch. The crap of today, much like the desk he was using, the chair in which he sat. So unlike the Vacheron Constantin strapped onto his wrist, something he had taken off the previous leader of the Merciless.

  The mechanical watch was a stunning work of art, well crafted out of ground up jewels, perfectly in sync with the energies here. Besides, the brand was good enough for Napoleon, so it was certainly fitting for Cadmus.

  He flexed his fingers, cracked his neck, and was ready for the call.

  Micah’s head and shoulders filled the screen. Cadmus smirked to himself to see the younger man wearing a dark suit, knowing full well that Micah preferred whatever passed for fashion in music videos. But Cadmus had one discernible effect on His Terrible Majesty. He too, appreciated quality, both in finer materials and craftsmanship. A shame that didn’t extend to people, as for some unfathomable reason Micah had become a clear favorite. But to be around His Terrible Majesty, one had to dress respectfully.

  “Greetings, Micah.” Cadmus enunciated, through gritted teeth.

  “Yo, Cadmus.” Micah ignored Cadmus’s wince. “What’s the latest?”

  Cadmus stifled the sarcasm that was fighting to be let loose, like an indelicate sneeze. “I’ve identified some tracts of land that might be suitable, but there are some delays in discovering ownership and availability for purchase.” In fact, all the subterfuge, the obvious shell companies, had made him suspicious. But he wasn’t about to invite Micah into his speculation. The last thing he needed was to give the younger man an opportunity to show him up.

  Micah found one anyway.

  “HTM’s gonna want to know about what it’s like, magicks-wise. You understand?”

  There was so much to bristle at, starting with Micah’s referring to His Terrible Majesty by his acronym, as if the syllables were too much effort to shape his mouth into. Cadmus had to remind himself that the younger man probably would be entertained by his discomfiture, or any outward show of jealousy.

  He carefully kept his features neutral. “You may tell His Terrible Majesty that the energies here are quite potent. In fact I am still acclimating to them, and will have a better idea in a few more days as to how they can be harnessed or adapted to.”

  Micah’s eyes were shrewd. “I thought you had been there before? You didn’t mention any need to acclimate during that time.”

  Cadmus was proud of the even tone of his answer. “That had been a quarter of a century ago, and it could be that the community of Diviners present at the time—” the community that Cadmus and his crew had wiped out “—were able to temperate the energies. It actually bodes well that there is no such influence in place now.”

  Micah nodded, with a slight smirk. “Good, good. Altho
ugh don’t take too much time, you understand? The heat’s on back at the homestead, thanks to your screw-up. HTM is thinking we have to clear out completely, since it’s not like we can just kill off all the cops that are crawling all over it.”

  Cadmus’s knuckles whitened as he clenched the armrests of his chair, thankfully out of range of the webcam. Micah couldn’t resist reminding him of how the last male he had kidnapped—acquired—for His Terrible Majesty had been wearing one of those complicated fitness watches, something that had allowed the police to track him to the sacrificial site that was within a few minutes trek of their house.

  It didn’t help that there were other human remains found there, the young men who had been hastily attained, so their life forces could be emptied to feed His Terrible Majesty upon his awakening.

  Micah had only been too pleased to point out to His Terrible Majesty the danger that Cadmus had put them in, volunteering to take His Terrible Majesty across the country to a potential relocation site. Cadmus had opted to go to where he had been before, and a few other Merciless scattered to scout other sites.

  The man-wolf, if, no, when Cadmus found it - would be his ticket back to His Terrible Majesty’s good graces. And in the meantime, he would keep it from Micah.

  He forced his lips into a smile through sheer force of will. “Rest assured, only the most necessary of time will be spent in order to evaluate this site’s worthiness for His Terrible Majesty. After all, we wouldn’t want to make any hasty decisions.” He decided to change the subject. “And how goes your trip — how are you finding Crater Lake?”

  “It’s got good juju,” Micah said, causing another vein in Cadmus’s head to pop. “And a place for HTM to chill and hang out, no doubt. But for a long-term headquarters it’s a no-go.”

  “Oh? And why is that?” Cadmus asked politely.

  “It’s too isolated. It would be hard to keep feeding HTM. And bringing in the resources we need – weapons, that kind of shit – is harder to do on the QT when you’re in bumfuck, nowhere. People notice shit out here.”