Shifters Forsaken: Shifter Romance Collection Bks 1-5

by Mia Taylor

  Imagining how those eyes might glow in the dark like twin suns, but instead of bringing fear, they brought the suggestion of something else.

  He did smell good, at least. She sniffed appreciatively, taking in the scent of baking food, cooking meat and damp stone walls, along with the musk of his skin scent and the slightly stale odor that came from furs that had not fully dried off after being soaked. Isera happened to be pretty used to that fur scent, given that everyone managed to get their clothes wet on a snowy mountain sooner or later. Worse on the ones who didn’t make an effort to bathe, of course. Always worse.

  But… he’s a wyrm, she thought. No matter how appealing he might look on the outside, it didn’t hide the fact that underneath his skin lurked the beast that humans hated.

  Well, that her humans hated, anyway. Since the rules outside didn’t apply here. She spotted a couple walking hand in hand. A man with green eyes. A woman with golden eyes. Human and wyrm. They stopped for a moment, and a child waddled to them, also displaying golden eyes.

  She broke away from Kit at last, making the excuse that her arm had started cramping. Then she spotted Narak watching her. Narak, the one who looked like death standing tall, with those dagger sharp features, those smooth, polished cheekbones.

  The one that Kit claimed held the hearts of Wizen. So, if he rejected her, then the rest would follow. And they’d be a lot pushier than just walking into her in the thoroughfares.

  Best to not get on the bad side of that one, then. She stood a little straight, injecting false confidence into her stride. Smiling at Kit like he was her best friend, though her best friend probably lay awake at night, wondering what had become of Isera.

  Narak continued to watch her, even as Kit led them towards the magic training grounds. Whether she wanted to or not, Isera needed to navigate carefully around these people.

  Otherwise she might not live long enough to ever return home. She couldn’t rely on two people to protect her from an entire population which numbered in the hundreds. Maybe thousands. She had to rely on herself.

  Chapter Four

  Isera scowled, summoning up the remnants of her magic, wanting desperately to show these powerful creatures that she wasn't some useless torch lighter. That she could do some serious damage. Kit watched her, his eyebrows raised high, clearly expecting the world of her.

  They had made their way to the training grounds, where Fran also happened to be. And the moment Isera appeared, attention flickered to her. Although people still continued with their exercises, a pressure settled upon Isera’s skull. A kind of desperation to prove something. To show them she remained worthy of the title of mage. Even though the doubts chewed at her. Even though she kept telling herself that she didn’t want to give these wyrms more reasons to like her.

  Blast it.

  Kit continued watching with those shining eyes. He seriously needed to turn that off.

  The power built up and up… all that came out of her hands were two tiny hovering flames. She spat them off in rather lacklustre fireballs. At first, Kit and Fran waited, perhaps anticipating more. When Isera tried again, with the same result, they pursed their lips in an identical way, making it easy to see them as brother and sister.

  “It's all I can do,” Isera said. “It's the most I've ever been able to do. I think my magic is just feeble.” Disappointment spiked her stomach. She didn’t want to face Kit, to see that light of expectation fading. She wasn’t sure why she didn’t relish the prospect of disappointing him in particular.

  “No... that's not it.” Kit held up one hand, and fell into intense, quiet conversation with Fran. The others in the training grounds snorted at Isera's pathetic display of skills. Her face burned red.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  She didn't want Kit and Fran to think the worse of her. Not when Kit seemed to regard her with a manner verging on awe, something Isera wasn't used to. For a wyrm, he did have a way of expressing emotions she’d never seen in those beasts before. Ones other than hatred and apathy. He also had a way of letting it shine through his skin, softening the lines there.

  There there was Narak, the one who concerned Isera from the start, standing nearby with his arms folded, expression inscrutable.

  He can make or break you, Isera. If the Old Ones have control over our existence, then you could say Narak has control over our hearts.

  Not ominous words at all. Isera didn't even want to be here in the first place. She didn't want to be captured or rescued. Blasts, they could have just let her go instead of bringing her back with them.

  Except they saw her cuffs. Except they saw meaning in her cuffs, suppressing the magic. They saw her as hope. Well, Kit did, anyway.

  I bet they'd be more excited if the person they captured was Seon or Elise. She tamped down on the envy. No. she shouldn't be envious of her friends.

  “You know, you can just say it out loud. I'm a defective, right?”

  Kit waved at her to shut up, finishing off his conversation. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Um, well, it's rather unusual for magic to be so weak in someone. Everyone who has an affinity to magic tends to bond strongly to something and produce something uh, a bit more impressive than that.”

  Fran groaned, even as Isera's bottom lip trembled, and a kind of despair crashed in her heart. The kind that told her that yes, she was useless, and wasn't worthy of joining the ranks of magic. To think she had once been so excited when finally discovering her power, controlling it. The other fire mages showed more impressive abilities, One could even set themselves on fire and survive the ordeal.

  “You're not explaining it well, you oaf. Let me.” Fran stepped forward, her dark furs swishing around her legs. “Look. What he means to say and failed spectacularly is that we think there's something more to your magic. You're looking in the wrong direction if you want to fling fancy balls at people.”

  Oh. That didn't sound so bad. Isera licked her lips. “And you can tell all that by watching me produce a mediocre spell?”

  “Pretty much. Look, let me demonstrate.” Fran raised her fingers in the air. Isera watched closely, until she saw frost cover the tips, and snowflakes begin to swirl around Fran's hands. “Like my brother told you, have ice magic. And this is about the most effective you'll get out of me if I try to place it in a projectile that affects other people.”

  The initial stab of fear at seeing a wyrm perform magic faded in mild curiosity, when she saw the weak essence of it. “But that's not all you can do, right?”

  “Not at all.” Fran extinguished the ice. “Obviously you notice that I'm immune to the cold, so that's one extra ability I have. You likely have the same with your fire. You could probably walk through flames unharmed.”

  Still not what Isera hoped to hear. A frantic beating in her heart spoke of her true intentions – to hear she had something wonderful, game changing, giving her the power she always craved. It was ugly, selfish, not something any respected person went for.

  “The other thing I can do,” Fran continued, oblivious to Isera's cravings, “is that I can lower someone else's body temperature and force them into a cold sleep. Not quite as spectacular as flinging a blizzard at someone, sure, but still more useful than extra frosty fingers. Perhaps you can do something similar. You could simply be looking in the wrong place for your magic.” She then grimaced. “I have to touch someone's skin to do it, though. I can't do it in my wyrm form, oddly enough. Something about the human form is attractive to magic. Still something we don't know about. Not even the Old Ones.”

  Isera nodded, mulling over the words. Made sense. However, the little energy she'd managed to conjure left her mentally exhausted. Holding the energy in her hands proved easier than releasing it.

  I really have such little power.

  Magic sure was finicky. Still, Fran's words stirred some hope. Maybe there was a little extra to her magic. She just needed to look in the right place. Kit scowled from the side, his usually smooth face scrunched up.

&nb
sp; “I didn't explain that badly.”

  “Remind me. You don’t have magic right, Kit? Your sister does?” Isera walked past Fran, now checking the other magic users. Lightning crackled from hands. Green shoots grew from the ground. Water spouted from nowhere. Giant fireballs incinerated targets. All impressive abilities.

  “That’s right,” Kit said. “My dear sister appears to have absorbed all the talent. Selfish of her to not leave any for me.”

  “You were born first, you know.”

  Alron didn't make any indication that he had heard Isera, or cared about her question. He seemed to be studying some flowers that had popped out of the marble flooring of one of the thoroughfares. He really didn't act right in the head. He also didn't pay attention to anyone but Kit. What kind of history did these two share?

  Although the two claimed to be forty and under, they did carry a certain... gravity about them. One that suggested age beyond their physical appearances. Although Isera liked being blunt with people, wringing information out of them whenever possible, she didn't want the knowledge that came from truth here. They'd already overloaded her brain with impossibilities as it was. Living together in harmony. Practising magic together. A perfect cocoon of existence before whatever happened to decimate the old world as they knew it.

  Things Isera knew people at her school would crave knowledge of. And the wyrms of the city would stop at nothing to destroy. They'd see the wyrms here as filthy traitors. The humans as abominations. The place a threat to their authority.

  Unfortunately, the wyrms would soon know something to be up, once they discovered the smoldering remains of their fort. They'd probably think rebel drakes or humans did it at first. But if the searched the area... if they found the place with the blue lightning... Isera didn't see how these people could stay hidden forever. Especially now that their barrier had weakened enough for her to be able to walk through, and for them to stroll out of.

  “Clearly I was being nice, and saving some of the magic for you.”

  “Or, it's because I've always been better than you at everything.”

  Kit gave Isera a wry smile. “Don't worry. We argue like this a lot. It doesn't mean we want to tear each other's throats out.”

  Isera smiled. She wondered now who their parents were. But given that they never once mentioned a mom and dad in Isera's brief residence, she figured perhaps something awful had happened to them.

  Polite thing to do was not say anything, right? Or did that mean she didn't care?

  Isera exhaled in a snort of breath, closing her eyes, once again picturing Artiz. Wondering how long it must have taken before they realized something was wrong. If they got ambushed too, or if they were safe, or perhaps even now frantically searching the skies.

  I can't stay here long. I have to find a way out. Somehow. And trek through a snow coated swamp. And try not to die.

  “Uh oh,” Kit said. “Narak's looking this way.”

  “Oh, you only just noticed?” Isera let out a laugh without humor. “He’s been pretty much doing this since I first stepped out today.”

  The older wyrm scrutinized Isera without shame, without hiding the fact he did so. Such an eerie gaze. The kind that went right through Isera's soul. It matched when she first saw Kit, when he spotted her in that cage, and allowed his lips to curl into something dark. She still spotted some of that darkness when Kit thought she wasn't looking. Like he was a knife's edge from being the kind of wyrm she knew and hated. Yet he always managed to address her with civility and calm.

  I probably need to stop treating them with such suspicion. Like they're going to betray me at any moment.

  She expected Narak to come over and talk, but he stayed where he was for a moment longer, before moving on, talking to someone else with long, frizzy blonde hair.

  “His wife,” Fran said. “She's a little pushy. None of us like her. She's one of the ones who thinks you're a liability for us. From what little information I’ve been able to gather.”

  “Oh.” Isera squinted at the blonde, before deciding she didn't like her. “Okay, I have to ask. What do you guys intend to do to me? Are you planning to keep me here indefinitely or will you let me go?”

  Okay. Now that brother/sister exchange of eyes didn't exactly fill Isera with confidence at her fate.

  “Honestly... it’s up to the leaders and the Old Ones while they decide what to do with you. But until then, you'll be safe under our roof.”

  Safe under their roof until a decision got made. And then, Isera might need to start running. She kept herself calm outwardly, though her insides were a frenzied mess. So long as these people were willing to teach her more about magic...

  Well, she needed to start learning some better ways of defending herself.

  This Narak better not be preparing her for ruin.

  “Come on. Let’s go over some exercises. We’ll find out if there’s more in you that meets the eye.”

  “I’m okay,” Isera said. “I’m done I think. It’s getting distracting to have so many people glaring at me, you know?”

  “Right.” Kit scowled at the others. The crisp air soothed Isera’s lungs, but nothing else. She couldn’t shake off the feeling that she existed in another cage, that no matter how friendly these people acted to her, they only held her here for the magic she didn’t really have.

  If I didn’t have any magic at all, I think the Old Ones would have killed me.

  Even though Kit didn’t want to keep her locked indoors, Isera figured it might be better for her to remain so. She trusted him enough to be interested in sparing her life, learning from her. But not the others. She stalked off, with him scrambling to follow.

  Does he really follow me around as a subject of interest, something to break down the rules of his little world? Or does he see something else in me?

  It disturbed her to not understand. Sussing out people’s motives generally came easy. People always did something for gain whenever possible.

  Kit, though… what did he expect to gain from her, truly?

  Probably best if she waited to find out.

  Chapter Five

  Gradually, over the next few weeks, Isera settled better into life within the boundaries of Wizen. Kit’s rather dogged persistence at making sure she didn’t fall into despair irritated her to no end at first. He’d always be checking in on her, roughly overriding her protests, sometimes adopting that same, cool attitude she first encountered him with. Back in those times where her mind slipped into delirium, struggling against impending death.

  Fran as well insisted on Isera making some progress with her magic, but she didn’t want to touch it. She didn’t want to humiliate herself in front of anyone else again.

  No news came from outside of her friends finding her, leading her to gloomier conclusions. She also knew the Old Ones, during their infrequent waking moments, were divided on what to do with her. The beauty of Wizen didn’t hide the fact that Isera belonged to another world. One not frozen in a perfect pocket of time.

  Still, Kit did have a way of making the bad moments less… bad. And she did find herself revealing some of the life outside, though she inevitably drifted to the bad parts. Hard not to, when those memories resonated the strongest inside. Kit in comparison seemed to have lived an almost idyllic life, never having to worry about danger…

  Until twenty years ago. When a part of Isera’s world started to bleed through.

  “It can’t have all been terrible,” Kit said, sitting opposite Isera in his small living room. Fran and Alron were off patrolling the borders outside the swamp, like the people of Wizen did every day, to make sure no unwelcome presence pushed near their sanctuary. “Like, what’s the point in living if you have nothing to look forward to? Surely you found joy out of your life. You know how to smile.”

  “Kit, just because I know how to smile doesn’t make the bad moments less bad. It is an awful world out there – unless you happen to be a wyrm. Then you’re fine. Wyrms are top of the food c
hain. They command us as slaves, and the drakes that don’t choose to get in bed with them are pretty much fighting a losing battle.”

  “Pft. I don’t care about that. I care about you. Because you’re what I see in front of me.” He said those words so casually, but Isera’s heart lurched in shock from the statement. People didn’t say these things to each other. Ever. There was a kind of nakedness in it that made her want to squirm and get as far away from the conversation as possible. He did this a little too often, making her take notice. “I want to know more about what makes you tick. What makes you laugh. Like… take my sister. She might be annoying and terrible to me, but she also makes me laugh, and we really enjoy our arguments. Because they’re not really arguments, you know? It’s like… friendly teasing. Affectionate insults.”

  “Sometimes I think they’re just insults which you disguise as a game,” Isera said, her lips twitching upward.

  “Well, sometimes… but not always. So come on! What do you do with your friends?” he leaned forward, hands clasped together, eager to listen.

  “Well…” She toyed with some of the memories in her skull, trying to pick out the ones least tainted by that darkness. “Back in the estate, long before I discovered my magic, I used to play a stupid game with my friend, Elise. Matron Ana – she was kind of my foster mother, I guess, she showed me the game which she learned as a child from her grandma, and it became our signature game.”

  Kit nodded. He knew her parents were dead. She’d revealed that story to him with as little emotion as possible, as though keeping her feelings stuffed in a box that was slightly too small for them. Not that she had a choice. All her life, she trained herself to keep everything under wraps, so that no one saw it, manipulated it, used it to break you further. She was just so much more reserved than Kit, even though she always considered herself as someone who liked to punch through to the truth.