If they treated her as if she were human, the Shaitan could send someone to finish her off and the most they would get is a slap on the wrist. The Djinn did not place much value on the lives of humans, and her father was basically demoting Freya to that status.
Seeing the beginnings of her argument, Saraf raised his hand. "That being said, she, and others like her, are still the flesh of our flesh, and while they will not get the full support of the Djinn laws, I believe a law should be passed that protects them against any purification fanatics.” He fixed the Shaitan Councilor with a hard stare, "Any misdeed against them will be treated as harshly as if it was done against a full-blooded Djinn. Perhaps, just to make it a little more binding, any misdeed against those of less than half-blood purity, will be treated as if the misdeed was done to a member of the Council." And that meant a very public execution, if what Azar remembered from the law texts was still relevant.
She sat back in the office chair, speechless. Saraf had essentially cast Freya out, never to be a part of her own people, but gave her an ironclad protection from the Djinn. Whilst it wasn't the best possible outcome, it was the best that they could have hoped for. Now it just needed to be passed by the rest of the Council members.
A vote was put to the Councilors, and all except Christos of the Shaitan and the Ghul Councilor passed the proclamation.
The Jann Councilor shuffled some papers in front of him, and cleared his throat. “Excellent. It has been quite a full day. I am ready to retire to my chambers." He turned to Freya. "You have been most brave today. I am sure that someone has made provisions for you?” Azar nodded confirmation over Freya's head. "Although you can never be a part of our world, and gain the privileges and pleasures that come from being raised amongst our people, you are in the unique position, standing on a precipice between our races. Sometimes you may feel like an outsider, as if you do not belong anywhere, but remember that you are free in a way we are not. You are unbound."
The Unbound.
The title for Freya and those like her reverberated around the room, settling into the history books quietly, in a way that would not be noticeable for decades. When Djinn historians tried to trace the etymology of the title for the less-than-half-bloods, it would lead back to this moment, and to Freya's trial. But at that moment, the Council was unaware that they had changed the face of their history forever, and annexed a subculture of people who were formerly nameless outcasts in the world.
After the trauma of the conference room full of Councilors, the actual transfer of Freya to the Sterling Forest Pack went smoothly. Although it was no longer totally necessary for Freya to go into hiding, her status amongst the Djinn now abundantly clear, Donovan decided it was still the safest course of action for the girl, at least until the mandate was read out at the next general meeting, when it officially became law.
That was when Donovan finally arrived at the compound, looking as if he had been put through a meat mincer and with murder in his eyes. Donovan wouldn’t tell her the specifics of what happened to him, only that he'd been held against his will by some of the Shaitan Councilor’s personal guard until after the Council had ruled on Freya's life. His face was covered in bruises, and he held himself stiffly. He’d been beaten, and quite badly if the way he limped was any indication, but his expression was pure malice. She was torn between insisting she patched him up, and running for the damn hills.
When Azar had filled him in on everything that had happened, she wasn't sure what shocked him more, the fact that any harm brought upon the Unbound, the label had really stuck with her, would be treated as if the harm had been brought upon a Council member, or the fact that Melee had pledged her fealty to the girl. Apparently, inter-species fealty pledges never happened. Not in a couple of hundred years, anyway.
Donovan was going to take Freya to a diner on Route 87, where Oliver would collect her and see that she got settled in to her new home amongst the pack.
As Azar waved to the girl from the foyer of the compound’s main entrance, she found herself overwhelmed with maternal panic. What if the Weres treated her like a freak, made her life miserable? What if she made the Weres miserable? What if the Shaitan tracked her down before the mandate had passed at the general meeting, which was scheduled after the trial of the W.A.D members?
But most of all, Azar felt incredibly sad to be saying goodbye to Freya. She knew she would see her again soon, but the girl had been her constant shadow for days, and she'd become used to having her right there. Now Freya was gone, she felt like she was missing something.
Bast, who had come to say goodbye too, wrapped an arm around Azar's shoulders. "Are you okay?" he asked softly.
Azar nodded. She couldn't really tell him she was feeling downright maternal for the first time in her long life. As if there was something she had been missing all these years, some hidden joy that she didn't realize she'd lacked until it was gone. That would completely freak him out.
Plus there was the whole interracial dating thing; she could just imagine what people would say if they had a child. Hell, she didn't even know what the kind of child they would have. She had heard whispers of misbegotten children, half formed, or crazed, that were born from the union between different species, but she didn't know if that was just urban legend or based on fact. She vowed to herself that she would look into the matter before she made any decisions or voiced any of her desires to Bast. She'd just enjoy the time she had left with him, before he headed back to Stuttgart with the Sila Councilor.
The trial of the Weres who had killed the two Djinn kids was set for the next day. Apparently, the Councilors were all very eager to get back to their own territories. The loss of Freya, and soon Bast, made her feel incredibly lonely all over again. Though this time she was determined not to flip out and try and kill someone. She would take her fate with grace and poise. She snorted internally. She never took anything with poise in her life.
They met Malee on the way back in the bowels of the Compound. She was rugged up in a pea green wool coat, and her tight jeans were tucked into combat boots. The effect of the outfit should have made her look juvenile, or at least grungy, but instead she looked self-assured, and graceful. She had handled the Shaitan Councilor without batting so much as an eyelid. Azar had sensed a history there, and her curiosity got the better of her; she just had to ask what the story was. Malee waved her hands and a little color ran into her cheeks.
"Christos and I battle more frequently than either of us would like. We cannot stand each other; I cannot abide everything he stands for, and he sees me as a nuisance, protecting people from his barbaric laws. If I wasn't my father’s daughter, he would probably have had me offed decades ago." She waved her hand dismissively. "I live to be a thorn in his side, the arrogant asshole."
Azar didn't know if holding such a view about a Councilor was considered traitorous, but she was inclined to agree. Christos was indeed a scary, scary arrogant asshole. Bast laughed loudly, and several people turned to look.
She wasn't so sure that Malee's main emotion towards Christos was hate, although she didn't doubt that a part of her did hate everything he stood for. But if anyone knew that there was a fine line between love and hate, it was Azar. It made her a little sad for her half-sister. If her relationship with Bast was frowned upon, then any kind of romance between a half-blood Ifrit and the Councilor for the Shaitan was a one-way train to Apocalyptic Disasterville. She just hoped that Malee knew what she was doing.
Everyone hugged and said goodbye, and she watched Malee until she turned the corner and left. A warm smile lit Bast's face.
"I’ve got a surprise for you," he whispered in her ear. A small shiver of anticipation ran down her spine. She really enjoyed Bast's idea of a surprise. He led her to his room, which was pretty much an exact replica of hers in layout, except he'd moved all his plants from his office in Coney Island to this room when he'd taken up his servitude for her.
Now, as they entered the room, she let out a small g
asp of surprise. The room was filled with flowering rose bushes and candles, rose petals covered every surface. In the middle of the bed sat a tray, with a bottle of wine, a bowl of strawberries, a dish of whipped cream, and a crystal bowl of Hershey kisses. On the TV in front of him, the menu screen for Dirty Dancing waited to be played.
"Chocolate, wine, strawberries, whipped cream and Patrick Swayze. If there was ever a textbook seduction scene, this would be it." Her voice was low and sultry.
"It’s hard to import romance into the compound; this was the best I could do." He wrapped his arms around her. "And tonight isn't about seduction, tonight is just about you and me, being together, and letting me pamper you."
She raised her eyebrows. She definitely didn't believe the part about no funny business. When they were together, it was like throwing a match into a tinderbox. They would combust, whether they wanted it or not. But she appreciated the thought.
He led her to the bed and pressed play, nestling her against a huge mound of pillows, her head resting on his shoulder. He fed her strawberries as the opening credits started, and the unique sound of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons, Big Girls Don't Cry filled the room. He handed her a glass of red wine, and she swirled it around in her mouth, the smooth flavor telling her that it was a great vintage. She let herself melt into Bast's arms, and just be.
This was what it would have been like if she were raised within Djinn society. She would have already done her servitude, and Bast would have done his, and they wouldn’t be in the compound but in Azar's little apartment. Or maybe they'd have a house of their own, filled with plants that hated Azar, and a big fireplace where they'd make s'mores every weekend and watch black and white movies. They'd have dinner parties with her family, maybe even Mira and her father Moselle. They'd have a dog and a cat to sit in front of the fireplace, but no kids because it was forbidden.
On the flip-side, there would be no Pack or Oliver, as she would not have been in a position to recognize and track down the Rogue Ifrit. There would have been no reason to go to The Onyx, so she wouldn’t have met Donovan or Freya. Maybe they'd be living in a world ruled by the Balraka.
She let out a heavy sigh. For all the complexities that ruled her life now, fate had given her a good life, filled with love, a new family and more friends than she knew what to do with. Sure, she may have had all those things if her father had found her when she was a child, and a whole lot less suffering in her early years, but she wouldn’t be the person she was today, and she was proud of that person.
She let out a sigh, and closed her eyes. She just wanted to rest in the arms of the man she loved for a while, without having to evaluate her life choices for once. Her lids started to feel heavy and she let them droop. She fell into the blissful sleep of the loved.
What felt like minutes later, Bast was shaking her awake.
"You are going to miss my favorite part," he whispered loudly.
"You have a favorite part of Dirty Dancing? Is there something you want to tell me? No judgment. If I was a guy, Patrick Swayze topless would make me doubt my sexuality too," she mumbled groggily, yawning widely. He just shushed her.
On screen, Johnny was saying that famous line, and pulling Baby up to do an impossibly perfect dance that they hadn’t really been practicing because they’d been bumping uglies for a week. But hey, Azar appreciated the sentiment as much as the next estrogen laden woman.
"I can't believe you woke me up for this," she grumbled. Bast hugged her close and laughed.
“Well, your snoring was ruining a perfectly romantic moment." He ducked his head to miss the cushion aimed at his face, and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her into his arms. His hand slid up to cup her face, and he kissed her temples, her eyelids, the tip of her nose and then nibbled at her lips until she opened them, allowing him to suck her lower lip into his mouth. She gave a satisfied moan, and shifted to straddle him. His smile was pure trouble and she couldn't keep the answering grin off her face.
No seduction? She hadn't believed it for a second.
Chapter 16
Azar ducked her head to hide another yawn. She hadn't realized how tedious trials were when you weren’t the one in the firing line. She sat high in the stands of the Ifrit section of the hearing room, listening to the charges being read out to the fifteenth, or sixteenth, member of Weres Against Djinn. It didn't help that they'd decided to accuse and sentence each member separately, listing their crimes before releasing them to the punishment of their individual packs, clans, flocks and so on. It was so tedious that even the Council members were taking turns presiding over the trials.
Saraf's voice droned on. "The Djinn find you guilty of one count conspiracy to harm, one count of grievous bodily harm, one count of manslaughter, four counts of assault..." The Were on the stand was Princess Fifi, though apparently his name was really Oswald McNamara, and he was a Werebear. Apparently, they were solitary and the Adel had had a hard time rustling up two other Werebears to mete out his punishment. She swung her eyes to the Werebear contingent sitting in the visitors seating. They didn't seem impressed to be there either, and Azar would happily bet that as soon as they picked up old Ozzy from the Adel cells, they'd take him out to the car park, punch him in the head a couple of times for inconveniencing them, and then they'd all go their separate ways. They didn't really care about right or wrong, or maintaining a system of justice within their species, unlike the Werewolves, who had already solemnly swore that punishment will be swift and brutal. They had been very careful not to mention the word execution, however.
"Do you swear to punish Oswald McNamara to the full extent of your governing laws?" Saraf asked the visiting Werebears. "Keep in mind that breaking an oath to a race as long lived as ours can be a very detrimental action." Apparently, Saraf didn't think they were taking this seriously either.
"We swear to punish him to the full extent of Werebear law," the one with the shaggy lumberjack beard replied. It was a nicely worded response to a politely worded threat. Azar knew that the Werebear law was little more than a warning to not reveal themselves to human society, and to stay the hell out of each other’s territory. There was no system to punish wrongdoers. They were all about spur of the moment, vigilante justice. The subtext seemed to be a giant F.U. to the Djinn, all the while appearing agreeable to the court. Azar appreciated the balls it took to do that, but she was pretty sure she'd be the only one. The Djinn had a superiority complex within the supernatural community. They enjoyed their position as the apex predators.
Azar couldn't see Saraf's face, but if it mirrored the rest of the Council members, it was less than happy. Unfortunately, these were the provisions that they'd agreed upon with the other leaders of the Were community, and they couldn't change the punishment for just one Werebear. So Saraf let it go and moved on.
"So be it. The Djinn will not forget the Werebears’ helpfulness in this situation." F.U. right back.
Oswald was led to the other Werebears, and he sat between them. They gave him a truly scathing look, and then set about ignoring his existence completely.
The Councilor for the Ghul was the next presiding judge, jury and executioner. "The Council for the Djinn would like to call Rebecca White of the Sterling Forest Pack."
This was Aaron’s ex-girlfriend and the leader of W.A.D, although no one had confessed as much during interrogations. They’d all stated that they were a democratically run group of nature enthusiasts, blah blah blah, just out for a run in the Canadian wilderness and that they were attacked by Lida. Their stories were almost all exactly the same, word for word, and short of torturing them, not one of the prisoners would consider recanting their story.
The Adel had wanted to call Aaron as a witness, but Anton had forbidden it as his Alpha. Apparently, he was well within his rights to decline, because no one had pressed the matter.
Rebecca White padded up to the dais barefoot, graceful in the way of predators and the paranormal. All the Weres in the room were eerily si
lent. They might not have admitted out loud that she was their leader, but their silence in that moment was telling.
The Councilor for the Ghul's voice boomed through the silence. "Rebecca White, you are accused and found guilty by this Council, of conspiracy to commit genocide, conspiracy to cause harm to the Djinn, manslaughter, attempted murder, grievous bodily harm, four counts of assault, and inciting violence against the Djinn. These charges carry a penalty of execution, however, your Alpha has negotiated with the Council to exact punishment through the traditions of your pack. Please, do not think us fooled. We know that you are the leader of this hate group and with the arrogance of youth, you thought that you could exact revenge against an entire race for the ill treatment of one of your own. Your misguided crusade could have led to war between our peoples, which would have led to mass casualties on both sides. It is due to the peaceful intentions of those older and wiser than you that such a war did not come to pass." His gaze swung to Anton, who was sitting in the visitors seats below the Ifrit section. "Do you swear to punish Rebecca White to the full extent of Werewolf Pack law?"
Anton inclined his head solemnly. "We do. Rebecca has forgotten the covenants that have kept the Pack safe and flourishing for centuries. A wolf that antagonizes the farmer by killing his flock does not survive to the next full moon. Rebecca will be punished for this crime in the way of the Pack."
Rebecca’s eyes were wild as she swung an incredulous look at Anton. Obviously she thought he would support her stance. Her eyes turned stormy with anger. "You are a weakling! You would let them push us around as if we are nothing but dirt on their shoes. You are not my Pack Master!" She spat the words at him like venom.
Anton shook his head unhappily. "I accept your challenge for Pack Master. When we get back to our dens, we will duel for leadership."
The Azar Omnibus: The Complete Azar Trilogy (The Azar Trilogy Book 0) Page 38