Promise Forever: Fairy Tales with a Modern Twist

by Pauline Creeden

Lifting his eyes, he asked, “If I would’ve invited you, would you have accepted?”

  The hand on his cheek slid to his collar. “I’ve always loved you boys. I know I’ve never said and that I haven’t been a proper mother to you.”

  “You, umm, you love us?”

  As if his unsteady voice and doubting tone broke Lita’s heart, tears filled her eyes. Her hand fell away from his collar, fisting the side of her ceremonial robe. “Staying away from you boys was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”

  “Self-preservation makes people do things they may not have done otherwise. Living in a house with four werewolves wasn’t an option, not if you valued your life.” He smiled, hoping she’d look past his pain of her abandonment and stop weeping. He never could stomach the sight of a crying female.

  She shook her head, tears falling from eyes nearly the same shade of brown as his while in human form. “Ask any werewolf why the mother of his children leaves him and their pups, and you’ll receive the same wrong answer.” Lita shifted slightly to the coastline behind her and toward the kneeling werewolf in human form who stared out at the lake. “Io will tell you. Your father has probably already told you boys that witches leave because we’re afraid of our werewolf lovers and sons.” She turned back to Marrok, wistfulness having replaced tears. “While true for some witches, it isn’t for most, and rarely for mothers.” Lifting her hand to the Silver Snare again, she thumbed the collar. “We keep our distance because of protection.”

  “I know. To protect yourselves from us.”

  “No, to protect you from us. If we maintain our distance, then we aren’t a temptation. It’s a fight you cannot win, Marrok. Werewolves have no control over their blood-and-magic lust. That’s not their fault.”

  “It’s our curse.”

  “It’s a condition of life we’ve made the best of.” Lita’s hand rose to his cheek again. “I walked away because of love, not fear. At some point, every witch lover and mother will make that heart-shattering choice.”

  With a jerk of his head, Marrok stepped away from Lita. “No. Oriana won’t leave me. She loves me.”

  “She does, and I love Io.” Lita glanced back to his father, as enraptured by the peacefulness of their surroundings as Marrok had been the first time he’d seen Silentdrift Lake.

  Love? Not past tense. Surprising. Does Dad know? Probably not. Then again, maybe he feels the same way, which would explain why they cannot bare to be in the same room with each other for long. I thought it was hate. Maybe it’s been repressed love all this time.

  “As Matriarch, Oriana will deliver a girl first,” Lita said, her focus still on Io. “It is then you’ll understand why Io never wanted a daughter. I grew to despise the fear I saw in my father’s eyes when he looked at me, as if my very sight and smell would drive him mad and have him attacking me.”

  This was the last conversation he needed to have before starting a life with Oriana. He wanted to stop the words flooding the air between them. But Marrok couldn’t deny how much he feared harming Oriana. He’d never experienced the kind of craving Alarick had described, and he hoped he never would.

  Lita grasped his hand, twining her fingers with his. “I’m telling you something today I should’ve told you years ago. I know now is not the ideal time for this kind of mother-son conversation. Then again, perhaps it is the perfect time. No doubt, Matriarch Kalinda would’ve shared the same with her daughter. Considering Matriarch Oriana hasn’t changed her mind about taking you as her consort, she listens to her heart. Know this, Marrok, witches always protect those we love, even when it seems our actions are anything but loving.”

  “Are you saying Oriana will hurt me if she thinks I’m a threat to our daughter?”

  “I’m saying Oriana will do most anything to spare you the pain of living with the guilt that will come if you harm your child.” For a third time, Lita looked to Io. “That’s the reason why your father never wanted a daughter. Losing a mate is far less painful than the anguish that accompanies the death of your offspring at your own hands. So, we had three sons. In the end, Io had you boys, and I was left with nothing but regrets.” She squeezed his hand. “Love fully and fairly, Marrok. Cherish the time you’ll have with Oriana.”

  Marrok looked away from his unhappy mother to his frowning brothers, his brooding father, and then back to Lita. Why in the hell had any of them come, if they felt so strongly against the union? He didn’t need their presence if it didn’t also come with genuine happiness and emotional support. Marrok wasn’t naïve, and neither was Oriana. They’d calculated the risks against the love they had for each other. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d find a way to make it work.

  He stepped away from his mother, releasing her hand.

  “Marrok, no, no, I’m sorry.”

  “For telling me Oriana will, at some point, either leave me to spare me the temptation of wanting to consume her or kill me to protect our daughter from me and to protect me from the guilt of having murdered my own damn child? Even if any of those horrible things come true, tonight sure as hell wasn’t the time to bring them up. Thanks for that, Mom. You sure know how to make a werewolf feel good about himself and his future.”

  Marrok stalked away from Lita, trying not to care he’d made her cry or that her warning, brutal as it was to hear, had come from a place of love and concern. He and Oriana should’ve kept their families far away from their special event. That opinion solidified in his mind when a stony-faced Matriarch Kalinda and a glowering Bader arrived with Oriana, a perfect landing that couldn’t have been his witch’s doing.

  Solange stood beside Oriana, the only smiling guest, which said a lot considering the witch was hardcore law enforcement. Then again, so was Oriana. As Crimson Hunter, she oversaw Blood of the Sun, the national military of Earth Rift. She hadn’t yet stepped down from the post since becoming a Matriarch. He supposed she would, likely turning over the high-ranking position to Solange. None of that mattered, though, not with the way Oriana beamed at Marrok, her smile bright enough to vanquish the ugly conversation he’d had with his mother.

  Needing to cleanse his emotional pallet, he strolled up to Oriana, lifted her off her feet, and swung her around, holding her tightly and taking in her lemon scent. He kept breathing her in, wishing they were alone and that he didn’t have to place her back on her feet and deal with their pessimistic families.

  “What’s wrong?” she whispered against his ear.

  Marrok wouldn’t give voice to the fears Lita had brought to the surface. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just missed you. Two weeks without seeing each other, you know?”

  He had missed her, that Oriana would believe. The rest of it she wouldn’t. He’d tell her the truth later, she would know that too without him having to assure her his lie wasn’t intended as true deception.

  She kissed the spot he loved just behind his ear. “I can have Solange take them home. Her Whisperer of Echoes magic is advanced enough where she can perform double jumps with a single spell. Irongarde and Wild Moor, she can have them back home in less than two minutes.”

  Marrok set Oriana on her feet, already feeling better. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”

  “I won’t have you upset the night of our union. Out of respect for our families, I invited them, but what you think and how you feel is more important than their offense.” She glanced around Marrok. “Zev looks like he doesn’t give a shit, so he wouldn’t care if Solange sent him home. Say the word, Marrok, and this night will be just for us.”

  Strange as it may seem to others, Marrok often forgot Oriana was a Matriarch. To him, she was simply Oriana of Irongarde, the woman he adored, the woman he would do anything to make happy. Yet, there were times the softness he’d come to know and love were replaced by a will of iron and a spine of steel.

  Her arms hadn’t transformed into her Ravagers of the Lost cannons. She also didn’t wear her Crimson Hunter’s body armor or hold the Blood of the Sun wand of Steelcross, symbols of her dual r
oles. Yet, there was no denying Oriana’s readiness to go into battle for him, if only against their disapproving families.

  A lesser werewolf would’ve hidden behind the might of his witch, but what kind of consort would Marrok make if he began their union as a sniveling coward?

  He kissed her, on her lips, with tongue, and uncaring what anyone else thought. Except for, well, Oriana’s father, Bader, who growled at Marrok.

  “You aren’t her consort yet, kindly take your hands off my daughter.”

  Oriana giggled into his chest and, just like that, the twenty-six-year-old young woman was back, the monarch gone. “Father—”

  “There’s a protocol, Oriana, and this isn’t it.” Bader, shoulder-length dreadlocks with a streak of red in the front, the same color streak in Oriana’s hair, stepped forward, his hand outraised to his daughter. “Come, Oriana. This will be a proper Moonless Sky ritual, and you are Matriarch of Steelcross.”

  Reminded of her long matriarchal lineage from a werewolf who, while no longer living in Irongarde Skyrise, was still the official consort to Matriarch Kalinda, his title of Aku of Irongarde long held.

  Oriana nodded to Bader, accepting his proffered hand.

  Bader’s smile, one he’d never seen the man offer anyone, revealed a depth of emotion Marrok feared, based on Lita’s words, he’d come to comprehend far too well. Unlike Io, Marrok couldn’t talk Oriana into giving them only sons. When he observed Bader, regal in his Aku of Irongarde ritual robe—black with red trim, matching buttons on sleeves and front. However, what most caught Marrok’s attention was an image he’d seen on the werewolf’s chest but was also displayed on the robe over his heart--the Aku Moon of Irongarde—a bluish-white new moon under a blue, white, and green Earth.

  Matriarch Kalinda wore a black hooded pullover robe with a hood, wide, hanging sleeves, black center inset with red ribbon lacing. His mother wore the same style of robe, as did Solange and Oriana. Yet, Oriana’s robe came with a brick red center inset with black ribbon lacing, her hood and sleeves two-sided with brick red and black double-knit. Black hair piled atop her head, her red streak of hair left out, an accent that contoured a cheek, drawing the eye downward to her cleavage, the perfect location for his gift.

  As if pulled by the moon the darkness hid, they walked to the edge of the coastline, joining Io. Marrok, his father, and brothers wore forest-green ceremonial robes made of soft suede. Taffeta trim in the same forest-green accented the mandarin collar, sides of the open front, and from the shoulders to the hem of the wide sleeves, with the belt made entirely of taffeta, lending a shiny appeal to the family robe.

  In a left to right line, his family stood behind him—Io to the far right, Lita to the far left. Several feet in front of him stood a smiling Oriana, her father and mother flanking her, Solange behind and to the right of the matriarchal family.

  While they may have all stared at each other, no one spoke for an awkward three minutes. Behind him, he heard the first of what would be many bones breaking then reforming. Io, his father, had begun the ritual, although tradition dictated the witch’s father should’ve been the first in werewolf form.

  Marrok’s gaze shifted to Bader to see if Io had offended the man by taking the lead. More snaps sounded behind him, and Marrok wanted to curse and snarl at his brothers. But the Aku of Irongarde appeared unfazed by Marrok’s family’s lack of etiquette. He turned to see three fully shifted black werewolves behind him, standing upright on their hind legs, discarded robes at their clawed feet. Marrok allowed himself to observe his mother who, to his surprise but perhaps not based on their conversation, didn’t look afraid. Lita did, however, shake her head, face awash with embarrassment.

  Yeah, Marrok could relate.

  “Do you wish to shift?” Matriarch Kalinda asked Bader. “I’ll hold your robe, if you do.”

  The older man seemed to consider his estranged mate’s offer, his face suddenly impassive. Marrok wondered what emotion Bader didn’t want to be revealed to the Matriarch. Maybe the same one Lita had kept from Io all these years. No way this side of the moon did Marrok want his and Oriana’s union to end up like their parents.

  Bader raised Oriana’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back, his smile returning with the loving display. “I think not. If I do, I won’t be able to touch our daughter like this.”

  Many werewolves had tried to deny the primal call, seeking to circumvent their blood-and-magic lust by maintaining their human form. But it never worked for long, having the opposite effect of increasing their primitive urges to the state of fading their black fur to gray. Gray werewolves pushed the boundaries between their natural and unnatural forms, one lust-filled attack from turning feral—a Muraco.

  “What about you, Marrok, when will shift?” Bader asked, his hand still holding Oriana’s in a way Marrok questioned whether the werewolf would willingly release her into his care.

  “Not yet. I have a gift that requires a gentle, human touch.”

  At the mention of a gift, Oriana’s smile widened. “I don’t see a pocket in your robe. Where on your body have you hidden my present? Will you permit me to search you to find out?”

  “Oriana,” her parents half groaned, half scolded.

  “Daughter, at least maintain the illusion of decorum until after the ritual and you and Marrok are alone.”

  Matriarch Kalinda reached behind Oriana, pulling her hood over her head. She did the same with her own hood, as did Solange.

  Marrok didn’t have to look behind him to know Lita had donned her own hood, but he did anyway. His mother loved him. Hearing her say the words healed a fissure in his heart he’d pretended hadn’t existed. Marrok loved Lita too, and wished, for the millionth time, that the rift that kept werewolves and witches apart could be mended. He’d help Oriana search for the answers. Hopefully, somewhere in her matriarchal archives they’d find the answers no one dared wish for but a solution everyone secretly desired.

  Lita moved to stand directly behind Marrok followed by Io, Zev, and then Alarick, a matrilineal descent hierarchy.

  Across from Marrok, Bader kissed Oriana’s hand again before standing behind her, with Solange claiming the location behind him. Only Marrok, Oriana, and Matriarch Kalinda remained where they were. Mother and daughter were equals in their society, and Marrok’s rank would soon match that of Bader’s, making him the second most powerful werewolf in the realms. And Marrok couldn’t care less about prestige or power. The only privilege he coveted was that of loving and being loved by Oriana.

  “On this moonless night,” Matriarch Kalinda said, “we’ve come together to witness the commitment of the sun to her moon.”

  Oriana took one step forward.

  “Together they are magic, mysticism, and might. They are born as stars, a fusion of heat, light, and life.”

  Another step.

  “Together they are strength of heart and sincerity of soul. She is every sunrise and sunset.”

  Bader’s baritone voice followed Kalinda’s soft, assured tone. “On this moonless night, we’ve come together to witness the bonding of the moon to his sun. Together they rule the sky, a merging of opposites. Unity, cooperation, his moon and her sun are better together.” Bader, whose eyes had moved from one person to the next, making sure to include them all in his message when he spoke, shifted to Marrok and stayed. “We are every moonrise and moonset. Every phase of the moon runs through our veins and is felt in our hearts and minds. Do you feel them, Son of Lita of Ironmere City?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know them, Son of Io of Chromehaven?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then convince me you deserve the heart and hand of the Matriarch of Steelcross.”

  Marrok knew the words. They were simple enough. But that’s not the challenge the Aku of Irongarde had leveled at him. He wanted a guarantee no werewolf, including Bader, could offer a father, no less the witch of his heart.

  He’d told Oriana, dozens of times, that he’d never hurt her.
He’d meant those words with every fiber of his being. He simply didn’t think himself capable of harming her. Realistically, was that a promise he could keep, regardless of his intentions? The sad, disturbing truth was that he could not. Even as Marrok watched Oriana watch him, her smile dimmer for the gauntlet her father had tossed down, his mind revolted against the possibility of him giving her a reason to walk away from their union.

  If Alarick were in human form, he’d likely whisper to Marrok that Bader was an asshole. As convenient as it would be to cast that judgment at the older werewolf, Bader wasn’t an asshole but a father who wanted more for his daughter than what he’d been able to provide for her mother.

  Marrok reached behind him to his neck, unclasping the necklace hidden under his Silver Snare. “New Moon. Waxing Crescent.” One step put him closer to Oriana. “First Quarter. Waxing Gibbous.” A second step. “Full Moon. Waning Gibbous.” Silver necklace in hand, he leaned down and placed his gift around Oriana’s neck, a silver crescent moon with a dangling Nebula pendant in the center, a swirl of yellow, pink, purple, blue, and red, the colors of witch magic. “Last Quarter. Waning Crescent.” He kissed her cheek. “Eight phases of the moon, of my beating werewolf heart. Every phase belongs to you, Oriana. You’re my sol, and I’ll forever be your—” he winked at her “—heavenly body.”

  She grinned up at him, suppressing the laughter he saw in her wide, bright eyes. Because Oriana was an unrepentant flirt, she licked her lips, a sensually slow glide from one corner to the other, her eyes never leaving his.

  Her parents couldn’t see her, but his mother damn sure could. Lita’s whispered, “By this time next year, I’ll have a granddaughter to spoil,” was a sober reminder of how the ritual would end.

  The palm of Lita’s hand settled against the center of his back, her low voice reaching him again. “Well done, son. It’s time for you to shift. She’s ready to take you as her consort, but as the werewolf you are and will forever be.”

  He nodded, both acknowledging Lita’s words, as well as Oriana’s smirk and raised eyebrow. The woman could be a menace. Marrok wasn’t shy about his body, no werewolf was, but the way Oriana watched him disrobe, through lust-filled eyes, he feared he would embarrass himself. While Matriarch Kalinda and Bader couldn’t see how their daughter looked at him, with open desire, they most certainly could see his reaction to her.