The Snow Wolf (Wolves Ever After Book 1)

by Amberlyn Holland

  In the years since she'd been Taken, Myra rarely allowed herself the opportunity to test her full form drake shape. In her first transformation, she'd lost all control to the exhilaration of gliding on the currents and soaring above the mountain. It had been pure, wild freedom. A temptation so strong, Myra denied herself the pleasure of flight completely afterward for fear of losing herself completely.

  She had no idea if anyone had seen her, that first time, but it wasn't a chance she could take.

  Being spotted once by the mountain villagers might be passed off as a Mountain Clan drake losing his way or delivering a message somewhere. A second time, however, would have brought questions and scrutiny and rumors Myra couldn't risk getting back to the Mirror King.

  Now, though, none of that mattered.

  Myra's only concern was getting Sterling someplace safe before it was too late.

  Buffeting winds pushed and pulled Myra in the growing darkness. Her unfamiliar form wavered to and fro from the force of the drafts, making her fear she'd go off course before she got Sterling to safety.

  Eventually though, Myra spotted the flickering lights of lanterns and fires. And several flat circular aeries intended for landing on the jagged, uneven mountain terrain. They clearly marked the village as belonging to a dragon clan.

  Unsure of her ability to land, Myra aimed for the largest elevated platform at the heart of the village.

  Between trying to not jar Sterling and her complete lack of experience, touching down on the aerie was a terrifying, awkward struggle. She landed with an embarrassing display of twisting and stumbling before nearly falling off the edge as she desperately tried to slow her momentum.

  By the time Myra righted herself and carefully settled Sterling on the ground, five well-armed drakes in human form charged up the wide stone staircase of the aerie. They swiftly spread out around its perimeter to surround her in a semi-circle.

  Myra eyed them warily while hovering protectively over Sterling. It only took her a second to determine the man who stood facing her was a leader of some kind. She focused her attention on him.

  Auburn hair and hard hazel eyes, he was tall and broad shouldered. His leathers bore no marking to distinguish him from the other four guards. He just possessed the bearing of a man used to giving orders. And being obeyed.

  "Who are you?" he demanded when he'd finished his own assessment of Myra and Sterling. "What business do you have with the Mountain Clan?"

  With his hand firmly on the hilt of his sword, his glare glittered with unspoken threat despite Myra's full form looming over him.

  Nervous, uncertain, and not wanting to provoke a confrontation, Myra took a step back and transformed.

  When she returned to her more familiar form and the blue mist cleared, Myra clasped her hands in front of her and bowed her head politely.

  "My name is Zemyra the Weaver. I didn't know where else to go. He was captured by the Mirror King."

  Myra bit her lip to hide the trembling and gestured helplessly down at Sterling.

  He remained frighteningly still on the smooth stone of the aerie and she prayed again that it wasn't too late.

  "He's badly injured and his wounds have been poisoned."

  The leader lifted his head, nostrils flaring.

  "Wolfsbane," he snarled in disgust before crossing the expanse of the aerie to kneel next to Sterling. His hands belied his strength and temperament as he gently peeled back shredded, blood-soaked cloth to expose the extent of Sterling's wounds. Still unconscious, Sterling moan with pain despite the careful movement.

  Instinctively, Myra wanted to throw herself over Sterling. To push away the stranger and defend him from any more hurt.

  But that instinct wasn't going to help anyone. She needed the Mountain Clan if there was any hope of saving Sterling.

  Once finished examining, the leader looked at Myra, curiosity and concern replacing suspicion.

  "He's a wolf-shifter. One of the pack helping the Ardell Royal family?"

  Surprised and wary, Myra nodded slowly, reluctant to give away too much information, but knowing she had little choice. If he knew about the pack already, maybe he'd be willing to help.

  "His name is Sterling," she added, wondering if it would mean anything.

  He nodded, as if she'd confirmed something.

  "We met, briefly at Alcys," he explained, then turned to the nearest soldier. "Go get Helena. We need the Healer to look at him before we try moving him."

  As the guard raced down the steps, the leader stood up, examined Myra yet again. After a long moment of consideration, he inclined his head and placed his open palm over his chest.

  "I am Theodoric. Clan Chief of the Mountain." Lifting his head, his gaze felt like it cut through Myra.

  "What clan are you from?" The question was polite. Almost formulaic. But it held an expectant edge of command.

  Stomach rolling, Myra considered her options. This man was the authority among his people. He expected answers and honesty.

  And Myra was used to sharing little of either. Hiding her truth had kept her safe for years. But she had no idea how to fake being a true drake. Panicked, she shook her head and stumbled over her words.

  "I'm not... No clan." Myra forced herself to pause. To take a deep breath. "I don't have a clan."

  Theodoric raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  "Your full form is too pure for you to be an Ardell drake. Neither do you wear one of their sigils."

  Myra closed her eyes and swallowed, grateful that it hadn't occurred to claim Ardell as a cover story.

  The Ardell drakes had been intermarrying with their more mundane neighbors for centuries. For some reason, this made their full form coloring less vibrant than a pure-blooded drake. They also tended to proudly display some special jewelry or accessory as a sign of their drake heritage.

  Again, Myra had no idea how to answer. Because the truth was more bizarre and unbelievable than any lie she could make up.

  Thankfully, the soldier Theodoric had sent returned, rushing up the steps with the Healer in tow and distracted attention from Myra. For the moment anyway.

  Myra only got a fleeting impression of black hair, blue eyes, and green robes as the woman rushed to the center of the aerie and began examining Sterling.

  ***

  Relieved both to have attention off of her and that Sterling was finally getting help, Myra knew the reprieve would be short-lived.

  The Clan Chief wouldn't be put off from his questions for long.

  For now though, her sole focus was on making sure Sterling survived.

  But the Healers expression grew grimmer and grimmer as she examined every inch of Sterling.

  Eventually, Helena settled back on her heels, dark blue eyes clouded with doubts, worry, and regret. Hot tears brimmed in Myra's eyes even before the Healer spoke.

  "The wolfsbane is already deep in his blood. It's spread beyond any hope of containing it. None of the herbs or poultices I know can draw the poison from his body now. And while the wolfsbane remains, he will not heal."

  "There's got to be something. Anything. You have to..." The tears Myra had been fighting spilled over. Feeling helpless and furious and guilty, she sank to her knees beside Sterling, her hand curling around his and holding on tight.

  She felt the stares but didn't bother looking up. She didn't need to see their pity or resignation.

  Until Theodoric cleared his throat uncomfortably.

  "After the battle of Alcys, I heard rumors that the Glicien princess saved Prince Haddon from Dragonsbane using her fey magic to transform the poison into something harmless."

  "Unfortunately, I don't have fey magic," Helena said softly, her gaze slanting apologetically toward Myra. Then her eyes sharpened and narrowed into a hard stare. "But I may have an idea."

  Standing up abruptly, the Healer shook out her robe and commanded politely, "Take him to the healing rooms, please."

 
At Theodoric's nod of approval the four guardsmen gathered around Sterling. Myra forced herself to let go and move out of their way. She watched them with an eagle eye, but they took great care in lifting the unconscious man with as little jostling as possible.

  Determined not to take her eyes off of Sterling for a second, she followed the soldiers to the edge of the aerie.

  As they headed down the step, however, Myra noted the way Helena pulled the Clan Chief aside. They spoke too quietly for much sound to carry, but she caught enough to know the Healer requested access to the Clan's Hoard.

  Myra only hoped whatever magic she found there was strong enough to save Sterling.

  The procession moved through the streets as quickly as possible while carefully carrying an unconscious man. Myra's attention was focused on Sterling, but she vaguely noted the size of the village as they moved through it. The Clan's home village was easily twice the size of any settlement on the other side of the mountain.

  For someone used to living far from anyone or anything, the sheer number of buildings, and by implication, people, left Myra feeling small and overwhelmed.

  Nothing about tonight was about her, however. So she ignored the oppressive feeling and followed the guards into a squat, square stone building situated on the curve of a cul-de-sac.

  From the vestibule, a young blond woman in a paler green version of Helena's robe ushered them into a larger chamber.

  Once in the room, the young woman began directing the guards in a fast-paced orchestration. They settled Sterling on a raised, cushioned platform in the center of the room and swiftly removed the tattered, bloody clothing.

  "I-Is there anything I can do?"

  By the time Myra gathered her thoughts enough to ask, the guards were done and filing out of the room.

  "No. We just need to wait for the Healer now." The blond girl shook her head with a tight smile. "I'm Alna, Helena's apprentice."

  Myra introduced herself in return, but her attention was already locked once more on Sterling. Placing herself by his side, she curled her fingers around his wrist and let the reassuring throb of his pulse quiet the worst of her fears.

  Her attention focused so deeply on the subtle beat beneath her fingertips, Myra didn't hear Helena enter the room.

  Didn't notice anything at all until the Healer stepped up beside her, holding an opalescent orb in her hand, and spoke.

  "That will be all for the moment, Alna. Please prepare rooms for our guests. I'll call for you when I'm ready for assistance."

  Alna's rounded eyes and tight frown made Myra think the orders were out of the ordinary. Despite obviously wanting to, the apprentice didn't argue. She just dipped her head in acknowledgment and hurried out of the room.

  Lost and unsure and desperate for any answers, Myra found herself blurting out the first question that came to mind once she and Helena were alone.

  "Is that a Dragon Pearl?"

  "It is."

  Myra inhaled sharply and the faint spark of hope in her heart flared brightly.

  She'd heard stories a time or two about ancient dragon relics. Powerful magic artifacts, created by the Clans in the time before the ability to connect with their inborn magic faded.

  "That...You can save him with that. Right?" Myra asked tentatively.

  "Not me, child. You."

  "Me?" Myra pulled back uncertainly. "I'm not a Healer."

  It wasn't a lie. Despite what those who bought her blankets insisted, there was no secret magic in her weavings. No healing or luck or promise of pleasant dreams.

  They wanted to believe it, so it worked.

  "Maybe not. But I can see something very special. Something rare and unique."

  What had she seen? What did she know? Terrified, Myra couldn't speak around the rush of her breath. Instead, she silently shook her head in denial.

  "The Mountain Clan was formed by the Old Ones themselves," Helena explained, pushing Myra off-balance with the shift of topic. "Even after we lost the ability to wield our magic beyond what was necessary for transformation, we retained certain gifts."

  The Healer pursed her lips, staring at Myra.

  "One of my gifts allows me to see energies that flow through others. It helps me with healing to find where things aren't flowing properly. I can also see the magic inherent in each of us. And when I look at a drake, I can see the way the stream of magic is blocked and contained within the core of each drake. Even among those of us who retain some gifts, the ability to access the magic is limited and narrow."

  Helena paused, serious and searching, and Myra wanted to run. To escape before the Healer said anything else.

  Her hand stayed curled around Sterling's, though, knowing she couldn't leave him.

  "Nothing contains or restrains the magic in you," Helena said with firm certainty that dared Myra to deny it. "The magic flows through you freely."

  Biting her lip, Myra tried to reject Helena's words, but she couldn't even convince herself anymore.

  She'd suspected, occasionally, when the hum of contentment seemed to flow from her into the threads she wove. But Myra never let herself think about it too much. It was easier to pretend people were superstitious. That it was all wishful thinking when they said she wove magic in blankets. Even when she felt something as she worked the loom. Something that hadn't been there before she was Taken and changed.

  Even the sixth sense she'd always possessed had become stronger and more insistent. After.

  With every fiber of her being, Myra wanted to deny the truth. But she still couldn't seem to find her voice.

  Gaze filled with compassion and determination, Helena walked around the platform until she stared at Myra across Sterling's unmoving form.

  "You are the only one capable of this. I can help you and guide you, but it must be you who heals your friend."

  Myra swallowed down the knot of fear and denial still blocking her throat. Saving Sterling was the only choice.

  So many of her secrets were already out in the open, now. What was one more?

  "All right. How do we do this?"

  Helena's relief was palpable, but she didn't even take a breath before focusing on the task at hand.

  She placed the Pearl on Sterling's chest and curled her fingers over half of the shimmering sphere.

  "We will both anchor our power in the Dragon Pearl. Then you will be able to see the energy that I see. And I will be able to guide you where you need to go. The rest should come naturally to you."

  Myra wanted to protest that none of this had come naturally to her. But she had a feeling that wouldn't change Helena's instructions.

  So instead of arguing, she copied the Healer's posture, hand cupping her half of the Pearl lightly.

  And waited.

  But there was no spark. No sudden inspiration. Nothing changed.

  "I don't... I can't..."

  "Close your eyes," Helena instructed firmly.

  Myra followed the order instinctively and, instead of the world going dark, it glowed with a kaleidoscope of brilliantly colored light pulsing behind her eyelids. A metallic flood of power filled her.

  Answering an unheard call, Myra felt like she flowed into the Pearl.

  Disoriented and flailing, Myra was hopelessly lost until the sensation of Helena nudged her. She followed the Healer's wake, finding streaks of angry red and sullen black amongst the lines of brilliant white and green. The darker colors invading and choking off the currents until the lines around them dimmed as well.

  Intuitively, Myra flowed around a vicious crimson line, wrapping it cool silver. Slowly the ravaging darkness seeped out, leaving healthy, vibrant green in its wake.

  Inch by inch, Myra poured through the streaks of light, following Helena's lead until no hint of red or black remained.

  Determined, she kept searching, pushing herself to find even the smallest trace until Helena whispered to her. "Enough. It's done. He'll heal now. You can let go.
"

  Distantly, Myra felt her fingers slip off the Pearl.

  Exhausted, she stumbled backward as she tried to reorient herself in a world that was more than light and shadow.

  She heard Helena calling her with whispers of reassurance. Felt Alna's cool touch guide her through unfamiliar halls. Gratefully she sank onto a bed that seemed to appear from nowhere.

  And then, the deepness of sleep carried her away.

  Chapter Eleven

  AWARENESS SLOWLY pulled Sterling up from the depths of peaceful, painless unconsciousness.

  Along with awareness came the memory of agonizing injuries and he automatically tensed against the expected wave of pain.

  But pain didn't come.

  A deep, primal part of Sterling feared what that meant. Because not hurting, after what he'd endured, might be worse than the agony he'd anticipated.

  Not ready to face those possibilities yet, he kept his eyelids shut tight and cataloged his surroundings first.

  Quiet surrounded him, but footsteps and the soft murmur of voices echoed not far away. Soft sheets enveloped him and a firm bed supported him. The mingled odors of chamomile, sage, ginger and other herbs suffused the room.

  Most importantly, Myra's scent lingered in the air. Familiar but faded.

  With all that, Sterling still didn't know where he was. Or what had happened.

  Annoyed with his cowardice, Sterling finally took stock of his injuries.

  His limbs lay heavy at his sides, weighed down with weariness. Stiff and uncomfortable from disuse. And Sterling realized he wasn't as completely free of pain as he first thought. He just wasn't experiencing the overwhelming agony he expected.

  There was a deep ache in his side where the Troll chieftain sliced poison-coated claws into him. The smaller multitude of wounds from the Mirror King's questioning hardly registered at all. Even the pain in the back of his skull had dulled to a barely noticeable pulse of discomfort.

  That Sterling was mostly healed should have been a relief, but it did nothing to alleviate his fears. With the wolfsbane flowing through his body, his wounds should have killed him. Or, at the very least, taken months to recover from.