by Liv Brywood
Kael catches my hand before I can turn to go. When he sees the fear in my eyes, his jaw firms. His shoulders straighten, and his grip intensifies. He won’t let me go so easily, and for that, I am grateful.
“What just happened?”
“Adrian. He was here, but he wasn’t. Like a vision from the past.”
“He’s not here.”
“It felt so real.”
“But it wasn’t.” Our gazes lock once more. He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand, just once. “When you’re ready to come down off that mountain, you let me know.”
The tears threaten to spill from my eyes. I nod and release his hand. He doesn’t understand that I’ll never be ready. The specter of Adrian will always be there. Not because I still love Adrian, I don’t. Not even close. But because I let a man destroy my heart once, and I just can’t do it again.
Chapter 8
Bastian
My body burns like fire as I shift from human to bear form. Bones crack and re-align, muscles ripple and deform, while shaggy fur sprouts from undulating skin. Dropping heavily to all fours, I join the search for the possessed creatures who dared to hurt Azealia.
While the others rely on Azealia’s spell to find her tormenter, I prefer to rely on my trusty old snout. A hundred different scents play across my palette, and filtering through them would normally be a daunting task, but I’m determined to find out who’s trying to hurt her, and why.
Above me, in the crooked limbs of a pine tree, a pregnant squirrel stows away nuts in a hollow. Heavy musk from a forest fox in heat lingers upon the low foliage, mixing with the aroma of decaying vegetation. The crisscrossing trails of the wolf pack are strong here as well, but there’s one major odor which is distinct from all of the rest.
The hair which Azealia had managed to steal from her attacker had a peculiar smell about it. Without being able to really put my finger on it, the best description I can come up with is old, dusty, dead things. Like long after the rot is over, when all that’s left is withered skin hanging loosely over jagged, broken bones.
My bear form lopes alongside a rushing, narrow river. Moonlight reflects off the flowing water, creating an aura which is totally at odds with the smell of death and decay. On any other night, I’d use the light to help me fish in the river. But not tonight.
Suddenly, the scent I’ve been searching for assails my senses. My wet nose sniffs at the ground, and I finally detect the path taken by the musty, dead-smelling thing.
I turn my shaggy head toward the trail I’d followed to get here. By my estimate, I’m roughly a mile away from Azealia’s cozy little cabin. I could go back and tell the others what I’ve found, or I can follow it deeper into the woods. Until I know what we’re up against, I don’t want to bring the others into it, so I continue sniffing and tracking the creature.
The sounds of a wild chase occurring in the woods echoes throughout the trees. The noise of howling wolves, followed by the deranged cawing of the bizarrely affected crows, creates a cacophony which I ignore. I have perfect confidence in the pack’s ability to bring down its prey. I’ll let them deal with the birds while I track the real threat.
As I continue to inhale the putrid scent, my fur stands on end. Something is very wrong with this creature. It should be dead, but it isn’t. It’s unnaturally alive. But how?
My bear paws tear into the ground as I increase my speed. Rough-barked trees speed past in the gloom, their branches gaunt and sinister in the night. As I dodge between their grasping lengths, I trample smaller one. Thatches of fur catch on the sharpest of them, but I ignore the sparks of pain as my fur is ripped out.
The smell grows stronger. I’m on the right track, but I slow my pace, moving with caution. I don’t know what I’m going up against, but whatever it is, I’ve never encountered it before. It would be fooling to rush headlong into a fight before knowing what I’m dealing with.
Heavy pads on the bottom of my paws absorb the sound of my passage. In the wild, you might be mere feet from a grizzly and never know it unless the bear wants you to. I use my natural stealth now, because I don’t want to let the undead thing know I’m coming.
What if it has a keen sense of smell also?
My predatory senses are on high alert, so I approach the creature from upwind. I still haven’t seen it, but it’s close.
The musty earth smell of a cave reaches my nostrils. The scent I’ve been tracking rolls out of the cavern in putrid waves. I stop at the edge of the forest, just inside the tree line. The yawning blackness of a cave’s mouth beckons me. Whatever I’ve been tracking is in there, but do I dare go in alone?
I pace back and forth in front of the entrance. Whatever attacked Azealia must be inside. Anything powerful enough to mess with her must be bad news. Should I go in alone, or should I tell the ancient and powerful witch about my find?
Eventually, I decide to risk going into the darkness. It would take some time to return to Azealia, valuable time during which the thing I’ve tracked might escape. I can’t let that happen.
As I pad into the mouth of the subterranean space, the smell of decay and rot is strong, much stronger than I’d expected. My bear snuffles and shakes his head. It wants to leave. I fight the urge, and together we spelunk even further into the musty gloom.
It’s obviously an old, natural aqueduct which used to funnel an ancient stream through the mountains. Smooth stones lie under my feet, while dangling stalactites hang ominously overhead. I recall seeing a movie once where someone got impaled by a falling stalactite. Or was it a stalagmite? I always get those confused.
The scent of death is overpowering. I come to an area of flattened dirt where something had laid down to rest. Something foul. Something… rotten.
Dead things aren’t supposed to move around. Is my nose finally going out? Have I reached an age where my ability to track has started to fade? Or maybe I’ve gone crazy, and I’m wasting my time in this godforsaken place.
I gradually get a hold of myself. No, there’s something here. I’m certain of it. The smell might be unnatural, it might be something I’ve never encountered, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real. Something attacked Azealia. Something that smelled like death. Until I find evidence to the contrary, I’m going to operate on the assumption that I’m not alone in here.
After thoroughly exploring the tunnels, I don’t find anything of interest. I decide to make my way back out to the forest. When I reach the threshold, a pine-scented breeze ruffles my fur. I’m so relieved to be out of the darkness, that I almost miss the sound of something approaching through the underbrush.
Silently, I creep to a nearby bush and crouch low, concealing myself in dark shadows. There is nothing I can do about my scent, but at least I’ll be in a good position to perform an ambush.
The wind shifts direction. I catch a whiff of fear tinged sweat. For Azealia, it’s an odd combination, but I’d know her particular scent anywhere.
She careens into the meadow. Wind catches her tangle of red tresses and blows strands across her face. A few leaves and thin twigs have ensnared themselves in those crimson locks, but she doesn’t seem to notice them. Instead, she’s staring into the mouth of the cave with her big, green eyes.
As I shift back into my human form, my pack slides from shoulders. I quickly change into my human clothing.
Azealia hears me rustling in the brush.
“Who’s there?”
She stands with her body sideways, and her arms spread wide. Her left hand glows a violet hue of protective magic, while a sickly yellow phosphorescence covers her right hand. It’s probably some sort of poisonous spell. I drink in the sight of her at her full power. She’s Goddess incarnate, and she’s about to blast my dumb ass.
“It’s me, darlin’.” I crawl out of the brush and straighten my plaid flannel shirt. She relaxes. The magic nimbuses fade into nothingness. “What’s wrong? You look like the hounds of hell have been nipping at your heels. Have you been running this whole way?”
“I’m—” She heaves a heavy sigh. “I used datura and had a vision. I’m concerned about the birds. That’s all.”
Now, I reckon I know Azealia about as well as anybody can know a reclusive hermit, but I can tell that she’s holding something back. She’s keeping something from me. It should bother me, but it doesn’t. I know Azealia wouldn’t hide what she’s really thinking without a good reason, so I let it drop.
“Want to see what I’ve found?” I ask.
“The birds?” Her brow furrows in confusion.
“No, I haven’t been tracking the birds at all.”
“Bastian, that was the whole point of this organized hunt.”
The look of disappointment in her eyes makes my heart die a little. “I’m sorry, but this was important, too.”
“If you weren’t tracking those possessed crows, what have you been doing?”
“Remember when you showed me the hair from the attack?”
“Yes.”
“Well, my bear told me that there was a weird scent to it, like the smell of death, and old rot, and decay. Not fresh, juicy decay, but meaty death, like yesterday’s roadkill. Old, dry death, like an ancient tomb.”
Azealia purses her lips and her posture changes to one of weariness. She wipes sweat from her brow and sits down on a nearby log. I don’t think she’s physically tired, it’s more like mental fatigue.
“What you’re saying doesn’t make much sense, Bastian. Are you saying that I was attacked by something dead?”
“Well, there’s dark magic, right? Maybe someone tried Voodoo and raised a zombie or somethin’?”
“Oh, stop.” Azealia flashes a brief smile. “Voodoo isn’t the dark, menacing thing you believe it to be. That’s all just myth and rumor.”
“But there are spells that revolve around dead stuff, right?”
“There are some necromantic spells, but I would have detected the use of them. This isn’t Voodoo related.”
“Huh. Well, I don’t know if it’s a dead thing or not. All I know is that the scent led me here.” I gesture toward the cave. “To this place.”
“Have you gone inside?”
“Only fifty feet or so. I’ll go back in with you if you want.” I hold out my hand.
After a moment’s consideration, she takes it, allowing me to pull her to her feet. We hold hands all the way to the threshold where she abruptly stops. She raises her hand and a yellow nimbus surrounds her fingers. Using this as illumination, she steps into the cave and I follow a step behind. Her free hand traces yellow light through the air, and then sends a ball of fire streaking off into the deeper recesses of the cavern.
“What was that?”
“A tracing spell. If someone is using necromancy magic, I’ll find out.”
I show her the spot where the undead thing had sat down for a time.
“What could it be?” she muses.
As we consider it, I notice that she still has some leaves still stuck in her hair.
“Hold still for a second.”
“What’s wrong?”
“You got some leaves stuck in your hair.”
I step behind her and start plucking debris from her gorgeous hair. As I fumble with detangling a stubborn stem from her tresses, she leans back into my body. It’s an unexpected intimacy that sends both my hopes and my heart rate soaring.
When my hand brushes the last vestige of the leaves from her hair, she turns around and places her hands on my chest. Her eyes are shimmering with hope, and with longing. I can’t resist the pull between us.
Leaning over, I gently kiss her lips. My hands slip around her waist, and slowly the kiss becomes something more. Her mouth is sweeter and more intoxicating than I’d ever dreamed it could be. And now I don’t have to hide how I feel any longer. It’s finally happening. We’re finally exploring this energy between us.
I back her into the wall. She melts into the kiss, clinging to my shirt and letting soft moans slip from her lips. When she hooks her leg around my thigh, I press toward her, pushing my growing erection against her belly. Her hands slide to my ass, and her lips part. As her tongue invades my mouth, I let out a low growl of pleasure. She smiles.
Of course, that’s right when the stupid wolf pack decides to kick up a monstrously raucous howl. It’s a predator’s howl, a howl of success on the hunt.
Azealia startles. Her body stiffens in my arms. We stare at the entrance for a moment, and then a sudden commotion from deeper in the rock catches our attention. Hundreds upon hundreds of dark, winged shapes come bursting out of the rear of the cave. They don’t attack us, far from it. Instead they nimbly dodge around us as we stare in amazement.
I’ve never seen a bat up close before. They’re so little and furry, but with huge teeth, abnormally large teeth. They don’t look right. Something’s not right about them. But the sheer number of them keeps me from overanalyzing their odd appearance.
Their squeaks and clicks make my ears ring, but it’s an awesome sight to see the entire profusion of them circling around and bursting into the night air.
I glance at Azealia. Her eyes are wide and shining. Her lips part and a sigh of wonder brushes over my skin.
When all the bats have fled, she gently disentangles herself from my embrace. I feel the loss of her all the way into my soul. We’d finally had a moment alone, together, and now this.
As she moves toward the mouth of the cave, the wolves continue to howl. Our moment has passed, and all I can do is admire the curve of her hips as she walks into the moonlight. With the taste of her still on my lips, I sigh and follow her outside.
Chapter 9
Cobalt
Golden light from the setting sun blankets Azealia’s garden in a magical glow. I’m standing by her side, watching the wolves pad away. They’re taking their stony Alpha with them, leaving me alone with my mate. Earlier, Bastian, the beastly bear shifter, had left to talk to his clan about the birds. I can’t stand that brute of a man. He’s not right for Azealia, but he wants her. I see it in the way his gaze slides across her body. Kael looks at her the same way, which is too damn bad because he can’t have her. Neither of them can. She’s mine.
Azealia’s delicate fingers wrap around the handle of a birdcage. Confusion knits her brow. She whispers an incantation to weave threads of magic around the cage to contain the evil inside. Wildly beating wings thrash against the metal bars. The wolves had captured our prisoner earlier today. It’s a silver-eyed crow, and it’s almost mad with the desire to escape. Azealia has charmed it into silence, but it’s still violently assaulting the enclosure.
I don’t pay much attention to the crow because Azealia’s beauty is captivating. I notice everything about her—the plumpness of her irresistible lips, the delicate pink of her tongue that flicks out to moisten them, and the way she cocks her head as she studies the bird.
She’s still wearing my gift, the wrap made of blue linen with small stars woven in. The cloth snuggles against her hips, and drapes across her breasts. I envy that fabric and wish it were my hands caressing her body instead.
“Have you seen anything like this before?” She asks as she turns to me.
“Anything like you? No. You’re glorious.” I give her a confident smile.
She looks up, lips parted, expression innocent, and then a hint of color pinks her cheeks. She smiles. “You’re as sweet as ever.”
Now it’s my turn to flush.
She reaches out, smoothing her small hand across my stubbled cheek. I haven’t shaved since yesterday. After being up all night while working on her gift, I didn’t have time for much more than a quick shower this morning.
“The feathers seem standard, but there’s a very peculiar iridescence to them.” I nod toward the bird. “They’d look stunning on a cloak, or a fascinator.”
“A what?”
“It’s a style of hat.”
“I’m sure crow feathers are excellent materials, but have you seen a possessed animal before?”
“It’s a very rare skill. I’ve never met another witch who could wield possessive magic. I’ll have to keep researching this type of sorcery. It might lead me to the culprit behind the attack.”
She touches the hollow of her throat, a spot she strokes frequently when she thinks. My new gift for her was designed to fit perfectly in that spot. However, she seems to have acquired a different necklace. It’s a carved bear claw which has been woven into a leather strap. It’s crude and devoid of any skill, clearly made by an amateur.
That’s a mating token, my dragon snarls. My belly twists as his eyes and throat begin to glow with molten fire. He’s ready to unleash his fury, and I can hardly contain him. The bear must have given it to her. Bastian.
I shake my head slightly as my dragon urges me to leave and find Bastian so we can burn him to a crisp. I would never act on that impulse because I can see that Azealia has a deep friendship with the bear shifter. Letting my jealousy go unchecked will only hurt me in the long run. She’d never forgive me if I killed her friend.
Tell her about the gift, my dragon urges.
“I have something for you.”
“More gifts? But you just gave me this gorgeous shawl yesterday. I still need to find a way to thank you for that. The charms you wove into it may have saved my life.”
Pride rises in me like liquid gold, and my dragon gives a roar of conquest. The sweet silk of her gaze is more rewarding than anything I could have asked for.
“I don’t know about that, but thank you, nonetheless.” She chuckles while squeezing my hand.
Did I say that out loud?
Yes, my dragon snickers.
“I’ll always welcome a gift,” she says softly.
My heart swells until it’s nearly too big for my chest, or maybe that’s just my dragon resting on my ribcage.