Octavia laughed and the sound - delighted, easy - warmed him. Soon she was crawling between the two of them and Roderick remembered Bel’s words about her needing to be in the middle. Needing to be held and cared for in a different way than how she loved and protected everyone in the town. That he could do. He and Bel drew their arms and legs around Octavia and even when she rubbed against him, sighingly content, he could feel her energy. Her need.
It was a need that woke him hours later when her nails scratched at him. Octavia looked abashed, though. “Sorry,” she murmured, tucking her face back into his neck.
“It’s all right.” Roderick smoothed her hair with the palm of his hand, trying to distract from how his heart beat harder, faster around her.
Bel grumbled in their sleep and pulled Octavia closer, which pulled him as well. Octavia bit back a quiet laugh. “They hate being moved when they’re asleep.”
“I see that.” He pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Are you okay, Octavia?”
Hesitance furrowed her brow but she nodded. “As well as can be expected given the times.”
“No, I meant...I meant that as well. But with us. The three of us tonight.” He cast his gaze away but she was beside him, all marked skin and tumbled hair and he felt the gravity of whatever lay between them pull at him once more.
Octavia’s hand cradled his jaw and their eyes met once more. “You are wonderful,” she said softly. “Not many people can say they’ve found one, let alone two, people who satisfy physical needs so well. I’ve lived a long time, Roderick.” She leaned in to kiss him, her touch sweet. “And many like me don’t get more than a few chances. I won’t speak for Bel but I know how I feel with you around. And I like it.”
Roderick was no fool, nor was he particularly romantic in the traditional sense. Being embraced - in all the ways that meant - by a creature of such age and wisdom, desire and devotion, made him want to earn it over and over again. “After this is done, I’ve thought about what I might do.” He paused. Airing this thought, this fear, aloud was almost painful. But avenging Yasmin’s death was a door he wished to close; what came after had been something that eluded him. He could continue on, take on a new partner, or try to strike out as a mercenary. Other Rangers had done similar things in the past.
This odd little town and its odd inhabitants felt strangely like a new chance. For years, decades, he’d overthought things. Spontaneity was not the mark of an Arman, his mother liked to say. Easy for her to hand down those views to her only child and expect him to stay true, to toe the line. To not bring shame on the family in any way.
His aptitude for crossbows? A shame. His affinity for birds, the joy he experienced in watching them, befriending them? Not befitting a man of his station. Letting his partner be murdered, and by a feral vampire? A stain on the family name.
Moving to a place like Wilderwood would be the final nail in his coffin. Something squirmed in his gut at the thought, but not in distaste or worry.
“Would there be a place here for me, should I choose to stay?” When Octavia’s brow furrowed, he rushed to explain, felt the need to. “The calling isn’t what it used to be. To the Rangers, their mission. I’ve long wondered if a quieter life would suit me better. Raise some goats, start a garden, learn to fish.”
“I like that. Easy, simple.” Octavia brushed his hair back, letting her fingertips linger near his temple. “There’s land on the east side of town that’s property of the estate. Consider it yours.” Her lips twitched in a grin. “I’ll even throw in a housewarming sheep. Best watch out, though.”
“Why do I feel like oh no is the appropriate response?”
“The sheep levitates.”
Roderick laughed and then quickly muffled it in his fist. Octavia was shaking beside him in laughter, too, and their movement caused Bel to grouse at them. “You’re making the mattress vibrate,” they grumped, pulling Octavia tighter to them. “And don’t you dare give Beep Beep away. That sheep will live longer than us all.”
Octavia snickered. “I hate that damn thing.”
“But you love Maribelle.”
Instantly Octavia’s features softened at the unasked question on Roderick’s face. “She’s the blacksmith’s granddaughter. Little sprite of a thing - not an actual sprite but she could be. But she loves that damnable sheep.”
“And his name is Beep Beep?” Roderick asked, both charmed and confused.
“Bartholomew,” Octavia corrected with a grimace. “Or Barty. But when Maribelle was little she couldn’t say either so it turned into ‘Bee Bee’ and then Beep Beep.”
Yes, definitely charmed. He didn’t bother hiding his smile. “I’ll build Beep Beep the best enclosure and give Maribelle the key.” His tone turned serious as he sobered. “She left town with her family?”
Octavia nodded. “They’ve relatives on the other side of the river, thank all the gods. I know we could have taken others in and that I shouldn’t play favorites but….” She trailed off, her eyes going distant. “A story for another time.”
“Go to sleep,” Bel said, their voice pressed into the pillows, their fingers tightening on Octavia’s waist. “Or I’m kicking you both out.”
The vampire rolled over and pressed a kiss to Bel’s shoulder. “You wouldn’t kick me out of my own bed.”
“Mmmmpft. Sleep.”
Roderick curled against Octavia’s back and when she pressed into him he felt heat spark in his belly. His hand drifted up her leg, achingly close to the apex of her thighs. “How quiet can you be?”
She tipped her head back with a feral grin. “I don’t breathe, Roderick.”
“Good point.”
***
Mama Stockton loved Wilderwood. It was quiet, she could cook to her heart’s content, and if someone caused trouble all she had to do was look at them. Octavia Wilder supported all. Even someone like her. So almost one hundred years ago, when the inn needed a keeper and a cook after it was rebuilt in the aftermath of a lightning strike, Mama finally decided to settle down. With her old bones she was long overdue, but Wilderwood was the first place in her very long life she’d felt truly safe.
Her given name was Val’tanisz but it had been hundreds of years since she’d used it. It was less name and more title and it was an inclination of hers to keep such naming gestures after she’d taken a human form. So ‘Mama’ was her title now, and it was the one she hoped carried her to the Bronze Plateau, where her ancestors once said all those like her went after death.
Mama had stayed in Wilderwood so long she was bound to this place. And even if not bound, she would have done anything to protect it. Just because she was long in the tooth didn’t mean she couldn’t fight, couldn’t defend what was hers and what she loved.
So when the town was evacuated, she stayed. Not just in Wilderwood, but at The Drake’s Rest. She’d just sent some of the scouts off with fresh bread and hot tea; as silence settled over her domain once more, she refocused her sight on the woods behind the inn. Something had felt wrong earlier in the evening, but when Gregory and a few other weres inspected the area, they found nothing. So she’d kept one eye on that line of dark trees all night while she cut vegetables and chicken and prepared more bread dough.
Mama was looking over the pile of carrots on her massive butcher block board when she felt it again. Sourceless energy but wrong. She wasn’t one for fancy words or complicated explanations, but she knew right from wrong, up from down. And this felt all kinds of sideways and backwards. Mama hefted the cleaver in her fist and walked out the kitchen’s back door.
Going into a full transformation might knock her out for a solid day afterwards, so instead of running rampant in the woods in her true form, she let the muddy brown color drop from her irises. When the glamour faded the nictitating membranes over her actual eyes flickered briefly before her true sight focused. No claws, no wings; couldn’t afford that. But her sight was enough. Amidst the wet leaves and leftover detritus from winter on the ground was a s
plash of color. She raised her head and sniffed the air, catching the scent of copper. Mama let it wash over her for a long moment and that flicker happened once more.
An old instinct rose up in her, like a bear from hibernation. “Wind smells like blood and bone, damp bark and decay. “Winter bleeds into spring but death follows instead of life,” she muttered before she sniffed the air again and all her senses snapped into place. The buzz of energy in the woods was that of the Faelands; it bit and stung and made her hackles raise. Given what Octavia and the others had been discussing, this made sense. A sick kind, mind you, but a sense all the same.
“Well, come on then,” she said aloud to the cold night air. “Come see what you make of an old griffin, eh?”
***
Octavia shot up in bed, her senses on fire. Something’s wrong. She shook her companions awake before fully realizing what she was doing and as they blinked sleep from their eyes, she was already zipping around the room at near full speed. Clothes and coats and weapons were suddenly before both humans and Octavia stood in front of them, her eyes going dark, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Stay here, keep everyone safe,” she said, voice hoarse with anger. The shift in her demeanor was startling even to her.
Whatever pulled at her instincts made her want to bare her teeth, hook her fingers into claws, and rip flesh from bones, tear eyes from sockets. Something threatened Wilderwood and it was a clear and present danger now.
Roderick hesitated but Bel was immediately springing into action, pulling on clothes and righting their braids. “Don’t do anything rash,” they said, voice rough with sleep. Bel pulled Octavia to them, kissed her briefly. Now moved from his stupor, Roderick grabbed Octavia’s arm as she went by.
At full speed.
“The Armans have excellent eyesight. Better reflexes,” he said before pressing a kiss to her slightly parted lips. “Long story. Go.”
“So the rumors are true.” Bel seated the final dagger onto their person. “I’m very curious.”
“I bet you are.” Roderick yanked his shirt down, crossed in front of Bel, and kissed them. “And you can continue to be until the three of us have a moment that doesn’t involve danger.”
***
Octavia heard the fighting before she saw any evidence. Bone on metal, the crash of a tree, a shout followed by a roar of pain. Gregory’s face was coated in blood, his hands furred and clawed; she was at his side in an instant. Her friend and his scouts were bruised but angry, their growls vibrating in her ribs.
They were all focused on the three tall, armored figures slowly advancing on them with swords out. Masked with blank ovals and clad in blinding white armor, they could have been anyone or anything. But the masks cut off below where a nose would be and their haunting, grey-gummed, fanged grins made them horrifying.
And then Octavia saw their scimitars glinting with magic. It called to her the way magic did on occasion, when its roots were filthy, forbidden. The realms teemed with unknown powers and magics, but nothing called to her the way the Sanguine Arts did.
That seductress. Pulsing, free-flowing blood from a freshly tapped vein. The urge to rip their heads from their bodies, shove her fists into their chests and shred their organs….that was the blood powering their magic. Octavia wanted to throw up. The Sanguine Arts were as forbidden here as in the Faelands, but if the monarch did it, that only gave others permission to do so as well. And these eyeless, ghoulish, grinning fiends with swords that sparked crimson were hers through and through.
“Dark Watchers,” she said softy as they moved forward again. Closer. Closer still.
Gregory froze. “Those are forbidden.”
“Not anymore, apparently.” Her mind raced. Blood magic usually had to be fought with blood magic. She was no mage or sorcerer but she could overcharge her own system and cause a distraction, or...
A cleaver - expertly thrown, a whirling blade of death - hit the back of the left Dark Watcher. The monster froze, stiffened, and whirled as Mama Stockton charged forward. “Not this town,” she said as her hands shot out, grabbed the Dark Watcher by the mask, and squeezed. The other two Dark Watchers kept advancing on Octavia, Gregory, and the scouts. Octavia rushed forward. She wasn’t about to let Mama Stockton take down these things alone.
“Get out of here!” She yelled at the scouts before blurring forward. Their magic pulsed within her, trying to exert influence. In the next moment she was before the middle Dark Watcher, her hand on its scimitar. She stared right into its sightless blank mask, smelled the blood and roses on them, and grinned. Her fangs were now needles, her hands razor-sharp talons that could have cut a tree like an axe. The glow of her sin marks suffused them in a soft white light. “Let’s see what takes you apart.”
Her blows were fast, true. But the harder she struck, the more the creature withstood. It was like punching and clawing at a wall. If she kept going at this pace she’d wear herself out and that was likely the thing’s plan all along. Staring into that blank mask sent shivers down her spine, and she was not a thing that got the shivers.
Gregory’s roar was deep, guttural, and Octavia caught sight of him in full transformation right before he leapt into the air, knocking the Dark Watcher to the side but not down. She turned as a sickening, slick crunch was followed by Val’tanisz’s scream of triumph. Followed by the splatter of black ichor on the ground as the Dark Watcher slumped to the side. Her clawed feet now visible, Val’tanisz jumped into the fray, sending the Dark Watcher in Octavia’s grip flying to smash into a tree.
“Is it dead?” she asked before punching the Dark Watcher on Gregory in the gut. If it had a gut. It seemed unperturbed by her blow and that was disheartening at best.
“Looks pretty fucking dead to me,” Val’tanisz replied before launching into the air, snatching the other Dark Watcher with her talons hooked in its armor.
“I want its sword!” Octavia yelled as she ducked out of the other’s reach.
“Deal with that later!” Gregory yelled back as he jumped over the Dark Watcher and raked down its back with his claws. The sharp sizzle of magic didn’t give her any time to jump out of the way as its armor reacted to the blow, staggering them both. Hazily she realized it must be some kind of magic meant to keep such hits at bay. She was sprawled in the dirt, cheek pressed into the ground as blood dripped down her face. With a hiss she got to her feet as the Dark Watcher advanced on Gregory, who was also prone in the dirt.
It didn’t even spare a glance her way as it brought its sword down.
Octavia screamed.
Val’tanisz heard her scream from above and swooped down, anger fueling her dive as she beelined to the remaining Dark Watcher. She’d ripped the other one’s head off between her talons and beak, leaving its parts strewn about the forest.
But she was too late. The ravens had come to help, to defend, and the flock of them now surrounding the last Dark Watcher was a throbbing, pulsing mass of black feathers, horrendous cries, and the flutter of wings. The Dark Watcher thrashed under them and she could see the tip of the scimitar blade trying to cut through the birds. A small group of them plucked the blade from its grip and threw it aside while the rest worked in tandem to tear apart their prey.
The ravens had ripped the Dark Watcher’s mask off and as it toppled to the ground, she saw the blood and ichor stains inside that pristine white mask. Saw the skinless, eyeless creature that had the ears and jaw of a human. A faceless, mindless servant for the Queen. She landed hard, the whump of her feet on the ground sending leaves and forest debris in all directions.
Val’tanisz was there, talons extended, eyes blazing as she slit the final Dark Watcher’s throat with as much ease as she chopped vegetables. The comparison was not lost on Octavia as she helped Gregory - once again human - to his feet. “Since when do we have ravens?” Val’tanisz rumbled, her speech a mess of ancient and modern tongues only Octavia and Gregory understood.
“I think I have a Ranger to thank,” Octavia muttered, turning her ga
ze skyward once more. “We need to check on the rest of the town and the manor. None of the alarms have gone off but I’m not taking any chances.” She looked around, desperate for any explanation. “Where the fuck did they come from?”
“Heard something in the woods a bit earlier. Spotted that, came out to inspect.” Val’tanisz pointed at the splotch of black-red petals amongst forest litter. “Saw them coming and then you all showed up. Makes me glad to know you’ve got an old griffin’s back.”
“Of course,” Octavia murmured, pulling Val’tanisz to her in a side hug. “Where would we be without you?”
Val’tanisz snorted but Octavia could tell she was pleased. “Underfed and without a proper inn.”
“Only one of those is a dire sin,” Gregory said, still a little breathless after being knocked away by the Dark Watcher’s magic. He strode forward toward the object on the ground, bent over, and very carefully plucked it up with the remains of his shirt. His broad, hairy chest shone with sweat and gore and Octavia was struck with understanding once again at how much he kept reeled in, kept tucked away. So much like she did. Other kind and weres lived long lives if they stayed out of the way of humans but for creatures like her and Gregory it wasn’t about appearing human, about passing for something they weren’t.
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