Primal Burdens: (The Uruwashi Series #5)

by Christina Moore

  The thought more than cooled Tristan down and as he wandered without really seeing. He stopped suddenly having come to the edge of a clearing, the very same one he was sitting in last night when Ash found him. He smiled and strolled towards the center.

  Yes, there was something about this place, he felt it in his bones, a tension, compression that was soothing the way a swaddled baby was comforted. He felt it now much the way he felt a vampire, and yet, he knew without trying, that he could push out his metaphysical will and the earth would respond to him and that response would only grow stronger once he was done “priming”. He was a Master of Earth now.

  With a content sigh, Tristan sat on the cold ground, ran his fingers through the winter-dead grass. He tensed when he felt a presence nearby but pretended as though he hadn’t noticed. But it didn’t matter, as it took him only a few moments to discern who it was by the earthy, musky flavor.

  “Sorry, but I don’t have any dog treats in my pocket for you.”

  There was a growly bark in answer and then the biggest damn tawny-colored dog he’d ever seen was standing in front of him. Human instincts told him to be very afraid, but he knew the mind behind those amber eyes, knew the man in that wolf’s body wouldn’t risk hurting him.

  “Fuck, dude… you make one damn big dog, you know?”

  Kiba let out a little howl and sat on his haunches. Tristan sighed at him, digging into his pocket for the banana. He watched the wolf as he peeled it and took a bite, then curled his nose up, forcing himself to swallow the bite.

  “Ugh. I used to love bananas. Guess my taste buds won’t be the same anymore.” He huffed and held it up. “You want it?”

  Kiba only stared at him.

  “What?” he asked, tossing the banana aside.

  Still the dog just stared.

  “You know, this would be a hell of a lot easier if I could hear your mind like the vampires.” And you know what, shouldn’t he? Maybe it wouldn’t set in until his transformation phase was over, or maybe he had to train to use it, like a muscle. Whatever the answer, he wished he knew, but damn if he hadn’t gotten used to being in the dark.

  Kiba whimpered softly and lay down, resting his head in Tristan’s lap. He meant to complain but, fuck him, it felt right. In this place of power, in the dark with a werewolf whom he’d had human conversations with, he felt more right than he had in ages.

  “Come’er,” he said softly, motioning and Kiba sidled up closer for Tristan to pet his massive body. “And if you tell anyone I did this, I’ll skin you so Wren can wear your pelt like a cape.”

  Kiba nosed his hand, whimpering.

  Tristan chuckled softly, raking his fingers into Kiba’s thick coat. “Yeah, I get it. Christ, I’ve no idea what to do with you when Desmond comes around again. He’s going to be fucking pissed, you know. No matter what anyone says, he’s going to think you did it on purpose.”

  And, as far as he was concerned, Desmond had to come around. There was no other outcome. There couldn’t be. God, not to mention Ellie, that poor girl.

  Kiba whimpered, snuggling closer.

  Tristan wasn’t sure how long he sat there, petting the wolf but at one point two little goats wandered by. They didn’t pay much attention to the pair and both Tristan and Kiba watched as they lazed about, plucking weeds. They looked happy to him.

  “I wonder if they have names,” he said aloud for no reason. It wasn’t like Kiba could talk to him like this. He suddenly grinned. “I don’t care what Ash says, they’re Korbin and Leeloo.”

  The noise Kiba made, despite made by canine vocal cords, was a laugh that clearly said “give me a fucking break”.

  Tristan chuckled and laid back. Kiba immediately moved to stretch out along his side with his head on Tristan’s shoulder, nose nearly touching Tristan’s jaw. He smelled musky, like a dog, and of the woods, and heat. Indeed, the big animal put off a lot of heat, almost uncomfortably so, even in the cool early spring night. As he stared up at the night sky, he didn’t think about much, for a change. It was nice, the reprieve from being in his own head.

  Next thing Tristan knew he was coming to, like he’d fallen asleep, by a deep, hair-raising growl. He tried to play ignorant but it was too late, she’d already sensed him rouse. And he knew that she knew that he knew—yeah, there was no use playing games.

  “Come to kill me?” he asked as Kiba slowly slinked away, body wound up tight, ready to spring. More likely to flee, Tristan was sure from the vibes he was getting off the wolf.

  “Yes,” the sharp feminine voice said moments before the body it belonged two stepped into the clearing.

  Tristan harrumphed and sat up. Kiba was inching away still, head low and an almost unperceivable growl trickling from him.

  “You know, your mother loves you, right?” God, he still had a hard time wrapping his mind around that. Ash was a mother. And her daughter died at nearly the same age. They could be twins and yet, Ash was the girl’s mother.

  The woman screamed a “Shut up!” that if she were a stronger vampire would have paralyzed Tristan. Maybe the Tristan from yesterday would have been affected, if only slightly, but not the one now getting to his feet. There was a thrum of heavy power pulsing through him, a distinct grittiness on his tongue. He wondered, if he knew how to and despite what Ash had said, if he tried to call on the earth now, if it’d answer. There was no time to concentrate on anything but the vampire now surging across the clearing at him.

  It was a bold move and Tristan had plenty of time to shout at Kiba to go tell Ash of her wayward daughter’s reappearance, pull a gun and get off a few shots. Hell, he was sure he even hit her with most of them but that didn’t stop the woman, so much like Ash in appearance, from slamming into him and laying him flat out.

  He gasped in a breath, the wind knocked from him. He flipped them, pinning Nastasia’s smaller frame under him and grabbed for her wrists. He was too slow, that grab, only getting ahold on one of her wrists. Something shiny flashed past his vision before his face burned with sharp pain.

  He screamed, hands going to his face and rolled away. He’d just gotten to his back, had time enough to realize he’d been wounded pretty badly and then she was on him. The knife cut into the back of his hand, nicked his elbow, but thankfully glanced off with the help of his leather jacket. But the next thrust couldn’t be stopped by a slab of leather and he screamed as the knife tore into his stomach, right over his old scar. But it was deeper than what that crazed monster had managed all those months ago and he felt a sudden shortness of breath as it seemed like the knife went straight through him.

  One eye was on fire, the other he couldn’t open against the pain in his body. So, blinded, wracked with pain, and skewered he fought through the agony, the spike of adrenaline. The fear. He swung out, made connection with very hot flesh—she’d fed recently, and a lot. If she were a Master, that’d be bad news for Tristan, as it was, she wasn’t and he had a real good chance of overpowering her. Especially now that he felt stronger than he had before. But it wasn’t her power or his lack thereof that keep him at her mercy. It was his inexperience.

  All he could do was struggle blindly with the hands that were now clawing at him, screaming out his pain and frustration. Amidst keeping the hands from tearing his face, he managed to reach down and pull the knife in his belly free. The pain was white hot, nearly put him out of commission but he managed to fight past it and aimed for the mass over him. He knew he would hit something and the surprised yip over him as the body pinning him moved away told him enough. He rolled away, the clementine in his pocket bursting into a wet mess.

  Nastasia’s screams changed tone as he got to his knees and he knew why immediately, had felt the presence closing fast and now she was here, screaming at her daughter. The words were lost to him, but he felt the level of her anger like a knife in his chest. Tristan scrambled to his knees, unsteady and throbbing in pain. One hand held him upright, slumped over, the other pressed to his aching eye. He was afraid to ackn
owledge the reality of the wound and struggle to pull his other eye open.

  When he did, he wished he hadn’t but it couldn’t be unseen now. They were a few yards away, Ash perched on Nastasia’s stomach. The knife in Ash’s hand was covered in gore, some of it was Tristan’s, he was sure, but the rest…

  “Did you…?” He couldn’t say the words but he was having a hard time concentrating anyway. He didn’t feel Nastasia. Or much or anything that wasn’t pain or Ash’s heavy, seething presence.

  “Ash,” he croaked out, feeling his consciousness waver. He was badly hurt, his stomach bleeding seriously. But worse than that, he was certain of it now, he’d lost his left eye.

  Oh fuck, his fucking eye was gone!

  Ash was watching him in silence, her visage a blur of sadness and then he was falling.

  THE colors, they were dazzling. God, was there ever any more brilliant colors than the ones he saw now? But they weren’t just any colors. One, a slate sort of blue, he wasn’t sure exactly who it was, but could guess that it was his newest friend, Wren. Farther away but not lacking in any brilliance, was Desmond’s green, more emerald than it’d been before. And Ash, the pale purple that had been her flavor in the past was now a glittering lilac silver that shone with the radiance of a star, her namesake. And all these blinding colors, they existed in the darkness behind his closed eyes.

  Fucking A, his eye.

  Tentatively, he opened the eye he knew he still had. Everything was blurry, unfocused. His other eye—he reached up and lightly touched the lid. It was tender but everything felt safely intact so he very carefully opened the eye. Whatever he expected, it wasn’t this. Clarity like he’d never seen with before.

  And the colors, god he’d never seen these colors before and with such depth. It wasn’t until he sucked in a gasp that his companions even noticed him awake. Ash stopped pacing the foot of the bed to rush over to him.

  She said nothing, staring down at him. Behind her Wren, nearly out the door, had stopped to turn and stare too.

  “What?” Tristan asked, scooting to sit up. He’d been stripped down and had nothing but a pair of fresh boxers, but he still felt hot.

  “How is…?”

  “My eye?” he prompted. “Jesus Christ, Ash, what the hell happened?”

  She sighed, finally letting some of the tension in her shoulders lax and sat down on the side of the bed, against Tristan’s hip. Ash glanced at Wren but the vampire only offered her an apologetic sort of grimace before bowing his head and leaving the room.

  “Nastasia’s…”

  Oh god, did she kill her? Did he force Ash to kill her own daughter?”

  Ash shook her head. “She’s in the cell next to Desmond.” She sighed, slumping. “I suppose I should have accounted for more unwelcomed guests…”

  “Ash.” Tristan took her hand.

  She was shaking her head even before he could put his thoughts to words. “I don’t know, Tristan. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  Fair enough. His next words seemed to stick in his throat as he croaked out, “What did she do to me?”

  Ash swallowed, her gaze going to his middle and lifted the blanket.

  He eyes widened and he grunted, “I don’t understand.”

  There was nothing to see except his old scar, the one he’d gotten back in October. Hell, it wasn’t even half as dark and gnarly as it was before. He clearly remembered a knife going into him earlier, going through him.

  “What happened?”

  “Nastasia attacked you—”

  “Yeah,” he snapped, sitting upright now off the pillows, “I got that. But I thought she stabbed me. And my eye…” He reached to touch it again, but stopped himself, afraid of what he’d find.

  “Nastasia attacked you,” she started again. “She stabbed you in the stomach after she… she blinded your right eye.”

  He blinked at her a moment, thinking, processing. “But I can see.” The words came out in a whisper and, oh god, please don’t let the thoughts in his mind be true. His left eye was no longer blurry, back to normal. But that right eye, it was still tuned up, colors galore. He could see out of it… like a vampire.

  The look in Ash’s eyes when they met his, he knew.

  His mouth opened and only a sigh came out. He swallowed hard, tried again. “My eye… it’s hers, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, wincing like she was expecting an explosion.

  There wasn’t one coming, not right now. Tristan was wearing Nastasia’s eye. The woman was still alive and had her eye ripped from her to fix him. She already hated him—hated them both—and now her mother had taken her eye away from her to give to the man, the Uruwashi she loved.

  “You mustn’t think of it that way,” Ash said softly. “It was the least she owed you.”

  “For nearly killing me?”

  She nodded and he felt the familiar bubbling of rage. “I don’t agree… but I understand the eye. I get my eye. Why it works, even if I don’t agree with why I have it. But this?” He motioned to his belly. “Why is there no scar? And what the hell happened to that nasty scar from that feral vampire that tried to dig through me last October?”

  Ash shook her head, lips pursed. “Perhaps your enhanced healing is a leftover of the spell you had earlier?”

  Tristan frowned, not so sure. Ash obviously wasn’t.

  “What are you going to do with—”

  “I don’t know,” she snapped before he could finish. “I don’t know what to do with her. I need to think about it.”

  He nodded, knowing better than giving her his opinions in that moment. Ash was just as, if not more so, stubborn as him and wouldn’t waiver on her decisions… even if it took her eons to get to that decision.

  “Elinore has awoken.”

  Tristan flinched. “Holy shit—how is she?”

  Ash shrugged. “She seems to have no problems with her motor skills or speech, all physically able.”

  He frowned, not liking the way that sounded. “And her cognitive?”

  “Does not seem as sound.”

  “Is she Elinore?” he hadn’t really noticed things out of place lately, if the shinigami was still hanging around him. But then, he’d not been in a controlled space, a home where he knew where he left things, since leaving Japan. And it wasn’t just him and Ash anymore, they had perpetual guests.

  Ash sighed, slumping, looking away. “If she is not, then I cannot imagine we will be in much danger from someone of that mindset.”

  “Smaller words, Ash. My head hurts.”

  She frowned at him then reached up to touch his face. He sighed, turning his face into her touch.

  “She seems to have adapted a… simpler mentality. She acts as a toddler would.”

  “Oh. Well, she was technically dead for five minutes. And then mauled by a crazy vampire.”

  “Six. Yes.”

  “And Desmond?”

  She shook her head. “He is quiet now, but still not of his mind. He still does not seem able to speak. Even in this state, his mind is locked from me. Always on guard.”

  Was it possible for shinigami to move into the body of a vampire? ’Cause Desmond was reeeeal close to dead. He might have died just enough for one to move in and—

  “Christ.” Tristan ran a hand over his hair before flopping back on the bed. “So… Nastasia’s locked up in the basement alongside Desmond. I’m wearing Nastasia’s eye because she stabbed the shit out of mine. Desmond’s still out of his vampire mind. And Elinore has awoken but has the mind of a five-year old. There might or might not be a shinigami lurking around and Mother is still after me. Did I miss anything? Did the world go to shit too while I spent days unconscious and recovering?”

  There was a noise and the couple stopped to watch the huge dog trot into the room. There was… something, an inkling of idea that hit Tristan, nothing to be alarmed over and then Kiba jumped up onto the bed, situating himself between Tristan’s legs with a whine.

  He opened his
mouth to argue, but then decided, fuck it, he liked cuddling the damn animal—even if he wasn’t really an animal. He sighed and reached down to pet the head that rested on his stomach.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” he said to the wolf.

  Ash sighed, reaching out to pet the Were, her fingers mingling with Tristan’s. The wolf did have a super soft head of fur. “You were out for remarkably short time for you, considering the trauma. You were unconscious for only a few hours. However, it’s almost daybreak.”

  Huh. Same day. That’s a new one. “Probably has something to do with my new... whatever—form.”

  She nodded. “Probably so, yes. But I am glad you are fine and Elinore has awoken and that Desmond has finally calmed down. I was getting irritated listening to him rail. When we have time, we shall make many useful spells, first of which will be an audio shield of sorts for the cells.”

  Tristan chuckled.

  Ash smiled warmly before sighing. “If he gets over whatever this rage is, then the only thing that will remain to mark his near death will be an alarmingly startling lack of hair.”

  “We’ll shave Kiba, make a toupée.”

  The Were lifted his head and bayed sadly.

  Ash chuckled. “He says he is more than willing, though he knows you jest.”

  Tristan snorted a laugh. “You know, your speech gets all stuffy like a lawyer when you’re nervous. It’s cute and annoying.”

  Her brows drew together in worry. “There is much to be nervous about.”

  Tristan sighed and drew Ash to him, hugging her to his chest and nearly crushing the dog’s head. “I know.” He kissed the top of her head, felt her sink against him finally. “Listen, I’ll take Elinore home tomorrow and have her pack up her things. She’ll stay here with us for a while, until we figure out if she’s okay.”

  “How will you manage it?” she asked gently.

  “No idea.”

  “And Desmond? Any ideas?”

  He frowned in thought a moment before shaking his head. “No clue.”

  “Well,” Ash sighed, “that makes four of us in agreement.”

  Chuckling, Tristan motioned for everyone to give him some room and shimmied out of bed. He marched over to the en-suite and flinched to a stop when he passed by the mirror. “Okay, that’s going to take some getting used to.”