by Sy Walker
But instead of teeth, she felt his human head, moments later, lying on hers. His body wracked with sobs as he folded her into his arms.
“I’m so sorry,” he cried, turning her to face him. His eyes pleaded with her for forgiveness.
“You will give me the boots,” the witch said, standing behind him. “Now. Or they die.”
“Who dies?” De asked, looking back into Aspen’s eyes and searching for the truth.
“My pride,” he said, powerful voice cracking. “She has my family, De.”
“And you’re willing to kill to protect them,” she said. She knew it was true. Hadn’t he already killed to protect her? “But I thought I was part of your pride.”
The anguish on Aspen’s face was too much to bear.
“He doesn’t love you, silly girl,” the witch said with a snort. “It was a part he played to get you to take off the boots.”
And he had. He’d tried at every turn to get her to take them off, hadn’t he? Until she admitted she couldn’t do it.
“I’m such a fool,” she said softly, unable to hold back the tears.
“It was easy at first,” Aspen said, tilting her chin and forcing her to keep looking at him despite the pain it caused. “I only had to get the boots. How hard could that be? Killing was unnecessary.”
“You know I can’t get them off,” De said. “So it’s not a choice anymore. You’re going to have to kill me. Or at least rip my legs off.” She tried to control the trembling, but her body betrayed her.
Aspen cried and growled then stood. De supposed he’d have to be a lion to really do it.
“Do it now. No more lollygagging,” the witch demanded. “The owner of the boots will bring an end to the old regime. I’m the new regime. Those are my boots.”
“No,” said Aspen, still watching De.
“Excuse me?” the witch asked, danger in her voice.
“I won’t hurt you, De. I may have been trying for the boots at the beginning, but I really did fall in love with you. I won’t choose between you and my pride.”
“You fool,” the witch said. “I’ll kill them and you.”
Aspen spun on her. “You would have kept using them against me until I was no longer valuable to you. You never meant to let them go. Or me.”
De stood on shaky feet and tugged his hand, pulling him back. “Aspen, no. You have to protect them. I’ll never make it out anyway.”
“I will kill her,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. “You run when I attack. Don’t look back.”
De shook her head. Others had sacrificed enough trying to protect her. She was more sure of herself in this moment than she’d ever been in her whole life. She concentrated hard and the boots that had been stuck on her legs for so long appeared in her hands, which she offered to Aspen.
His golden eyes grew wide. “De? You used magic?”
She nodded and pushed past Aspen to face the witch, whose hungry face focused only on the boots.
“They’re not your size,” De said as the witch lunged for them.
They disappeared from her hands.
“Where did they go?” the witch asked, panicked.
“To their rightful owner.” De nodded toward Glinda, who sat up slowly, clutching the back of her wounded head, barely noticing the boots on her feet.
“No!” the witch shouted, backing up toward the wall.
Glinda grinned and her eyes glowed green. The witch shook her head vehemently as steam sizzled from her skin. De buried her face in Aspen’s chest as the Wicked Witch of the West disintegrated into a pile of ash.
“We did it,” Glinda said. “Thank you, Delilah.”
“You’re going to need those. But,” De said, walking right into Glinda’s personal space, “if I ever find out you aren’t treating the people of Oz right? I’m coming back.”
Glinda swallowed and forced a bigger smile. “Got it.”
“Aspen?” De said, taking his hand. “Let’s go find your family.”
Chapter 9
De’s heart sang with a mixture of love and grief as she watched Aspen, in lion form, nuzzling with the two lionesses, one of which had the sagging belly of a mother-to-be. De wondered if the cubs would be shifters or full lions. In the end, it didn’t matter. These were beautiful creatures and she understood on some level how he could love them so much.
But watching their reunion also made De’s decision that much easier. She’d understood what she had to do so clearly in that one moment of danger. When Aspen had refused the witch in order to spare her life, she realized she couldn’t let him or his pride die for her. She had to start making it on her own.
She’d love him to be a part of her new life. Lord knew she’d never find a lover like him in a million years, but his place was here, and hers… Well, it was somewhere back in the real world, that much she knew for sure. And it wasn’t running from her parents, it was facing them head on.
“I have to go back,” she said, sensing Glinda, who’d just entered the room.
Glinda sat next to her, folding her ridiculously long ruby boots.
“You can do that yourself. Just use your power. But I think you owe him a goodbye first.”
De nodded. She didn’t know if she’d be strong enough, but she did owe it to him. So she waited patiently for him to finish with his pride and accepted his hand when he came back to her in human form, beaming.
Aspen lifted De around the waist and swung her around in a circle as she laughed. It was so good to see him like this. To see him with the secret weight he’d been carrying lifted.
“It’s nice to see you smile,” she said, when he set her back down again.
“It’s all thanks to you,” he said in his deep, treble voice that vibrated her soul.
“That’s why it’s hard to tell you what I have to say.”
“Then don’t say it.” Aspen pulled her in for a lingering kiss that threatened to melt away all conscious thought.
“That wasn’t fair,” she breathed when he finally let her go. “But I still have to go home.”
“I will go with you,” he offered.
“No.” De glanced over his shoulder at the two lions waiting patiently in the grass. “You have to stay here. You’re going to be a daddy after all.”
Aspen grinned. “You noticed.”
“Hard not to.”
“We could make some beautiful cubs,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear.
“I’m not ready for that yet,” De said, pulling back, but hanging on to his hands. “I’ll never forget you, Aspen.”
“Nor I you, Delilah.”
De’s vision blurred with tears as she finally let go of his hands. She closed her eyes and concentrated. Home, she repeated in her mind. Home. Home.
When De opened her eyes and saw Aspen’s face, she thought it hadn’t worked. But then she realized she was lying down and the space was dark, cool, and much smaller than before. Taking a second look at his face, she realized his eyes were a shade darker than she remembered and his beard was more neatly trimmed.
Seeing her open her eyes and smile, Aspen relaxed back into his huge lopsided grin.
“Aspen,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Is that your name?” he asked.
“What? No. My name is Delilah. But you can call me De.” She sat up slowly, head spinning. A dull ache clung to the back of her skull. “Ow.”
“Take it easy, De. You had quite a fall. You really scared the crap out of me. I mean, the last thing I expected was a beautiful woman to come running down into my storm cellar in the middle of a tornado.”
“I tripped,” De said, remembering.
“Yeah,” the handsome man said, rubbing the back of his head with some embarrassment. “That would’ve been my cat, Lion.”
A small meow made De turn her head to find a golden cat sitting at the bottom of the steps.
“Sorry to barge in like that,” De said, accepting his help to stand. His hands were warm and calloused. They sent shiver
s of anticipation down her body.
“Glad you found a safe place.”
She smiled and they stared into each other’s eyes for a full minute.
“My name is Luke, by the way. This is my farm.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Luke,” De said, tucking a stray hair back behind her ear. “You don’t happen to have a wife, do you?”
Luke turned bright pink up to his ears. “No, ma’am. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, just making sure before I do this.” De sauntered up to the man before her, pulled his face down to hers, standing on her tiptoes, and kissed him.
“Wow,” he said when she stepped back again. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I mean, was that because you hit your head? I don’t want to take advantage.”
De smiled. Being in control of her life was a damn good feeling.
THE END
M/F: Time of the Werebears
Time of the Werebears
“And to the left you'll see a portrait of Lord Lachlan, who ruled with an iron fist. He had a deep intolerance for Highland rebels and pushed for their total annihilation. In the display case to your right is his sword, which shed the blood of countless Highland men, women, and even children, though some were taken in to be re-cultured in the ways of the crown.”
Studying the blade sent a shiver down Sadie McNeil's spine. She was enjoying the tour of her family's castle, and although her heritage trip had just begun, she couldn't wait to see what might happen next. She hoped to learn about her distant family's history as much as possible. The guide spoke on about Lord Lachlan, painting a vivid image of the tyrant in her mind. She could imagine the man's stern face in battle, his eyes narrow and ready to spill the blood of anybody who dared defy him. A series of his portraits lined the walls, and by the time they reached the end of the hallway, she was sure she wouldn't have liked him.
Suddenly, she thought she heard somebody yelling her name. A faraway echo made her turn, her heart thudding rapidly. Where had it come from? Nobody here knew her; she had traveled alone. She looked around the group; nobody else seemed to have heard it.
“Sadie!” it called again. She heard it clearly this time, a man's voice; urgent and afraid. She broke away from the group, following the sound of her name. Everybody else was engrossed in Lord Lachlan's sword. She looked around for the man who seemed to know who she was. She walked slowly, staying close to the wall where the paintings hung proudly in a line. Suddenly, the man's voice seemed to be right in her ear, an intimate breathiness that brought a shiver down her spine. She turned to her right and, to her surprise, found herself gazing right into her own face. At first she thought she had encountered a mirror, but quickly noted the frame, and theother people surrounding her. Somehow, her likeness had been captured in the middle of an ancient painting.
She backed away as if the portrait was on fire, clutching at her heart, and then stared again. That was her all right, right down to the mole on her left cheek, and the fiery red curls that she pulled back into a braid. But how could it be? Surely it was just some ancient ancestor. Still, the resemblance was uncanny. She wondered if her mother had ever noticed.
Sadie studied the painting more closely, holding back the urge to touch it. The woman, who looked identical to Sadie, was standing next to the fierce Lord Lachlan. The tour guide caught up with her and began telling of the painting's history.
“Here we see Lord Lachlan with his wife, just before the execution of a particularly meddlesome Highland rebel. You see, he is holding the sword from the display case. Lord Lachlan liked to dispose of the rebels himself, told his troops to keep them alive until he dealt with them personally.”
The group moved away from the painting, but Sadie stayed rooted in one spot. She was suddenly overpowered by an intense nausea, and she ran out of the room, desperate to get away from the image of the terrible man and her doppelganger, standing mournfully beside him.
She raced down the hallway, turning a corner and pausing to catch her breath. She had been seized by a momentary panic, but if she could just distract herself, maybe she would feel better. Her eyes wandered to the painting in front of her – a group of muscular men scowling and attacking three large bears head-on. The absurdity of the image made her burst out in laughter. The sound of her own voice comforted her, and she took a deep breath. It was reasonable to be uncomfortable; the painting in the other room probably didn't actually look that much like her. She had just been under a lot of stress lately with the divorce looming over her head. Most people wouldn't be holding up anywhere near as well as she was under the same circumstances. Her entire life had just been turned upside down.
She was filled with anger as memories of her soon-to-be ex-husband's infidelity penetrated her. She had trusted him more than she had trusted anybody. Maybe that was because he was a solid, reliable type, whose wandering eye had been carefully concealed behind his thick glasses and gentle smile. He hadn't been particularly exciting. In fact, the most her heart had raced for him was in the anger after discovering that he had been cheating on her with any woman who pitied him enough to sleep with him. He had made her out to be some sort of insufferable hag, never having time for him because she was so busy with her own career.
“You know those types of women,” he would have said to his conquests. Independent. The kinds of women who said they didn't want kids and meant it, or who made sure they had their own bank accounts to rely on. Terrible wives and mothers, the lot of them, according to common knowledge. He had been distressed when she asked him to wait to start a family until she was more settled into her career and held it over her head any chance she got. The most unfair part about it was that, yes, she did want kids. She just wanted to wait to feel more settled and fulfilled first. But he had taken it and ran as a reason to resent her. He certainly felt justified in destroying her trust and their marriage. Stupid Alfred. Good riddance to him anyway.
But she was in Scotland to forget about all of that. She wandered absently into the first doorway she saw. She peered into the dim room, realizing that it probably wasn't scheduled to be on any part of the tour. In fact, she was surprised the door wasn't locked. Inside, the haggard green curtains were drawn, letting only small streams of sunlight in to illuminate the old antiques strewn recklessly about, as if somebody had been rummaging through it, discarding what they didn't deem useful. Broken glass cracked under her feet as she peered onto tables and shelves, fingering old relics of the past that were within arm's reach and not partitioned away from her through a glass box.
She suddenly saw an intriguing glimmer of gold, glinting tantalizingly from beneath a fallen stack of old musty papers. She pushed the papers gently away and lifted a primitive-looking necklace from the rickety wooden table. Her eyes roamed the intricate but simple designs carved into the gold. She looked around the room, making sure she was alone before draping the long chain over her delicate neck.
As soon as the pendant touched her breast, she crumpled to the ground, and the world went black.
Chapter 2
She was falling, swirling. She felt her body being lifted and contorted in ways she had never before imagined it could move. Alfred, the divorce, jetlag, a lifetime's worth of difficulties. She seemed to re-live it all within the darkness of the portal. By the time it was done, she was filled with peace, but she was so exhausted that she felt herself being pulled into the depths of a powerful, rejuvenating sleep.
But that didn't last long. A loud, muffled call from the hallway roused her from her slumber, and she looked up with a start. Her eyes narrowed in confusion. She was in the same room, but everything was different. The curtains were no longer tattered; they were crisp and beautiful, letting in a cheerful ray of golden sunlight. None of the old antiques were scattered about. She recognized some of them, sitting in perfect condition, like new, on a handsomely carved shelf. She sat up in confusion, and her eyes widened. Hanging in front of her was an elegant wedding dress.
Before she could register
what was happening, the door burst open and a woman's rosy face beamed up at her. She was wearing a white apron around her plump body and carrying a tray with a glass of water and a spool of thread on it.
“Well, go on, dear, try the dress on. We have a couple of mends left to do but you're going to be fine. Lord Lachlan doesn't like to be kept waiting. We have to hurry. He's getting anxious to have you as his bride.”
“Lord Lachlan? But...”
“Come along, dear, you look absolutely beautiful in this dress.”
“That's not my dress!” she exclaimed, suddenly panicked. She had no idea what was going on, and her face must have betrayed her confusion, because the servant approached her and gave her arm a reassuring pat.
“Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
No, she wasn't feeling all right. How did she get here? What was happening? How could she possibly marry such a tyrant? Even if this was a terrible dream, she refused to be shackled to the horrible monster.
“I can't marry him,” she said, gripping the table beside her, suddenly unsteady.
“But you must!” the servant said, her bubbly face now contorting in fear. “You don't know what he will do to you if you refuse.”
“I don't care what he does to me, I have to get out of here right away!”
“Listen to me. You cannot run from Lord Lachlan. He is capable of great terror – if you run he will find you and kill you, track you like a dog, he will! And not just you, lass. He'll wage war on your family for generations, find them and kill them, too. Just stay put, dear, you're far better off being his wife than his enemy.”