Forbidden Forest

by Tenaya Jayne

  ****

  The night was mature when Forest finally glimpsed the pale glowing light of Kyhael. She had not laid eyes on it for many years and had forgotten just how beautiful the straight Zen-like economical lines of the city made of Belliss stone were. Its golden glow made the weary traveler feel peaceful and welcome, even if that was far from the truth.

  But the warm welcome feeling was deceptive. Kyhael offered the best of Regian tourism to the super wealthy and maintained a strictly neutral policy on racial background. If you could pay the price, you were welcome. However, beneath the posh, elite surface, Kyhael harbored a meticulously cold and cruel sect of Elves called the Rune-dy. The ideology and practices of Rune-dy laid a foundation of fear in the other races and was the reason Elves were essentially the most feared race in Regia. The Rune-dy perfected the elements of torture and mastered the twisting of science.

  Forest found a good place for she and Syrus to spend the duration of the night. They made camp on a ridge, sheltered by trees, high above the city. “We’ll rest here and continue at first light.” It was the first words Forest had spoken to Syrus since midday, and they felt thick in her mouth.

  Syrus merely nodded, took off his backpack, and sat down on a fallen tree. Forest was cold but they couldn’t have a fire; it was too risky. She unrolled her sleeping bag on the ground, thankful she had access to human camping gear. Syrus drank from one of his bottles before tucking into a rice crispy treat. Forest climbed into her sleeping bag. She wanted to sleep a while, but she didn’t want to ask Syrus to take the first watch. She watched him finish his dinner, wishing she could come up with some small talk, extend him a verbal olive branch.

  He must have been cold too because he began rummaging through his backpack until he pulled out a zip-up hoodie. Forest hadn’t paid much attention to what she packed for him because she would have made another selection. When he pushed his arms through the sleeves and turned his back to her, she let out a burst of laughter that she had to stifle with her hands over her mouth.

  Syrus spun around to face her, startled by her outburst of laughter. “What?” he demanded.

  The irony had broken through Forest’s tension. “You’re wearing a Team Jacob sweatshirt.”

  “I’m wearing a what?”

  Forest continued to laugh. “I didn’t pack it for you on purpose, I swear.”

  “Is there a reason I shouldn’t be wearing this? What is Team Jacob?”

  “A fictional werewolf.”

  “Wait a minute. Are you telling me that I am wearing some kind of support werewolves affiliation symbol?”

  “Yeah. It’s a human thing though. I wouldn’t worry about anyone spotting you in it.”

  Syrus gave a low growl before unzipping the sweatshirt and tossing it aggressively on the ground.

  “Hey!” Forest protested. “I’m just letting you borrow that. It’s mine.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.” His voice dripped with false honey. Syrus picked the sweatshirt back up, wadded it into a ball, and then threw it at her, hitting her in the face. “There you go.”

  “Jerk,” Forest said under her breath. “I guess I’m not the only bigot around here.”

  “I’m not a bigot.” He was insulted. “They are our enemies. I don’t care if anyone saw me in it or not.”

  “You could turn it inside out.”

  Syrus folded his arms over his chest and sat back down on the fallen tree.

  “Fine. If you’d rather be cold.”

  “I would,” he snapped.

  Forest stuck her own arms in the sweatshirt and zipped it up.

  “Hm. It’s nice and warm,” she said sleepily. She nestled down in her sleeping bag, her eyes going heavy.

  Syrus’ angry voice broke through her drowsiness. “Don’t tell me you’re wearing that?” he demanded.

  “I am. It’s nice and cozy too. Thank you.”

  Syrus was instantly on his feet. “Take it off!”

  “No.”

  “I’ll not travel with a guardian who displays love for werewolves on her person.”

  “Syrus…” she said slowly like she was reasoning with an angry four-year-old. “I don’t care where your support and sensibilities lie, but in case you have forgotten, I am half shape shifter. Shape shifter’s have a natural camaraderie with werewolves. Not unlike vampires and ogres. If you are going to try to form opinions for me and tell me…”

  “You’re only trying to provoke me!”

  “So what if I am?”

  Faster than she could blink, he rushed to her and grabbed her by the front of the sweatshirt.

  “Hey!”

  “Take it off!”

  The next second they were in a full-on wrestling match on the ground. He was unquestionably stronger and heavier, but Forest could slip through his grasp with limberness and a few well-placed cheap shots. Grunts, curses, and dirt flew into the air. Even with Forest’s ability to evade Syrus’ pins, he had almost managed to remove the sweatshirt.

  “Ha!” he said triumphantly as soon as he had it in his grasp.

  Forest scrambled to her feet as he jumped away from her, sprinting towards the edge of the ridge, laughing manically. She was right on his heel, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  “Don’t you dare!”

  “Woops!” he said loudly as he threw the sweatshirt over the edge.

  “Oh, you Turkey!”

  “What did you call me?”

  “A Turkey.”

  “Oh, you’ve bought it now! I don’t know what a turkey is, but I don’t like the sound of it.”

  Forest’s eyes widened. “No!” she yelped as he grabbed her and threw her over his shoulder.

  Forest clamped her mouth tightly together to keep the squeal of laughter inside as he spun in a circle. Thoroughly dizzy, he set her back on her feet. She swayed and giggled like a drunk and crashed into him. He grasped her tightly. She wrapped her arms around his waist, waiting for the ground to stop moving. Her equilibrium righted itself after a minute, and she no longer needed support, but still she hung on. His grasp eased and changed from a simple offer of support into an intimate embrace. Forest shivered as his hands moved up her arms, over her shoulders, and down her back.

  “Forest?” he whispered.

  She tipped her head back, and all remaining traces of fun were forgotten. The sensation of the pulsing of blood through the veins in his hands as his palms moved on her back was making her feel dizzy all over again. Logical thought was a drowned-out whisper as instinct screamed, take what’s yours! Forest’s eyes rolled back in her head as his mouth came down on hers. The whole forest around them seemed to go up in flames. Passion, in such intensity it bordered on insanity, burned through their veins.

  The whispering of logic fought for a stronger voice, and Forest heard its desperate warning: Let go now! Let go or you’ll lose yourself entirely!

  She had no idea how she mustered the strength to pull away from Syrus. She turned her head to the side and placed her fingertips lightly against his mouth. His hands on her back clenched into trembling fists.

  “Please.” He whispered, his lips moving against her fingertips.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Syrus sighed, and his tense muscles eased in a kind of agonized defeat. Forest laid her head against his chest. “I’m sorry for being mean to you earlier today,” she said.

  Syrus didn’t say anything but refused to let go of her.

  “I do want to be friends, Syrus.”

  “I don’t.”

  “What?” The pain was clear in her voice.

  “That’s not what I meant. It’s not that I don’t want to be friends, I just don’t think we ever will be. Why is it so hard with you, Forest? Why do you make me hurt so much?”

  With his arms around her, Syrus could feel tension roll up her body as tears began to run from her eyes. He felt frustrated that she was crying. He knew she had feelings for him, but he couldn’t understand why she held them back like she did. He assumed it wa
s partly because of the vast difference in their stations. He could tell her all day long that it didn’t matter to him, but he knew it mattered greatly to her, so it would always be a barrier between them.

  Then there was his other suspicion that there was someone else, but he tried to push that thought away, because when he envisioned another man with his hands on Forest, the urge to kill filled him. He wished he could chuck both of their issues over the edge of that ridge as easily as he had that silly sweatshirt. He wished he wasn’t the prince. He wished he could kiss her, and she wouldn’t run away or bash him over the head for doing so. Syrus wished a lot of things around Forest.

  Forest heaved a great sigh and let go of Syrus. He followed her back to their messed-up campsite. She shook the dirt out of her sleeping bag and climbed back inside. Syrus fumbled around with his bedroll until he had it laid out neatly next to hers. “Are you sleepy?” he asked climbing inside his sleeping bag.

  “I was before that little incident we just had.” Forest lay on her back looking up into the sky. The aquamarine moon was covered over with thick clouds. The only light that existed now was the dim glow that emanated from Kyhael far below them.

  “Can we talk?” Syrus asked tentatively.

  “Of course. Why do you feel the need to ask?”

  “Well, you weren’t so nice about it earlier today. Minus the time I was being a… what did you call me, a jackass?”

  Forest snorted. “That’s it. I’m sorry I was rude, minus the time you were being a jackass.”

  “Obviously.”

  “What do you want to talk about?” she asked.

  “Asking questions was what got me into trouble last time. Why don’t you start?”

  Forest turned her head to the side and looked at him. He was on his back as well, his face turned to the sky, his useless eyes open. Forest’s fractured heart pulled inward like a fist. More than anything, she wanted to give him back his sight. Even if she never looked into his black pearl eyes once they were healed. Just to know that he was whole, with his power fully restored, that would be enough. She hoped.

  Okay, she thought seriously. He was always asking her questions about herself because she never told him much of anything. Maybe it was time to let something loose. Because they would never really be together, she wanted to share some of herself with him, just little tokens, like pieces of broken shells.

  Forest sighed, thinking about where they were and decided what she would start with.

  “I have never set foot in Kyhael, even though I have all the rights and privileges of citizenship passed down to me from my father. I have often had the desire to see it because of the way people rave about it, but I can never seem to bring myself to go. My mother never understood why I didn’t use my elf background to my advantage. She thought it was because I hated my father for abandoning us, but that wasn’t it.”

  “Was it because you thought it would hurt her feelings?” Syrus asked.

  “No. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but my real reason was because I felt it was too big of a risk for me. I don’t know who my father is. All I know is that he has some rank and power. It was my greatest fear that he may be a priest of the Rune-dy. I mean what if they wanted to study me? The Rune-dy commit unspeakable acts in the name of science. I have always been afraid to go to Kyhael and have my father take notice of me. Through the course of my life, the only thing he has ever done for me caused me more harm and pain than anything else I have had to endure.”

  “Sending you to Academy,” Syrus stated in a low voice.

  “Yes…I don’t hate the fact that I’m half elf, but I chose to hold more closely to my shifter roots out of love for my mother, and also because I was raised in the shifter community. As I grew up and my social circle widened, I began to realize that the shifters were more accepting of me than the elves ever would have been. The shifters have suffered persecution at the hands of every Regian race with the exception of the Ogres. Ogres don’t persecute anyone.”

  Syrus chuckled lightly. “No they don’t,” he agreed.

  They were both quiet for a few minutes. Forest could feel her weariness falling back onto her. Syrus rolled onto his side, facing her, and propped his head up on his arm. “So what is it like, being a Halfling? I say Halfling with no disrespect.” He added quickly.

  “What do you mean, what is it like?”

  “Well, you have gifts from both sides, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do your gifts clash or compliment?”

  “Well, there are drawbacks to not being a full blood shifter, because I cannot ever shift completely. My eyes are always the same, no matter how hard I try to alter them, so I'm always recognizable to those who look close enough. My ears too. I can shift my ears, but they give me trouble and are constantly changing back to their natural shape without my realizing it. I'm not hindered in regard to my inherited elfish ability to become invisible, but sometimes when I’m in battle, I’ll shift when I mean to vanish, or vanish when I mean to shift. If I am afraid or stressed, it takes more effort to control what I’m doing. I never slip up when I’m calm.”

  Forest yawned deeply.

  “Get some sleep, Forest,” Syrus said warmly. “I’ll stay awake and keep watch over you.”

  Forest was about to thank him when Syrus reached out and gently stroked the side of her face. She bit down on her quivering bottom lip and rolled onto her side, facing away from him. After a few minutes, she fell into the restless sleep of the aggrieved.

  Syrus lay still as a stone listening to the faint beating of Forest’s heart. His own heart and mind twisted into various knots as he thought about the things Forest had told him. It was the first time she had been truly open with him and it both thrilled and saddened him. His mind replayed every conversation they had ever had, and that amazing core-jolting kiss they shared after sparring, and lastly, the momentary passion a few minutes ago. She would give him mere seconds of vulnerability and then strike out at him violently or run away. The gravitational pull between them was making him demented. Not only did he want to touch her, knowing it would hurt if he did, it hurt not to.

  There was no noise in the forest around them. Syrus didn’t have to think about listening for danger; it was as natural as breathing since he’d lost his sight. As the night wore on, he began to feel relaxed and tired. As his mind became hazy, he lost his edge on his own physical self-control. He had given no thought to touching her while she slept, but that awful gravity was relentless. He only realized that his hand was about to grab a hold of her arm when he felt his mage power pulsing from his palm. He couldn’t bring himself to pull his arm away. He kept his hand an inch above her, not making any physical contact, but his energy extended out and ran back and forth over the length of her arm. The pleasure and relief this small innocuous act brought him was staggering.

  Syrus tottered on the brink of completely losing his head and turning the innocuous act into something entirely different when Forest rolled onto her back and whimpered as though she was in pain. She was still asleep, and Syrus realized that she must be dreaming. As more of an experiment than anything else, he reached across her and lightly ran his fingertip over her lips.

  She whimpered again and then she spoke. “Don’t…” Her voice came out in a whisper. “Please…don’t force me…please…” She moaned and her voice became louder and stronger. “No…no…I won’t beg…”

  Syrus grabbed her shoulder to wake her up. She moved faster than he knew she could, and he found himself pinned under her, his arms trapped under her knees and a knife under his chin. “Touch me again without my permission and I’ll have your head, Sucker!” She snarled in his face.

  “I won’t! I promise! I’m sorry! I only touched you to wake you up. You were dreaming.”

  Forest’s eyes were glazed. She wasn't coherent. The cold night air and a bad burning smell brought her to her senses. She blinked down at Syrus under her, his face twisted in shock and pain as her silver plat
ed knife touched the skin on his neck, burning him.

  She pulled it back and jumped off him, mortified. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I was dreaming.”

  “I know,” he said acidly.

  Forest burned with humiliation. “I should have told you not to wake me if I appeared to be dreaming.”

  “Yes, you should have,” he snapped.

  “I’m sorry,” she said again.

  “Well, now that you’re awake—” he said, lying back and zipping his sleeping bag up to his chin “—it’s your turn to keep watch. I’m going to sleep.”

  Syrus fell asleep thoroughly pissed off and thinking that he’d never met a woman that was this much trouble.

  Chapter Twelve