by Dana Archer
“I was told ahead of time, yes. I wouldn’t have needed the heads-up, though. Once you live long enough, you start to recognize kindred.”
I point to the door. “The woman—”
“My aunt, yes, she is also a shaman. Several members of the Fairchild family have been born with an inclination to dark magic. In fact, we’ve started grooming our children for such a fate and guiding them away from actions that might damn them or draw too much attention to our family. According to many of the older shifters, there was a reason bloodlines of witches were decimated. To prevent powerful ones like mine and yours from thriving.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“We’re lucky to have been born in this day and age where witches have been selectively spared.”
“Only selectively?”
Jeremiah nods. “Those who are deemed highly dangerous or a risk to the shifter world are still eliminated. Our government simply turns a blind eye to those kills, but they continue to happen. My goal is not to lose anyone I know.”
“Great.” I snort. “At least I made the cut.”
“Only because the Yuran pride circumvented the Shifter Council and enlisted my help to bury that part of you which would have otherwise signed your death sentence. On Vince’s insistence.”
A flash of memory hits me: Vince’s leering face above mine and a sharp burst of pain in my belly that reached straight through to my spine. I flinch and cast my gaze to the floor. “Why?”
“I was told for personal reasons. Vince claimed you saved him, so he wanted to save you. That he loved you even if you didn’t feel the same and wanted you to live a long life. My task was to ensure you didn’t die prematurely. I admit, helping you became a challenge. You were intent on dying for a long time.”
“I dreamt about dying and joining my family. They were beautiful dreams. Better than the nightmares.”
“They were lies.”
“I remember you saying that.”
“As I said, I refused to let you die.”
“Because if you did, you’d be forced to pay back the nice sum you likely got from the Yuran pride.”
“Failing you would’ve sealed my fate. I promised Vince you wouldn’t die by your own hand. I have no doubt he would’ve taken my head if I failed you. The Yurans are incredibly wealthy. The sum of money he gave meant little, but keeping you alive meant everything to Vince. You standing before me proves I’ve succeeded. At least till this moment. You could always leave here and purposely step in front of a bus or something, but I don’t believe that’ll happen. You’re too stubborn to die.”
I am stubborn. I’m also a coward. For years, I ran from my memories. Yes, I staved off depression by hightailing it out of here, but I’m done running. “Why? Why would Vince kill you? That seems excessive.”
“Because I’d have broken my vow.”
“But why make you promise such a thing to begin with? His motivation doesn’t make sense. Why would he go through the lengths he did to make sure I didn’t commit suicide? Me dying would’ve helped Vince. Had his unfortunate mistake simply gone away, he never would’ve spent a single day in prison.”
“Vince loves you, and Asa wanted his nephew to learn from his mistake.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“Yes. Alphas need to learn to control their anger, even in the heat of the moment. While Vince isn’t alpha yet, he could be alpha tomorrow, the day after that, a millennium from now. All it takes is Asa dying, and Vince will step up. This world doesn’t need a powerful alpha with a hair-trigger temper.”
“Not about that. About Vince loving me.” I sit forward and grab onto the cushion of my seat. “He left me there, bleeding to death, miscarrying my baby, begging him for help. Why didn’t he help me?”
Dr. Fairchild doesn’t answer for a long moment, then sighs, his shoulders slumping. “In the end, Ms. Conway, I’m not sure the why matters. You survived that night, but had your case gone before the Shifter Council, you’d be dead.”
“Because I’m dangerous.” Which amuses me to a certain degree. Being a skinny, short woman with the strength of well, a skinny, short woman, I’m not exactly scary despite what I’ve been told. Crazy? Yep, I identify as a nutjob, but I’ve done a pretty good job at hiding that side of me. Mostly, anyway.
“Danger comes in many forms.” Dr. Fairchild hunches over his desk. “Don’t discount your potential or the evil you hold in your soul. If you stoke either to life, you’ll rain hell upon those around you.”
Giggling fills my ears, but it’s not mine or my old shrink’s. Since we’re the only two people in the room, there’s only one explanation. The laughter is in my head. It’s her.
I spread my palms on my thighs to resist grabbing onto the arms of the chair, but my attempt to appear calm has no effect on my racing heart. I need the answer to what Dr. Fairchild learned about the demon in my soul—what my debt to her is or why I let her take root there in the first place. “Evil in my soul? What exactly are you talking about?”
Dr. Fairchild gets up a little more slowly than he did the last time I saw him and moves to the door. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he locks us in, the clunk of the dead bolt loud in the room. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Someone told you. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here demanding answers. That someone likely explained what you are too. Shamanism isn’t some physical trait people notice like hair or eye color. It’s something unseen, and it carries a numinous connotation, even more shrouded in mystery than witchcraft. It’s also something even shifters can’t recognize unless they too are shamans.”
Kindred recognize each other.
He makes his way back to his desk, braces himself with a hand on the edge, and finally sits, cringing as he lowers himself. “So a shaman recognized you and let you in on the secret I’ve worked to bury.”
“You buried more than my memories of what I am, didn’t you?”
Dr. Fairchild stares at me while the giggling within me grows louder. “How have your dreams been? Any nightmares?”
I crack my jaw, the sharp sound cutting off the amusement inside me. “Fine, as long as I’m not in West Virginia.”
“You’re back home, though. Vince is free too.” Dr. Fairchild folds his arms on his desk and leans forward. “And your brother’s wife is having babies. How are you handling all that? Because you need to handle it. What I did for you isn’t a lifetime cure. Your suicidal tendencies are something you need to work on every day, every night, every breath you take. You can’t give in to them. Ever.”
“Or what?”
“You’ll unleash hell on the world around you, and the demon you invited into your soul will snatch as many other souls as it can before daylight chases it back.” Dr. Fairchild partially gets out of his seat, his splayed palms steadying his body. “And your soul will be the last it claims, a final payment for breaking the deal you made when you called it forth.”
“I didn’t beckon a demon.”
“You most certainly did. The proof is within you.”
The giggling within me turns into a belly roll laugh that spreads dizziness through me. I could’ve been the one holding my stomach and rolling around on the floor and not my crazy doppelgänger. “My soul? It’ll take my soul?”
Dr. Fairchild nods. “And that’ll be it for you. No more rebirth. No more anything. Except maybe suffering eternally in Hell. I honestly can’t rule that out. Vince knew what your fate would be, and that’s why he took the path he did.”
Trembling starts in my fingers and races up my arms, leaving me shaking despite sitting inches from a fire. “So…hypothetically…what if I was a shifter? What would happen to my animals or maybe my…my mate if I lost my soul to this demon I called forth?”
“They’d become bonus souls for your demon, making it even more powerful.”
“Bonus souls.” My voice is broken. That’s what Jarah meant by my hell becoming Kade’s. He’ll join me.
Sighing, Dr. Fairchild si
ts. “Yes, and that is the reason there are so few shifter shamans. They can’t make the mistake you did. If they become possessed and take their own life or release a demon to do whatever it is they called it forth to accomplish and can’t control it and it breaks free, they damn the animals attached to their souls and their mate if they’ve soul bonded. It’s the ultimate failure.”
I sit forward. “Explain that.”
“For shifters, protecting what belongs to them, be it the animal attached to their soul or their mate, is one of the most primal and intrinsic instincts they possess. If—”
“The part about releasing their demons and controlling them.”
“Demons don’t simply possess random shamans.” Dr. Fairchild motions to himself. “I’m a practicing shaman, but I have never called forth a demon; therefore, I have never given one the chance to possess me. Shamanism isn’t evil. It’s powerful, and what a shaman can accomplish depends on their skill and strength and the risks they’re willing to take. Since I won’t risk my soul, I don’t try to manipulate the world beyond what I’m capable of achieving on my own.”
“But I summoned a demon.” At Dr. Fairchild’s nod, I ask, “Why? What did I want it to do?”
“I don’t know.” Sympathy softens his features. “Only you and your demon know why you allowed it to squat in your soul.”
“And I can’t remember everything that happened that night.”
Dr. Fairchild doesn’t respond. He doesn’t so much as move. I clench my jaw until it cracks, then glare at him. “Because you buried those memories.”
Still Dr. Fairchild remains silent. I stand and take a single step forward. “You buried my memories. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” He nods. “It was the only way to save you.”
“I thought compelling me not to kill myself saved me.”
“If you commit suicide, you’ll release your demon, and it’ll collect as many souls as it can, including yours, before daylight chases it back. If you die of natural causes, the demon you summoned will fade away without any bounty, not even your soul.” Dr. Fairchild recaps his earlier statements, likely wanting me to understand the points he’s made, then sighs, his shoulders slumping. “In both of those cases, the assumption is that you are stronger than the demon possessing you.”
“And if the demon is stronger?”
“It’s in charge.” Dr. Fairchild licks his lips, then wipes his mouth with the side of his hand. “It won’t need to coerce its host to commit suicide. It’ll simply break free when and where it wants.”
“And my demon is stronger than me.”
Dr. Fairchild remains silent. Nothing shows on his face. No doubt mine reflects my feelings, however. Anger propels me forward. I slam my palms on this desk, shaking the antique lamp, but not eliciting a reaction from my old shrink. “My demon is stronger than me. Isn’t it?”
“Yes, but—”
I curse and move to turn away, ready to rage, ready to scream, ready to cry.
Dr. Fairchild grips my wrist, squeezing with a strength that spreads pain up my arm and jerking my attention to him. He peers at me, steadiness radiating from him. “It won’t break free. I’ve made sure of that. I’m one of the few shamans walking this earth who could’ve pulled off such a feat. That’s why the Yurans came to me. They knew what I could do, and they paid me handsomely to work my magic on you.”
“What did you do to me?”
“Bonded it to you much the same way a shifter is connected to its animals or a mate. Death will still free it, or you can intentionally release it to complete a task, but it won’t break free. It can’t. It’s a part of you.”
“Wait.” The echoing memory of my crazy doppelgänger coaxing me to let her take care of our enemies returns, the reasoning behind my doppelgänger’s desire to avenge me finally making sense. “I can release her. Intentionally. To do whatever it is I want.”
Dr. Fairchild nods. “Which is why I’ve buried your memories and instilled a compulsion to run when her influence on you strengthens. The longer you’re close to where she first entered your soul, the stronger her hold on you. If she convinces you to commit suicide or release her, she’ll—”
“But if I release her and can control her—”
“You are not that strong. I’m sorry. This thing you allowed into your soul is powerful. You are not.”
With a sharp tug, I yank my wrist free and press my hands to my face as the sensation of my world folding in on me, cornering me in and making me want to lash out at everyone and everything, consumes me in a downward spiral that doesn’t offer me a way out. Even the light that Kade’s soul in mine lends me won’t help. I’m screwed. “So, what? I battle lifelong depression. Resist my crazy side. And die of natural causes without my true mate’s soul attached to mine.” I drop my hands. “Right? That’s the only way I’m going to win. Hold everything and everyone at bay and wait until I die.”
“Who’s your true mate?”
“Answer me!”
“Yes. You need to stubbornly hang on to life, sans a bond to your true mate, and then wait to die.”
“But if someone murders me or does something to me—intentionally or accidentally—that results in my death, will the demon possessing me fade away without any souls? Without mine? Without my true mate?”
Dr. Fairchild leans forward. “Who are you trying to protect? Who’s your true mate?”
“Answer me!” Panting with my chest tight and my blood rushing in my ears, I swallow hard and add, “Please.”
“Because of the bond I forced upon you and your demon, yes.” Dr. Fairchild stands and hurries to me, his chest heaving. He takes my hands in his. “Your true mate is Vince, isn’t he? That’s why he went to the lengths he did. He loves you that much. You obviously—”
“Vince isn’t my true mate.”
“Then who?”
“A man who’s too good for me.”
“Have you soul bonded yet?” At my silence, Dr. Fairchild lifts my hands, holding both in his. “You can’t let him soul bond with you. It’s too dangerous for him. If you’re not able to resist your demon—”
“Nothing will hurt my true mate.” I extract myself from my shrink’s pleading hold and square my shoulders. “Not me. Not the bitch living inside me. Not those fools looking to test his strength. I swear it on my soul.”
Dr. Fairchild stares at me for a long time before blowing out a breath. “Then I only have one last piece of advice for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Walk away. Leave the past alone, abandon this shifter who loves you, and walk away. Someday, death will find you and free you from your mistake.”
A sense of calm settles over me. The anger fades. Clarity returns. I head for the door, flip the lock, and step out, waving off the coffee held out to me and walking out the front door without so much as a goodbye to Dr. Fairchild or his aunt. Civilities are beyond me, especially for those who’ve intentionally endangered my life, even if they meant well.
Ignorance is not bliss in the shifter world, and it’s outright dangerous in mine.
Twenty-Four
Zoe
Josh lifts a steaming mug of afternoon coffee and sips, then leans against the edge of the closed sliding glass door. “I didn’t know ours was a witch family or a family of shamanic-leaning witches or whatever it is we are, but it explains why the Alexander pride’s goddess was able to possess me.”
Looking heavenward, Josh huffs. “Excuse me, form a symbiotic bond.”
Snickering even though there’s nothing funny about this situation, I match my brother’s position on the opposite side of the sliding glass door in his kitchen. “She doesn’t like being reminded of how she took over your life.”
“The Alexander pride’s goddess sacrificed for me. I don’t blame her for disliking the word possession. It has a negative association to it.”
“But she’s going to benefit from your mutually beneficial arrangement at some point. That’s not exactly selfl
ess.”
“And so have I. So will my children. They’re going to be powerful.”
“And dangerous.”
Josh nods. “There is that.”
“You’ve known they’d be shaman half-breeds all along, haven’t you?”
“I’ve known what they’ll be capable of, but not why. Honestly, I never thought to question it. They’re the prophesized ones.”
Motion from the backyard draws my eye. Josh’s adopted daughter Megan stands with her snow-packed, gloved hands on her hips and faces the snowman she’s been building the entire time I’ve been here while Seth and Levi, Kade’s nephews, and two redheaded girls sit cross-legged and silent behind her.
The snowman Megan is staring down is no bigger than her, with twigs for arms and strategically placed rocks for its face. Taking in her creation, she nods, then wraps her scarf around the snowman’s neck, and steps back to once again admire it. After a moment, a look of anger tightens Megan’s face as she stares down the snowman. The other children continue to sit in silence, but their eyes widen and the two redheaded girls take each other’s hands.
I tip my head to the backyard. “I don’t think Megan likes the snowman she built.”
Josh glances at her just as she starts wagging a finger at the snowman and yelling at it. “No, she doesn’t look happy at all.”
Stan’s comments about Molly’s and Megan’s differences return. “She’s talking to herself.”
“She’s talking to the ancient shaman and first shifter of the Ammon pack who was bonded unnaturally to her soul by witches when she was born.”
“Like Dr. Fairchild bonded the demon I summoned to me.” I pivot, blocking out the backyard to focus on Josh. “He said he was one of the few shamans in the world capable of doing that.”
“And a shaman is a witch,” Josh mutters.
“Only stronger.”
Josh studies her, his shoulders slumping and his back arching. “But whoever bonded them wasn’t strong enough. Either that or she was their first attempt at such a thing. Their bond isn’t…right. The first Ammon can sever it any time he wants.”