Once upon a time, he had been a child, and he had worshipped his parents. They’d loved him in turn and lavished him with affection. But then, his magic had emerged, and they had been horrified. They’d abandoned him in the forest to be eaten by beasts.
It was only by miracle, or his own strength, that G’aladon had survived. He’d been only ten, but he had already learned more than people thrice his age. Yes, he had survived, feeding his power with anger at the betrayal.
He had wanted to return to his village to avenge the injustice wrought upon him, but years later, when he had, indeed, come back, he found that a plague had ravished it. All of the survivors, including his parents, had fled, leaving behind a ghost town. And so, G’aladon was robbed of his vengeance.
After that, he had planned to learn more, to figure out a way to find them. But as he accumulated more and more power, he found that he couldn’t be bothered with such things. He came up with higher and higher goals, until he forgot about the child he’d been and the love he had once received. He forgot about ever needing that affection.
What did it matter in the end? Love made a person weak. It had urged G’aladon to follow his parents into the forest, even if he had instinctively known something was not right. It blinded humans all the time into believing that G’aladon felt anything at all for them.
Like that woman. Lana. He remembered her now. She had given herself to him, imagining that she loved him. Why? Why did people do such unfathomable things? Why did they risk their very existence for an illusion?
A whirlpool of thoughts assaulted him, and he felt as if he was torn in two, ripped apart by two conflicting forces. Half of him wanted to shy away from the questions, wanted to forget about them and what they meant. The other ached to delve forward, to seek answers as to why he’d ended up here in the first place. Did he deserve it?
And when he asked himself that, G’aladon knew something was different. Something had changed inside him. But what?
Images invaded his mind, and G’aladon noted with shock that he didn’t recognize them as his memories. No, they were events happening to someone else, a man who held great strength, both in body and in spirit. And gods, he felt it. He felt what the man did. It was only a shadow of what he’d once sensed as a mortal, but it was undeniably there. He had emotions again. He had a soul. When had that happened? How?
Desperate, G’aladon reached out, pouring his pain and the desperation that finally had an outlet into his efforts. The barrier between the realm still held him back, but his message went through. But his agony was too much to endure for any living being, and G’aladon felt the moment when the man, the wolf, lost himself to the feral insanity.
Chapter One
“Help me. Help me.”
Roarke’s eyes shot open, and he blindly reached for his knife as the nightmares seemed to follow him into reality. For a few moments, he wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but as his vision focused, he groaned. Not again. This was the seventh night in a row during which he hadn’t gotten any sleep. He didn’t think he could take it much longer.
Roarke pushed off the covers and slipped out of his small cot. Perhaps being in the city was just getting to him. He should return to living in the wild, like he had for a long time.
Only, in wolf form, the dreams were even more intense. Sometimes, he woke up and realized he’d left his cave a long time ago. One time, he’d snapped back to consciousness only to find himself munching on a recently slain rabbit. That was the occurrence that had urged him to leave and seek shelter in the lingering traces of his rational side. But he was a feral, and unsurprisingly, it hadn’t worked.
Roarke was torn. His beast snarled, yearned to be released, but here in the city, there was no real place he could go to run. One thing seemed certain, though. He was as dangerous here as he had been in wolf form, or perhaps even more so. Everywhere he looked, there was a vulnerable human. All he had to do was lose control once, and disaster would strike.
It was clear to him that he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, so Roarke left the bed and pulled on a pair of pants. Looking around the tiny motel room, he wondered just how he’d allowed his life to decline so badly. He was more than this. He shouldn’t be hiding behind gauzy orange curtains or trying to find rest in sheets that smelled of the sweat and lust of others. He should be finding out the source of these dreams and eliminating it.
He stole a look outside at the waning moon and considered his options. This wasn’t the first time the nightmares had struck Roarke, but they had grown even more insistent in the past weeks. These dreams had been the catalyst of him losing his spirit wolf nature in the first place. There had to be a way to figure out where they came from.
Closing his eyes, Roarke focused on remembering what he could of his dream. Usually, he tried to shy away from them, since the last time he’d tried to open himself up to the voices that came to him, he’d gone feral. But it seemed that he had no other option. Someone was calling out to him, and if Roarke didn’t find out who it was, he’d grow completely insane. The risk hadn’t disappeared, but what else could Roarke do?
It occurred to Roarke then that he did, indeed, have another option. His former friend, Devon, had somehow managed to ally himself with the spirit wolves. Roarke himself had told Devon about a plan Magistrate Wolfram Rozenstadt had regarding an alliance between ferals and spirit wolves. Through the grapevine, Roarke had learned that Devon had even mated Hewitt Moore, a witch and close friend of one of the magistrate’s mates.
Perhaps Devon could help him. They’d been friends once, and while ferals weren’t exactly known for socializing with each other, their history hadn’t been magically wiped away by the changes in them. Roarke had never truly told his friend about his nightmares, so to this day, Devon didn’t know why Roarke had gone feral in the first place. If nothing else, it might bring them back together as friends.
He was considering this decision when, all of a sudden, a spike of pain pierced his temple. Clutching his forehead, Roarke fell to his knees. His mind was suddenly invaded by images, memories not his own. He saw a dark void and in front of him, Devon, accompanied by two more men. They were attacking him, or rather, attacking the owner of these memories. Agony and despair gripped Roarke, and he clutched his chest, blindly reaching forward, seeking an anchor that would keep him from completely falling out of his reality and into one that didn’t belong to him.
Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work. Although the flashes of memory started to diminish, the voice that used to come to him in his dreams followed him, insistent whispers bursting into his mind.
“Help me! Help me!”
“Spirit Mother, yes,” Roarke shouted. “I understood that already. But what in the world do you even want help with? Who are you? How do you know Devon?”
There was no real answer, just a strange anger and fear that confused Devon. Whoever was reaching out to him didn’t like Devon very much, and that wasn’t very reassuring for Roarke. But who else could he turn to?
An idea struck him. Devon frequented a certain human family that provided him with news regarding the paranormal world. Roarke had always avoided the Tanners, realizing all too well that the stream of information went both ways. He’d wanted to keep a low profile, and if the Tanners found out about his nightmares, he might as well paint a bright target on his back. The ongoing dreams were his Achilles’ heel, and Wolfram’s magistrate abilities were powerful enough to find him if informed about Roarke’s nightly torment.
But things were different now. Spirit wolves were no longer so hostile to ferals, and even if he revealed his problem to the Tanners, the magistrate was less likely to exploit this vulnerability.
Roarke stopped himself as he realized he was considering something he’d never have under normal circumstances. Something tickled at the back of his consciousness, and Roarke realized the voice he’d been hearing had never left him at all.
“Should I go there?” he asked, feeling stupid and wondering if h
e’d finally lost his mind.
“Yes,” came the reply. “There is a young man. He can help us.”
The words were spoken so weakly and with interruptions, as if they were reaching Roarke through heavy static. Roarke tried to clear his mind, to open himself to whatever this person was trying to convey. “What young man?” he inquired.
This time, the voice that reached him was clearer. “His name is Quinn. He will be able to explain everything better.”
“Why can’t you?” Roarke bristled. “You drove me crazy with your mysterious calls for help, and now you claim you can’t explain why?”
For a few moments, no reply came. Roarke half expected to be ignored, but then the most unexpected thing happened. “I’m sorry,” the voice said, weak and barely audible again. “I never meant to…” It trailed off, and spikes of pain pierced Roarke. “Go to him,” it insisted. “I can’t…”
And with that, the strange presence that had invaded Roarke was gone. He should have been relieved, as the agony had vanished as well, but instead, he just felt a strange, bleak sense of abandonment.
He shook himself, casting away the peculiar emotion. Regardless of the oddness of the conversation, Roarke had found out something that could be useful. For whatever reason, the person—the man—who’d spoken to him considered Devon and his mates enemies. That wasn’t very encouraging, and as such, Roarke had to tread lightly. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to visit the Tanners. If nothing else, they could shed some light on what was going on.
Decision made, Roarke started to pack. He had a long journey ahead of him, and he had a feeling that time was running out.
* * * *
Quinn took a deep breath, struggling to focus his mind. The man who wanted his help had not spoken to him today, and it unsettled him. He reached out, attempting to touch that presence always lingering at the back of his mind, but couldn’t find anything.
Frustrated, Quinn opened his eyes. His abilities had never failed him. If anything, they showed up at the worst times, distracting him from his normal day-to-day responsibilities. Well, normal for his family, at least. He highly doubted that young men his age busied themselves with providing information for various paranormals of different species.
But Quinn had long ago gotten used to that. He couldn’t become accustomed to the absence of his unseen friend. As disturbing as it might have seemed, he’d started to enjoy the voice’s company. It felt familiar, like he had known the man behind the presence forever. He suspected that this might indeed be the case, as during his childhood and teenage years, he had sometimes felt as if he were being watched. At first, it had frightened him, but then, he’d grown to ignore it, until finally, it had culminated into the voice which he definitely could not forget about.
But now, he had been abandoned. No presence, no voice, no anything. Quinn threw his hands up, not knowing what to do now. The man had asked for his help, but Quinn still had no idea regarding a solution to this possible situation.
The walls of his quarters seemed to close in on Quinn. He slid onto the floor, burying his face in his hands. “Where are you?” he asked the empty room. “Why did you go?”
He was not surprised when he didn’t receive an answer, but it still hurt. It seemed irrational, as he didn’t even know the identity of this person. It was quite ironic, really. The Tanners who dealt with information couldn’t provide Quinn with any assistance in this matter.
Quinn had briefly considered contacting the spirit wolves. He liked Devon, and the feral had grown close to them lately. Devon had even dropped by recently, leaving a message for a friend of his, Roarke Darbonne. Quinn had not opened it, and he’d at first refused to even receive it, since Roarke never dropped by at the diner owned by Quinn’s family. However, Devon had insisted, and Quinn couldn’t ask for his help now, not after he’d failed in delivering that message.
A knock sounded outside, snapping him out of his depressed musings. Quinn got up, knowing there was only one person who’d come to see him when he was like this. With a sigh, he opened the door and faced his sister. “What is it, Dawn?”
Dawn narrowed her eyes at him in that older-sibling expression Quinn knew so well. “Don’t give me that look, mister,” she said. “You’ve been wallowing in your room for hours now. You can’t do that and expect us not to worry.”
A pang of guilt struck Quinn’s heart. She was right, of course. As a family, they were very close. They had to be, since their involvement with the paranormal world held significant risks that could only be overcome if they stuck together. Since Quinn’s father’s death, his mother had taken up the reins of the business, and while she remained as loving as ever, she was mostly too busy to focus on Quinn and Dawn. Dawn had been the one Quinn had come to as a teen, when he’d been confused about why he didn’t feel nervous and excited around girls like other boys his age. She had explained that it wasn’t bad if he felt that way around people of his same gender instead. She had held him when his first crush had rejected him and had taught him not to confuse pure physical attraction with something more. And yet, he hadn’t shared his current predicament with her. He just didn’t know how to reveal it without making her think he was losing his mind or something along that line.
But Quinn didn’t foresee the situation changing anytime soon. The voice’s absence hurt more than it healed, and Quinn hoped that it would come back. Once it did, Quinn truly needed to come up with a solution. Dawn might be able to help him.
Licking his suddenly dry lips, Quinn gestured for his sister to come in. “I assure you I can explain,” he said. “It’s just…It’s a long story.”
Dawn slipped inside and plopped down on his bed. “Well, you’d better start talking, because we don’t have a lot of time. The next wave of customers is closing in fast.”
Quinn winced. In his need to connect with the mysterious presence, he had left only his sister in charge of the diner. While the actual restaurant was a front for what really happened behind the scenes, humans did frequent it just for the quality of the food. They couldn’t afford to slip up.
Quickly, he began to tell her about the feeling of being watched, of the presence he had feared and then grown to accept, even like. “He wants me to help somehow. It’s not always clear. He seems to be struggling a lot to even reach out to me. He’s in pain, I can tell.”
“And what do you want to do?” Dawn asked, her tone neutral, betraying nothing.
Quinn passed a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure. He’s vanished now. I’ve been trying to find the source of the voice, or the reason why he’s blocked to me.”
Dawn released a sigh. “Honey, little brother, you have to forget about this. It’s entirely possible that someone is indeed trying to get you to help him. But there are a great many people who would ask for that. If you made it your life’s mission to assist them all, you’d never finish.”
“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try,” Quinn protested.
“Of course not,” Dawn replied. “But, Quinn, you must understand that whenever you act on behalf of someone, you change the way things have been done so far. We don’t get involved, little brother. We never have.”
Quinn knew that. The Tanner family had always kept a delicate balance between what they could and could not do, never taking sides, maintaining themselves as neutral and uninvolved in the disputes of bigger players. But while Quinn admired his ancestors’ courage and wit, he also thought that the knowledge they held meant power. With it, they could do much more for the world. They could help people, solve conflicts. Perhaps he might be arrogant or idealistic in thinking so, but he felt he was destined for more than just passing on pieces of information from one person to another.
“I get that,” he told his sister. “I know it’s risky, but everything we do is a risk. Every day, we chance sharing the wrong thing with the wrong person and pissing off someone who might very well kill us.”
Dawn arched a brow at him. “That’s true, in a way, b
ut we have good standing now, Quinn. The paranormal world knows us. They wouldn’t hurt us, because they need the service we provide.”
“That’s just it,” Quinn argued. “Why should we only provide a service? We can be more than just…mercenaries. We can make a difference.”
Dawn rubbed her eyes tiredly. “Quinn, we’ve talked about this. Our family—”
“I know, I know,” Quinn interrupted her. “So you say. But the fact that things have been done like this until now doesn’t mean it’s right.” He paused, considering what he was about to say. Would Dawn understand? Unlikely. Quinn himself didn’t really comprehend his own emotions. But he couldn’t hide what he knew to be true and real. “I know what you’re thinking, but this is not just about me being idealistic, Dawn. I’ve always wanted this, yes, but with this particular person, something’s different. I feel strange, as if he’s a part of me, as if his pain is my own.” Kneeling in front of his sister, he gripped her hands and squeezed them. “I’m not lying, sis. I have to do this. I just don’t know how.”
Dawn’s eyes widened. She might not have believed him until now, but clearly, the desperation that had slipped into his tone must have convinced her. “Oh, little brother,” she said, hugging him. “What have you gotten yourself into?”
Quinn relaxed in her arms, inhaling her familiar scent. Usually, it provided him great comfort, but now, not even that could cast away the apprehension of the mysterious man’s absence. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore.
He was so lost in his thoughts that when a knock sounded at the door, he almost yelped. Jumping guiltily away from Dawn, Quinn gave his sister a startled look. She hadn’t been there so long so as to urge their mother to come after them. Something was amiss.
The Mates Who Gave Him Salvation [Feral 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour ManLove) Page 2