To Mate an Assassin: The Lost Alphars Series, Book 1

by Ceri Grenelle

  His smile didn’t last long though, as he also took in the poison coursing through her leg, disintegrating her skin as it went.

  “Cimby?” Kerrick asked quietly, advancing on her from the charred carcass that used to be an ancient Vrykolakas. “Cimby!” he yelled, running when her knees gave out from under her.

  Her eyelids felt heavy and the harsh sting of poison slithered its way from her thigh and into her hip making her convulse.

  “Ow,” she muttered and fell into a pair of warm, waiting arms.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kerrick sat on the edge of the bed, holding his mate’s small and scarred hand in his own. He dwarfed her, making the usually intense and dominant woman look fragile. The smile that image brought him couldn’t be helped, thinking what she would say or the look of disdain she would give him for even thinking those thoughts of her. But seeing her lying unconscious in a bed brought his protective instincts to the fore. Every inch of her petite body seemed fragile. Her skin was rough from years of fighting with swords and firing guns, and her usually pale complexion was mottled green and purple, aftereffects of the poison coursing through her veins. He was wrecked, mind, body and soul.

  It had been two days since the battle with Mara and the dousing of the fire that destroyed over two hundred human lives. Pointless death was the worst. It made fighting that much harder and yet necessary. In the end the battle hadn’t been about territory, it had been about Mara needing to die. The evil Kerrick had seen in her cold eyes when they fought had nearly been enough to bring him to his knees.

  He hadn’t been able to sleep since that battle, even though he felt the exhaustion like drugs in his bones. He was torn between worrying for Cimby and praying for her to wake up, or too hesitant to close his eyes and see what sort of mark Mara had left on his nightmares. It was all that occupied his mind since the days of the battle. His people needed him, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t tear himself away from the woman he loved.

  After the battle Kerrick had learned that Carter, the only Vryk left standing, had saved his people from Cymbeline’s rage-consumed possession. The Vryk had recognized the berserker form, somehow knowing what made human children Incendiaries, and explained to Jeremiah why he needed to call a retreat. Jeremiah later told Kerrick he only listened to Carter because Rhiannon had originally vouched for him, and the Vryk seemed genuinely scared of what Cymbeline had turned into. He owed the survival of his people to that damn Vryk, thinking if any of his soldiers had approached Cymbeline in her trance-like fury, she would have decimated them.

  Seeing Cimby become this mythological creature was surreal. The only physical aspect of her personage that had been transformed by this mind-erasing rage was the color of her eyes. They had turned pitch-black, but not like his. They were as dark and empty as a black hole, her sense of self completely obliterated, making way for the coldly beautiful and monstrous warrior who broke bones and ripped throats out without a second thought. According to Jeremiah, she hadn’t even smelled like a shifter anymore. She cut down thirty-seven Vryks in five minutes. His people may not have known her before that dawn, but his mate was most assuredly a legend now.

  The legend had almost lost her leg from magic and Vryk blood-laced poison. As it was, Lottie had to operate extensively on Cimby’s leg, saving what she could of the muscles and bones. Lottie assured Kerrick over and over she was healing, but he found it hard to believe as he stared at the angry black mark trailing from her thigh to her ankle, a new tattoo left by the poison. Cimby would see it as a battle scar, much like the burn mark on her face, shrug and move on. Kerrick would see it every day and remember how he’d nearly lost her. Again.

  He stood, beginning to pace the length of the room, never farther than thirty feet away from her at any given time. He kept remembering her limp body as he’d carried it back to The Mansion, flying through the air as a half-shifted avian creature. He’d sprung wings and talons but kept his arms so he could hold her tight. By the time he’d returned, Lottie had been prepped and ready to operate on the putrid flesh turning her beautifully pale skin black and corroded.

  She’d been dead. He’d held his mate’s dead body in his arms, or at least that was what he’d thought, her pulse and heartbeat so feint even his supernatural hearing couldn’t pick it up. At first Lottie didn’t know what had kept her on the edge of the living, keeping her from pitching over into the never-ending darkness, where he no doubt would have followed. But after an hour of tests and scraping the warped flesh away, she placed her hand over his mate’s heart and closed her eyes.

  “What?” he’d asked, seeing a sad smile gracing Lottie’s features.

  She’d turned to him with tears in her eyes, reaching out to her Alphar to hold him in a tight hug. “It’s you,” she’d said. “Your spirit is holding her here, keeping her alive. You’re saving her, Kerrick.”

  So he’d kept on, refusing to give in to sleep or the nightmares Mara had sunk deep into his mind. He’d even accepted a call from his mother, appreciating her concern and indulging in a rare conversation where they hadn’t fought. His people were healing, The Mansion returning to a normal state of operations, but his mate was still unconscious. He did everything to get her to awaken, called through their mate bond and whispered threats and promises in her ear. Nothing. Not a peep from her side of the connection.

  He raked his hands through his hair and growled. He was going damn crazy and would tear The Mansion apart if she didn’t fucking wake up soon.

  “Stop pacing, I can feel the wheels in your mind grinding.” Kerrick spun to see his mate’s eyes half open, a sarcastic, if tired, smirk on her face.

  He buried the cry of relief he wanted to let out in his chest, not wanting to burden her with the pain he’d suffered worrying for her. She’d been through enough as it was.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as she took his harried state in. He should have known better, trying to keep his emotions from his mate. It didn’t matter the amount of time they’d spent in one another’s lives they were soul mates. She could read him to the depths of his spirit and he would still be searching for a way to become closer to her. There were no secrets. Not between him and his fierce Incendiary. Not anymore. “C’mere,” she mumbled, reaching her fingers off the bed toward him, as if she couldn’t muster the strength to gesture with her whole arm.

  “You should be sorry,” Kerrick said gruffly as he gently asserted himself in the bed beside her and slid beneath the covers. He needed to feel her skin against his. She gingerly shifted position and laid her hand along his chest, above his heart, using his shoulder as a pillow. Kerrick kissed her forehead and held her for a while, enjoying just being with his mate. He took a few moments of peace to simply listen to her breathe and that was all he needed for those few moments. Her hand sluggishly rubbed along his chest, tapping his skin to the beat of his heart.

  “You can’t do that to me again, love,” Kerrick whispered, holding her closer.

  His hand trailed up and down her arm, letting her body settle into the different position after having slept on her back for two days. He had bathed her when they first brought her back to The Mansion after operating on her leg. Kerrick had instructed Jeremiah call and have Lottie flown in on a copter from the safe base in Canada to help Zach with the procedure. It had taken five hours, but an exhausted Zach and a nearly mentally unhinged Lottie successfully removed the poison from her system, and magically restored what they could of her leg. Afterwards the two shifters had collapsed on hospital beds and had only just awoken five hours earlier.

  She pressed against his chest for balance and struggled to lift her head for a look down at her comforter-covered body, a frown on her face. “I feel…incomplete, physically. What is wrong with me?”

  “Baby, you’re not rested enough for me to complete you.”

  “Ass.” She snorted, relaxing against him once more. Kerrick
felt her breathe him in as she dug her fingers into his chest, holding on to him with a nervous desperation. “Iri?” she asked quietly.

  “She’s good. Zach and Lottie were waiting for you to wake up to remove the tattoo. They’ve rested and feel they can proceed with the procedure without error now.”

  “They didn’t need to wait for me,” Cimby grumbled, looking at him with an annoyed look. “She’s the priority, Kerrick. They should have done it the second Iri got back from Canada if they knew how.”

  “They needed to focus on healing you, Cimby.”

  “I’m not—”

  “Do not,” Kerrick said on a furious growl, his need for her so consuming that the mere thought of her no longer on the earth with him a terror so incomprehensible it forced him to resort to caveman tactics. With a gentle speed he turned her on her back, cradling her scarred face. “Do not say you are unimportant. When you collapsed on that field I thought—I thought I’d lost you.”

  “You saw what I am, what I can do.” Her hands came up to rest over his. “I’m more than just a Wolf, Incendiaries are monsters.”

  “It makes me proud to have a mate who can kick the ass of any Vryk she faces. I need someone who can be strong, who can lead or fight with me, whichever is required.”

  “I just need to be insane to do it.”

  He smiled, nuzzling her scarred cheek. “Let’s not make that a repeat performance.”

  “Creeped you out, didn’t it?”

  ”You were fucking scary,” he said as he pulled back. She laughed, her eyes crinkling with warmth, not the cold insanity that consumed her on the battlefield. “I love you, mate of mine,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her chapped lips, reveling in the feel of her alive and breathing beneath him. She would be all right. She would live and they would be together.

  “There’s no going back, Ker,” Cimby whispered, a fearfully serious look in her eyes. “I thought I could give you up before, for your own good. But you’re mine now. I’m keeping you.” She leaned up to kiss his lips once. Soft but with a small bite at the end. “I love you.” And with that whispered declaration stealing the last of her strength, she laid her head back on the pillow and fell asleep.

  She slept for another day. Lottie checked in on her multiple times, having awoken from her own much needed rest. Much to the physician’s annoyance, Jeremiah was never far away when she made her visits, watching the frazzled redhead like a hawk. After Cimby’s operation she’d had to delegate the work of all visiting physicians from local packs. Coordinating who would need scientific surgery and who would benefit more from magical healing. Zach had collapsed immediately after Cimby’s surgery, barely having enough energy to complete it. But he was awake now and back in peak condition, ready to remove Irisi’s tattoo as promised.

  Irisi popped her head in to visit Cimby before the surgery, her skinny hand gripping a cane to help her walk. Lottie had wanted the girl to use a wheelchair, but Irisi had been too proud and stubborn to give in to that edict.

  “She still asleep? Zach says he wants to do the thing now,” Irisi asked, leaning against the bed and playing with the edge of the comforter.

  “Yes. She woke up for a bit earlier but she didn’t have enough energy to stay awake for long. She did stay awake long enough to harp on us for not having that tattoo removed the second you got back to The Mansion. So let’s get it done now.” He held out his hand for her to take.

  “What? But, doesn’t Cimby need to be there? Shouldn’t you be staying with her?”

  “I’m going to sit with her for a while,” Rhiannon said with her perfect timing as she walked in. The pristine woman was not as kept together as her usual fashion sense dictated. Her hair had been singed on the battlefield so she needed to cut it, allowing it to flow around her face instead of pulled back. There was also a new scar along her collarbone.

  “Cimby would want to be there,” Irisi said to Kerrick, keeping her gaze on Cimby’s sleeping form and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Kerrick had felt an instant need to protect and care for this young girl the moment he’d seen her lashed body before they ran as Raccoons together. But now that he knew she was his, his daughter, the anger and need he felt to make her feel safe was a harsh tide to ride. He could already tell he was going to be an overprotective parent.

  “She’ll regret not being there for you, but I will be there. I hope I am an okay substitute?”

  Her eyes snapped up to him in shock. “You? I didn’t—I know you’re probably busy. Have a country to run and all that. I’ll be okay on my own. Really.” She had begun to edge away from the bed, twisting her hands together to cover her nervousness.

  He knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his before she could get too far away. “Iri, can I call you Iri?” She nodded. “I know having me come into your life so suddenly, intrude on what you and Cimby have established, is going to be weird. I’m an overbearing, overprotective brute and I’m not going to hide any of that nature. But you and Cimby are mine to protect now.” He lowered his voice with a side-glance to his mate. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  She grinned. “I promise.”

  “And I promise to always be there for you, whether the country is in crisis or Cimby is off doing whatever highly skilled assassins do. I will be there for you.” He kissed her knuckles in an old-fashioned, gentlemanly like way. “We’re a family now. So come on, let’s get that thing removed.” Kerrick turned around and motioned for her to get on his back. She sighed but complied.

  “I’m not actually ten years old, Kerrick,” she said, wrapping her arms around his thick neck. She weighed no more than a toothpick.

  “I know, and you’ll probably grow pretty quickly after the tat is removed. So I want to get in as much cuddling as possible before you get teenagey on me.”

  “I’m already teenagey. But I won’t object to a hug or two once I look my age.” Kerrick’s heart all but broke when he felt her nuzzle into the back of his neck, a familiar and loving gesture. Something reserved for families.

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Kerrick carried her to the Med Center, helping Lottie with whatever preparations she needed before the removal. Irisi sat stoically, taking all the poking and prodding with a stubborn jaw and steadfast demeanor. But he saw the nerves beneath it all.

  When it came time for the procedure, Lottie turned her over onto her side and injected the local anesthetic. It was laced with magical properties so Irisi’s metabolism, and whatever curse the tat was weaving, wouldn’t force it to burn out faster. A hanging sheet partition shielded Kerrick’s view of Iri from the waist down, as she had needed to disrobe. It was also necessary for her to be cognizant throughout the procedure so Lottie could monitor her.

  “I’m going to make the first incision, Iri. Let me know if you feel anything.”

  Irisi’s hand darted out to grasp Kerrick’s from resting on the edge of the bed. He sat in a wooden chair, stroking her fuzzy head, and now squeezing her hand in reassurance. Her eyes were wide with fear, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Kerrick nuzzled her hand, and wished he could shield her from the fear and pain. But he thought of some other way he could distract her.

  “Just relax, Iri, and let me tell you a story. It will distract you.”

  “I’m not a child, I don’t need to be told stories,” Irisi grunted, the rapid squeeze of his hand betraying her annoyance for the nerves she was feeling.

  “You may not be a child, but you are a Were. All Weres need to know this story.”

  That piqued her interest. “What story?”

  “The story of where shifters come from.” He took a deep breath and said, in his best booming, narrative voice, “Once upon a time—”

  “You seriously going to start this story like that?” Kerrick’s tension eased as he saw her mouth kick up in a smile at his attempt to tease her.

  “Cimb
y’s right, you are a pest.”

  “You love it.”

  “Hush and listen. Many millennia ago, before there were Weres or Vrykolakas or Mages, there were higher beings. Creatures made of a magic so strong, so ethereal, that there is currently no modern word to describe their magnificence.”

  “Were they Gods?”

  “No. They could die, like us, but they were something different. Something more. There was a small group of these beings who could take the form of any creature, whether flora or fauna, it didn’t matter, that’s how attuned to magic they were. The time itself was a period when magic was the food of the earth, and these select beings were the caretakers of that magic. Harvesting and working it for the good of the people. But power can corrupt, no matter how well it is cared for. Not all are strong enough or have the support they need to maintain that precious balance.

  “A war broke out between these beings. For centuries the quest for territory and power held sway over the earth.”

  “What stopped the war?” Irisi asked, the procedure all but forgotten as he weaved a tale more familiar to him than any other.

  “In essence, it was rage born from a broken heart. A man, all we know of him is his name, Alphane. He was the ruler of a secluded territory and tended to favor peace over war. But he had allies, and Alphane, being an honorable man, would quickly go to the aid of those allies whenever he was needed. Alphane was also one of the few rulers who had a partner who helped keep him whole, keep him unsusceptible to the pull of the magic’s corrupting power.”

  “You mean a mate?” Irisi asked.

  “Yes. He had a mate, a soul-mate. A woman he loved and would do anything for. He loved her so deeply that he harnessed a special kind of magic to prove his love, binding their souls together so he could feel her with him always.”

  “Okay,” she sighed. “Even I need to admit that is crazy romantic.”