The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  Did Rush know how this would look on her when he chose the outfit? Curves accentuated, bust amplified… She touched her lips at the memory of their kiss. He’d left so suddenly after giving her the clothes. He’d looked nervous.

  In the black glass mirror behind the door, her reflection showed no evidence of the person she used to be. Clarke smoothed her hands down her hips. Everything fit, even the calf-high boots. Rush had purposefully sourced an outfit similar to what she had already worn. Knowing the big brooding fae had been thinking about her made her stomach do a little flip. She tried to suppress the flutter by putting her hand to her stomach. Her dreams were still filled with nightmares, but more often than not, her instincts kept veering toward Rush. She realized he used to be an honorable fae. His past and curse had changed him, but she didn’t believe that part of him was completely gone. Still, it wouldn’t hurt Clarke to start thinking about a plan B. Trusting a man had steered Clarke down dark paths before. Trusting herself was a better option.

  The woman staring back at her was someone she didn’t recognize. A different person. Something about Rush empowered her to speak her mind. To stand her ground. He was a big bad wolf, yet she’d snapped at him, shouted at him, and even saved his life. And that part had been hard. Dragging his heavy body out of the swamp. There had been a moment or two when she’d thought it was too much, but she did it.

  Purpose and resolve hardened within her. She would find a way to warn the right person about what she’d seen in her nightmare. Maybe it was the king. Maybe it was someone else. If Rush would not help her, then she’d find someone who would.

  Either way, she was learning that making her own decisions felt a hell of a lot better than having someone make them for her.

  The memory of the barmaid’s pretty face came to mind. Clarke would go down to the tavern, have a drink at the bar, and speak with her. Barmaids in any time would be useful sources of information, and Clarke was good at talking.

  Clarke fluffed her hair to ensure her ears were well and truly covered, and then on second thought, tore off a strip from the bottom of Rush’s old tunic. She wrapped it around her head to keep her ears from sticking out. Once satisfied her look was solid, she rustled around in the rucksack for more coin. She found a collection of different colored glass discs in a bag. Red, blue, yellow and clear. From the way the barmaid had reacted, the red was worth more. But to be safe, she took a variety of each and pocketed them. Rush wouldn’t miss them, and if he did, she didn’t care.

  She also found a curious little wooden carving, just like at Rush’s cabin. Picking it up, she let the figurine roll in her fingers. It was a wolf. Deciding she liked it, she shoved it in her pocket next to the coins.

  Feeling more upbeat already, Clarke paused at the open door and pushed out with her senses to feel for any bad vibes filtering back from the tavern downstairs. Biting her lip, she concentrated hard on her instincts. After a moment, nothing echoed back but continual joy and merriment. A smile tickled her lips. Perfect.

  Down in the tavern, the place had become crowded. The line at the bar went two people thick, and new bartenders fielded the drinks. Disappointment swamped Clarke, but then an urge pulled her gaze to the right. On a small table near the fireplace, Anise sat sharing a meal with the largely muscled muskox fae she’d noticed earlier. As though sensing her attention, Anise looked up and met Clarke’s eyes. Her lips curved, she leaned toward the fae at her side and spoke. His gaze flicked Clarke’s way, and then he grinned. An enormous hand lifted into the air, high over others’ heads, and waved for Clarke to come over.

  This could be the opportunity she’d been waiting for, and the wherewithal to proceed on her own in this world. If Rush continued to push her to uncomfortable limits with this bargain of his, then it mattered not if she thought he was honorable. She needed a better escape plan.

  She straightened her blouse, smoothed her hands over her hips and strode forward as though she belonged there. She had to sidestep an energetic arm wrestle by two rotund looking fae, but she made it otherwise intact.

  “Hi,” she said upon arrival and smiled.

  “Take a seat.” The big fae’s voice was a deep, slurred rumble. If he’d been drinking since she’d arrived, he’d be quite drunk. He pulled a stool out for her to sit and then hit his chest with a fist. “I’m Caraway.”

  “Nice to meet you, Caraway. I’m Clarke.” She held out her hand over the chipped table for a shake.

  He looked at her hovered hand and chuckled heartily. “What do I do with that?”

  “Sorry.” Probably not a custom observed in this time. She wiped her palm on her pants. “It’s something we elves do.”

  Clarke sat down in a rush and noticed Caraway had a blue teardrop tattoo under his eye.

  “You’re a Guardian!” she exclaimed, excited that she knew something of worth.

  He stiffened. Anise looked at her with shrewd eyes. “That’s not a problem, is it?”

  “No.” Clarke held up her palms. “I meant no offense.”

  “Well, I’m off duty,” Caraway mumbled.

  She sensed anguish lacing the big mountain-man’s soul. It was the same suppressed melancholy she’d felt in Rush. Something in the way he laughed, but it didn’t quite hit his eyes. Maybe all Guardians had it. Their jobs were brutal, unforgiving, and often went unappreciated. When Anise’s tail swished in agitation, Clarke realized she was staring.

  “Elf, hey?” Anise asked as she tore into the cooked leg of an animal. “What brings you this far west?”

  “Oh. Um.” Shit. What had Rush said? Nothing? Clarke scrambled with her instincts, looking for something to say, but Anise saved her from embarrassment.

  “It’s the secret beau, right?” She gave Clarke a wink.

  “Uh. Yeah. Sorry, I didn’t want to mention before.”

  “Thought so.” Anise turned to Caraway. “Pay up, big boy.”

  His cheeks pinked, and he pulled a clear coin from his pocket. After giving him a smug once over, Anise shifted her stein toward Clarke. “You want it? I have to get back to the bar in a minute.”

  Clarke lifted the stein to her lips. The ale tasted like sour cherries.

  “This is good,” she declared.

  “Probably not the same quality as you’re used to, but I make it myself.” Anise’s eyes lit up with a sudden thought. “If you’re wanting something a little more up your alley, I have a few Elven elixirs under the bar.”

  “Oh? That sounds interesting.”

  “I’ll bring some over after I go back.” She waggled her brows. “I’ll even bring something you can use later.”

  Clarke smiled over the lip of her stein as if she knew what Anise meant. “That sounds great.”

  Caraway and Anise shared a conspiring look that led Clarke to believe the elixir was something either completely disgusting, or very good and perhaps illicit. Either way, if it led the two to trust her, then all the better.

  Chapter Twenty

  Sitting across from Clarke on a chipped wooden table, Caraway’s cheeks were pink. His eyes sloped down at the sides like a puppy. Anise glanced often at him from beneath her lashes. It was clear the two of them were hyper-aware of the other’s presence.

  “So, Caraway,” Clarke started. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

  “I’m all ears.” His low muskox ears twitched out. And then he boomed a belly laugh at his own joke.

  She smiled. “If I wanted an appointment with someone important at the Order of the Well, how would I go about getting one?”

  He looked at her strangely, and Clarke knew this must be a very obvious answer to all fae.

  Caraway scratched his beard. His deep voice rumbled, “You mean like the Prime? Or one of the Council?”

  She nodded. Sure. That would do.

  A loud burst of male voices cut through the room, and then a hush followed as the front door opened. In came three tall, haughty fae. All wore red embroidered coats and had jeweled bone-weapons strapped to
their bodies.

  “What are they doing here?” Anise grumbled.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care.” Caraway lifted his stein and drank.

  “You might not have to serve the king, but I do.”

  Caraway turned ruminative and something unsaid passed between Anise and he. A lick of tension sizzled, and Clarke didn’t need to be psychic to know this was a bone of contention between the two. Anise looked at him. Her lips pressed together as though she was holding in a tirade of words.

  Clarke slid her gaze over to the serving bar to see most people in the tavern had given the guards a wide berth. And it was exactly what they liked. She didn’t get the sense they were soldiers. They looked too pretty and too clean. From the polished, filed finger nails to the trimmed facial hair.

  “They look like they’re insta-famous assholes,” Clarke said under her breath.

  “Like what?” Anise asked.

  “Oh.” Heat hit Clarke’s cheeks. She kept forgetting no one here knew a thing about Instagram, Facebook, or anything technically advanced. “Nothing.”

  Anise just rolled her eyes. “They look like they were born in a bed of red coin, that’s what.”

  “They wouldn’t know how to use those swords if they fell on them,” Caraway grumbled.

  “So why do you let them run around and cause so much trouble when they’re here?”

  “Because it’s none of my business. Not magic, not my problem.”

  Oh. Here we go. This was the source of their contention.

  Anise’s eyes lit up with anger. “You keep spouting that bullshit, and I swear I’ll—” She bit her words off.

  Caraway’s brows lowered. His voice rumbled. “You’ll what?”

  They stared at each other. And then Anise answered. “Being a Guardian is your job, Caraway. Not your life.” Anise stood and shook herself from head to toe. “I’d better go before my pay gets docked. I’ll bring back some of that elixir,” she added to Clarke, and then strode off.

  Caraway’s droopy doe-eyes watched her rear the entire way, and from the extra swagger in Anise’s step, she knew it. Clarke hid her smile behind the stein and pretended not to notice.

  Caraway turned back to Clarke with a brooding scowl. “She’s wrong. Being a Guardian is my life. And sticking my nose into local politics isn’t in my job description.” He slammed his fist on the table. “Right. Where were we?”

  Clarke jolted with the sudden turn of conversation. “You were about to tell me how to get an audience with the Prime.”

  “Yes. Good.” He rubbed his thick beard. “Helps if you know a Guardian or a Mage of the Order, and it just so happens, you’re in luck.” He tapped the tattoo under his eye. “I know both.”

  “You’re both Mage and Guardian?”

  A booming belly laugh came out of him. Clarke wanted to join in.

  “No,” he replied. “I’m barely one. But I know plenty. When you get there, ask for Thorne and tell him Caraway sent you—he’s an honorable Nightstalk wolf. Or if you want a fellow elf, ask for Leaf. He can be a right warada’s tail sometimes, but he’s on the council. Stay away from Cloud.”

  “Right. Thorne—wolf. Leaf—elf. Er, stay away from Cloud. Got it. Th—” She took another a sip of ale to hide her thanks. Damn it. She needed to watch that. The last thing she needed was to be in debt to another Guardian. She remembered the action Rush had taught her. She touched her fingers to her lips and pushed out.

  “Don’t mention it,” Caraway chuckled.

  A burst of mocking laughter drew Caraway’s attention to the bar. His expression darkened, his shoulders tensed, and his gaze moved as though following someone. Anise headed back their way. Her ears drooped and her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth as though she were trying to stop it trembling.

  She put the two steins of cherry ale on the table and stood there, fingers clenched around the handles, eyes squeezed shut. “I hate those floaters.”

  Caraway’s eyes softened. His hand moved to cover hers. “Neese...”

  “Don’t,” she snapped and took her hand away. Water pooled at the black rims of her eyes. “You don’t get to give sympathy when you refuse to do something about those cretins.”

  He drew his hand back, and for the first time, Clarke saw a flash of the lethal Guardian flickering beneath his casual demeanor. Those horns spilling from his head suddenly seemed extra pointy and hard.

  “What did they want?”

  “Nothing,” she mumbled. “Some drivel about a dead body outside the gates. Apparently a vamp is hunting in the area.”

  “That’s... odd.” Caraway frowned, but then shrugged. “Guess it got overzealous.”

  Anise dipped her hand into her apron pocket and pulled out two little vials of glowing liquid. She placed them on the table before Clarke.

  Caraway stiffened and glanced around. His gaze went specifically toward the red-coated guards loitering at the bar. “You know I don’t like you dealing that shit in public, Neese.”

  Anise rolled her eyes at him. “Fuck them. They’re not even looking. Besides, I like to know at least someone will get slippy tonight.”

  From Caraway’s blush, Clarke guessed “get slippy” meant sex. And then Clarke blushed.

  Anise sat down and pointed to the blue bottle. Her husky voice came out rushed. “This will give you and your beau stamina to last the night long.” She pointed to the diluted pink water. “This will ensure you avoid an execution warrant.”

  Yep. Definitely sex. Wait. Clarke blinked. “Execution?”

  “Unsanctioned breeding,” Anise elaborated with a “duh” tone to her voice. “If you ask me, the law is archaic. They sit in their castle with mountains of food enough to feed Elphyne ten times over, yet they still insist on keeping control of who can have children and how many.”

  Caraway grumbled something under his breath.

  “Yeah I get it,” Anise snapped at him. “None of your business. But what if it was someone you knew or cared about? Oh, sorry. I forgot. You lot don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

  “Low shot, Anise.”

  She raised her brows in challenge but said nothing.

  Caraway took the bait anyway. “Need I remind you that Thorne’s parents were both on the receiving end of that law. I know exactly how it affects the lives of those left behind.”

  “So why don’t you do something about it?”

  “The law is the law.”

  “The Guardians are above the law.”

  “Not that one.”

  “Ugh,” Anise groused and turned her back on Caraway to face Clarke. “I’m over Guardians.”

  “Shh.” Caraway cast a wary eye at the people surrounding them and waved her down. “Enough.”

  Anise lifted her eyes to the ceiling and took a breath, then refocused on Clarke. “Okay, well, because of that stupid law, don’t use the blue one for a good time unless you’re using the first elixir. Pink generally works within a few hours. Blue works in a few minutes. I’m not sure how the elves dose it in Delphinium, but don’t take more than one drop of the blue, otherwise neither of you will be able to sit down for days, if you know what I mean.” She winked mischievously.

  Clarke sat there for a moment letting Anise’s explanation sink in. One elixir was an aphrodisiac and one was contraception.

  “So crude,” Caraway said into his stein, but the brightness in his eyes told another story. He was into it. Perhaps had even tried the aphrodisiac. Maybe even with Anise.

  “How much do I owe you?” Clarke asked, not wanting to be rude and turn it away.

  “Nothing,” Anise replied. “The two red coin you gave for the room will still cover it.”

  Caraway spurted ale out and then tried to wipe his front. “Two red coin? What on earth do you do for a living?”

  Clarke decided something closest to the truth would be best. “I’m a Seer.”

  He raised a dark eyebrow. “Must be good if you earn red coin.”

  She shrugged. “I
do okay.”

  “Do me.” He waved a hand her way. “Read my fortune.”

  “Okay,” Clarke laughed. “But nothing comes free.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Information,” she replied.

  “Already done.”

  “Ooh, you drive a hard bargain.” Clarke smiled. “But maybe you can give me a little more?”

  He nodded. “Double done.”

  She did this sort of thing all the time back in Vegas. Before Bishop. Usually it was a bunch of fumbled guesses based on a combination of vibes she sensed, body language, and her vague instincts. But she managed well enough to score a quick buck and to feed herself. Sometimes she even swiped a watch from the wrist of a customer. Caraway had no valuables in easy reach, and she was trying to turn a new leaf, damn it.

  Stop thinking about stealing.

  Clarke took his hand and tipped it palm up. Making a show of smoothing his calloused fingers until he relaxed, she sent Anise a quick sideways glance to see if she watched. She did. Avidly.

  Interesting.

  She cleared her throat and concentrated on the Guardian’s palm. “Very curious,” she murmured.

  “What?” He shuffled in his seat.

  “See this line here? It’s the life line. Very long and unbroken. That’s good.”

  He snorted. “That’s not unusual. Fae live long.”

  “But this line.” She traced down another wrinkle on his palm. “This is the fate line. It twists and turns and links into your life and love line. Looks like you’ll find your love from a pool of people you’ve spent much of your life with and will continue to do so.”

  “You mean I’ll find a mate?” He blinked. “But I’m a Guardian.”

  She shrugged. “I can only tell you what your lines show. And there’s a powerful link between them. Also this bit here.” She pointed to a crease in his little finger. “This means you look excellent in buckskin breeches.”

  He blanked.

  So did Anise.

  Then the two of them burst out laughing. Clarke’s own smile warmed her face, and she hoped she’d planted a few seeds to give the two of them a push in the right direction. Anyone who argued like they did, and stole glances at each other the way they did, must harbor hidden romantic feelings. Sometimes they just needed a nudge to get there.