The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “Just because you like the five-finger discount, Cloud, doesn’t mean everyone else does,” the vampire drawled.

  “I don’t steal mana, ass-face.”

  Ha! Clarke almost laughed out loud. It was good to see some things, like cursing out your friends, never went out of style. And it amused her to no end that, in a way, Cloud was right. She had spent most of her life as a petty thief. So, apparently, was he.

  “It is not for us to decide who gains power from the Well.” Leaf strode over and gestured at both vampire and crow. “We would have chosen better on more than one occasion.”

  Shade’s and Cloud’s wings snapped out and hovered. Tension vibrated in the air as all three Guardians faced off. It seemed a common occurrence. The Mages sighed, and the Prime pressed her lips. Rush stood with his arms folded, and a wistful smile, as if this were something he missed.

  But Clarke was over it. Her muscles ached from standing in one position for too long. She rubbed her temples and turned to the Prime. “Are we finished here?”

  The Prime glanced at the four other pools and a sinking feeling settled in Clarke. She thought she might have to do the same in all of them, but the Prime nodded.

  “Tomorrow,” the Prime said, “We will begin your training at first light and test for affinity to the elements. For tonight, D’arn Leaf will take you to your room. I’m sure D’arn Rush can take care of giving you a tour of the grounds and point out the mess hall for future meals. You are dismissed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Many thoughts coalesced as Rush followed Clarke to the Guardian barracks. From the moment the curse glyphs had covered half his body a few years ago, his mental state had shifted. No longer content to ride out his exile finding new adventures to occupy his time, he’d been consumed with thoughts of his legacy, and at that point, there had been nothing to be proud of. His curse had prevented him from teaching his son to be the best possible fae he could be, and it stopped him from so many other things. He’d always thought he’d be the kind of parent to make his own proud, but from the start, he never had the chance.

  Clarke was the glaring symbol of a reward he didn’t feel he deserved. What had he done to merit the little slice of happiness she’d given him?

  Rush’s top lip lifted at the thought of how the Prime had reacted to meeting Clarke. Every protective instinct flared to life at the proprietary glint in the Prime’s eyes. She had stared openly while they lost Clarke to the obelisk, and those big cynical eyes had seen everything. The future. The past. She calculated like a god. He knew it because he knew the Prime. She’d been the same when he was at the Order. It hadn’t escaped his attention that she’d referred to Rush as D’arn, the same as she’d done with Leaf. It was their official Guardian title.

  After all this time, why would she make the move to include him as one of the group? As though she’d never insisted he be cursed into exile. The female was up to something, and Clarke and he were in the middle of it. They were pawns in her game against the humans, or even potentially just within the realm. He intended to find out how far this plan of hers stretched, because he was under no illusion that if they weren’t careful, neither Clarke nor Rush would come out of it intact.

  Because he was lost in his thoughts, Rush failed to notice Leaf had bypassed the barracks and gone straight to the cadre house until they were upon the doorstep. The two-story behemoth had twelve private suites, a separate kitchen, and rooms for entertainment. The Twelve had earned their privacy through blood, sweat and kills.

  Leaf took them inside and up the flight of stairs. He veered left down a red-carpeted corridor and stopped at the last door. Suspicion and disbelief coursed through him. This was his old quarters. He’d spent a century beyond that door. He put his palm to the wood and felt the memories: the proud day he’d arrived after being promoted at age forty-nine; the time Jasper had given him his first taste of mana-weed, and then the day after spent sleeping with a headache. As punishment for his tardiness, they had forced him to wash every window of the house. Jasper had laughed the entire time. But he’d also pitched in at the end.

  “This is Rush’s old room,” Leaf said to Clarke. “I don’t know if he’s listening, but you can tell him we kept it untouched since he left.” He paused, then added, “Upon orders of the Prime.”

  “Thank you,” Clarke murmured.

  Leaf pushed open the door. “There should be refreshments waiting for you. Someone will collect you at sunup.”

  “Am I a prisoner?” she asked.

  “Not at all. But your tour will have to wait for another time, and exploring the grounds without a guide can be dangerous. You never know what concoctions the Mages have created.” He scanned her up and down. “And if you come across any of the Six, run in the opposite direction.”

  “Who?”

  “They’re the cadre next door. All members are Slaugh and were part of the horde that led the Wild Hunt. Some say they still kidnap humans, so… stay away.”

  Leaf left and Rush followed Clarke inside. He shut the door behind them.

  “He shouldn’t scare you like that,” Rush murmured.

  “I can take it.”

  He smiled at her and then took in the room. Time reversed and his breath lodged in his throat with every memory his gaze landed on. There was Starcleaver’s carved slice in the wall—an accident upon being gifted it for the first time. There was the stain on the carpet when he’d spilled mally-root wine. And there was the king-sized bed, made with its blue quilt and soft velvet pillows and most likely still complete with the squeak in the frame. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined being back there, let-alone with a woman, a mate. It wasn’t as though Guardians were forbidden to mate, it was just discouraged. They lived a dangerous life. Short dalliances were encouraged.

  “I’m sorry about what the Prime said.”

  “What?”

  “About your curse.” Clarke frowned. “I wish I could have… I don’t know, made her tell another truth. I wish what she said was different.” Her face hardened. Rush had never seen such fire light up in her eyes. “I can promise you this, Rush. I will find a way. I’ll stake my life on it. She might think she’s my boss, but she’s not.”

  The kiss he gave was everything he couldn’t say. He wanted that to be true, but no one argued with fate. Fate was the tie that bound… and bound… and bound until it choked you in your own misery.

  Her eyes had glazed and he let go of her, satisfied with the smile he’d left on her lips. He turned to inspect the room.

  “Oh my sweet lord,” Clarke murmured, and rushed over to a tray of food left near the settee on the opposite side of the room near the window. She began shoveling morsels into her mouth as though this was her last chance. A smile touched his lips. She ate with as much passion as she loved, making murmurs of appreciation with every taste.

  “Hungry?”

  She nodded and replied through a mouthful, “If I don’t eat, I’m going to faint.”

  He left her devouring and paced around the sleeping chambers, getting reacquainted with the place. He ran his finger across the fireplace mantle. No dust. The bed had no residual scent, meaning no one had slept in it for a long time. He moved onto the bathing chambers. Clean and polished. A fresh bouquet of jasmine flowers was in a glass vase by the sink. The large tub and toilet were spotless and scentless. Maybe a hint of ginger and lemongrass beyond the jasmine. The house brownies still used the same products. Moving into the sitting room, he sat on the claw foot sofa and tested the cushion. The seat creaked, just like his bed.

  He smiled.

  Nothing had changed.

  One last place in his suite to check. The storeroom. Before, it was filled with his clothes and weapons. He’d taken nothing into exile. Nothing except what he wore, including the Guardian jacket and Starcleaver. He pushed open the door and found everything was as he left it. No… not quite. He pushed aside the hanging jackets and found new female garments that smelled like lavender. Ten
sion pulled across his shoulders. The clothes were like the style Clarke preferred to wear. No dresses. Just blouses and pants.

  Gravity shifted. Horror dawned on him.

  They knew Rush and Clarke would arrive back here one day. They knew what she would wear, and what perfume she preferred. The Prime had mentioned she’d been waiting for Clarke to arrive for a very long time. Perhaps even longer than Rush was cursed.

  He slammed the jackets back into place and left the storeroom. Like a rising storm, every muscle and vein in his body filled with pressure. He couldn’t see straight. His teeth hurt. And his fists sought something to punch.

  He entered his room and found Clarke curled into a ball on the bed. He stopped still. The storm whisked away. Clarke. She was his calm. The very scent and sight of her so pure and vulnerable in his bed, heated his heart and filled it once more. She opened one eye and squinted at him. With a moan, she said, “I ate too fast and now I feel sick.”

  A rush of endorphins crashed through him. How could he tell this woman that since her arrival in this time she’d been a pawn in someone else’s game? This fierce woman who insisted on doing things her way had been played, just like him. How much of their relationship was real? How much had been calculated and manipulated? Forcing himself to exhale and reveal nothing of his revelation, he strode to the bed. He brushed his knuckles across her cheekbones and then gently tugged the torn strap from her hair. “You won’t need to hide your ears here.”

  She nodded and closed her eyes.

  “Do you need anything, princess?” he asked.

  She shook her head and then burrowed her face into the pillow. “It doesn’t smell like you,” she murmured.

  “It’s been a long time since I slept in this bed.” He tugged down the duvet and shifted her so she was underneath. Then he covered her and tucked her in. Unable to resist, he brushed the hair from her face.

  She caught his hand and tugged him down to her. “Sleep with me now.”

  His body moved before he’d allowed it, and he knew she’d always have this effect on him. He would do anything she asked. And that was dangerous.

  He laid down behind her and flattened a hand against her stomach. She rolled to face him and lifted her nose to his neck. Inhaling deeply, she sighed on the exhale and then hugged him close. “Much better.”

  “Yes.”

  Much better. But only if he ignored the blue glow glancing off her face.

  Chapter Thirty

  While Rush laid next to his mate, feeling the soft push of breath on his face, he could only think of what he’d learned.

  Everything.

  The Prime’s talons had been in every part of his life since birth. Scheming, shifting, rearranging. As Clarke softened and drifted to sleep, Rush’s resolve hardened into an unbending desire for retribution. The Prime wouldn’t get away with this. He’d dedicated his life to the preservation of the Well, to staying out of fae politics and to using his enhanced abilities for her prerogative only. This was the thanks he got.

  He wasn’t so expendable that they could throw him away. He would show her he was made of something more than trash. More than a second thought. More than a death sentence.

  Rush waited until Clarke fell asleep and then left her in his bed.

  Stalking down the hallway out of the house, he heard hushed voices in one of the entertaining rooms. Usually the cadre congregated at the end of a long day. They unwound with some ale, some wine, and the occasional misfit Mage in their lap.

  He came up to the wooden doorframe of the games room and paused. It was cracked open. Obviously they weren’t smart enough to keep it closed. If he wanted to, he could enter, and they’d forget they’d seen the door open, but he didn’t want to risk the off chance that one of them remembered.

  “I think if the Well chose her, then what more is there to say?” said a husky male voice he didn’t recognize. Probably a new member of the Twelve since his time. Or one he’d forgotten.

  “If the Well told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?” This voice Rush knew well. Cloud.

  “Now you’re being over dramatic.” Shade’s drawl was unmistakable. It surprised Rush that he wasn’t out securing his meal. The vamps hunted at night, and like all living creatures, needed to feed daily.

  “What do you think, Thorne,” Leaf said. “You’re the one closest to this.”

  Rush’s ears perked up.

  “How so?” came the gruff response. “The only link I have to that wolf is my blood. There is nothing else that binds us.”

  Rush’s ears went down and he fixated on a chip in the wooden doorframe.

  “Blood is strong,” said Shade. “And there is fate.”

  “Fuck fate,” Thorne replied. “Fate tells us that Jasper’s disappearance is part of some divine plan. It’s not a coincidence he’s missing. I say we find him. At least we’d be doing something.”

  Leaf grumbled. “No. We don’t get involved. If Jasper is gone, it’s the king’s doing. We stay out of it.”

  A thump sounded as though something was hit. “How can you say that? He’s one of us.”

  Silence, and then another whispered. “I can’t say that seeing Rush today was an unwelcome sight.”

  Rush strained his ears and tried to place the voice. Someone he knew. But who? Indigo?

  “That Well-damned bastard is still wearing a beard as though it makes him look tougher.”

  “Yeah. It was good to see him.”

  A few of them chuckled, but it was a warm laugh, not teasing. Rush rubbed his beard self-consciously. That’s not why he grew it. It kept his jaw warm. The mountains were cold.

  That familiar voice spoke again. “You may not be happy with your father, Thorne, but he is just the unfortunate victim of the same fate you hate so much. Dare I say he feels the same way.”

  It was Haze. The big vampire who’d been with Shade at the sparring match. Rush never expected he of all people to stick up for him. Haze was quiet, he kept to himself, and he rarely opened his mouth to voice an opinion. But in retrospect, it was always Haze who stepped in quietly to do the right thing. Perhaps the last fifty years had brought him out of his shell.

  “Yeah, well, even unfortunate victims of fate can still take control.”

  “That’s not exactly fair—” Leaf started, but Rush heard the stomp of booted feet approach the door. He jumped out of the way just in time to see Thorne storm off down the hall and disappear into his suites.

  A coldness ran through Rush like a knife. Thorne had been right. Rush had been around. He wasn’t dead. He’d seen it all go down. Thorne’s mistreatment. Kyra being run out of the Hollow by Thaddeus. If Rush hadn’t been so stuck in his self-pity, maybe he could have come up with a way to help keep Kyra in her home town. Maybe even put her up as the new alpha. She was strong enough.

  He didn’t need to hear anymore. It wasn’t Thorne or anyone else who held his quarrel. It was the Prime.

  The Eyrie was cold and dark when Rush arrived. The Prime’s house was grand, majestic and three levels high. It also had a platform on the roof where she took flight, either in her owl form, or her preferred angel.

  With Starcleaver unsheathed, Rush stepped up to the front stained-glass door and tested the knob. Unlocked. Was she so confident in her status that she believed she was untouchable? Rush knew one thing about winged fae. The higher they flew, the harder they fell.

  He opened the door and went in, locking it behind.

  He cared little for the ancient artifacts Cloud had procured for her. From the porcelain statues of little gnomes with red hats, to the glass picture frames holding a smiling old-world family inside. Once, the entrance foyer used to be awe-inspiring. Not anymore.

  He failed to even give her a blink of respect. This female was about to have her comeuppance.

  Sniffing her out, he followed the rose and ash scent to find her sitting in her office, in the dark, tapping her finger on a stack of papers.

  The moment he stepped in t
he room, she lifted her head and stared right at him. “It’s about time you came to see me.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Clarke awoke the following morning with a start. She pushed her hand out of the sheets and found no warm body. And then she realized she’d dreamed, she knew Rush was not there. Sweeping the room with her gaze, she found him sitting on the settee, asleep but holding Starcleaver unsheathed and balanced on his lap as though he expected trouble.

  A knock pounded at the door, and a male voice filtered through. “Rise and shine, human.”

  Her eyebrow lifted with a wry tug. She’d bet that was the crow.

  “I’m up!” she shouted, in case he burst through the door and woke the sleeping wolf, not even understanding she’d just done the very same thing.

  She slapped her palm on her face. It was too early to make decisions. Rush’s eyes popped open.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “You have fifteen minutes and then you’re expected for training,” said the crow through the door.

  “Got it!” She threw off the duvet and padded over to the tray with the food. God, she was hungry all the time since arriving at the Order.

  Rush rubbed his eyes. Registering he held his sword, he casually sheathed it in the baldric he still wore, and then joined her at the table. Every nerve ending in her body pinged with his arrival, and her hormones were very aware of the hard, flat torso in the vicinity as he reached past her and plucked a grape from the half-eaten bunch. His brows puckered as he looked at the seemingly perfect grape.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  The scowl on his face wasn’t there when he’d woken.

  The only way she could describe his expression was shell-shocked. “Rush? What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Sweet fuck all, in fact.”