The Longing of Lone Wolves

by Lana Pecherczyk

  She laughed. “I swear hearing you say that word cracks me up. Some things never change.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The curse words.”

  “Same as in your time?”

  “Shit. Fuck. Asshole. Most of the big ones are the same.”

  “Huh. I guess we like them.” He popped the grape into his mouth and then lifted his arms and stretched grandiosely. She pretended to eat, but watched from beneath her lashes. She enjoyed seeing the way his skin played over the tendons in his neck, and the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. He caught her looking at him on the down stretch, and a slow smile curved his lips.

  “I’m hungry,” she announced stupidly.

  “I can see.”

  She blushed. “I mean… you know what I mean. Jeeze. Okay. I meant that too, and if I’m being honest, I don’t care if you know it. I was too tired for round two last night, but just you wait, Wolfie. You wait for tonight.”

  He gathered her into his arms and looked down at her with amusement. “Tonight you will be even more tired. And the next night. And the next. Training is brutal, even for Mages.”

  “Is that what they want me to be?” She scrunched her nose. “They don’t own me. I make my own rules.”

  Something flickered in his expression and the last of the ease with which he’d awoken dissipated. Gone was the sleeping wolf, and in its place, a hunter. The determined set of his jaw and distance in his eyes told her he kept secrets, but she didn’t push him. They may be none of her business. If they were, they would come to her eventually, whether on their own, or from his mouth. She’d find out.

  She had plenty to think about. Like, how to get information about the curse. Who did it? Who designed it? And who had the power to break it. Whatever the Prime had said, Clarke refused to believe. Something had been playing on her mind since her conversation with her the previous day. She’d said the Well had chosen Clarke. That because she had been kept in a frozen state, she was imbued with more magic than others in this time. Clarke knew other evil people who’d awoken from her time.

  Did that mean the Well had chosen them too? Or was it all chaotic bullshit?

  There were only two feasible explanations as far as she understood. One was that the Well was not the sentient deity or cosmic know-all they believed. It wasn’t a God who picked. It was pure, simple, random shit. Perhaps it was even steeped in science, something the people in this time seemed to lack. For all she knew, the reason people were “Well-blessed” was because of some genetic anomaly.

  If that were true, then how did she explain her own psychic abilities?

  Taking a grape and eating, she thought of the second possibility for Bones to be awake in this time. Cheating. He and his boss, the Void—she shivered—had orchestrated their preservation from their time until now. Perhaps it was their plan all along. The world was too big back then for domination. Those mana stains on the dead satyr body outside Crescent Hollow came to mind. Rush had said it looked like mana had been wrenched from his body.

  There were too many unanswered questions in her head, and she had to investigate. One thing was certain, she would not have her story written by someone else’s pen. She’d done enough of that in her time.

  “There are extra clothes for you in the storeroom.” Rush moved to another room. He came back with an outfit on a wooden hanger.

  Clarke smoothed her touch over the softness of the blue blouse and then stroked the navy linen pants. “Did you get this last night for me? Was that why you’d left the bed?”

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

  “You’re so sweet.” She kissed him on the cheek, and then took the outfit with her to the bathroom. Once dressed and relieved, she joined him in the main room to find he’d done the same. Gone was his worn and beaten Guardian jacket, in was a long-sleeved navy sweater that hugged his frame, and a pair of leather pants that did equal justice to his behind. More of his blue markings were visible. It didn’t escape Clarke’s notice that he’d discarded the old jacket in the hearth. But he said nothing about it as he slipped the baldric over his shoulder and strapped it to his torso.

  “We’ll find you more food downstairs,” he said.

  She was almost out the door when she remembered something forgotten on the nightstand next to the bed. Hurrying over, she collected the scrap of torn fabric she’d used as a headband. She wrapped it around her wrist. She may not need to cover her ears there, but she still liked to think of him every time she looked at it. Lastly, she took the sundial and tried to jimmy it into her pockets.

  “I’ll find a leather cord so you can wear that around your neck,” Rush said.

  “I’d love that.” She signed her thanks.

  He shot her an amused look and then guided her out the door.

  In the kitchen, two shirtless Guardians ate breakfast at the center bench. Leaf, and a rather tall, dark and buff fae. As big in frame as Caraway, he would have made a good bodybuilder in her time. He could lift a car with those biceps and thick thighs. Buzzed hair. Tiny bone studs pierced the lobe of a pointed ear. Intricate tattoos down one side of his torso curved in and out of the line of his anatomy as though they were a part of him.

  Irritation vibrated off Rush. His gaze darkened upon seeing their state of undress. Quickly, she nabbed a small round piece of fruit off the counter, and then bit into it. Juicy, sweet, and a little tart. Almost like water, but not. She chewed loudly and looked at the two fae, now staring at her with uneasy hesitation.

  “If I had known the dress code was tits out, I would have worn something else,” she said.

  Rush rolled his eyes. But her joke had done the trick. It distracted him.

  The large fae scratched his lower stomach in a way only a male could get away with. He studied her with curiosity. His deep baritone almost rattled her ribcage. “We’ve not met, human.”

  “It’s Clarke. Not human. I’d appreciate it if you just called me that. Please.”

  He gave a grunt. “I’m Haze.”

  “Nice to meet you, Haze.”

  He bared his fangs in a way she supposed was a smile. “Long night. I’m off to bed.”

  Leaf nodded and then eyed Clarke. “Cloud will be back soon to escort you to the academy.”

  “Right,” she said. “Training. And what exactly am I training for?”

  The fae shrugged. “That’s a question for the Prime.”

  “Okay. When will I see her? I have many questions.”

  Leaf grabbed another piece of fruit and shrugged. “No one has seen her since last night. She’s probably out.”

  Rush made a sound that drew Clarke’s attention, but by the time she looked his way, his face was expressionless.

  “Out?” Clarke prompted.

  “The Prime answers only to herself and the Well. I have known her to disappear for weeks on end, especially when she seeks answers and wants to consult the Well. With your arrival yesterday, I’m not surprised she’s gone.”

  “Where does one go to consult the Well?” she asked.

  “Ceremonial lake.”

  “Excuse me, coming through.” A high-pitched feminine voice was the only warning before Clarke got jostled to the side by a waist high figure. Another holding a full tray of food was immediately behind her. Clarke bopped out of the way with a squeak.

  Her eyes widened at the two… small fae. They looked like someone put little old ladies into an oven and shrink-wrapped them. Small, leathery and wrinkly, but with smile lines around their lips and eyes. Fuzzy hair grew on their skin in the most random places. Tufts out of their ears. Whiskers besides their noses. Their knuckles were big and their nails were long. Both wore a luxurious silk ribbon in their long braids. One was red, the other yellow.

  Seeing her gaping maw, Rush explained, “House brownies.”

  “Almost done with the jobs,” clipped the yellow-ribboned one, all business like, as she pushed the tray of food onto the center kitchen bench. The other paused and l
ooked at Clarke with a scowl.

  “What are you looking at, human?”

  “I... um.”

  Leaf jumped in rather frantically. “She means no offense, Jocinda. She’s never seen brownies as beautiful as you and your sister. I’m afraid you’ve left her rather speechless.”

  He gave Clarke a warning flair of his eyes.

  “Um. Yes, I’m so sorry if I was rude. I love the ribbons in your hair. Stunning.” She showed them the scrap around her wrist. “Mine’s nowhere near as beautiful.”

  The brownie’s hand fluttered to her braid, and she gave a grunt of approval, then finished busying herself with removing the old food and tidying the kitchen. Then the two of them left.

  Leaf waited a full minute before turning to Clarke. “Don’t offend the brownies unless you’d like to clean the house on your own. I find a well-timed compliment puts them at ease.”

  “Are they insecure?”

  “It’s common curtesy.”

  Then he nabbed a bread roll, filled it with some meat and then left.

  Clarke found Rush eating and trying to hold in a laugh.

  “What?” she said. “How was I supposed to know?”

  “I could have warned you, but where’s the fun in that?”

  She threw her remaining fruit at him, which he dodged and then eyed the mess on the floor. “Don’t let the brownies see you making a mess.”

  “Shut up.” She cleaned it up and tossed the pip into the trash can by the stove when Cloud came in, dragging his feet.

  Today he didn’t have his wings out. He appeared to be a normal, every day fae. One with a dangerous glint in his eye and angry tattoos and scars on his hands.

  They stared. And stared. But damn her if she blinked first.

  “I suppose we should get this over with,” he grumbled, and then walked away.

  She trailed behind him down the hall and noticed his particular Guardian jacket wasn’t the same as Rush’s. At first glance, yes. But on closer inspection, the back panel was made of the same leather with Kingfisher blue piping. The panels weren’t stitched together at the seams. Slots, she realized. Slots for his wings to push through if he deemed them necessary.

  On their way out, they passed the darkened living room where another vampire—the model type from the council—sat on a couch, legs sprawled and hands on the hips of a top-naked female sitting on his lap as she necked him and grounded her hips against his. He leaned his head back on the couch and slid his lazy, hooded gaze to Clarke as she walked by. Parting his sensual lips, he licked an errant drop from his blood-stained fangs. His tongue was very pointy.

  Desire was a heady bouquet in the air. It pulsed at Clarke from across the room, quickening her breath as though she’d walked straight into a sex dream. The Mage’s moans of pleasure increased as she rocked against Shade. Still watching Clarke, the vampire lowered his lips to the Mage’s neck. He lapped with erotic gratification at a wound Clarke barely noticed. His eyes twinkled as though he knew exactly what heated reaction his feeding triggered in Clarke.

  Suddenly Clarke caught a face full of brooding snow-wolf shifter. Rush scowled down at her. His ears twitched in irritation. “It’s rude to watch a vampire feed.”

  “Well he shouldn’t do it in clear view, should he?” she hissed and then jogged out the front door feeling as flustered as if she’d been the one on Shade’s lap.

  Shade’s laughter echoed behind her.

  Hot on Cloud’s trail, Clarke followed the brisk pace he set as they crossed the dewy field in front of the Twelve’s house. The sun peeked over the boundary wall, and the air was crisp. She rubbed her arms. Should have brought a cape. This field looked similar to the training field on the opposite side of the grounds, except perhaps more informal. She’d bet that the Guardians would mess about and rough-house there. She could almost see them playing the way college boys congregated and kicked the ball around in their free time.

  Another big house stood next door. When she looked at it, shivers ran down her spine. Seeing as Cloud was doing his best to ignore her, she turned and asked Rush, “That’s the other cadre house?”

  “The Six. We don’t talk to them.”

  “Why?”

  “They don’t play well with others.”

  Overhearing Clarke’s half of the conversation, Cloud turned back and gestured at the house. “Horde. Bla bla. Kidnap humans. Bla bla. Don’t go there.”

  Then he continued walking.

  Now she was curious. Before she followed, Clarke tried to spy any fae within, but branches draped over the windows with drawn black curtains.

  Down from the cadre houses, they slotted through a thin alley which bordered on an enormous mess hall. The delicious scent of food wafted out. Clanks of productivity came from within. On her way past, a gaggle of novitiate Mages and rookie Guardians almost crashed into her as they burst out of the swinging glass doors. Upon seeing who she followed, they gave her a wide berth. But once they were five feet away, she heard the muttered “Human” from more than one mouth. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her shoulders from slumping.

  She thought it wouldn’t bother her, this name calling and segregation, but it did. It wore her down, even more so because they were right. She should be despised for the hand she’d played in the near oblivion of the entire planet. There were a lot of wrongs to right and it was all beginning to feel a little overwhelming, but she wouldn’t give up. She could do this. Screw anyone who said otherwise.

  “Don’t worry about them,” Rush mumbled. “Bunch of mewling litter box sniffers.”

  The novitiates followed her. It was cautious curiosity at first, but it gave way to hurled insults under their breath. Soon other things were thrown. A small piece of meat landed in her hair. She didn’t flinch. She just pretended they weren’t there, because if she turned around, she’d do something stupid and Rush would probably burst into protective beast mode. As it was, his hand rested on the pommel of the dagger clipped to his belt. Aware of her slowed pace, Cloud glanced over his shoulder. Catching sight of the group on her tail, his gaze darkened.

  Black feathered wings snapped out and flared wide with a smacking whoosh. Air gusted in Clarke’s face. Gone was the leather clad, brooding fae, and in his place was a dark avenging angel. Electricity and air whipped around his body, circling up his legs, torso, and crackling in his gaze.

  That’s all he did.

  Stand. And stare. And electrify.

  The group of novitiates evaporated. One minute they were there, and the next, scattered across the quad courtyard that separated the Mage buildings. One male Mage even backed into the three-tiered fountain at the center.

  “I appreciate it,” Clarke said to Cloud.

  “Read nothing into it.” He powered down and then resumed his stride across the quad.

  “Next time,” Rush growled. “You use your gift to show them I’m here. Understood?”

  “So you can have a pissing contest with Cloud, or make yourself sick? No thanks.”

  His face screwed with fury, and he punched the glass window to the mess hall. The pane exploded as though a bullet had gone through it. Shattered slivers tinkled to the ground. The fae eating at a bench before the window all gaped. Rush shot Clarke a fiery gaze and then stormed off.

  “Where are you going?” she shouted, but he didn’t respond.

  Cloud sighed dramatically. “What the fuck happened?”

  “What do you think?” She threw her hands up.

  It took Cloud a moment to blink the confusion of the curse away, then it dawned on him. “Rush did it. Lover’s spat?”

  “You don’t think he’s going after them, do you?”

  “Who the fuck cares?” Cloud squinted the way the novitiates went and then shook his head. “He’s not stupid.”

  At least there was that. “I guess we know where Thorne gets his temper from.”

  At the academy, Clarke couldn’t help drawing the comparison with a fancy college. Made from a mix of wood
, glass, and different types of stone, the architecture was old school Oxford mixed with a dash of Byzantine. Extensive mosaic decoration glittered on the outer walls, and a heightened limestone dome dominated in the middle. An overload of archways at every window or door made her feel a little inadequate.

  Waiting for them at the base of the steps was the pixie who’d been part of the Council. While she was small in stature, she was large in attitude. With her dragonfly wings half fluttering, little swaths of prismatic light reflected against the cobbled walls and set to amplify her annoyance.

  “You’re late,” she clipped.

  “Whatever,” Cloud grunted and gave Clarke a mock salute. “Colt will take it from here.”

  Colt did not want to take it from here. Clarke didn’t need to be psychic to know that. The female looked sharply down her nose at Clarke, lifted her brows and sighed judgmentally. “It still makes no sense to me.”

  “Yeah, well, lady, I’m what you’ve got, so get used to it.”

  Colt’s wings snapped shut and tucked in close to her body, but they didn’t disappear like the shifters’ did. Pixies must always be in winged form. It made sense.

  She gestured at Clarke. “We’ll visit the temple pools and find out what your elemental affinity is first. My guess is you’re all spirit and chaos, no fire or ice. Then we’ll work on your ability to draw on your mana. Then there’s mana theory and uses with council member Barrow. Then Dawn will take you for specific training in Seeing. You won’t get to the defensive and offensive arts until we’re certain you can control your ridiculous abundance of mana. Crimson help us all that someone like you is the chosen one.”

  A surge of defiance stabbed through Clarke. “I’m not the only chosen one,” she said. “More will come. More have already arrived.”

  Whether they were all set to be chosen, and for what remained to be seen.

  “All the more reason for you to understand that I will not hold your hand through this. There are only a few preceptors around. Which leads me to another thing. You will address me as Preceptress Colt. You will address Barrow as Preceptor Barrow. Do you understand? Male teachers are Preceptor. Female are Preceptress.”