by Rebecca Main
The wolf takes a few steps away from me, shuddering like he’s undergone some violent seizure, and then the snapping sounds again. The fur recedes. The bones contract and snap back into their proper place. Yet this time, no noise escapes him. No growls. No snarls. Not even a whine. All the sound that carries is his deft transformation back to his human form. He pulls to a grotesque height for one startling moment—his limbs too long, his spine unsure as it twists about—and then he is a man once more. Yet his golden eyes remain steadily upon me.
“Give me that,” he heaves, hand outstretched, the serious look he wore as a wolf still somehow translating onto his face. But all I can stare at is his…
“Your pants?” I ask breathlessly. He snatches the phone from my hands and turns his back to me to read it, pacing forward. The muscles of his leg and derrière flex deliciously with each movement. I feel the air around us seize for the briefest of moments and unconsciously I find myself biting my bottom lip. The sensation is a tantalizing reminder of our steamier moments together: Mexico, the hallway, his bedroom, and the most lucid wet dream I had ever experienced. The air grows electric, and I can feel a heat spread through me as the memory lights my skin on fire. When had it become so easy to become lost in the mere sight of him?
“We need to go,” he snaps, turning around towards me. Ryatt’s face is torn in an angry scowl. It deepens upon further inspection of my current state. Eyes dilated. Face flushed. Heartbeat racing faster and faster by the minute. “What’s wro—” he inhales deeply, eyes widening then narrowing in on me. Lord have mercy.
“If there were time,” he tells me slowly, stalking towards me with sordid intent. “I’d have you up against one of these trees moaning my name ’til your legs gave out.”
He stands inches away from me, staring down at me with those golden eyes full of desire. A hand trails from my neck carefully along my collarbone, and he leans in infinitesimally closer. “And then I’d take you on the forest floor until you begged me for more,” his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. The feel of his calloused fingers winds an unforgivable tension inside of me. One that begs to be snapped. “But I won’t,” he tells me without a hint of malice or bitterness, “because even though your body and the soulmark are screaming at you that you want to, I know that here,” his fingers reach out to graze my heart, then up to brush along my temple, “and here, you’re not ready.” My breath leaves me in a whoosh as he takes a step back. He dresses in record speed, leaving me little time to compose myself.
“Where are we going?” I ask numbly, swallowing down the hurt of rejection I have no right to feel. My stomach clenches uncomfortably with guilt. My friend was dead because of me, and here I was lusting after some man. Except he wasn’t just some man, was he? The traitorous thought does nothing to ease my shame. Ryatt’s eyes narrow.
“The Baudelaires’ house.”
+++
The sun is sinking gradually in the west, the night air turning cool as we race in Ryatt’s BMW something-series towards the Baudelaires’. I keep my eyes trained out the front window for the entirety of the ride, keeping count of how many glances Ryatt steals. He had just reached 17 when we pull along a somewhat familiar tree-lined street. Each house boasts neatly trimmed yards and shiny new paint jobs.
“Are you going to tell me why they wanted us to come over?”
Ryatt’s grip tightens on the wheel. “The moon has risen, you can see it—just over there.” He points out my window, and sure enough, there it is. Its’ pale glow trickling past the treetops. “They’ve joined the crystals and the border is secure.”
“That was fast,” I say, a semblance of disbelief clouding my voice.
“It was either going to work, or it wasn’t,” he tells me, pulling to a stop in front of the familiar craftsman-style two story.
“And it worked?” He nods, though I can sense his hesitation, both through the bond and his body language. “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask quietly, hand stilling on the seatbelt release.
“Something rather unexpected happened,” he tells me, undoing his seatbelt.
“What?”
He gives a short sigh of frustration, his brow pinching together in thought. “A girl appeared after the crystal was joined.”
“A girl appeared?”
“Yes.”
I pause, then ask tentatively, “From where?”
“That would be the question,” Ryatt says on a sigh, exiting the car. I scramble after him.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that some chick just ‘poofed’ into existence?” Ryatt gives me a tight smile and places a hand on my lower back.
“I don’t know the full details, but I’ve been told not to be, and I quote, ‘A creep.’ Something about not wanting to frighten the girl.” Ryatt opens the door with an eye roll, steering me inside before him and towards the kitchen.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, eyes widening at the sight that greets me. I receive several pointed glares. “Sorry,” I mutter, shifting back slightly as I take in the mysterious woman. She has a blanket wrapped loosely around her naked figure, though it does little to hide the more fascinating aspects of her features. My eyes are torn between tracing the iridescent wings materializing from her back and the vines and flowers gently winding beneath the surface of her skin. Her hair is a startling white, cut bluntly to hang just above her shoulders. She turns to look at us, purple eyes wide with a mixture of fright and curiosity.
“Hello,” she says tentatively. I give her a small smile, nudging Ryatt to do the same with an elbow to the ribs. She smiles brilliantly back and thrusts a hand out towards us. “Would you like to shake hands?” she asks excitedly, the blanket dropping from her loosened hold. “Or would you prefer to kiss on the cheeks?”
My hand slaps over Ryatt’s eyes and the woman looks mildly offended at my reaction. She turns back to the witches “Did I do it wrong?” Zoelle is there in the next instant, wrapping the blanket back around her, face aflame.
“Just, don’t forget to keep the blanket up, okay?” she says rather breathlessly.
“But it itches,” she complains, a cross look covering her petite features. “I never have to wear anything in the Hollow Woods.”
“You aren’t in the Hollow Woods anymore, sweetheart,” Maureen coos from nearby. “But don’t you worry, we’ll get you back there.” The woman’s lip trembles, eyes welling with tears before she throws herself at Ryatt. He stumbles back, eyes opening comically wide as her arms wrap around him and the blanket falls again.
I gasp, but soon find myself having to hold back a laugh at the alarm on his face. The woman sobs into Ryatt’s chest, foot stomping every once in a while to demonstrate her displeasure.
“There, there,” he mutters uncertainly, gently patting her atop her head. She turns her face upwards, eyeing Ryatt hopefully. “If Maureen says she’ll get you back, she will.” She nods her head, sniffling lightly before stunning the room with another of her smiles.
“You’re so kind,” she breathes, reaching up a hand to stroke his face. Ryatt looks at me in a panic, and I too find myself stilled with sudden…jealousy?
“Why…thank you,” he replies, gently taking both of her wrists and stepping out of her hold. I pick up the blanket and thrust it into the woman’s chest. She looks at me in alarm, but I have my most saccharine smile on. Her eyes flicker with uncertain confusion, then she pulls her lips into a disgruntled pout, adjusting the blanket reluctantly.
“I don’t like it here. Everyone acts so confusingly. Saying one thing but their bodies saying another. All of my friends in the Hollow would never dream of treating each other this way. I just want to go home. Can’t you send me now?” she pleads, sadness sinking back into her voice. “I don’t belong here. I belong in the Hollow.”
I insert myself into Ryatt’s side and soften my posturing. The room stays oddly silent at her words, mournful expressions passing between the older women.
“What happened?” Ryatt asks, his eye
s turning Xander’s way. The Alpha stands at the kitchen window silently; eyes turned out towards the forest.
“Ask the witches,” he quips. Diana sighs, rolls her shoulders back, and begins.
+++
The Earth was displeased. The air nearest the Elder Triad sizzled with magic and barely restrained energy as the remainder of the Trinity Coven—spread throughout the forest—implored the Earth to settle. It was the joining of such an unnatural item that brought about its displeasure. The Crystal of Dan Furth was not meant for the likes of this world, yet somehow, centuries ago, the object had been smuggled across the planes of one world to the next. Witches around the world coveted the crystal for its powerful properties, but seldom few could be trusted with its care. Indeed, the splitting of the crystal was in part due to a band of unfit witches. With the crystal halved, the Earth new no worry of what unnatural acts could prosper from its magical powers. Until now.
“The crystal,” Diana Baudelaire bids her granddaughter and another witch forward. The two approach the small circle the coven elders create, yet their carefully measured steps are laborsome. Each witch holds her hands outstretched, palms flat and facing forward, steering the crystal into the circle. Their struggle is clear. The very presence of the Earth urging them back even as they trudge forward. The crystal halves quiver in either excitement or detest. No one is certain, yet the witches continue. The crystals pass by the interlinked arms of the elders.
Maureen Clybourn lets her head tip back, her long white hair stirring in the growing wind that encircles the trio. Her skin carries the weight of the last encounter involving the crystal. Devilish red patches scarring her alabaster flesh. She takes the lead, her voice a whisper as the two crystals hover uneasily within the band of their circle.
Diana and Lydia’s heads follow suit, their necks bent at an almost unusual angle as Maureen’s words grow louder.
“Ad lucem. Ad mortem. Qui semper.”
The spell is taken up on the wind and soon the invocation begins to tumble from the mouth of each witch present. One by one the words grow into a litany of hoarse cries that build and fall with the growing wind.
Howls echo from afar; the Wselfwulf Pack responding. Wolves dot the tree line, a smattering of golden eyes piercing the darkening forest. The Wselfwulf Pack was ready and waiting with barely restrained contempt for the Trinity Coven to fail and fall to ruin. Along with their sworn enemies, the Adolphus Pack, that dare side with them.
The air splinters. Visible fissures of light sparking in a shockwave along the poorly held magical border protecting the Adolphus Pack’s claimed territory. The wolves stiffen. Each side standing with hackles raised, and horrible gnashing teeth bared. The Wselfwulf Pack prowls forward. There is a palpable electricity to the air, riding high on a fine tension that is on the cusp of breaking. The witches slowly rise from the ground. One perilous inch at a time as their words are lost to the swell of wind sweeping them upwards. The crystal halves shine brighter and brighter as they near each other, until with a sharp and distinctive crack, they collide.
The border shatters; the wolves advance, and a new light appears. The witches of the Trinity Coven fall to the ground, spent of their magic and defenseless. Yet the body of light that remains shines brighter. Grows larger. The Wselfwulf Pack hesitates, and in doing so, is spared their lives. The light takes a corporeal form, and with it, a new barrier erects itself in a brief prism of colors.
The woman who remains standing is unearthly beautiful with snow-white hair and wings that gleam like opals. Beneath the surface of her skin roams a seemingly never-ending track of vines spouting leaves and pale flowers. The woman’s wings fold themselves neatly against her bare back as she splays a hand tentatively against the wall she has created. Her violet eyes growing wide as she takes in the scene before her. Rokama surround her. Or something frighteningly similar for they lack the telltale markings of the rokama she knows. No obsidian eyes or red-stained muzzles. No leathery, wings jutting from the spine. The new creature squeezes her eyes closed. Rokama or not, these beasts would not bring her harm. Nor the innocents fallen too her left and right.
Taking a deep breath she opens her eyes and meets the golden gaze of some beast across the way. It sounds a savage bark, the pack around it echoing the reprimand. The woman’s fists clench against her side, a blinding fury growing inside her chest. The flora dances beneath her skin, further winding her defenses.
A second later and the Adolphus Pack would have found themselves at the mercy of the strange creatures fur—if not for their Alpha. The largest of the wolves, he steps in front of the strange woman with a threatening snarl directed at the Wselfwulf Pack.
The winged-woman stares flabbergasted at the act. Mouth comically held open, as the anger simmering inside her stalls at her throat. The act is not enough to earn her full trust, but it is enough—enough to spare those who stand with her on the east side of the barrier. She walks to the wolf’s side. Anger flooding her once more like some wild rapid. She has never been very good at controlling the swing of her emotions.
Too bad for the Wselfwulf Pack.
The Alpha lets out a whine and takes a tentative step back as the earth starts to shake. The Wselfwulf Pack scatters. Startled yelps and barks sounding as vines jut from the forest floor and begin to impale those not fast enough to escape. It is a bloodbath. A frenzied chaos that ends only when the woman lets out a piercing scream. The Earth shivers at the abrupt silence that follows, calming the forest floor with an eerie groan. The woman steps back and retrieves the Crystal of Dan Furth from the ground. She holds it to her breast as she sends a tentative, but warm smile to those who remain around her.
“Hello,” she murmurs. Though she remains unsure as to where she is or how she came to be in this peculiar forest, she no longer feels afraid. Her smile turns brighter as she gazes down at the bewildered Elder Triad. “You can call me Luna.”
+++
“The spell to rejoin the pieces worked just as planned,” Diana finishes, her voice hard as if in reprimand to Xander’s earlier tone.
“Did your plan involve her?” he asks briskly.
Diana visibly bristles. “No. We’re looking into the matter as we speak.” Xander says nothing, holding himself still at the window. “We aren’t sure as to why joining the crystal would bring Luna to us.”
“He’s mad at me, isn’t he?” the woman, Luna, asks. She fiddles with the blanket, her face scrunching up as it slides against her skin. Zoelle comes forward once more to help her adjust it.
“He’s not mad at you,” Zoelle tells her softly, “he’s just confused.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
“Why?” Luna tilts her head to the side, fussing once more with the blanket as impatience darkens her tone. For one who is clearly a grown woman, she acts most decidedly like a child.
“Because he didn’t realize you would be here,” she explains carefully. “If he would have, we would have prepared.”
“Oh.”
Silence once more. No one seems to know what to say next, but I can feel my curiosity rising. As if sensing my shift in mood, Ryatt’s grip tightens on my waist in warning. Like that was going to stop me.
“What are you?” I ask. Luna blinks.
“I’m a fairy,” she says somewhat matter-of-factly. “What are you?” Well, shit.
“I’m a human.” Luna looks at Ryatt, the flowers and vines beneath her skin slowing their winding path to a halt.
“He’s not.” I give a short laugh at her blunt words.
“He’s a lycan, just like his brother.” Luna stiffens and shuffles back towards Maureen.