by Rebecca Main
“You came,” I comment hoarsely as Atticus ducks into the car and pulls me into his lap. “Don’t forget your seat belt,” I mumble, feeling particularly fatigued. The combination of the wolf’s higher body temperature and the beta’s natural ability to ease my pain take the edge off the stress I’ve been feeling the past few days, as well as some of the pain.
“Seat belt.” He sounds properly offended, and I stay awake long enough to look up at him in concern. But Atticus isn’t upset at all. He wears the kindest smile with the tiniest, teasing crook to it. “Sweetheart, I’m a lycan. I don’t need a seat belt. I am the seat belt.” His arm squeezes me more tightly as if to emphasize the point, and I give a slight whine of protest. This time his displeasure is real, the smile dropping from his face fast faster than I can blink. “Don’t worry. The pack’s got you now, Callie. Rest.” And so I do.
+++
It’s too hot.
Much too hot to be comfortable, at least. I feel myself come to with a rhythmic pounding in my temples, mouth parched, and limbs aching. The room that comes into focus is not one I am familiar with. It has crisp white walls and little decor besides a large pinewood dresser.
“Where am I?” I mumble, eye alighting on a figure in the corner of the room. It is Keenan, his large frame slumped in an uncomfortable position in an unfortunate looking high-backed chair.
“You’re safe,” a velvet voice chimes. I turn my head sluggishly toward the opposite end of the dimly lit room. A woman with a plethora of scars hovers over a small rolling cart, her hands busy mixing something. I’ve seen her scars before.
“JJ. Witch,” I manage to say.
“Maureen,” she tells me. Maureen walks over to my bedside and pours me a small cup of water, holding it gently to my lips. When the first drop of liquid hits my tongue, I let out an appreciative moan, gulping down the water with haste. “More.”
She accedes, and the process is repeated.
“Better?”
I hum in agreement.
“You should try and sleep some more, my dear,” she chides in a velvety voice.
“Where am I?” I ask once more.
“You’re at Mr. O’Neal’s residence.” Who? I must wear my look of confusion well, for the woman gives another kind smile and gestures in the direction of Keenan. “Your wolf.”
My wolf. It has a nice ring to it. Better than “Mr. O’Neal,” I think dimly. I forgot O’Neal was his last name. He’s always been just Keenan to me. “What day is it?”
“It’s Saturday. You’ve been here about five days now.” My lips part to speak, but Maureen holds up her hand. “Try not to speak, dear. You’ve been in and out for the better part of these five days with a nasty fever.”
I let my eyes drift shut, nodding once more in agreement. My body seems to only know pain at the moment. From my head to my toes, there is the feeling of flames. “Hot.”
Maureen fetches me another glass of water, then a glass or two of something that is most certainly not. I have trouble keeping it down, cringing and coughing weakly as the concoctions make their way down my throat. Thankfully, they provide instant comfort to my sorer parts and wash away some of the fog in my head.
“The bites,” I croak, “are toxic.”
“We’ve gathered,” she tells me. “It took a day or two to figure out what worked best in healing you, but we’ve got it now. We just need to let the medicine do its work.”
“Luna?”
“She’s going to be just fine,” comes her velvet reassurance. A small sigh issues from my lips with relief. My eyes crack open to look at Maureen tiredly. “She’s a bit shaken up, but her body is different than yours. She’s already mostly healed from her injuries.”
“Fairy,” I rasp.
Our eyes meet. “Yes. Now sleep.”
There is something rather mesmerizing about the way she says the word “sleep.” I feel as if I’ve been re-tucked into the bed, my pillows fluffed, and a cool touch drawn across my skin to ease the heat. It's almost like magic, and all from one simple word.
And so I do.
+++
“You can’t keep me in this bed forever. You do understand that, right?” Keenan keeps his back toward me as he grabs a new shirt for the day and slips it on. The stark black of his tattoos are clearly visible through his plain white tee, as are the definitions of his muscles.
“Not forever,” he agrees with a grunt.
I roll my eyes. “It’s already been ten days. Ten days, Keenan.”
He slams the dresser drawer closed with a bit more force than necessary, then turns to face me. “And of those ten days, you were asleep for eight of them. The witches say it’s too soon for you to get out of bed. So, you’re staying in bed.”
I let out a groan of frustration. “I’m pretty positive I wasn’t asleep for that long,” I grumble. “Besides, I hate being cooped up inside, and if you would just give me the bracers back—which, by the way, I am still mad at you for taking them off me in the first place—then I’m sure I would heal at ten times the speed I am now.” Keenan looks unimpressed at the end of my rather long-winded sentence. I’m sure I look… winded. I am winded, I think morosely.
“Be mad at me all you want, but technically speaking, you took them off. I’m not going to apologize for getting you to do it in one of your very rare states of consciousness. Besides, the witches said—”
“The witches don’t know anything about them,” I interrupt heatedly. “I want them back.”
“Like I told you yesterday, and Maureen, and Xander, the magic doesn't work well with them on. Once you’re better, I’ll give them back. I swear.” I avert my gaze stubbornly to the window. “You should get some rest,” he tells me with a sigh, walking over to my side and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.
“I’ve literally slept for a week,” I tell him blandly. “I think I’ll pass.”
Keenan heaves another sigh before dropping a kiss atop my head. “I’ll be back later,” he murmurs against my hair. “I need to get back to the shop.”
“Fine by me,” I mutter sullenly, refusing to meet his gaze still.
“Xander’s planning on coming by later today to see how you’re doing,” he informs me as he pulls away. “Go easy on him, okay?” The odd request turns my attention Keenan’s way. “He, uh, has some news he needs to break to you.”
“Okay,” I respond.
Keenan departs with one last kiss, this time on my upturned lips. With little to do outside of reading the pile of cooking magazines Xander had been commissioned to bring the other day at Zoelle’s insistence, I feel myself begin to doze.
“Callie?” The husky voice of the alpha lifts me from my light slumber sometime later. I come to with some cooking magazine still open on my lap, my neck stiff from the awkward position I held.
“Hi, Xander.”
He stands pensively in the doorway of Keenan’s bedroom, before stepping inside. He looks tired, more tired than me, if possible. His dark hair is drawn back in a messy style, with several strands daring to fall out of place. His skin, naturally warm in color, lacks its usual luster. Likewise, his green eyes are drawn, heavy with the weight of the world. He’s wearing something startlingly close to Keenan—a white Henley shirt and dark wash jeans—but he doesn’t do them the same justice as Keenan. This alpha might be muscular and lean, his source of power drawn from his pack, but Keenan is strong. In every inch of his body.
“Keenan said you had something to tell me.”
Xander nods and goes and leans against the dresser opposite the king-sized bed. I worm myself up into a somewhat more comfortable sitting position, giving up as soon as I find something close to reasonable. I spot my reflection in the mirror above the dresser and pause momentarily.
I look as good as I feel—like shit. My normal glossy, dark chocolate hair is flat and greasy. A hair tie would be greatly appreciated at the moment, as well as a brush. At least with those two items I could brush my disastrous hair and braid it
so it doesn’t look so messy. My usual tawny skin is also deprived of its typical glow, much like Xander. Days kept out of the sun and stored away in bed fighting away death will do that to a person. It doesn’t look like I have won yet though. My brown eyes hold a hurt to them, an echo of my body’s sentiments.
I exhale softly. I will get better soon.
“It’s about the blade and the ring.” Xander’s voice is oddly detached and breaks me from my reverie. It has the unnerving effect of making me uncomfortable, a fact he is quick to latch onto. “Sorry,” he mumbles, straightening and composing himself into something more stoic. “They’re gone, Callie.”
“What’s gone?” I whisper back, grasping onto hope that he isn’t talking about what I think he is.
A flutter of pain crosses over his expression. “Irina and the relics.”
I feel as if I’ve been punched in the gut. Oh God? What have I done? “This is my fault,” I tell him hoarsely. Xander shakes his head firmly, but I continue. “It is. Nova saved me in the forest, and I told her. I told her that they were with her, but I didn’t know she knew who Irina was. I should have known better—”
“You were being eaten alive, Callie,” he reminds me. “I know all about it. You told Keenan, remember.” Had I? I give a small shake of my head to negate the fact.
“I don’t remember,” I confess.
Xander strums his finger along the dresser. “Lydia said you might be a bit fuzzy about details for a while, but for the record, I know. I know, because when she questioned you, you told her what happened. You told your friend you weren't in possession of the ring or the blade, and thank God for that. There’s no telling what she might have done to you if the blade or the ring was on you.”
“She wouldn’t have hurt me,” I tell him defensively.
He levels me with a stern glare. “She might not have wanted to, but if Vrana ordered her to, then there would have been nothing she could have done not to.” I swallow at the reprimand. “And then you told Lydia that you told your friend it was with Irina.”
“Yes,” I concur, feeling oddly hollow. “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”
I stare at Xander in astonishment. “Of course, I do. Your sister is gone. The relics are gone. Does that mean… does that mean he has them?”
Xander gives a curt nod, and I force myself to find some modicum of composure like the alpha. “The only one to blame is me. I should have been more vigilant regarding the Wselfwulf’s activity. I should have taken your warnings more seriously the first time around. But most of all, I should never have let Irina convince me to let her guard them.”
“We’ll find her,” I promise. “We’ll find her and get the relics back.”
The words I speak are spoken with confidence. We will find Irina, and we will find the relics. And after that—after that, I will find a way to save Nova. There is just one thing I need to know first. “How? How did they find her?”
The alpha leans back into the dresser, crossing his arms over his chest. “I suppose it would be better if I start at the beginning. Atticus ran into Zoelle soon after he saw you, and she called her grandmother. I was already driving over there, so when I got her call, I sped the rest of the way there. We came up with a plan quickly based on what little information we had. We were going to give them what they wanted: blood.”
“How many did we lose?”
Xander gives me a reassuring smile and steps forward to place a hand on my ankle. “Not as many as you’re thinking, Callie. It was thanks to your warning that it wasn’t more.” Xander pulls away. “We assumed that if the Wardens were going to attack, they would do so when the border was least protected.”
“During a guard shift,” I fill in. Xander nods.
“We held everyone back and had Diana send out the Eldritch Witches in full force, with a rather brilliant plan. Instead of truly fighting the Wardens, the witches orchestrated a grand illusion. The Wardens thought they were fighting the pack. They thought they were taking hits.”
“But it was all in their heads?” Again, he nods. I find it difficult to swallow as a wave of emotion bubbles forth. “But we did lose people.”
Xander’s face turns sober. “We did. Jane Whitman, Mercy Hollaway, Jenny Beckman, and Kira Sanders. The Wardens fell back fully when they realized their minds were playing tricks on them, that and the hellspawn didn’t feel like discriminating. They became overwhelmed quickly, and I believe once they had you and Keenan subdued, they felt it enough to retreat.”
“How did Vrana find Irina?”
“It appears we underestimated Vrana. Again. He’s been one step ahead of us the whole time, manipulating the entire situation. He instructed the Wselfwulf Pack to target the Wardens, and the Wardens played right into his hand in seeking revenge. When the crystal was successfully compromised and the border fractured, he got in. We don't know where he entered from, but he must have seen Irina making her getaway and stopped her. If it weren’t for the rain, she would have gotten away,” he comments with a menacing frown. “Regardless, he was more than aptly prepared that day to secure the ring.”
“We’ll get it back. We’ll get them all back,” I tell him again.
“We will,” he says, offering me a small smile in return. “But not at this exact moment. Rest, Callie. Sleep, that’s an order.”
I huff in protest, feeling the weight of his command settle across my eyelids. A yawn stretches my mouth open wide, and I snuggle back into the mountain of pillows behind me unwittingly. I’m out before he leaves the room.
+++
“It’s been weeks.”
Keenan and I stand in his kitchen in a standoff. I hold the heavy ceramic casserole dish close to my chest, while Keenan waits expectantly with his hand outstretched.
“Just give it to me. I can put it away and you can—”
“Sit? Rest?” I growl back, shifting backward with narrowed eyes. “No fucking way. Did you not just hear what I said? It has been weeks, Keenan.”
“And you only just got over that latest infection a week ago. You don’t need to do any heavy lifting. You should take it easy, Callie.”
“It was a tiny infection. Besides, Maureen gave me the all clear three days ago, Keenan,” I argue back, “and this is not heavy lifting. It’s doing the dishes!”
“You’re not ready,” he counters, stepping forward and into my personal space, “and you’re too short to put it back above the fridge.”
His hands take possession of the bottom half of the casserole dish and tug. An incredulous noise sounds from my throat, as I tug back.
“That’s why Zoelle brought over a step stool yesterday. Everything in this house is made for giants! And I am not too short. I am 5’9. You’re just too tall.” I give a hearty tug back, succeeding in only moving myself.
“Give me the dish,” he orders.
“No,” I snap back. A short-lived tug-of-war ensues, ultimately resulting in the casserole dish crashing into pieces on the floor between us. “Shit.” With a sigh, I sink down onto my hunches along with Keenan and begin to pick up the larger pieces.
“Let me—”
“I can—ouch!” I quickly pull back my hand and place my finger in my mouth. Giving Keenan an irate look, I stand and step carefully toward the sink. “I told you I could help,” I mutter angrily, thrusting my hand under a cool stream of water. “If you hadn’t tried to take that piece from me—”