by Forthright
Was it the same? Joe looked away, then closed his eyes for good measure. Trying to ignore the shape of the person sprawled against him, he searched for the sense of calm and found it waiting. It was peaceful, patient, yet somehow playful. Separate and strange, yet a safe place to linger. Tilting his face toward the sun, Joe stopped thinking about much of anything.
Biddie flung herself across Kip’s midriff, and he exhaled on an oof. “Let’s get situated. No sense breaking my tail or Jiro’s back.”
They stretched out side-by-side, still partly on Joe’s spread jacket, with Biddie wedged between them. Joe stubbornly clung to that peaceful feeling and let his mind drift. He’d barely slept last night.
“Jiro?”
He stirred and hummed.
“What do you call that one?”
Joe opened his eyes and followed Kip’s pointing finger to one of the little nut-brown birds. “Flutter-nuggets.”
“I like it.” He shifted slightly, indicating a tangled knot that drifted harmlessly past. “How about that?”
“Umm … I’ve been calling those air ribbons. What are they really?”
“Your air ribbons are juvenile gossameer, and the flutter-nuggets are dun nippets. But I’m totally calling them flutter-nuggets from now on.”
Joe thought it was better, too.
Kip’s voice came again. “Jiro?”
“Hmm?”
“May I see what you’re wearing around your neck?”
Joe turned his head toward Kip. “I’m not wearing anything.”
Rolling onto his side, Kip said, “There must be something. Your sister has that necklace she never takes off.”
“I don’t.”
Kip’s brows drew together, and he pointed to Joe’s chest. “What’s here?”
“Nothing?”
“You’re warded, Jiro. I can tell that much. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to take off your shirt for a second?”
Joe sat up and slowly unbuttoned his overshirt, then untucked the white undershirt. Kip pushed to his knees and sat back on his heels, watching closely. Self-consciously pulling the T-shirt over his head, Joe hunched his shoulders and waited for Kip to admit his mistake. There was nothing there. So why was Kip staring?
“You’ve been sealed,” Kip announced. “There’s a sigil over your heart. Really complicated, really powerful.”
Still seeing nothing, Joe rubbed his hand over his chest.
“You know, Tami’s ward is really, really strong, but this is … epic levels. Yet you’re still attracting Ephemera. Could be the seal is wearing off.” Kip’s eyes widened. “Or it’s no match for you.”
Joe moved to put his shirt back on, but Kip waved his hands. “Hang on. I might be able to figure out what’s up, but I’ll need to be touching you. How about I change back into truest form? You can hold me and pet me like earlier, which should get me close enough. All you have to do is relax. Stay calm. Is that okay?”
“I guess?”
“You’re giving me permission to touch?” The redhead leaned closer. “If you’re not comfortable, it can keep. I mean, I’m good, but there are plenty of others who are better, and if you’re a beacon … well. Twineshaft himself may want a look.”
A beacon. Joe was already shaking his head. “I don’t want that.”
Kip hesitated. “I could be wrong. Want me to go ahead and check it out?”
“Okay.”
“Really, Jiro. Try to relax.”
“Okay,” he repeated. Even though he was very much afraid that Kip was right.
But then the redhead swore softly, and the rumble of a tractor reached Joe’s ears. The big one they used for hayrides. Grandad was bringing Jiminy, and the wards were down, and Kip had a job to do.
Scrambling into his shirt, Joe whispered, “Don’t tell anyone about … me.”
“Likewise.” Kip ventured, “Want to meet up later? Like, late later? I could come to your room, or you could meet me in one of the barns.”
“Yeah. I … umm … yeah.”
“Shh, calm down,” Kip pleaded. Joe’s hands were shaking so bad, Kip had to button his shirt for him. “I’ve got you. Nice and easy.”
“I’m scared.”
Kip pulled him into a hug. “Nothing to fear from me or maybes. You’re one of my Landmark kids, remember? Even though you’re technically an alum, I’ll still do anything to protect you.”
Hiding his face against Kip’s flannel-covered chest, Joe took several deep breaths, as if drawing strength from someplace else, someone close. Yes, Kip was strange, but it was also a relief to have someone to rely on.
As of today, courage came with freckles, russet fur, and a teasing hint of nutmeg.
TWENTY-THREE
A Better Claim
When Melissa finally made it through the doors of Founders Coffee, Rook was waiting, ward in hand. He pressed the sigil-stamped disk into her palm and pulled her into the nearest alcove before folding her into a lengthy embrace. She wasn’t sure how to interpret his greeting. Had he been worried for her? Was something else amiss?
“I’m so proud of you.” Rook gave her an extra squeeze. “You answered Naroo-soh’s call, and so you were there in your family’s time of need. How are your relatives?”
Melissa quietly basked in Rook’s approval. “Faring well, but full of questions.”
“And the imp?”
“At times, she seems very old and very wise, but she has the appearance of a small child. I can’t shake the idea that she’s both fragile and vulnerable.”
“Trust Jiminy to do his part.” He leaned back to get a look at her face. “I heard you worked well together.”
She didn’t like his leading tone. “Are you matchmaking? Because I don’t want or need ….”
“Hush.” He bumped noses with her. “I’m only glad the two of you are cooperating. You are dearer than any of the possible futures you represent.”
Melissa’s frown deepened.
“It’s not me,” Rook soothed. “But a pack—especially its alpha—looks to its needs.”
“Doon-wen?”
Rook said, “He wants to talk to you.”
She couldn’t exactly refuse. “After my shift?”
“Now.” Rook chuckled. “You needn’t look so worried. My brother can be forceful, but he’ll be sympathetic to your priorities. His have defied tradition often enough.”
Melissa loved Rook. She wanted to stay with the Nightspangle wolves, to be welcomed, to contribute to the enclave community, maybe even to help them expand their territory to Red Gate Farm. And to find a Kith partner. The only way she could do any of that was to find favor in Doon-wen’s eyes. He was their alpha. He called the shots.
She drew herself up, ready to fight for all the things she could so easily lose.
Somehow, Rook understood. He set her at arms’ length. “This isn’t a battle, Melissa. Doon-wen is not an obstacle. He can and will be your best ally.”
“But he doesn’t know me.”
“True does, and he would do anything to please her.” Rook turned her and gave her a small push toward the back. “Take heart. My brother was delighted when you complimented his coffee. That’s put you on the highest of high grounds.”
Melissa rolled her eyes at the weak pun, but she hoped he was right. Making her way behind barriers, she drew herself up and whispered, “Lock and load.”
Melissa’s search for Doon-wen ended in his private Kith shelter, where she found a second wolf, a size or two larger than True, curled around her in the mounded hay and dried herbs. The big male had the Nightspangle coloring—inky black, tipped with a reddish color that gave their wolves a distinctive sheen.
He opened his eyes.
She wavered uncertainly. “Sorry to disturb you. I was looking for ….” Melissa trailed off because there was something unsettlingly familiar about this wolf’s shrewd gaze. She ventured, “… for you?”
True’s ears twitched, and the she-wolf licked her companion’s jaw
. He nuzzled her, rose to his considerable height, and transformed.
Melissa had found Doon-wen Nightspangle formidable enough in a suit. The wildly powerful predator before her was an unreckonable force. She shifted into a submissive stance so fast, she lost her balance, landing on her backside.
He was coming closer, and he looked unhappy. She was embarrassed, even ashamed. Her face burned, and her eyes followed suit. What kind of battler was she?
“Melissa.” Doon-wen crouched, balancing effortlessly on the balls of his feet. “Breathe.”
She gasped for air and apologies.
His own posture shifted, and her awareness of him faded somewhat. As if he’d put away a little of his wildness, out of consideration for her. She knew the scope and strength of Rook’s presence, but his older brother towered over him in terrifying ways.
No wonder they considered her father brave for calling Doon-wen Daddy. Melissa wouldn’t have dared. “Sorry.”
“What are you apologizing for?”
Melissa could have given him a list. For losing her nerve. For falling apart. For being afraid. But his senses were better than her instincts. He already knew. So Melissa rearranged her limbs, crossing her legs and sitting straighter. “I apologize for my lack of trust.”
He huffed again. “Even those who know me well are wary.”
“Rook respects you. True missed you.”
Doon-wen matched her posture, sitting close enough to loom. He was big, and he exuded none of Rook’s gentleness. Traces of resemblance were there, but it was like comparing a deep, calm pool with the plummeting roar of a waterfall.
He said, “Rook adores you. True accepts you.”
Melissa felt the weight of those compliments and rallied somewhat. “You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Regarding the proposed enclave. How would you describe the territory that encompasses the Amaranthine tree?”
“Green.” And since that was meager praise, she pulled out her phone to show him some of the photos she’d snapped for Magda. “The orchard is extensive, but it only accounts for half of their land. I think Uncle George has been planning for an enclave all along. Did Jiminy mention that there’s a circle?”
“Repeatedly.” He stopped her at one she’d taken from atop the roof outside her bedroom window. “They are willing to host wolves?”
“Yes.” Melissa touched his arm. “When Jiminy mentioned the pack, Uncle George immediately asked for an allotment. You are both wanted and welcome.”
“I will need to see and sense and run and rove for myself. Learn the bounds and add my mark. Test the mettle of your kin, to foster the necessary trust.” Doon-wen’s gaze lifted to hers. “To stay within the bounds of current laws, I have need of a reaver escort.”
“Take me.” She set aside her phone and offered her hands.
His touch was light as his tone. “True would like nothing better. Have you need of a pack?”
Melissa glanced at the dozing she-wolf and back. The terms had changed. “Sir?”
“Rook hints. True rants. But neither will tell me all I need to know in order to pick up the scent I need.” Doon-wen’s hands closed around hers. “Show me the trail. Guide my courses. While I would foster you for your father’s sake, True wants a closer claim.”
“What are you asking for?”
He shook his head. “Ours is more of an offer.”
Melissa found herself wishing Jiminy was there to interpret. “Ours,” she echoed cautiously. “Do you mean you and Rook … or the Nightspangle pack?”
Doon-wen said, “True and I.”
“Is she your Kith?”
His nostrils quavered. “I suppose you could put it that way.”
Was he annoyed? This was going poorly. Melissa’s hands fumbled toward apology, but he cut her off with a huff.
“True is my bondmate.”
“I’m sorry. I guess I assumed she was Kith.”
Doon-wen’s expression didn’t change. “She is.”
Melissa opened her mouth, then closed it again. The leader of the Nightspangle pack had chosen a wolf for his mate. A sentient wolf, to be sure, but Kith couldn’t take speaking form. Was this what Rook had meant by defying tradition?
Finally, she managed, “Nobody told me.”
“I am telling you.”
Melissa really wanted to know their story, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask Doon-wen something so personal. She hadn’t even asked him about his name. Yet he and his bondmate were making some kind of offer.
Within his grasp, her fingers curled into uncertain fists. “Please, sir. I’m not sure if we’re talking about my job, the proposed enclave, my duties as a reaver, or … or what.”
Doon-wen pressed his thumbs into her fists, uncurling her fingers and kneading her palms. “Why do you withhold yourself from marriage?”
He’d changed the subject again? This had better not be a matchmaking session. But Melissa preferred to set the matter straight. She gave him the short version. “I never met anyone at academy who was interested in more than my rank and designation. Rather than entering a pragmatic contractual arrangement in order to produce the requisite three children, I hope to secure the lifelong love and loyalty of a Kith partner.”
“You don’t want children?”
She fidgeted. “I suppose. I mean, I intend to do my part. But I don’t like to think about going through all of that alone.”
Doon-wen frowned. “You would have a husband.”
He was thinking like a wolf. “Reaver families aren’t like a pack. I barely know my biological father. Mom contracted with him to meet her quota, but they never lived together.”
A growl rumbled between them. “I did not raise Chris to treat the bonds of blood so lightly.”
She wanted to defend him, if only because she’d never expected anything more from the man. Most of her friends at academy came from similar circumstances. “He made sure I knew how to reach him. He made sure I found my way here.”
One large hand cupped her cheek. “So you could gain what he could not supply.”
Truly? Melissa thought Doon-wen was giving her father too much credit. But she couldn’t bring herself to contradict the wolf any more than she could look away.
With a parting caress, he stood and pulled her to her feet. Keeping hold, he drew her over to True, who lifted her head, ears pricked. Doon-wen adopted a respectful posture and addressed his bondmate. “You were right. Like the Nightspangle pack, who remember the songs that bring the stars near, I cannot resist the cry of her heart. Here is one who values love and loyalty. Shall we nurture her hopes together?”
True rolled her eyes and growled. Not in grumbles and snaps, but in something akin to exasperation.
Doon-wen muttered, “Yes, I know it was your idea. I only wanted to give our offer a touch of formality.”
He guided Melissa to a seat between True’s forepaws. When he joined her, he startled her by hauling her onto his lap.
“I know she is not a child, but I would do the same for Chris or Ash or any of ours.” Doon-wen huffed and asked, “Are you discomfited, Melissa?”
“Less than I might have been. Rook likes this for tending.”
The hint of a smile tugged at Doon-wen’s lips. “If you will entrust yourself to my brother, my bondmate, and me, we will foster you. In becoming a member of our pack, your only obligation will be to us.”
“Like Jiminy?”
“Precisely.”
Melissa had to ask. “Are you doing this for him?”
Doon-wen leaned back and looked up. “I am doing this for True.”
Smiling in spite of her suspicions, Melissa reached up to stroke the she-wolf’s face. “Are you doing this for Jiminy?”
“She says she is looking out for our cubs.” A mellowness entered his tone—paternal, proud. “Not many days remain before this litter makes its way into the world.”
Really, Melissa couldn’t tell. She patted the Kith. “No wonder you wanted him home.”
The she-wolf grumbled.
Doon-wen boosted her to her feet and stood, circling around to kneel at True’s side. “Here. Give me your hand.”
Melissa knelt with him, and he pressed her more firmly into True’s side than she would have dared.
“We aren’t hurting her,” he promised. “Here … and here. This is the curve of a rump, and their sibling is tucked close. Feel that?”
“Yes,” she whispered in wonderment. “How many cubs?”
“Three.”
Swallowing against a wistful wanting, Melissa said, “Congratulations. To both of you.”
“Thank you.” With his gaze firmly averted, Doon-wen asked, “May I see your assessment folio?”
Such a request coming from an Amaranthine was considered a compliment. A higher one than she’d offered. Stroking through True’s thick fur, Melissa said, “On one condition.”
Doon-wen flicked his hand, inviting negotiation.
“Will you tell me about your name?”
TWENTY-FOUR
Nesting Instincts
Ash was beginning to wish he’d called in sick. As much as he loved his job, Kip’s absence cast a pall on the school day. No surprise. It wasn’t as if he took his best friend for granted. Ash knew better than anyone how much Kip took on. No, the source of his malaise wasn’t the change-up in their usual routine—even though same-old, same-old was his preferred order of business—but in Kip’s destination.
Red Gate Farm.
Jiminy had asked for help warding Tami’s home. Which could mean anything or nothing, if not for the family’s telltale surname. Especially if you reckoned in the family jewels. That necklace. Kip figured that Tami had been heavily warded from a very young age. An unregistered reaver. Which could mean anything or nothing.
Or everything.
Ash ran a rag over his squeegee and hung it from the hook on his belt, moving along to the next set of windows. Was that the reason for Tami’s appeal? Had his Amaranthine half been subconsciously picking up on some quality of soul, stirring his appetite?