by Jasmine Walt
I put my mind into the patterns and senses that shape Ballad's existence again, letting the transformation overtake me, as well.
43
Alisa
I riffle through my clothes to dig my wallet out of my pocket. I can't imagine we're just gonna stand here.
It's confusing and almost nausea-inducing adjusting to such different senses. I can't keep up with the flow of scents my nose finds, but the colors around me are gone, so it seems like an even trade. Moving is awkward; my depth perception seems off, too. I can only hope I'll adjust.
It never would have occurred to me to try shifting forms. I have no clue why it seemed so important to Reza. But it's a new experience, and a strange one, at that.
My thoughts feel…different. Simpler, maybe. It's easier to let go of the confusion that had tormented me.
Reza slowly and clumsily sketches a word into the dirt path: Home? I don't need his clarification to know he means his, not mine. But mine was already gone. Unsure how to tell him yes, I lower and raise my chin in an awkward nod and headbutt his shoulder.
He nudges my rump to get me to my feet and takes off, wending his way through the underbrush. I struggle to stay on his heels, despite the unfamiliar way the dirt feels under my paws. How can he move so naturally? How much time does he spend in a dog's body anyway?
In time, the right gait comes to me, though it still feels wrong as hell. Somehow, this body itches me like a too-small pair of shoes. If my spirit could get blisters, it'd be well on its way. Perhaps this is second nature to Reza, but I doubt it ever will be for me. As enlightening as it is seeing the world through his eyes, I'd give anything to be back in my own body.
Reza's tail wags like a puppy bounding circles around me. When I slow too much, he veers toward me and nips lightly at my hindquarters. It's more affectionate than irritating, and it's impossible to be mad at such a happy dog. I can only imagine what he'd be like in his own body with this kind of enthusiasm. I don't think I'd realized exactly how many of his instincts came from being a canine, but it makes a lot of sense. The first time he kissed me…
I don't understand my life's new shape. Not in the least. But it certainly seems like I couldn't ask for a better companion and guardian. Our tails thump against each other's as I finally get the hang of wagging mine.
I may never uncover the mysteries that killed my parents or the intricacies of my heritage, but I can damn well take care of myself and Reza. Especially with a little more practice.
I think I need the new start. Maybe I even need the anchor Reza provides. Either way, I'm gonna run with it.
He has more endurance than me, but he makes his way at a pace only marginally faster than I'm comfortable with, leading me back to a very familiar clearing. I've lost track of the time it took us to get there; for a while, there was nothing but the ground under my feet and his smell further up the trail.
He transforms back to himself and puts a hand on my paw. “Brace yourself.” When I nod, he sketches a sigil into the dirt, and immediately, the spell binding me to this body frays. I squeeze my eyes shut as colors dart into my vision, and my body grows rapidly in a small time span. My body is the icing in a piping bag, being squeezed into decorative and unfamiliar patterns. But in the space of breaths, I realize that the patterns are familiar. I'm myself again. It just feels unfamiliar.
Reza grins at me, panting slightly from the trek. He wraps his arms around me, his skin so warm against mine, chasing away itches and shivers from my transformation.
“Will you come home with me?” He fixes me with a heated gaze, actually waiting for my answer.
My hands are trembling, either from the strangeness of playing Adam and Eve in the woods or from the spell's aftereffects. The words freeze in my throat. No more go-go dancing, no more babysitting for Rory, at least not for a while. No more pretending I'm normal. Or lamenting my failure. I'm giving all that I've known up, and for what?
Reza's smile fades as the pause hangs heavy between us. His thick lashes shadow his eyes, and I'd give anything to chase his anxiety away.
For him. I'm giving it all up in the hopes that with him, I can carve out the space I want for myself. A space by his side. Because I want to be there.
“Yeah. Lead on.”
He kisses me, holding my face to his as though he'd die if I pulled away to draw a breath. And then he releases me. “You know the sigil.”
I do. I turn away, and he wraps his arms around me from behind. The air parts under my fingertips as the gateway opens. He beams as he helps me through it. “Welcome home.”
44
Alisa
Eren's waiting with a bottle of champagne and two sets of clothes. Reza blocks me from his sight while I slip on the loose dress, relieved for the fabric's kiss against my skin. If I didn't know better, I'd say he's jealous. I swat at him to let him know he'd best look after his own nudity. He gives me a sheepish smile and turns to his own clothes.
Eren gives me a “don't mention it” smile to dispel the awkwardness from the last time we spoke. And he reaches for the bottle on ice next to him. “To you two.”
Reza tugs me close and kisses my forehead as Eren uncorks the bottle and pours several champagne flutes. “Welcome home, sister,” Eren says, as he offers me one.
I duck my head, my cheeks red with self-consciousness. “Welcome home, Lis,” Reza says, hiding my embarrassment by kissing me.
Muted cries rise up around us as the rest of the bar holds their glasses up. I wrap my arms around Reza's neck and cling tight, not used to this much attention. How can I be so easily flustered right now?
The talk carries on around us in fast eddies of sound and motion, but I'm numb to everything other than Reza's muscular bulk against my body and his arms holding me to him. It feels safe being there. Even the air here tastes like security. No wonder Reza's built his all into this place. If I'm honest, I kind of envy him that clarity of purpose. Maybe I'll savor taking part in it, in my own small way. I have no doubt I'm going to learn lots of useful stuff.
It seems strange accepting this as my world. But somehow it is. I'll make it be.
While everyone else is carousing or doing whatever the hell else they do when killing time in their strange oasis, Reza leads me to the garden. He sketches a sigil on the gate behind us, and it seals shut. “Sometimes I spend the night out here when I can't sleep. There's not seasons, per se, but periodically it's cold, and I grow a coat of fur.”
He sits on a section of grass and pulls me down next to him, half into his lap.
“It seems strange, thinking of a world where everything's flexible. Where everything changes. I don't know any of these constellations.”
“It takes getting used to, I'm sure. But in my experience, changes aren't usually bad. No matter how painful they are, they're opportunities for growth. Look at us. If my mother hadn't broken tradition for love, I never would have inherited my grandfather's power. If my grandfather hadn't liked his son's black-sheep bride and broken his own tradition to pass his gifts to his half-breed grandchildren, I'd simply be a man who doesn't always look like a man. I wouldn't have my true power. And if I didn't have the Mantel, I never would have learned spellcraft, ended up at the Well, or been put in a position of meeting you. Life is a spider web. Everything intersects. You can appreciate the intersections without devaluing the pain they represent.”
“That's a good way of looking at it, I think.” I sigh and tip my face toward his for a kiss. If he's right, I may not be through the difficulties. So I should enjoy him and all the nice things we have, to hold them in balance against the alienation and the hopes that I'm helping Rory, and Riley, and Annie, and Reba more by staying away from them. It still stings, but that ache is soothed by his eager lips.
The smells drifting to us on the nighttime air seem almost familiar. No alien perfumes or spices.
For the first time, I can almost imagine the Well as home.
I shut my eyes, focusing on the fragrance, the cool b
reeze, and the warm man enfolding me in his arms.
45
Reza
Even an idiot could see that Alisa's preoccupied. It's been an eventful day. I'm surprised she's still on her feet after learning to transform. I've heard those spells are particularly rough on humans. But it was worth it to walk alongside her as Pack and know she knew everything that was in my mind and my life. Even if she had turned back when we reached the gate, I'd have treasured that memory.
It's even more perfect now, though, holding her under the starlight, listening to the wind in the plants. Utterly safe in the most magical, most protected part of the Well. It's impossible not to revel in every inch of her pressed against me. But I need to get my mind back on things before I get carried away and drown myself in her flesh, making love to her with only the stars as witnesses.
I promised her more than just my body and my love. I promised her my power.
I shift Alisa's weight off my lap and crawl over to one of the rosebushes that I put in while she was gone. Apparently, Gene's got a thing for roses. She asked me to create a few not long after Alisa left. I was happy to oblige, more so now. I clutch one of the stems, my finger placed over a thorn. It bites into the fleshy pad, but I don't ease the pressure of my grip until there's blood.
Alisa's sitting up, waiting for me to come back. She cocks an eyebrow, her elegant features wary.
I drop to my knees next to her and tug her neckline down slightly to make room to work. “Someone's frisky,” she teases, though she seems to know it's not simply lust making me expose her silky skin.
My blood stains her skin as I press my finger to her, sketching a mark onto her, over her heart. She shivers as an electric tingle goes through both of us, the magic in the world reacting to the spell taking shape. Our eyes meet, hers bright with trust, and mine bright with pride that this beautiful woman now bears my mark. That our home will bear the marks of her power, as well as mine.
I close the sigil, and a charge ripples through the air as the power of the Well surges into her and against my finger. It knows its new mistress.
“Whoa,” she whispers. “What the hell was that?”
“A key. Making what you had here last time permanent. Telling the Well that it's safe to listen to you.” I squeeze her trembling fingers. “Now it's truly your home.”
“I—I don't know what to say.”
“Then don't. It doesn't need a response.”
We lapse into a shaky quiet, the energy in the air putting both of us on edge. “So what do you want to study?” I ask, hoping the change of topic helps.
She twists to look at me and bites her lip before she speaks. “Protection. I want to focus on learning protection. I don't want what happened to my family to happen to anyone else. And from what you've said, things are gonna get really bad out there. So whatever you teach me, whatever we study, I want it to be with the goal of protecting you and the people here.”
My heart swells. She couldn't have chosen anything that would make me more proud of her. Truly, I chose someone whose heart is in the same place as mine. She'll be a striking pack mother, alluring and dangerous to those who threaten our community.
“You're making me feel silly,” she mumbles, glancing away. The pause has stretched entirely too long.
“As you wish. Between the two of us, we'll work some magic.”
“Of course we will. I am a witch,” she says with a chuckle.
I kiss her again, stealing the rest of the laugh from her throat. The power's coursing through me an entirely different way now, demanding we share our bond in a rather simpler kind of union next.
I can't fucking wait to give in.
46
Alisa
My hair's standing on end, some strange energy coursing through me as though my blood was carbonated. My skin itches and then hums. I've never really been one for getting high, but I can only imagine this is what it feels like if you take every drug offered at a party. It feels like I'm breathing pure static electricity rather than air, and my vision's filled with fairy lights and dust motes drifting to form sigils in the breeze. Reza's lips against mine are pure ecstasy with my supernatural awareness of their fullness, their softness, the power in his own breath.
His fingers playing across the back of my neck overwhelm me, sending shivers of shock down my spine and making heat well between my legs. He curls his fingers, and his nails scrape lightly along my skin. I moan, only to blush. I suppose the door out here's locked, but I still have the paranoid idea that someone might hear, might see us. Perhaps it sounds contradictory, but I'm not that kind of exhibitionist.
Reza growls deep in his throat. Somehow, the aggressive noise has a promise in it, one that's possessive and full of demand and love. I never could have imagined so much being communicated in something wordless. His hand slides between us, pushing my skirt up above my knees. He traces a slow path up my thigh, and my legs tremble. In the wake of his touch comes a searing warmth, like sparkler trails across my skin. My breath comes fast.
He cups my mound, teasing his middle finger into my slit, but affectionately, not lustily. No. He's planning to take his time with me. We've had each other before, but it was rushed. There's no chance of that now. Reza wants me, body and soul, and it'll take a lot more than just a handful of frenzied kisses and a desperation fuck to soothe his inner beast.
I put my hand over his, laying my fingers over his, too. His fingers interlace with mine lightly, and in the process, part my lips, brushing so close to my throbbing clit I almost shoot off the ground. God, I'm impatient for him. If he makes me wait another second to touch me, I'm going to grind into his hand. The charge running through me makes me feel wanton, desperate to experience everything with him. I want to feel the power shared between us as though his fingertips against my skin closed a circuit inside us to keep the desire there, ricocheting through on a steady loop, heedless of whose body it started in and whose body it's currently in.
There's a spark in his eyes and a catch in his breathing that says he feels it, too. And that it's taking everything he has to move slow the way he wants to. I add a little fuel to the fire, bucking my hips into his hand and closing my legs to trap his fingers between my legs. Two fingers curl, teasing into me deeper, finally, and I unclench my thighs, spreading my knees apart to let him have as much space as he needs. His touch drives me higher as his fingers work me inside and out and his eyes drink in every unconscious reaction that makes it to my face. It's a relief knowing he echoes my hunger.
I reach out to caress him through his pants, caressing his package. He moans, his eyes half shutting with pleasure. He leans his forehead against mine, and our breath washes over each other's skin. Even that is a revelation, one that makes me crave his lips on my earlobe, my neck, my throat—
Reza gathers me close, supporting my weight as he eases me backward. When I'm safely on the ground, his muscular bulk positioned above me, he untangles his fingers from mine and tugs my skirt up the rest of the way, leaving the fabric pooling around my waist. My legs break out in bumps to be subjected to the whims of the breeze, but the raised flesh is soon kissed away as he retraces the path his hands took earlier with his mouth.
I gasp at the first touch of his lips against my wet heat. It feels like I'm burning, roasting alive under the weight of my own desire and his need. His lips are so soft, so plush against me, gentler than I could even have dreamed.
The whisper soft brushes stoke the heat inside me to a ferocious want. His lips part, and his tongue traces the curve of my hood, taunting me. My eyes shoot open to find his. I don't know whether I'm pleading, or whether I'm simply witnessing. I'm not sure that he does, either, as his lips caress me more firmly, and his tongue swirls around my aching clit.
He whispers words I don't understand, peppering me with kisses and gently sucking on my sensitized button between each sentence or word. The soft rumble of his voice echoes through me as though it were more than simply flesh connecting us. And maybe it
is. The mark he drew on my skin is riveting, his bright blood standing out against my creamy flesh. It's primal, dangerous, and reassuring all at the same time. For better or for worse, we are connected. For better or for worse, I've picked my team. I'm his.
It's impossible not to lose myself in his agile tongue, the way the sparks explode in my center with every subtle shift in his motion. The worries fall to the side, nothing left of me but the panting, eager woman cowed by his touch. I tangle my fingers in his hair, resting my hand on his head. Somehow, the texture of his hair against my palm makes it more real yet. This isn't a sex dream or some magical experience, despite the power still coursing through my blood. It might seem surreal, larger than life, with the world around us narrowed only to my gasping, halting breaths and his own ecstatic moans, muffled by my thighs on either side of his head, but at its core, it's just us.
I love Reza. Even though he's lorded over the most upsetting period of my life. Even though I still don't know what the hell to do with the fear, the anxiety, that's plagued me since he opened my eyes to the real world—well, worlds. All of them.
His tongue swirls lower, stroking my entrance, and all my nerve endings come alive. My body still remembers how he felt in me—how he's gonna feel in me again. My body's already ready, already begging for him, as though anatomy-be-damned, the next sensation I feel might be the blunt head of his cock pushing in, filling me, making my body arch into him for more.