Rogue's Call

by C. A. Szarek

  Who had hidden her away was unknown, as well.

  To think she might’ve been in Greenwald all this time. At Castle Aldern? Why would the duke have taken responsibility for her? It wasn’t required for a liege lord to take in orphans, even if the lass was noble. Was she blood kin perhaps?

  If she’d been there all this time, she’d survived the decimation a few turns ago by the former archduke who had wiped out the Ryhans—the former duke, his wife and daughter.

  One daughter survived, the current duchess.

  “Could it be?”

  Nay. Drayton shook his head. The Duchess of Greenwald was a redhead—and renowned for such, as well as her toughness. She wasn’t his elemental, even if females could change their appearance.

  The tiny lass he remembered was blonde. So pale in color it was more white than yellow.

  So was the half-breed wrong?

  Drayton paced on his dais, fingertips pressed into his bottom lip.

  What could he do?

  He’d extended his life by taking the young water mage’s, but he needed to conserve energy. He couldn’t rush to Greenwald and see for himself what Charis suspected. He’d have to wait for his hirelings to come to him. As much as he hated that. He’d never been skilled at giving up control. Needed to maintain his strength so he could father a child when Charis and his men brought his lass to him. His plan would work. He’d be set for several lifetimes.

  Drayton stilled and stretched his shoulders. Rested his hands on his hips and rotated. Leaned side to side. His body gave no major protests.

  “It’s about damn time.”

  Perhaps the water mage had been more powerful than he’d thought. Or felt.

  He looked around his cave home, burning to do something other than pace. Drayton slipped from his dais and glanced toward the large mirror on the natural wall above his sleeping area. The magic flame above it caused shadows to dance in the far-off reflection.

  Snapping his fingers, he hurried to the ornately framed mirror. He could call the half-breed and demand a report.

  The view of his face stopped him cold, before he could say the spell connected to Charis’ mirror. Drayton’s hands shook when he raised them to his cheeks. They were no longer sallow. Only one or two age lines, instead of too-many-to-count. Not as full as when he was younger—or had more power coursing through his veins—but he looked as if he was recovered from a disease. He had normal color.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, which was no longer white. It wasn’t the brown of his youth, but it would be after he got his lass. Salt and pepper waves were soft to the touch, too. No visible bald-spot as before the water mage.

  Drayton smiled as elation rolled over him. He was starting to feel…normal.

  If he weren’t alone, he’d holler for joy. Needed to hold onto this feeling. Because when the half-breed and his men brought him the lost elemental and his plan was underway, Drayton would feel better than he did now. He couldn’t wait until her power poured through him. Her water magic would only make his own stronger, as had the recent water mage.

  Drayton extended his arm and called to the water, grinning when it didn’t take much effort. Power shot down his forearm into his fingers. A small wave was born. He didn’t want to flood his cave’s floor, so he bid it to dissipate instead of infusing more power into it. The fact he could’ve made it larger without losing precious strength made his body lighter.

  “Everything is going to be fine. Everything will go as planned.”

  Drayton waved his fingers around and forced a warm gust of wind to caress him. It parted his hair and rustled his clothing. Next, he snapped his fingers and gave birth to a warm fire in the ring for that purpose next to his dais. He infused more magic, making it brighter and warmer.

  Lastly, he gestured wildly; the loose pebbles rolled away as if he’d swept the natural floor with a broom.

  He threw his head back and a laugh broke from his lips.

  Gone were the worries of moments past.

  He wouldn’t run out of magic. He couldn’t.

  Drayton felt better than he had in months.

  Rubbing his hands together, he schooled his expression and said the spellword that would connect his mirror to the half-breed’s.

  When the haze cleared and he met Charis’ eyes, Drayton squared his shoulders. “Report.”

  * * * *

  Charis sat watching Castle Aldern’s gates. He couldn’t answer the consistently demanded, “Why?” from his lads. He just knew he had to stay where he was.

  No matter how long it took.

  Despite the fact it’d been two days of nothing much. Watching people come and go, seeing carts inspected and nobles depart. Word was a Knight of Greenwald was newly married and the king himself had been in attendance.

  They’d missed King Nathal’s departure by days, according to gossip he’d overheard in the square.

  Which was perfectly fine with Charis. He had no problem with the king, he just didn’t have any desire to risk being known by the man, either. There was no doubt the multiple murders he and his lads had committed were being investigated.

  King Nathal’s sense of justice equaled his prowess in battle. Something to be feared.

  It was well known to those of Aramour, as well as the people of the Provinces that fell into his kingdom. King Nathal had worked hard for peace with the chiefs of the elf clans early in his reign, as the story went.

  Were it to come to light the lasses and their families were killed by them, they’d be destined for the penal colony of the continent, in the far southeastern Province of Dalunas. It’d been nicknamed Dread Valley.

  Charis had never been there, but he didn’t intend find out why men feared it so, either.

  “What’re ya doing?” Bracken roared.

  “Will you keep your voice down?” he snapped, pushing off the fountain he was sitting on the base of. His eyes darted around the public area.

  Marshals patrolled in pairs of two. He’d spotted the captain he’d seen the other day not long ago, though the man had been walking by himself.

  Families laughed, ate at tables and strolled through the square, and all over the market in general. It was a rest day, so there were more food vendors with hot and cold ready-to-eat goods than during the working days.

  No one was in a hurry today.

  The crowd was as large as normal—if not larger—but they still couldn’t afford to be noticed or remembered. Evening approached, yet people lingered.

  Unrepentant, Bracken closed the distance between them. Stopped himself short of grabbing Charis’ tunic in tight fists, by the looks of it.

  Damn good thing, too. Or they’d likely both end up in the provost’s holding cells. He drew the line at letting Bracken manhandle him with no physical response.

  “I’m doing what I need to do. Like I’ve told you a hundred times.”

  Bracken shook his head. “You’re wastin’ our time.”

  “You don’t have to understand it. Just have to respect it. We need to stay here.”

  Doubt darted across the oaf’s broad face.

  Charis narrowed his eyes. “Are you questioning my orders? My magic?”

  “Nay.”

  He didn’t let his body loosen until Bracken’s big shoulders relaxed.

  “For turns we’ve been in this together. I don’t want tha’ ta change because of impatience.”

  Charis leaned back, appraising his companion. That was as close to an apology as he’d ever get, but he was half-surprised. Bracken didn’t often show weakness—or let on that he actually had faith in Charis. “Good. Neither do I.” He took a breath. “I can’t explain it. I just know. We need to stay here.”

  Giving a curt nod, Bracken’s chest heaved as if he, too, had released a breath. “Just get out of tha open. We’re in public, but you’ve not moved from this spot for hours. It’s suspicious.”

  “I don’t disagree.” Charis looked around. He wanted to run his hands through his hair, but
he couldn’t afford someone seeing his ears if he took off his hat. “Where’s Nason?”

  “Buying supplies.”

  “Ah. Very well. Let’s find a less conspicuous spot where we can still see the castle gates.”

  “Aye, let’s.”

  They turned together, but a howl stopped Charis in his tracks. He glanced over his shoulder when movement right outside Castle Aldern’s gates caught his eye.

  He and Bracken exchanged a glance, then the big man followed his gaze.

  Four wolves—actual wild beasts—moved away from the castle walls. Without challenge from the posted guards.

  “Did they just come from inside?”

  “Aye, I should think so.”

  “Aye?” Charis arched an eyebrow, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the wolves. One was pure white and huge. Another had a full coat of ebony and was even larger than the white wolf. The third was a smattering of grays and browns, with a hint of red on its back.

  “’Tis spoken of a great deal. The ladies of Greenwald have bondmates. A proper wolf pack lives inside the castle. The duchess herself is bonded to the white one, just like the wolf on the seal of Greenwald.”

  He threw his lad a glance. Hadn’t given Bracken enough credit for his listening skills. Perhaps Charis had heard the Duchess of Greenwald had a wolf, but nothing of the other three.

  His gaze narrowed, scanning for the fourth wolf, since he’d not gotten an adequate look at it. It was smaller than the other three, and moving faster, in front of the pack.

  It had a coat of several shades of gray, making it appear almost silver in the waning sunlight. The beast’s youth was obvious. It nipped at the haunches of the others and darted back and forth around the pack, until the large white wolf seemed to reprimand it and it settled at the large beast’s side.

  With the barest probing, Charis sensed the magic all over the animals.

  Bonding spells were strong, and carried the signature of the human bondmate’s magic. The magic itself appeared as a golden rope if the partners were both in sight. They’d look physically tethered, with thick ropes wrapping around their auras and sometimes looking as it disappeared inside the body.

  It’d fascinated him for turns, but he’d never wanted to bond himself. There was too much danger in it. If the beast was killed, the human died, or vice versa. The advantage for the animal was life extension. Bondmates lived the same lifespan.

  In Aramour, humans and elves alike sometimes bonded with dragons. In those cases, the human’s lifespan would equal three—if not four—times normal. Elves lived longer than humans, so if they gained turns because of a dragon bondmate, it was minimal.

  Since he only saw one half of the pairs before him, Charis needed to concentrate a bit harder to sense the magic. He sensed a protection spell covering the wolves, just like the one over the castle.

  He probed deeper, trying to move quickly, because the wolves would soon be out of sight.

  Elemental magic smacked into his powers, and he staggered with its intensity. “Blessed Spirit,” he whispered, shaking Bracken’s hand off his upper arm, even though his friend had just been trying to keep him from tumbling to his arse.

  “What is it?” The big man asked.

  He ignored him and probed deeper.

  The silver wolf.

  Charis started to run so he wouldn’t lose his magical connection to the wolves. He heard Bracken curse and the clunk of his boots as Bracken’s longer stride only had to jog to keep up with him.

  He sent his senses out wider as he went, trying to focus on the smallest wolf. He needed to absorb everything he could about the beast’s bondmate.

  Female.

  The silver wolf was bonded to a female elemental mage.

  His heart galloped as fast as his feet. He turned behind the pack as they moved out of Greenwald Main.

  “Charis!” Bracken called.

  Charis ignored him and kept moving. Studying, sending more strength into his magic, until the wolves faded from view, breaking out into a full run as people and buildings thinned. He panted, bending at the waist and planting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath and willed his heart to slow.

  His gut shouted at him. He’d found Drayton’s elemental lass.

  “What the hell, man? What’s got inta ya?” Bracken demanded, breathing just heavily as Charis needed to. “Chasing beasts that could rip out your throat withou’ effort? What were ya gonna do if you caught up ta them?”

  “I didn’t want to catch them.”

  Bracken ran his hand through his wind-mussed dark hair. His mouth was a hard line and annoyance rolled off him in waves. “What then?”

  Charis straightened and took two deep breaths. He grinned.

  Now his lad regarded him as if he’d gone daft.

  “Our search is over.”

  “For the lass?”

  “Aye. I know where she is.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  She turned back the thick sleeping furs and swallowed a yawn. Tonight had been lovely. Despite the fact her chaperone wouldn’t even look at her.

  Elissa had put all dark thoughts aside and danced. Just like the night of the wedding, except she hadn't gotten to dance with Sir Alasdair.

  As matter fact, she’d been dancing with Lucan and seen her knight perched on a tabletop one moment and gone the next. She hadn’t seen him again. Sir Bowen had escorted her back to her rooms.

  “Oh well. I’m not going to think about it now.” Another yawn threatened and she failed to stave it off. Her eyes watered. Elissa had wanted to wait for Mischief to return from hunting, but she was too tired. She’d sleep now, and wake when he scratched at the door—she hoped.

  He hadn’t been gone long, but after they’d been together all day, she missed him. The young beast was already a part of Elissa’s normal.

  Getting used to having him—his thoughts and primal feelings—in her mind was new, and would take a while, but it was more healing to her than a burden. Her bondmate was the bright spot in her despair. Mischief wiped the hurt away—almost.

  She rolled her eyes at herself and reached to fluff her pillow, sparing a glance at the dying fire. The embers still had a nice glow and radiated heat she could feel from where she stood, but she needed to get into bed before the temperature dropped too much.

  Elissa reached for Mischief through her thoughts. She could sense his elation. He was running with his sire, dam, and the black she-wolf, Ali. He felt free, in his element, and she suspected he didn’t sense her because he was so worked up.

  She sent him love and smiled when her wolfling returned it without delay.

  “So he wasn’t so mired down with the hunt after all.” She glanced around the large room again, then pictured Mischief lying by the hearth. More likely, he’d get into bed with her. Morag would not be pleased.

  Elissa laughed, then felt silly since she was alone.

  The door to her rooms was wrenched open so hard the thick wood crashed into the wall. She shrieked and jumped, clutching the closest pillow to her chest.

  Her wolf wasn’t the one who’d just burst in.

  She locked eyes with her knight. Tremors that had nothing to do with the worry of a cold room chased each other down her spine. He stepped into the room and slammed the door shut without looking away from her. Sir Alasdair strode to her, but then glanced at the bed. As if jolted, he stilled about five feet away.

  “What are you doing?” Elissa’s intended demand came out more like a cracked blurt. Her heart picked up speed.

  His powerful chest heaved. Aggression poured off him. Her knight was silent and broody and so handsome it stole her breath. “You intend to tell Lord Aldern you’ve chosen Lord Cam?” His voice was thick.

  Pained?

  Nay. He doesn’t care.

  Elissa nodded, because she couldn’t push anything out of her mouth.

  “You want to marry the Duke of Dalunas?” His brow furrowed, and he looked away.

  “Aye,�
�� she whispered. Her belly fluttered. She dropped the pillow to the bed, then regretted it. Elissa clutched her sleeping gown at the neckline. It was a thin fabric, and she was suddenly aware that she wore nothing beneath it. Her fingertips shook as they brushed the buttons at the top.

  “Aye?” Sir Alasdair echoed. An emotion she was afraid to name darted across his face, and his frown deepened. “Why?”

  Elissa startled.

  Why? That was a good question, considering she loved the man before her, not the duke. However, she’d never thought in a million turns Sir Alasdair would ask. “Alasdair—” His name slipped from her lips without his honorific.

  Those blue eyes flared and settled on her mouth.

  Elissa took two steps toward him, but her knight slid away.

  “Answer me.” A demand that came with a clenched fist. But he didn’t look away.

  Her blood—and magic—pounded along her arms and legs, in her temples, making her head spin. “He…is…a good man.”

  “Undoubtedly. But that’s not why you want to wed him, lass.”

  Elissa swallowed and lowered her lashes. Could she be honest with him?

  Tell him what—who—she really wanted?

  He’d likely run from her, like last night.

  If so, she could flush her desires away as far as he was concerned, and marry Lord Cam knowing it was her only option, because Sir Alasdair Kearney really didn’t want her.

  Right?

  It’s now or never.

  She sucked in a breath and shoved her magic back. Elissa squared her shoulders and met his sapphire eyes. “Because he is my suitor. Because he cares about me. Because he…wants me.”

  The knight’s shoulders slumped and the apple of his throat bobbed as he swallowed, but her heart’s desire didn’t break their eye contact.

  It gave her the courage to finish her thought. “Because I cannot have who I really want.”

  His lips parted. Air whooshed out. His hands opened and closed, as if he didn’t know what to do with them.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  Finally, he moved. But Alasdair didn’t come to her. He locked his fists at his sides and moved back another step. “It’s…wrong.”