by L. V. Lane
She nods her head, her face downcast so that I can’t see her eyes. I tip her chin, and her hazel eyes, full of tears, search mine. “I do not want a man to come here and tell me that you are gone,” she says. “I have felt that before, and I cannot live through it again.”
My heart softens toward her. This young lass has already been married and lost a mate. But I am not that mate.
“I will not die,” I say. “I promise, we will return. But there is no safety in cowardice. Sometimes, war needs to be done.”
Hazel
Great sadness wells up inside me as I watch Fen ready to leave. He pulls his pants up, tightening a belt around his waist. Boots are slipped onto his feet. Leather straps are slipped over his head to crisscross his torso diagonally, which holds pouches and two knives. Finally, he slings a bag over his shoulder before gathering his ax from where it rests against the storage chest sitting at the bottom of the bed.
He may be young, but he is proud. I am proud of him too. That he stopped a lass from being raped speaks of his noble mindset. Before I came to Ralston, I did not understand the ways of the barbarian clans. I imagined them to be brutish people. In some ways, they are. But I have discovered that they are far more complex people. I’m worried about Fen, just as I am worried about Jack. Even if it means war, and that tragedy will come into my life once more, I’m glad he saved the lass.
Maybe the Goddess will choose to take Fen to her side because she loves him well for this noble deed. Or perhaps the Goddess will decide to let him stay with me so that we might grow old together and have many babes.
I will pray for the latter.
Returning to the bed, he catches my face between his strong hands and kisses me on the lips.
But all too soon, he draws back, and I watch him go with sad eyes. The room falls quiet. Between my legs is a little achy. And I can feel the stickiness where he has cum. When I press my fingers to my lips, I can pretend his lips are still there.
Rising, I head for the table where the bowl and jug of water rests. Pouring water into the bowl, I lean over to wash my hands and face. I don’t know where Jack went earlier, but it is something else to do with the war, and I worry about him. Now that Fen is also gone, I worry about them both.
But there are things to be done. I slip my tunic over my head and my shoes onto my feet. Leaving the bedding chamber, I snatch an apple from the bowel resting on the great oaken table and head down the wooden steps in search of Jessa.
When I enter the little hut where the drying herbs and roots are kept, a few other women are present. The mood is somber. It seems I am not the only one who worries. Jessa greets me with a weak smile. The young Beta woman is much enamored with Brandon. Yesterday, I met the Beta shifter Jessa will soon be bonded to. He is Fen’s best friend and has similarly left for the war.
“Eh, look at you lot,” an older lady says. “They are hale men. They will do what needs to be done and return to us, have no fear. Goddess willing, they will have little need of care. But some might need treatment upon their return. So best we make sure we have plenty of balm and bandages ready, so we can see to them swiftly.”
I busy myself in the process. There are many stages and exact measures to be made as I grind herbs and crush roots. Then I mix them together with a bit of water as instructed. I am no stranger to medicinal herbs. My mother taught me much. But they have different plants and roots here, and I am learning anew.
The day passes slowly, and the sun sets as we pack up what we have prepared. Some women have babes, children, and husbands who are farmers here, and they return to their homes. But Jessa does not want to return home. She has five siblings who will demand her attention. She tells her parents that she will stay with me, and we leave together, walking the small distance from Ralston to where the sacred pool and portal are found.
The site holds terrible memories. It was here that Nola sought mischief. But it is also a site where the Goddess listens to her people’s prayers, and I have many prayers to give.
“Has anyone ever come through?” I ask.
“No,” Jessa says. “My grandma told me it was a lost one. That it goes to nowhere, and that nowhere leads here. But the Goddess listens well. I have prayed here many times.”
Kneeling side by side, we close our eyes and pray.
I speak to the Goddess through my thoughts.
I entreat her to send Jack and Fen home to me.
I beg her to give me a babe when I am next fertile.
I tell her all the ways I shall cherish the life she might choose to give us. I tell her how I am well practiced at caring for my mates and our children. Whether she listens, I will never know. There are many villages and cities and peoples in the world, and I dare say some have far more pressing concerns than mine.
Dusk has fallen by the time we return to the hall of my home. I note a few of the younger warriors who have remained carry weapons as they walk in pairs on patrol.
I have never seen that before, and it unnerves me.
A young warrior instructs us to close and bolt the hall door for the night.
Jessa and I eat a cold supper.
And then we wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Fen
WHEN I LEAVE home, there is a heaviness in the center of my chest. Usually, under the threat of war, I feel nervous kind of anticipation, and I cannot wait for it to fucking begin. Things are different since I met Hazel.
Brandon is waiting when I emerge from the house and take the wooden steps down to Ralston Square.
“Fuck,” he says, smirking. “You are a miserable fucker this morning.”
I shoot him a glare. “You have no reason to talk,” I say. “Aren’t you and Jessa about to take your vows?”
He grunts but does not dispute the recent change in his status. I know that Brandon is excited about joining with Jessa, even though he pretends not to be. They have been making eyes at one another for a while now. And this despite Jessa’s father threatening to castrate Brandon if he touched the lass before she came of age.
Then there is that fight he got into with the bastard from the Lyon clan. A man doesn’t take such steps without strong reasons.
We had plans to build a cottage for them when this nonsense with the Lyon clan began. It is the way people here that we will all work together to create a new home when a young couple comes together. And whether it is the vows of matrimony between two Betas or the claiming when an Alpha takes a mate.
We walk together to where our horses wait. Three other warriors will ride with us, the rest having traveled with my brother. Jack says I have a hot head and history with the Halket clan.
Which is a fair point.
He also says that a man and clan do not blunder into war. That we need alliances in place.
So Jack has left for more distant negotiations, while I will go with Brandon and three other warriors to speak with Karry, the king of the Halket clan.
I would much rather be the one going to the more distant clan. To any clan but the Halket. But alas, this is my own fault for my mischief with Eric. I have a mate now, and I must step up to my duties in the clan, Jack says.
Our travel passes without incident through the forests. When the sun breaks through gaps in the canopy, I feel its warmth against my shoulders. The kind of day better spent lazing in the furs with your mate rather than dealing with an impending war.
Our pace is fast where possible, but we slow the horses to a walk as we arrive at the river where a ford allows us to cross. As our horses trot through the water, it casts up a great spray.
“What are you going to say?” Brandon asks as we emerge onto the other side.
“I am going to talk plainly,” I say.
“Are you going to apologize?” he asks. “For that business with you and Gwen?”
“I am not going to fucking apologize,” I say, glaring at Brandon. He does not know me or is baiting me to even ask this. “It is Eric’s own fault for being slow about it. Happen,
I did him a service helping the matter along.”
Brandon chuckles. “Not sure Eric will consider it in the same light.”
I think Brandon might be right.
Our discussion ends when I notice a couple of Halket warriors. They are lying upon the ground peering over a low, craggy bluff. I pull my horse to a stop. “Eric?”
“Get down from the fucking horse,” Eric hisses.
I don’t like his fucking tone. I’m about to tell him as much when I notice Gwen at his side along with half a dozen warriors. Gwen turns to glare at me—she is usually an even-tempered lass.
Dismounting, we tie the horses off a small distance from the edge. The Halket warriors turn back, watching something through the trees.
Keeping tread light, we creep the short distance to join them at the edge.
“Has he claimed you yet?” I ask Gwen as I crouch between her and Eric. It never hurts to give it another push if the fool is still being slow.
“He tried,” she says. Her face colors, and she smirks. “But he needed a bit of help.”
I laugh. Eric punches me in the arm and glares at me. “Shut the fuck up,” he says. “This is not the time for fucking around. And best you move from between my mate and me, or I will finish what I started last time you got in my fucking way.”
I raise both hands in the universal sign of surrender and squat-crawl to the other side of Eric. I can be an asshole sometimes, but I don’t joke about mates. “About fucking time,” I mutter. Then I’m all business, for I see what they are looking at. “Is that Danon?”
Below, the Lyon warriors have dismounted. Their horses are tethered to one side. We have the vantage of higher ground since the landscape here is rocky with great crumbling boulders that form peaks and troughs.
Danon. A year has passed since I last saw the Alpha son of the Lyon clan king. He’s a tall, powerful male. My feelings toward him are nothing like the playful mischief I engage in with Eric. Danon’s father is a cruel bastard, and his son, cut from the same stone. “What the fuck are they doing on your lands?”
“I do not fucking know,” Eric says. “But they’re not here for diplomatic reasons, like you. And I doubt they have come to apologize.”
“I also am not coming to apologize,” I point out.
Eric rolls his eyes. “I am not fucking delusional. The day you apologize for anything is the day the sky turns green. I admit,” he says, looking a bit sheepish. “I should’ve claimed Gwen before.” His scowl turns fierce. “I still want to fucking end you for covering her in your cum. But I hear you have a mate now, and for her sake, I will restrain myself from such a path. Also, my father has forbidden it since we already have one war.”
“You are at war then?” I ask, returning my attention to the Lyon warriors. What the fuck are they staring at on the ground? Negotiating and strengthening our alliance was, after all, the reason I was coming here today. It seems Eric and I are beginning the discussion early. “How many are there? Why have you not moved them on?” I ask. Although, this is not far into Halket lands. Given the ease of crossing the river at the nearby ford, this is a common pathway between the clans.
“My father ordered us to watch and observe unless the Lyons seek trouble or near our village. He has gone to speak to the Baxters today,” Eric says. “He believes the Lyons are planning an attack after they sent our envoy back tied to his horse dead. My father is an honorable king. He does not seek conflict. We must live with the Lyon bastards as our neighbors. But they took a lass promised to a warrior against her will. Her intended is furious that she was taken thus, but prepared to challenge the Lyon warrior who claimed her in a fair fight. The Lyon clan’s response was to send the envoy back dead.”
My frown deepens. “We have skirmished with them several times since I caught them trying to snatch a second lass,” I say.
“What lass?” Eric asks. “One of yours?”
“No, one of yours. A few days after—” Given this is a diplomatic meeting albeit in an unlikely place, I try to find a tactful way to say it was after I come all over Gwen. But I’m struggling for terms that won’t put him in a rage.
“Gwen,” he offers, eyes narrowing like he is thinking about bloodying me again.
“Yes, after the incident with Gwen. Four of them gave chase and caught a lass. They intended to rut and claim her there. It was not so far from your village.” This sees me cop another scowl. As Brandon pointed out at the time, we were trespassing after Eric had bluntly told me a few days earlier to ‘fuck off his lands’. “They slapped her to quieten her down. Did no lass return with such a mark?”
“Ellen,” Gwen says, anger glittering in her voice. “I thought it was her mother who is known to have a temper on her. The poor lass has not had a good life. Happen she was terrified to speak up lest her witchy mother beat her again. She is of age, but her mother refuses to let her mate since she uses the lass as a slave. It’s time your father stepped in and found Ellen a mate who will cherish and protect her. She will come and live with us until this can be settled. That way, I may vet any male who petitions for her.”
“She will not fucking live with us,” Eric says hotly. “We are newly mated and have newly mated needs. Then there are your other two mates. My home is already fucking crowded!”
“She will stay with us,” Gwen says, eyes narrowing in a way that does not bode well for Eric’s rutting prospects in the near future.
I chuckle, finding great mirth at Eric’s expense.
“Fuck!” That is a Brandon kind of fuck.
We all turn back to the forest where the warriors are hoisting something up. A wooden cage? No, a wooden framework is being hoisted into the trees. In the middle is a body. A freshly killed body that is dripping with blood. I see the dyed leather so typical of the Halket clan, and I know the man—now dead—is from there.
Eric roars. A fearsome warrior already, when enraged, he is demonic in his power.
Inside, I feel the shifting as blood pounds in anticipation. This here and now is the beginning of the war.
There is no hesitation. The challenge has been issued. The Lyon warriors turn as we charge, drawing weapons and shouting to each other to ready. We meet, crashing like two great waves into one another. Blades strike, meeting screams, and snarled fury.
This is me, a dirty, gritty, cleaving monster that takes down enemies with the flashing curve of ax or fist.
Some fall.
Some scatter.
And some stand and fight.
I punch, cleave, batter at those who stand in my way. At my side, the snarls and growls tell me that Brandon has joined the fight.
Then I see him, Barry, the fucker who slapped a helpless lass and who sought to claim and rut her. For Barry, I will not make it quick. I batter his sword away. Swinging my curving ax down, I hamstring him as he tries to flee. He stumbles, gets his good leg under him, and tries to limp away.
Until I hamstring his other leg.
Around me, the sounds have turned from the frenzy of a skirmish to the moaning penance as dying men beg for mercy.
Barry begs. Dragging himself along the ground, legs limp and useless. He is bleeding, leaving a dark stain over the loamy forest ground. He will not last long—I pause my pursuit and smirk.
“We should string the bastard up,” Brandon says as he comes to stand beside me—human and naked. Barry is still trying to crawl, but it is slower and weaker now.
“No,” I say, never taking my eyes from the fallen man whose begging has turned pitiful. “He will die slower this way.”
A call comes from behind, and I turn to find Eric has subdued Danon. The Lyon Alpha snarls and curses as they bind him and set him to his knees.
“There will be retaliation,” I say.
Eric nods, face and torso dripping with blood, although I think none of it is his. “There will be more than retaliation,” he says. Stalking forward, he punches Danon in the face sending the bound Alpha sprawling. “They wanted war. War is what they s
hall get.”
Pivoting, he calls to a nearby warrior. “Cut my father down.”
It is then I remember the dead man strung up like a gruesome offering.
As I look up, cold sweeps my spine.
The dead man is Karry, the Halket king.
Gwen wails in sorrow. I note the tear tracks merging with the blood on Eric’s face. And I see the deadly calm that has settled over the bloody clearing.
Eric, through cruel circumstances, is no longer the son of a king.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Hazel
DISINCLINED TOWARD SLEEP and full of worry, Jessa and I go to the bedding chamber where we lay together chatting about this and that. Through words, we find a distraction from our concerns. We talk about herbs, the ladies of the clan, the children we plan to have, and the men we have both come to love.
Night falls, and still our warriors are not back.
“I met Fen a long time ago,” I say. “My father is a blacksmith. Jack and Fen visited him from time to time.” I smile as I remember this fond memory. “We sat together by the river, and while there, he stole my first kiss. I was thirteen at the time.”
She giggles and twists on her side to face me. “What happened?”
“Naught,” I say. “Jack called Fen in that stern voice of his, and they left.”
She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “I kissed a lad once who was not Brandon.”
I gasp in shock. Then Jessa giggles prettily, and I laugh too.
“So, Brandon is not your only love?” I ask.
“I have found lads handsome before,” she says like she is far older and wiser than she really is. “But he is from another clan.” Her voice turns sad. “And their clan and ours do not mix so well. But I love Brandon with all my heart, and I had all but forgotten about it until you made mention of Fen.”
The room has darkened, and that heightens my awareness of the tone of her voice.