Lover's Soul: Werewolf Sexy Romance (Biwole Wolves Book 2)

by JP Vasha

  With her falling silent in my mind, my own thoughts intruded, all different possible scenarios playing in my head as to what would happen in Midedge, and after about an hour of twisting and turning on the hard ground, I was finally able to fall into troubled sleep.

  After a few hours of sleep, our group was awoken by grim-looking Shell and we set off to find the portal that would lead us to Midedge.

  Ambery and Mike had Tollier tucked between them as he led us through the forest, with me in the middle of our group, and Shell bringing up the rear again. We were silent as we made our way through the endless darkness of Mana and soon enough we reached a certain tree, where Tollier had stopped. He pointed at the trunk and said, "It's in here."

  "He's not lying," Ambery said, looking not very pleased with everything. "There's a portal here. Whether it's to Midedge or not..."

  Tollier shrugged. I was getting tired of this gesture of his. "I told you I already checked it out. It's solid."

  The Deity sighed. "If you say so."

  Zack, who had walked beside me, took my hand. "Let's go in there." He paused. "Never said I'd be anxious to get into a tree trunk, but there's a first to everything, I guess."

  Mike sent him a glance before grabbing Tollier's shoulder. "You lead, we enter together."

  At once, Zack's odd sense of humor vaporized. "Don't give orders, Fox," he snarled, eyes turning a gleaming Shell of silver, "especially not to me."

  Shell stepped forward. "It's not the time for this. Let's get this over with."

  I was in full agreement, and so were everyone else. Soon enough, we all held hands like we'd done back in Budapest and, with Ambery and Tollier at head, we launched into a whirl of magic inside the tree trunk. A few moments of unbalance, of monochrome of colors around us, and the next thing we all know we're standing in the middle of a purely grass field, with no mountains or forests or anything, basically, in sight.

  Tollier gave Ambery an almost childishly smug grin. "See? I was right."

  And, if anything that Ambery said was true, he was right, because this place, which was sunny, indicating late morning or noon, felt charged with magic that, unlike the mana back at the Dark Kingdom, didn't brush me the wrong way. Instead, it made me feel exhilarated, almost high, as I felt my own power responding to the magic in here.

  Ambery nodded. "You were. Now, let's get this done."

  Tollier broke away from us and studied the grassy ground. After a few furtive moments he reached to the belt of his pants and drew out two vials from a hidden pocked in there. The two held ashes. He turned to me. "As we're already about to experiment something particularly exciting," he said, "would you mind if we try something else in addition?"

  Zack answered for me. "What kind of something else are you talking about?"

  "You see," he shook the vial in his left hand, "this one is supposedly Carla Mill's ashes, the one I picked up from three years ago. This," he shook the one emphatically in his right hand, "is another special vial, filled with thousands year old ashes of another person. It took me a lot of trouble to get it, and I've been trying for ages to raise the one whose these ashes belong to. I have a feeling that, with all the Necromancy we're going to exhale into this place, there might be a chance my research would finally turn out fruitful."

  I glanced at Ambery, who was looking at the vial in question with eyes gone stone cold. "I don't think it'll be dangerous," I said, "but I want to make sure of it. So, Ambery, is it alright if we try it out?" The words I hadn't spoken were, Because I want to know if whatever comes out of this so-called research might be useful for me in the future.

  Ambery's golden eyes turned to Tollier. "I'm the Deity of knowledge and shielding," he said suddenly. "I live and breathe knowledge, and can build up the best shields, stronger than the hardest metal, thinner than air itself. I might be a scholar and a defender, of no offensive abilities despite some inborn physical strength." He stepped slowly closer to Tollier. "When I look at the vial in your left hand, my knowledge tells me that this is, indeed, Carla Mill's ashes, and that if worse was to come, I would be able to protect both body and soul. But when I look at the vial in your right hand," his eyes turned frigid in their coldness, "I find myself, for the first time in eternity, unable to even guess whose ashes these belong to, and even less if I can protect everyone here from getting hurt if something along the resurrection went bad."

  Silence spread across the silent grass field. It was broken by the Deity when he asked in a low, almost frightening voice, "Where did you get these ashes from?"

  Tollier looked, for the first time, terrified of the Deity. He wasn't the only one; Mike, Shell and Zack form some sort of perimeter around me, as though feeling the tension rolling off the Deity in spades and wanting to protect me, the so-called weak chain, in case something monumental happened.

  Then Tollier mumbled out, "I – I don't know, Ambery. I h-honestly don't know. I found the ashes in the wasteland of Edashore about two decades ago a-and I felt it used to belong to a N-Necromancer. That's all about it, I swear. I just want to experiment." He looked like he wanted to cry.

  Ambery pursed his lips and stepped back. "I'm going to volunteer my trust to you on this one, Haykon," he said, posture stiff. "Do not make me regret this."

  At the terrified Necromancer's hectic nod, Ambery gave a rigid smile and let the tension drop a notch. "Have away with it, then."

  We watched, more than relieved that Ambery was no longer acting all threatening and creepy, as Tollier uncorked the vials and walked a little farther away from us. He emptied the unknown ashes, then stepped to its right, emptying the one that belonged to me. Then he walked the same distance to the spot next to it and turned his head to me. "Come and lie here. Also, you need to switch places with Khloe Daniels."

  Swallowing hard, I walked to the spot he mentioned and lay down on my back. Then I was pushed to the back of Khloe's mind as she took control of the body. She sighed when she felt her body belonged to her, from now on probably forever. "I'm kind of really excited about this," she said, but I felt her true worries niggling at her. She couldn't hide them from me now that I knew.

  Khloe's greatest fear was loneliness, after all.

  "Good," Tollier said and I saw him, through Khloe's eyes, stepping back from the row of ashes and Khloe. "I'm going to start performing my magic. I suggest all of you step back as I do. I don't want it to backleash or accidentally drew power from your life sources."

  I heard shuffling sound and when Khloe looked sideways, I saw that everyone were a good distance away. In her head, I let out a small, mental sigh of relief.

  "Now, I need you to not move, Khloe. Stay still."

  "Yes, sir," she drawled but complied, locking her muscles, closing her eyes, engulfing us both in darkness.

  Tollier didn't say anything else, and soon enough, I felt the power in the air rising, which was almost cataclysmic, since the power levels here were already higher than everywhere else. I felt my power rising too, but forced it to lay low. It was Tollier's show now, not mine.

  As the minutes ticked by and the power Tollier gathered around us grew thicker, I became impatient. Why was it taking so long? Did it feel like that to everyone when I raised the bunny? The tension was killing me, but I suffered I silence. I just had to wait until something finally happened.

  And something did happen. I felt magic swirling inside me in Khloe's head, creating a sudden curtain between me and Khloe's thoughts. All sounds disappeared, all feelings dissipated, and suddenly I felt like back in the void, with no body, just a floating, aimless soul in the pool of many other dead souls.

  Panic raked at me but I knew that this wasn't the void. I wasn't back there in the pure, devoid darkness. I was still alive. I was okay. It was just part of this all magic juju.

  As I was getting accustomed, as much as possible, to the magical darkness around me, to the feeling of being somewhat on my own, I suddenly felt more than heard a snap and then pain rang in my psychic ears. A scream was
shouted from somewhere, and my own power rose in response to my sudden, blinding hysteria I could no longer squelch.

  "NO!"

  The shout was banging, echoing through every fiber of my disembodied being. I tried to shout, but I had no mouth. I tried to scratch away the sound, the pain, the hurt, but I had no nails, no hands, no legs, no nothing.

  With a sudden slam, I was alone. Utterly alone. The magic that gripped me evaporated, and before I could yell that something went completely wrong, I finally opened my eyes and saw the blue sky above me.

  I was alive. And I felt no Khloe in my head.

  But my power was boiling under the surface, waiting to strike. It knew something that I didn't, went to seek revenge on that something, and before I even moved, before I even explored the impossibility of having my own body, I listened to it, let it encompass me completely. And once I was drowning in my own magic, I saw what was wrong.

  Khloe! I screamed in my head, unable to speak. Khloe, answer me, please!

  And Khloe answered me, even though it was impossible, since we didn't share a body anymore. I'm sorry, Carla, she said, and I could hear her in my head, but not like before. It wasn't like before, because Khloe wasn't inside my head. Khloe wasn't even in her own head.

  Khloe, don't you dare do this, I warned in my head, feeling a wave of fright clouding everything. Don't you dare to this to me, to Mike, to your family –

  I'm truly sorry, Carla, she whispered, voice dimming. I love you. I love you more than I ever loved any of my friends or family. You're my best friend, my sister. I can't bear to lose you.

  What about Mike?! I didn't know it was possible to cry in my head, but it seemed to be the case now. What about your mate? You can't just leave him! You can't be that much of a selfish bitch, Khloe!

  I love you, she was barely audible now, her soul flickering out before my own mental eyes, tell Mike that he can do better than me.

  And then – gone.

  Khloe was gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The pile had reached its limit.

  Something burst out of me when Khloe slept away from the living. It was pure, undiluted power, something like nothing I'd ever felt before. My Necromancy read my fear, shock and hysterical state as danger and all of its potential, all of my potential, was immediately fulfilled. I felt it rolling off me in waves, blocking everything much like Tollier's Necromancy had done when he separated me from Khloe, and there was no leashing it back.

  I didn't want to leash it back.

  The power tore out of me, seething and furious, searching for a practice target to beat to a pulp. It found it in the form of the ashes that were still unused next to me. I could see my magic smiling savagely as it locked on the ashes and launched itself inside it, basking in its dirt, reading it magical cues, doing thousands of things together I couldn't distinguish from one another.

  Turbulently, my magic, with a life of its own, willed the ashes to mold itself back into its prior form of human being. Once there was a shape, a solid body for my magic to string along, it plunged into the void, violently pushing souls away, making me ride it like a wild wolf on the hunt, and when my magic found a brilliant soul among the others, unique yet familiar, reminding myself of my own, it draw it from the void, forcing it back to the living, and then punched it back into the chest of the body it molded.

  The act weakened the magic. As my power became mine again and locked itself back in its secret place deep inside me, spent yet viciously satisfied at its extraction, I was finally able to get all my senses and feelings back. My eyes flew open again, a gasp left my throat, and when I rolled my head to the side on the ground, I saw that the ashes next to me were no longer ashes.

  They were those of a seventeen-year-old girl, who was still lying on her back. She was naked, her crimson hair spread all around her like a bloody halo, and her regal face evidently pretty. She was a Necromancer, like me. She was thousands of years old. She was the one my magic sough to raise, and the one, I realized with a jolt of intuition, Michelangelo wanted to prevent me from resurrecting.

  And when she opened her eyes and they shone a searing, vibrant color of pure white, I understood why.

  When she let out a shrill of pure, utter terror and the ground shook, I understood why.

  When creatures rose from the ground, creatures made of thin skin and bones, with long hair and horrifying sunken faces, I understood why.

  I hadn't raised a Necromancer. I raised a Demonomancer.

  I couldn't move. I was stupefied and exhausted and utterly numb from everything that had just happened. I was going to die, I knew for sure. I was going to die from these... these demons and I was going back to the void after everything I'd put both Khloe and myself through.

  It was all going to end.

  Or not.

  Someone grabbed my arm just as my eyes drifted shut. I couldn't even tell who that was as I was suddenly airborne for a few moments and then back on a solid ground. I also had no idea where I was, feeling almost high from the power session, when a familiar voice said something, and then a different, unrecognizable voice replied, and then I was floating again, with someone still gripping my arms in a steely hold.

  I couldn't feel anything anymore, then. Instead, I let myself be taken under, passing out cold.

  When I woke up, I was back at my guest room in Lumen, Oregon. My body was numb, my mind was numb, everything felt hollow and unimportant. I could barely even feel my power anymore, as though it had fallen asleep, needing to recharge or something.

  Wetness covered my cheeks, and I realized I was crying. I'd always been a loud crier, whimpering and sobbing and looking ugly while doing so, even in Khloe's gorgeous body. But now... now I couldn't make a sound. My throat was dry, my brain refused to compute everything, and I just lay there, tears falling out of my eyes on their own accord.

  The door opened and someone walked inside. I didn't bother to turn my head as I felt rather than saw Zack taking a seat next to my bed. "You're finally awake," he said, and his voice was raspy.

  I couldn't answer. I didn't want to answer. Nothing really mattered anymore.

  "Carla," his voice was barely a whisper, "is she... is she really dead?"

  He was asking about Khloe. Wasn't the answer obvious? "Yes," I managed to utter out, my voice dry and empty.

  Zack said nothing. I guess he wasn't surprised at my answer; he'd just wanted to reaffirm the fact. I wondered for a fleeting moment what was Mike feeling right now, but instead just felt sorry for him. Because Khloe had been so selfish to the point of leaving everyone just to save face from loneliness. That was her greatest flaw. I should've seen this result coming Mike away. But I was so sure everything would go smoothly, that everything would finally be alright in the world.

  I was naive.

  A few minutes later, Zack said, "The funeral will take place tomorrow. Do you want to go?"

  There was no judgment in his voice. Whether I decided to go or not, he would not think differently of me. Still, if there was something Khloe taught me, it was that selfless people, while getting hurt much easier, wouldn't have to see their loved ones getting hurt either. I preferred to be selfless than selfish. So I said, "Yes."

  "Carla," he said, voice pleading, "can you please look at me?"

  If I looked at him, the numbness would disappear. "No."

  "Please, Carla," he said, clogged, "I need you to need me right now. You need to need me. You've been carrying so much shit every since we met and it's a wonder you haven't cracked until back in Logia. Please," he was begging now, "please trust me."

  The tears came again, this time much more viciously, and before I knew it, Zack had his strong arms around me, lifting me up and into his lap, and crushing me to him as I suddenly wept, as ugly as possible, with big fat tears, torn out sobs coming out of my throat, agony in every whimper.

  Khloe was dead. She was fucking dead. How could she be dead? How could she leave all of us like that?

  I
curled into a ball, trying to soak myself in Zack's body. He just rocked me with him, murmuring unintelligible words, for the first time soothing me instead of the opposite. I clutched his shirt in my hands, dug my nails into the fabric, and cried harsher, my body shaking with every torn sob.

  "Carla," he whispered, lips fluttering on top of my head, "my lovely, beautiful Carla. Can you please look at me? Look me in the eye?"

  The last thing I wanted was for him to see my most-likely puffy eyes, so I shook my head.

  "Carla, I need you to look into my eyes," he said, voice turning authoritative, commanding, like the Beta of the Biwole he was.

  Sniffing, I very much reluctantly raised my head slowly and found myself face to face with him. And when my eyes clashed with his, it happened.

  Mate, hissed my innermost instincts, This is my mate, mine, mine, MINE!

  There were no need for words then as Zack grabbed my face almost painfully and crushed his lips to mine. Still crying, still torn, I couldn't do anything but reciprocate. I needed him. I needed my mate. I needed him inside me, marking me, mating me. Now.

  I was already naked, I realized when his hands were on my bare butt, but he was still very much clothes. I fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and clumsily managed to get it off his body, and as he was kissing me, snaking his tongue with mine, I caressed his chest, his chiseled, marvelous, six-packed abs, and let him devour me as much as I wanted to devour him. My magic hummed in predatory approval.

  When his lips wandered to the spot between my neck and shoulder and his teeth sank into my skin without a warning, I welcomed it, welcomed the heat, the wave of pleasure and pain coming from the act. I felt him marking me, not like he'd done that first time in Houston, but like a male wolf marking what was his, his mate, only his. I felt possessed, and it was one of the best feelings in the world. It was uncontrollable, exhilarating, stunning in its simple beauty.