Hex Breaker (The Fenearen Chronicles Book 1)

by Taryn Noelle Kloeden

  “What in the–” Nero broke off as he heard the Maenorens crashing toward him. Despite his treatment, he was in no shape to fight six men, or to run from them for that matter. Fear laced his veins. So much for Bayne's mercy. He would die after all.

  As the men closed in on his hiding spot, a tantalizing aroma reached him. A young woman. Nero knew women did not fight in the Maenoren army, so why was she there? He peeked around the trunk. The raven soared from the branch to the woman's shoulder, and Nero's breath quickened. She was glorious. Despite his impending death, Nero could see only her shining dark locks, full lips, and generous curves. Who was this beauty, and what was she doing behind enemy lines?

  The raven turned its beak toward the cedar tree, gurgling.

  The woman nodded. “Nero Geddeont. We mean you no harm, please reveal yourself so that we may talk.”

  Hearing his full name sent Nero into a spiral of confusion. None of this made sense. Was he dreaming? Or had Bayne killed him and sent him to Hell? It did not feel like Hell when such beauty existed in it. Curiosity eased Nero from his hiding place.

  “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  “My name is Morna Helena, sent from Lord Rhael Demetrian's court. I have come to offer you terms, Nero. And as far as how I know who you are goes,” she stroked the bird perched beside her graceful neck, “the Da' Gammorn control many creatures. One such thrall witnessed your battle with Alpha Bayne.”

  The idea that there could be any manner of undead beast watching him from the trees unnerved Nero, but he maintained composure. “What do you mean, offer me terms?”

  Morna approached, gesturing the guards to stay behind. They obeyed, but did not remove their hands from their swords. The raven flew to a more stable perch above them. Nero's breath hitched; the golden folds of the dress hugged her curves like a second skin.

  “Your people have disowned you. Why not join us? Join Maenor, and punish those who have wronged you.”

  Morna stopped mere hair-lengths from him. He could feel her body's warmth, smell her berry-sweet scent. “Why would you make me such an offer?”

  “You were a high-ranking member of Bayne's pack, were you not? All Lord Rhael asks is for insight into Fenearen strategies, techniques, and most importantly, weaknesses. In return, you will obtain a command post in his army, land, wealth.” She lifted her hand to stroke his bloodied face. “Anything you desire.”

  Nero glanced at the guards. Each stared at him, waiting for his answer. There was no question what their orders were: allow him the chance to turn traitor, but kill him if he refused. His gaze fell back to the doe-eyed beauty before him. “Anything?” Nero asked as his arm encircled Morna's waist.

  “Anything, Commander Geddeont,” Morna whispered, kissing him fully on the mouth.

  Morna hated herself. That could not be debated. She had to hate someone, and no matter how hard she tried, she could not hate Rhael. She loved him. All the terrible things he had done paled in comparison to the way he looked at her when she made him happy. Or how he plucked her from that tiny village and changed her from a peasant into someone whom people respected. Someone that mattered.

  In the end it was all the same. If Morna had stayed home, the outcome would have been no different. She would have married some man for whom she cared nothing, but how was that different than her situation now? Rhael knew how it would pain Morna to be with any man but him, but he did not care. He hated her more than his old lovers, because she alone had broken his defenses, made him feel. He was not only abandoning her; he was punishing her by forcing her to be with someone else. Perhaps this should have driven Morna mad, but instead it gave her hope. Hatred and love were connected. The greatest hate was reserved for those once loved the most. Love made people weak, and Rhael could not be weak. What he didn't understand, was that she didn't need him to love her, just to let her love him. She'd bear the weakness for them both. If only he could see.

  As soon as Nero had agreed to join them, they had headed north. With his help, they'd been able to smell Fenearen sentries leagues away. In accordance with Rhael’s orders, Morna stayed near Nero, answering his inane questions and flattering his already inflated ego. She could not see why Rhael was so keen to have the traitor’s aid. Knowledge of Fenearen strategies could be useful, but it hardly seemed worth his irritating, savage presence. He did not seem bothered by the blood that covered him. His teeth and claws extended as he spoke of Alpha Bayne, Alphena Silverine, and any other Fenearen with whom he had a grievance. He picked his teeth with twigs and scratched his torn ear like a flea-bitten cur. Morna had thought Rayna a wild beast, but compared to Nero, the feral redhead was almost tame.

  She studied his profile as they walked through the forest. He was not ugly, she admitted. His hair was nearly the same shade of black as Rhael’s, though Nero’s shaggy mane was quite distinct from the Overlord’s curls. His face was broad, his lips thin, and his brown eyes so pale, they were almost yellow. If his personality were not revolting and she could desire another man besides Rhael, she might have found him appealing. As it was, all she could do was pretend he did not disgust her.

  After a tiresome day, they reached the Maenoren encampment. Nero’s pale eyes tracked the soldiers as they felled trees for firewood, and his nose twitched as he surveyed the tents, horses, and men. Did it bother him, seeing his land so abused? If it did, he was too much of a coward to say so.

  With nothing protecting her feet but thin cloth slippers, Morna was exhausted, bleeding, and freezing. But even so, she could not control the little leap in her heart as Rhael approached them. She curtseyed. Nero hesitated before giving his own awkward bow.

  Rhael grasped Nero's forearm. “Commander Geddeont, so glad you could join us.”

  “Thanks for the invitation. Now what exactly do you want from me, Overlord?”

  Rhael raised an eyebrow at Nero’s curt response. “You do not stand on ceremony, do you, Commander?” Nero evidently considered silence his strongest reply. Rhael continued. “Information. What strategies Bayne will use against the Da’ Gammorn and the infantry, his weaknesses, where they’ll hide those who don’t fight, and anything else you can give me.”

  Nero crossed his arms. “In return for?”

  “Power. Position. Women, men, whatever you want. Once I defeat Bayne’s forces, I’ll name you lord of one of the new Fenearen Provinces.”

  “Seems fair.”

  “Excellent. Shall we, then?” He gestured toward a large burgundy tent. Morna followed Nero and Rhael.

  Once inside, Rhael motioned for her to sit on a chair to the right of the entrance. She obeyed, her heart racing, It was the first time he'd acknowledged her presence since her return. “Thank you for delivering Commander Geddeont to us, Miss Helena.” Rhael kept nearly the full length of the tent between them, but still, he was speaking to her. “I trust your journey was not too strenuous?”

  She smoothed her skirt, conscious of its muddy hem. “Nothing can be strenuous when performed in your service, my lord.”

  He nodded, turning instead to Nero.

  “Though,” she continued, searching for the right words as Rhael's gaze returned to her. His face was calm, unreadable, but she was determined to break through his defenses. “I admit these wartime duties are more demanding than my previous post.”

  Rhael raised his eyebrows. It was a tiny reaction, but she had affected him. “I see.” Silence lingered. Rhael cleared his throat, leaning over the chart-covered table on the tent's left side. Little wooden figures of wolves, soldiers, and horses dotted the maps. “Shall we begin our discussion, Commander?”

  Nero—oblivious to the hidden depths of the exchange he'd witnessed—approached the table, picking up a wolf and examining it closely.

  Rhael snatched the wolf from Nero, placing it on the sidelines. “Of course, Bayne would be a fool to use the True Wolves when the Da’ Gammorn can possess them.”

  “Not so,” Nero broke in as if excited to share, “They discovered
that wolves who wear a seal of Wolnor are protected. All the Trues will have one, and they will fight. The Fenearens will wear a seal, too—so that if they're killed, their bodies will also be protected.”

  Grinding his teeth, Rhael slid the wooden wolf back onto the battlefield. “How many True Wolves are there?”

  “I scented the southern pack had returned from the Western Densite shortly before I left, combined with those from the other sites, they boast approximately a thousand fighters—warring in pairs, or sometimes groups of three. So you’re looking at roughly four hundred True Wolf squads spaced evenly throughout the Fenearen ranks.” Nero moved the figures accordingly before picking up a handful of carved arrows.

  “Of course, Bayne will avoid an open field. He'd be more likely to launch a surprise attack on the camp. But if you can surround the Densite's northern borders and force him into open warfare, he’ll have the archers on the high ground and in trees. They’re key for fighting your Da’ Gammorn. Bayne will arrange the feral fighters, the wolf-human shifters, in three flanks. He and Silver will command one group, he’ll have Roxen on another, then probably one of the Den Alphas on the last. Probably Daria, as she was the Western Densite's Alphena and made a name for herself during the Maenoren Invasion. Her mate Trentin was killed at the Western Densite, so she’s looking for vengeance. I also wouldn't be surprised if one or more of the flanks attempted an ambush during your march—it worked for Bayne during the last invasion.”

  Rhael considered. “What's to stop Bayne from not engaging—hiding and trying to wait us out?”

  Nero smiled. “He can't afford to wait. The Densite is overrun with refugees. He can't feed them all for long. He'll be desperate to fight as soon as he can. Which is precisely why you should wait as long as you can to mount your final attack.”

  “Starve them out?”

  “Exactly.”

  The strategy discussion continued for some time. Rhael never again addressed Morna, or looked at her. It frustrated her, but also deepened her conviction that his feelings for her were unchanged. After Rhael and Nero had exhausted placement details, numbers, and all manner of things Morna did not care to know, Rhael turned toward the exit. “One last thing before I leave you, Commander Geddeont.”

  “Yes?”

  “Once we defeat Bayne’s fighters, where will I find the children, elders, and the like?”

  For the first time during their conversation, Nero did not answer right away. Perhaps he had a conscience after all, Morna mused. The idea was short-lived.

  “The True Wolf dens. They’re southeast of the Densite, hidden in the roots of trees and in caves. You’d never find them if you didn’t know where to look, though if they’re hidden somewhere else, I can smell them out for you.”

  Rhael nodded. He passed Morna without a word, ducking out of the tent, leaving her alone with the savage traitor.

  Roxen ran through the woods toward his mother’s den. As he approached, an unwelcome scent hit him.

  Nero, he growled. It was stale, but still clear that Nero had been close to his mother’s den. Where the lone wolf would go, Roxen could not say, but he hoped it was somewhere far away.

  Mada? he barked, walking in. The smell hit him first–the warm mix of metal and salt was unmistakeable. No! he cringed from the sight that dominated the den. His mother’s body was covered in wounds, arranged in a pool of dry, brown blood. His legs collapsed, and he sprawled on the ground, howling for help. He couldn't move.

  His mother was dead.

  There was no question how it had happened. Had she called for help as Nero had slashed her wrists and throat? How long had she hoped her son would save her? Roxen’s stomach churned with guilt and the sickening smell of human blood.

  Footsteps sounded outside. Silver and Bayne burst into the den, nearly tripping over Roxen where he lay.

  Silver staggered back. “Oh, Wolnor, no.” She collapsed beside Roxen, wrapping her arms around him. Hot tears spilled onto his fur.

  Bayne knelt by Thera, closing her glazed brown eyes. “I don't understand. Why would he do this? Why was he here?”

  Growling, Roxen stood up, shoving past Silver. He formed human and sought the fresh air outside. Bayne and Silver followed. They did not speak for several heartbeats. Bayne's lips trembled in a near-snarl. Tears flowed freely down Silver's cheeks as she reached for Roxen's hand.

  “Thera and I...” Sobs wracked her body. “We found Nero. I asked her to treat his wounds. I left—I didn't think—I never thought Nero was capable of something like this ... I didn't know. I'm sorry...” Her crying drowned out any other words.

  Roxen froze. His mind felt sluggish. The meaning of Silver's confession broke over him gradually, like the rising tide. “You...” His hold on her hand tightened. He pulled her toward him. “You brought him to her. You left her!”

  “Rox, let her go!” Bayne forced himself between them, tearing Roxen's hand off of Silver's.

  Snarling, Roxen tried to reach Silver, but Bayne blocked his path.

  “She helped him!” Roxen shouted. “She allowed Nero to murder my mother!”

  Bayne gripped Roxen's shoulders. “You need to calm down. We don't know–”

  Bayne didn't finish. Roxen barreled into him, hurling Bayne to the ground. Silver screamed as Roxen pounded blow after blow into Bayne's injured face and chest.

  “She helped him! After you spared his life because—because I asked you to. Oh, gods.”

  Bayne grimaced as Roxen re-opened his wounds, but did not stop him.

  Silver pulled Roxen off of Bayne and he tumbled to the ground.

  “He killed my mother!” Roxen sobbed.

  Bayne heaved for air. Fresh blood seeped through his bandages.

  Silver placed herself between him and Roxen. “Roxen,” she said, “I’m so sorry. Please. Thera and I wanted to do the right thing—to help Nero, as you and Bayne had spared him. I knew Nero was angry, but I never thought he would vent his rage on Thera. How could anyone harm her?”

  Roxen stood. The rage he'd felt toward Silver and Bayne ebbed, leaving him numb. Bayne rose, clutching his side. “This isn't Silver's fault, or mine, or yours.” Sweat dripped down his pale face, but his voice was steady. “Nero will be punished, but first we will give your mother the finest sendoff possible. She is in the Forest now with your father, her beloved Damen.”

  Roxen walked purposefully toward Bayne. The Alpha braced against another beating, but Roxen pulled him into a hug.

  “My mother, Bayne, how could he?” Tears wet his cheeks. Grief and guilt weighed him down. There was only one way forward. He had to make Nero suffer. Bayne was right. Nero alone was responsible for his mother's death. Silver had been doing what she thought right, as had his mother. It wasn't Silver's fault that Nero had repaid their kindness with malice. As Bayne tightened his hold on Roxen, smearing blood onto his chest, Roxen reached for Silver's hand, pulling her into the embrace.

  By evening, Thera's body was wrapped in leather and placed on a pyre built on the site center's flattened rock. Roxen moved through the assembled Fenearens without meeting any gazes. Neither True nor Fenearen made a sound. Custom dictated that no one speak until the fire had been lit and kin had said their silent goodbyes. Bayne and Silver stood beside him, and at Roxen's nod, the Alpha handed him a torch. Roxen set the pyre ablaze, watching the inferno consume the last of his blood family.

  He turned toward his packmates, breaking the spell of silence. A pack is only as strong as its bond. Roxen spoke in Wolven so True Wolf and Fenearen alike could understand. Thera Dominina, my mother, understood that better than anyone. She raised many of us, and in so doing, filled us with love, wisdom, and pack pride. She was also a master healer, earning the Lead Healer position at only thirty winters. My mother had an unparalleled gift to help others, to heal not only our physical wounds, but– Roxen cleared his throat, blinking back tears.

  But also the deeper hurts. She will be greatly missed, but it is our duty to not only miss her, but
to honor her. We are Fenearen. We are a Pack. A sacred bond runs between us, motivating the strongest to stand for the weakest. Nothing can divide us, no one can take away who we are—who my mother raised us to be. My mother's love, wisdom, and pride will not be wasted on us. She, and every Fenearen and True Wolf who has ever lived and died for a cause bigger than ourselves, shall never be forgotten.

  As his eulogy ended, Roxen turned toward the flames, taking his fox-colored form. He howled a song as powerful as any Alpha’s. His grief was evident in its dips and imperfections, but its strength and ferocity gave rise to an answering chorus from the pack. Paws mashed the ground as their cries turned into a song of war. Bayne and Silver joined in, their tails whipping from side to side, as the first flurries of winter drifted over them.

  The next morning, Bayne raced toward the True Wolf dens. The path twisted to the right, but Bayne went left into a thick grove of barren sycamores. A handful of quartz-veined, rune-etched boulders loomed in the sunrise shadows. Pups loved to climb these rocks. Rayna had, and she had never once fallen. The peeling, mottled sycamore bark made them look like gnarled finger bones reaching up from the leaf-littered ground. A non-Fenearen human might pass this patch of woods without a second glance, but to a Fenearen or any animal with a half-decent nose, it was bursting with life. Traces of paw prints criss-crossed the area. A few tufts of fur were caught on the underbrush, and the over-powering scent of wolves clouded the grove. Hundreds of them–males, females, and pups–huddled for warmth beneath his feet. Each sycamore and boulder concealed a den or two; more had dug straight into the forest floor, with shrubs and ferns hiding the entrances. The wolves would wake soon, but they often slept late on cold days, especially now that much of the game had moved on or gone into hibernation, leaving them reliant on stored meat instead—stores that were quickly running out. Bayne stepped quietly, not wanting to disturb any of the wolves save one. He approached one of the dens, giving a soft bark.