Shifters After Dark Box Set: (6-Book Bundle)

by SM Reine

  I was still gathering deadwood when Pel returned from Glastonbury. He came with a priest and four monks. With only a couple of hours left before dark, the holy men set to work at once to help add more wood to the stockpile.

  Pel barely glanced my way but ran straight to the hound who lay just as he’d left her. Wincing, I saw him wave away a pair of carrion birds that crouched expectantly by. For a moment, not sure whether Pel would find the hound alive or dead, my throat constricted at the thought I may have failed my brother in my vow.

  5. Pel

  She’s dead.

  The thought pounded numbly through my brain, fogging all else as I slid from the saddle and pelted toward the hound. Two great black vultures eyed her hungrily. I flapped my own arms at them to drive them away.

  Only when I fell to my knees beside the hound’s lithe form could I see what had been impossible to spot from horseback: the slight rise and fall of her chest.

  She lives.

  Shame crept over me that I could have doubted my brother’s vow even for a moment.

  Still, other than that shallow breath, there was nothing to betray life in the hound’s ragged body. After I’d satisfied myself that we wouldn’t be adding her bones to the funeral pyre just yet, and with naught more to be done for her before she woke, I joined Alain and the monks in preparing the fire.

  For an hour more we labored under the sightless eyes of the dead before the sun dipped below the hills and twilight dimmed the land.

  “Enough!” the abbot pronounced at last, amended with an “If the princes so will it,” as an obvious afterthought. In his own small abbey, the abbot was apparently used to having control.

  The faintly amused expression Alain turned on the abbot would have had me laughing in other, less grim circumstances. “In this,” Alain said with a nod of his head, “I defer to you.”

  “Then we’ll eat now,” the priest instructed, “and tend the bodies after.”

  Though he would not admit it, my brother needed the rest. He had, after all, done most of the work single-handedly while the monks had sat their palfreys for a few short hours listening to my account of what had happened here. One thing both Alain and I could be grateful for was the forethought the monks had in lading their mounts with a few choice cuts of meat and fresh-baked bread from their stores in Glastonbury. However, I couldn’t credit the Lord’s charity as they plied us with a cold and simple meal that tasted of heaven itself to one who’d been fending poorly on the odd half-cooked fish and burned pan bread. I rather suspected King Pellam’s generous tithing habit was well known, and that the monks were hopeful the sons would be equally generous.

  Rather than hear their prayers, I carried my supper to the hound’s side to watch her while I ate. I cared nothing for what the holy men thought of my abandoning them, but the weight of my brother’s disapproval hung heavy in the distance between.

  With studious intent I ignored their silent reprimands and waited over the hound till the first stars twinkled in the falling dark.

  Not being an utter fool, I knew Alain indulged my preoccupation with the hound as only a fiercely protective older brother ever would. And for that, I loved him above all others in the world.

  But even to Alain I could not adequately explain why I had so suddenly cleaved to this red-eared hound. It didn’t altogether make much sense to me either. I knew only the jolt of recognition and power that had surged through me at our first touch. It had left me feeling stripped and naked, yet somehow empowered with a strength I could not name. Whatever she was, it was no ordinary hound that graced our camp. Instinctively I knew better than to reveal that secret to the holy men here, though it preyed deeply on me to not yet be able to openly share that knowledge with my brother.

  Then, simply between one moment and the next, one bite and another, the hound opened her eyes. Even in the fading light their otherness was stunningly clear, filled with new pain and old memories.

  I choked back a cry; still, the small sound drew Alain to us at once.

  “Wha—? God’s blood.” I didn’t have to see to know Alain followed my stare. The last of the day’s dying light touched the dog’s eyes. They shone like emeralds. Cat’s-eyes green. We peered closer to be sure it wasn’t just some trickery of light.

  The dog’s brow wrinkled as she took in what sights she could without lifting her head.

  Dipping a finger into my water pouch, I dribbled a few drops at the corner of the hound’s mouth. She fixed her eyes on me as she parted her jaws just enough to catch a drop or two of the liquid. Encouraged, I dipped two fingers in next and let the thin thread of water dribble between her lips and over her teeth. Her throat worked to swallow the few drops before I dipped out more for her.

  “It’s devil spawn.” The priest had moved to stand above us, staring down at the creature fighting to survive. “A Gabriel Hound. Kill it quickly and be done.”

  “No!” I snarled, perhaps more vehemently than necessary. “None will touch this hound whether it be God’s will or no.”

  To my relief, and I confess somewhat my surprise, Alain told the priest, “The hound is ours now. We’ll answer for its future conduct.”

  The look of gratitude I threw him seemed, as ever, reward enough for standing with me.

  In one swift move the priest slipped a chain from around his neck, stooped by the dog and pressed the iron cross to her ribs. She whimpered at the touch and Alain moved to act a breath too late. I grabbed the priest’s arm and bent it back—hard—with one hand and ripped the cross from the priest’s loosened fingers with the other.

  The four monks surged forward to defend their own, and Alain rose like Samson to meet them.

  6. Alain

  I had no need to draw my sword—these were holy men after all, not trained warriors. They ringed themselves about us but didn’t press a fight. Pel released the priest with a shove that put him out of reach of the hound.

  “Perhaps it’s time to care for the souls you came to save,” I suggested.

  The priest picked himself off the ground with a scowl. “Leaving that demon to live will be your undoing. Mark me.” He held his hand toward Pel who dropped the cross into the offered palm.

  Without another glance at the holy men, Pel knelt again beside the hound. Tearing a bit of bread from the loaf, he soaked it in water and held it at the point of her snout, letting her sniff it before gently encouraging her to eat.

  I stood at the crossroad, half of my attention caught watching the monks and priest retreat to the pyre, the other half watching my brother offering his hand to an animal—or demon if the priest had the right of it—that had no doubt ripped the throat out of a grown man less than a day ago. Odd the trepidation that plucked at my heart even knowing the hound had been hurt unto death. On examination, I realized it wasn’t so much my brother’s flesh I feared for but his soul. Was he indeed being cozened by a demon?

  “Go boil some broth,” I told Pel, taking advantage of the rank being an older sibling accorded me. “I’ll coax more bread into her meanwhile.”

  Pel narrowed his eyes, suspicious of the attention I was showing. Then, with a curt nod that spoke, ultimately, of the abundant trust he placed in me, he rose, leaving me to feed the hound.

  The venison the monks had brought with them was very nearly as dry as jerky, but after a handful of minutes Pel had a few bites of softened meat and a grail filled with dark broth. In the gathering dusk, I moved only to lay a small fire near the hound to see by, while at the larger campfire Pel stirred in a bit of coarse flour to make a gravy we hoped would be easier for the hound to swallow.

  The crackle of kindling and the FOOOM of the funeral pyre as the drier wood caught flame drowned the quiet of the darkening night. A billow of smoke shot into the sky as the flames licked the wetter wood buried and drying in the center of the bonfire.

  I nodded toward the pyre, glad it wasn’t ours to watch the bodies burn. “They’ll be occupied for some time, now.” As if on cue, the monks began
a low chant. Commending the souls to heaven, I assumed.

  Pel carried the pot of gravy over and in the blossom of light beside the hound, he smiled at the palmful of bread missing from the loaf he’d left. “A good sign that she’s eating this soon—and out of the hands of strangers yet.” There was so much hope in his voice I couldn’t bring myself to counter his words. Besides, the hound did already seem stronger.

  So instead I simply said, “Let’s see what the morning brings.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Dawn found Pel curled around the hound who seemed better by daylight than I would have expected. She lifted her head on her own and the green eyes that met mine had found the sparkle of life they were missing yesterday. Together, Pel and I unwrapped the bandaging to find much of the swelling subsided and the angry red of the wound mellowed. I sniffed at the wound, and my decidedly untrained nose picked up no hint of contagion, though the overwhelming odor from the funeral pyre could have been a factor in that.

  As I gathered our belongings and saddled our horses, Pel fed the hound some bits of venison and bread soaked now in gravy rather than thin water.

  The monks had apparently dozed in shifts as the pyre continued to burn through the night. It would burn long into the day as well. When the priest saw our leave-taking preparations, he approached us with nothing in the way of abjection or apology.

  Studiously refusing to look at the hound, he offered his blessing. “May God watch favorably over you on your travels, Your Highnesses,” he said, then looked expectantly my way.

  Trying not to scowl but to remain courteous, I dropped a few silver pennies at the priest’s feet for the ceremony, then added more coins. “Send word to my father about what happened here. Tell him, too, that Pel and I have been a few days delayed in our duties. I have confidence he’ll be at least as appreciative as I.” I nodded toward the coins the priest was pocketing.

  “By your command,” he murmured, turning a surreptitious eye toward the demon-hound as Pel mounted.

  I lifted the hound into Pel’s arms, marveling at the thin bones and light weight of the animal. Pel settled her over Lleuad’s withers just to the front of his fore-cantle and urged his horse into a slow, easy walk.

  Before we were out of ear-shot, I heard the priest muttering prayers against demons and hell, begging God to save us from the evil we allowed to live.

  I would never admit it to Pel, but a part of me wondered if the priest was right.

  7. Brinn

  The brothers were being as gentle as possible, I knew, but that knowledge didn’t keep every motion from tearing at my side.

  As much as the pain to my body was, though, the wound had already begun to heal. Compared to the forest beasts, fae were unnaturally quick to mend, a benefit from the lingering magic that was our heritage. To believe in the old tales, however, meant seeing from even this how the fae were fading. Nigh immortal we once had been, the healing of an arrow wound even so grave as mine would have been measured in hours not days or weeks.

  Perhaps, too, the magic of the pack together compounded to make something greater that that held by any one fae. Part of my pain was the anguish and anger and anxiety I felt at being separated from Edern and Herne and the other kith-kin of my kind.

  Perhaps family itself held a certain magic of its own.

  Here, what compassion the princelings showed towards me was overshadowed by the bone-deep hostility Alain felt at the way I had so unintentionally cozened his brother with the uncomfortable awakening of the Old Magic within Pel—impotent magic of little use to him or me, save to remind us both of the loss of something so miraculous from this world.

  I wanted my family, needed my pack. Not simply to quicken the stitching back of my flesh, but to stitch back the parts of my soul that had been ripped away when they left me.

  I prayed to the Old Gods on the blood I’d sacrificed in helping to bring justice to this land the fae seemed so fit to lead.

  Meanwhile, it seemed, I would have to endure another day.

  We made camp not a league away in a small clearing by a stream. The rest of the morning the princelings fished and, later, once the sun had warmed the banks, they stripped and bathed. Stronger now, I sat up a bit, resting on my sternum and regarded the brothers with mild interest.

  Alain emerged from the cold water first, lacking only a trident to rival a naked Neptune emerging from the sea, a gold torque at his neck the only mar. His broad shoulders tapered to flat hips and leanly muscled thighs. The dark curls that massed on his head found their echo in the scraggle of beard at his chin, the scattering of hair across the plane of his chest, and the unruly thatch that circled below.

  Stretching at length on the grass nearby, he fed me bits of cooked fish and leftover bread as he waited for the sun to dry him.

  Pel rose from the stream next, the definition of his body differing from his brother’s only in the distribution of muscle in his heavier arms and legs. He was taller than Alain too, though only by half a hand span. And where Alain’s dark hair and coppered skin clearly highlighted his Latin heritage, Pel’s coloring was much fairer—dawn to Alain’s dusk. Like Alain, he too wore only a golden torque, mate to his brother’s heavy circlet.

  He relieved himself beside a tree and where cold water might diminish some men, there was ample there for Pel to handle, bared to my not impassive eyes. Then he joined his brother in plying me with food. To their delight, I accepted each proffered morsel quite civilly, my lips gentle on their fingers as the brothers lost themselves in the spell of the moment.

  The first to break that spell was Alain, always ready, it seemed, to face the harsh truths for his brother’s sake. He watched Pel carefully as he said, “What if the priest is right?”

  “That she’s a demon?” Pel laughed low at the accusation.

  “She’s certainly not an ordinary dog. What happens when she’s whole again?”

  “We’ll teach her to hunt other game.”

  “And if we can’t?” Even I could tell there was more meant beneath Alain’s insistent tone.

  Pel narrowed his eyes. Some dark question lurked deeper here. Some thought not being voiced that I couldn’t quite catch. “We don’t need to continue galloping over the same ground. I’ll take responsibility for her.”

  “It isn’t responsibility I’m concerned about. Just—we should take precautions. We don’t want her running off into the countryside before she’s been retrained. I think we should leash her.”

  Leash? That was a possibility I had yet to consider. My sharp whimper of astonishment seemed to astonish the brothers even more. Pel laid a quick hand atop my head to comfort me.

  “It seems she knows the word,” Alain said. “Good. If she already knows what it’s about, then it’ll reinforce who her new masters are. And she’ll have the chance to prove she can be as fine a lady as she looks to be.”

  Flattered though I should have been by the comment, the idea of being bound to any man, princeling or not, appalled me. I struggled to gain my feet, but strong hands and the wound’s sharp pain kept me low.

  “Shh, steady girl,” Pel crooned. I heard only slavement in what should have been a reassuring tone. Would that I had heard the deeper truth and fought then for my freedom at any cost. Instead, I obeyed because my body would have it no other way.

  The leash was easy. Pel simply cut one of the reins from his horse’s bridle and doubled the remaining strap around the horse’s neck. The collar, though, proved more challenging. It was Alain who found the answer on his own person. He unclasped his torque, a rude circlet layered over with gold and studded at the front with a single ruby.

  “She ought to look quite the lady in this,” Alain said as he kneeled beside me.

  Only then did I realize the truth of the danger I was in. The hammered gold hid a core of iron. The magic within me rebelled. Eying the torque warily, I surprised Alain with a low warning growl.

  But it was too late.

  8. Brinn

  Ever before th
e shift was by my choice. The coil of power deep within ever chained to my control. Ever biddable. I had only to think it and I flowed into my second self, hound and fae woman equal in their measures.

  But the touch of iron wrapped in gold forced the change against my will. Unlooked for. Unprepared. Unwanted. With the rape of my power, Old Magic stirred.

  Forced into my woman self, I grappled with the vile metal torque clasped about my neck, weighting me now to this form. In truth, I loved my woman form, but I was fae and these were men. Not rough in their handling of me, but none too gentle either. And I was naked and vulnerable in their grasp. I cared not for their gaping stares or for the thoughts that surely ran through their heads. I had seen the way Dinas’ men rutted with their whores. I expected no better treatment and, in truth, counted now on far worse.

  The arrow wound made me weak; the gold made me as near to mortal as I would ever be.

  And now something more burned through me. A searing not-pain branded into my very being. Metals forged by human hands may have bound my magic, but something more had just bound my soul.

  Captured in the mortal world by a man! How could I have been so fool? I peered anxiously at the two before me—neither of whom had yet to recover their wits—trying to discern to which I had been bound.

  The one called Pel was first to move, having suddenly found the slender muzzle he’d been holding closed no longer there to hold. I thought then he would shrink from me in terror as the only other men to see me change had done.

  But Pel was not as other men.

  9. Alain

  It should have been a simple matter—collaring a half-dead hound to keep her near. I took her low growl at first to come from a place of pain and fear till I reminded myself of the men whose bones we’d only just burned.