The White Wolf (Half-Breed Book 1)

by Brittany Comeaux

  Catrina smiled and walked to the door. “Please just think about what I said?”

  Varg nodded again, and Catrina left and closed the door behind her. He gave her a few minutes, then he too left through the door to find Milea's room.

  Milea stepped into the shift Catrina had loaned her and walked barefoot to the bed. Though it was barely nightfall, she still felt exhausted after her confrontation with Jin. She couldn't understand how he knew the things he did, and what's more she could still feel her head swimming after what he did to her, whatever it was.

  A sharp rapping at the bedroom door startled Milea. Though she wore nothing but the shift, she was far from the modest type and called, “Come in.”

  Milea was surprised to see Varg step through the door.

  Once he saw her revealing attire, he quickly averted his eyes and muttered, “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—”

  Milea shook her head. “I'm not ashamed.”

  Varg hesitantly looked her way again. After she gave him an assuring nod, he walked over to her and sat on the bed next to her, “Did you need something?”

  “I wanted to see how you were feeling,” Varg said.

  “That's kind of you,” Milea replied with a smile.

  “I'm only sorry that I couldn't keep you out of harm's way,” Varg said.

  “It wasn't your fault to begin with, Varg,” Milea whispered.

  “Even still, I felt responsible for everyone in our crew. I feel it was my job to protect you all,” Varg replied.

  Milea smiled and shook her head. “You risked your own life to save mine and the lives of everyone else. You even saved Conley after what he did. You proved yourself to be quite the hero that night.”

  Varg lowered his head. “I'm no hero, Milea. I have dark memories that still haunt me to this day, and thought I've done whatever I can to repent, I still can't forget it.”

  “Like what?” Milea asked.

  Varg shifted in his seat, then he began, “You remember the day I told you the tale of how pirates attacked the merchant vessel I worked for and left me to die? Well after I washed ashore I had nothing left, no money, no family, no friends, so you won't judge me too harshly when I tell you what I resorted to in order to survive.”

  “You became a thief?” Milea asked.

  Varg shook his head. “Worse, I became a bandit. There is a fine difference between a thief and a bandit. A thief acts with precision and stealth to snatch the items he wants while keeping his blade clean and not harming a soul. A bandit, on the other hand, is a cutthroat who plunders and kills to get what he wants. I fell into a group of such thugs who offered me a place to stay in exchange for doing a few jobs for them. For someone like me who couldn't find anyone else to give him the same mercy, I felt I had no choice but to comply. It started with me just sharpening their blades and handing out their food in drinks, to more field work like raiding carts and shops. I made a few kills that I'm not proud of, but at the very least we never harmed any unarmed civilians. That all changed the day our leader, Cyrus, led a raid into a small mining village.

  “We ordered the civilians to huddle into a group in the middle of the village, but not before separating the men from the women and children. After we'd obtained just about everything of value from every building, Cyrus ordered the men to be killed, the children to be locked away, and the women to be brought to our hideout, and I'm sure I don't need to tell you why. At that point, I started to wonder why such violence was necessary, but it wasn't until the other bandits began to slit the throats of every man there—right in front of their loved ones—something in me snapped. I knew it was wrong, I knew all of it was wrong, and I finally grew the courage to stop it. I drew my weapon and began to attack every one of the people I once knew as my friends. I didn't stop until they were all dead except for Cyrus. The women and children ran as Cyrus and I faced off one on one in a death match.

  “We kept the battle going well into the night, and it seemed that neither of us would give in. We were both weary and struggling not to make any foolish mistakes, but fortunately it was Cyrus who slipped up first. He lunged for an attack with his blade, and as I dodged to the side I could see that his arm was exposed, so I swung at it with all my strength. I meant to simply break his arm and render him useless in combat, but I actually severed his arm entirely. He screamed and bled out, but instead of finishing him quickly, I simply walked away and left him to bleed to death. It's something I regret, in more ways than one.”

  As Varg finished his rueful tale, he saw Milea's expression and was relieved to see that she didn't seem to be judging him. The half-elf shifted her position so that she sat side by side with Varg and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Everyone makes mistakes. You aren't that man anymore, and that's what matters.”

  Varg looked her in the eyes and smiled. “If there's anything I've learned in my three centuries, it's that I would rather feel pain, sorrow, and misery than go through life feeling nothing. I have learned to cherish my humanity with all it's beauty and bile.”

  Milea turned her face downward and smiled softly. Varg found himself leaning closer to her, awaiting a response.

  “Varg, there's something I need to tell you,” she whispered.

  Varg straightened his body with anticipation and answered, “Oh?”

  “Yes,” Milea stopped, but hesitantly continued, “I have never revealed this to another soul, but after the events the other night, I feel it's time.”

  Varg's expression must have revealed something, for Milea then added, “I had a feeling you may have overheard something that night with me and Jin.”

  “I did, but I didn't want to bring it up until you were ready to talk about it,” Varg said gently.

  Milea sighed and stepped off of the bed. She paced back and forth for a minute, then, “Jin knew something about me that he couldn't have, that he shouldn't have. I don't know if he's a mind reader, or if I hallucinated part of it.”

  Varg shook his head and answered, “You didn't. He mentioned something about betrayal and then you started to go into some kind of fit.”

  Milea cleared her throat, then said, “Jin's revelation made me start thinking about how this has taken its toll on me for so long, and I think it's time I finally confide in someone about it.”

  “I'm listening,” Varg assured.

  Milea closed her eyes and prepared herself before she spoke again. “It all started when I left the Crystal Wood with my father. I'll spare you the details, but let's just say my mother decided she didn't want to be married to a human anymore and leave it at that. Father and I moved to a small fishing village in the west, where he took up work as a dock worker and eventually remarried. It was a modest life, but nice. Despite my being half-elf, there were some people who didn't treat me that harshly. I don't mean to brag, but when I entered adolescence I actually had a few admirers. One such admirer of mine was the son of the village leader. I liked him, but I wasn't sure I was interested in a relationship with him and I was sure to let him know that. Still, he kept pining after me. I assumed it was harmless, but I was unfortunately . . . mistaken.

  “One night, when I was returning home late after hunting, I ran into my admirer a good ways outside the village, where he confronted me about denying his advances. I finally decided I had enough and told him firmly to leave me alone, but this only seemed to fuel his anger. He grabbed me and threatened my life, at which point I pulled out my knife to defend myself, but he pried it from my hand and knocked me to the ground. That was when he . . . forced me.”

  Varg's chest felt tight when he heard Milea's last words. The half-elf bowed her head in shame and tried in vain to control her tears. Varg patiently allowed her to collect herself before she spoke again.

  “When he was done, he let me dress myself and leave, for he knew I was too afraid to tell anyone what he had done. I ran home and as soon as I approached the front door, my father walked out with a torch, apparently to search for me. He saw my wet cheeks, bruises, and torn cl
othing and knew instantly what had happened. He demanded that I tell him who did it, but it took several minutes and him reassuring me that it wasn't my fault before I told him.

  “My father flew into a rage worse than anything I'd ever seen. He ran to my attacker's home and savagely beat him to death in front of his entire family. Despite the circumstances, my father was arrested and hanged for murder the very next morning. I remember when I saw his body fall, I just lost all sight of who I was. It wasn't until after my step-mother blamed me for his death and threw me out of the home my father built for us that I realized just how alone I truly was.”

  Milea turned to Varg and watched his expression. He remained calm, but his eyes bore a sign of sorrow. She sat on the bed again with her back facing him, unable to look him in the eye. She then heard Varg step off of the bed and his footsteps steadily travel around the bed, so she shut her eyes and put her hand in her hands.

  “I've been alone for so long. All I want is to be alone most of the time. I . . .”

  Milea was interrupted when Varg grabbed her hand and gently pulled her to her feet. Without a word he embraced her. She buried her face in his wide chest and kept her eyes closed for the longest time, fighting back tears for every second. She didn't understand what made him so easy to talk to.

  Milea craned her neck to face him and opened her eyes. His beautiful silver orbs penetrated her very soul. She felt a rush as their eyes remained locked, but neither moved a muscle. She wasn't sure if the hesitation came from her experiences in the past, or if she feared what would happen in the future. All she knew was that her stiff body refused to budge, as did Varg's.

  Finally, Varg smiled at her and broke his gaze. “I should be getting to bed. Sleep well, Milea.”

  “You too,” Milea answered.

  Varg turned away without another word, though his feet seemed to stall before he approached the door. Precious seconds flew by as she watched him open the door and leave the room. When the door closed behind him, time returned to it's normal flow and Milea simply stared at the door as if she expected it to fly open. When it remained undisturbed, she finally turned her attention to her bed, where a restless night would await her.

  CHAPTER 17

  EVERYONE CROWDED AROUND the table in Conley's study in the morning to discuss the next plan of action. A map lay spread across the wood surface that Conley held in place with a knife on either side. The Count stood directly in front of the map, while everyone else stood on either side of him.

  “We know that Jin has influence in Rivershire and quite possibly other counties of Fellen, but as far as we're aware, he doesn't have full control of Fellen,” Conley explained.

  “How do we fight this man when he has the law on his side?” Oliva pondered aloud. “He's virtually untouchable.”

  “Yes, but not completely untouchable,” Conley said. “That's why I believe we should take this directly to King Reman in Whitspire. If he knew of the threat looming in the shadows, he may take action and purge the kingdom of their kind.”

  “That's a wonderful plan Conley,” Varg said, “but how do you propose we get an audience with the King? Even a Lord can't just walk into the King's court without being granted permission.”

  “I would get to that if you permit it,” Conley remarked. “The Reman's younger brother, Arther Rainald, is married to a distant relative of mine—third cousin to be precise—so if I can convince him of the danger, perhaps he can put in a word to the King on our behalf. Arther could surely get us an audience with the King if he believes the crisis is serious enough.”

  “What if the Duke, or even the King, are already under Jin's control?” Tain finally asked.

  “Let us pray that that is not the case. The Duke lives in Eastwold, which as you can guess by the name lies near the eastern border of Fellen,” Conley explained, hovering over a map of Fellen. He pointed to a city just north of a dense forest and added, “As you can see, Eastwold is northeast of here, and it should only take us about two days on horseback to get there.”

  “Us?” Varg asked.

  “Arther will only speak to me, so I must go with you,” Conley replied.

  “Do you think it will be that easy to speak with him?” Milea asked.

  “Arther and I have fought together in many battles and we've coexisted peacefully, so I have no doubt he'll listen to reason,” Conley assured. “We leave in two hours, so be ready.”

  True to his word, the Count had the servants equip his armor and had the horses saddled and groomed just in time for brunch. Everyone else met him at the stable with their equipment ready and supplies restocked and the entire party departed before lunch. Following the road from Ironbarrow's gates, Conley led Varg and company to the eastern reaches of Fellen. The path, as Conley instructed, led straight from Ironbarrow to Eastwold. Their horses clopped along the road by day, and they set up camp at night. With the second dawn, Conley continued to lead the way until they arrived at Eastwold by midday.

  Eastwold was much larger than Varg was accustomed to, so he found himself quite out of place. Not to his surprise, just about everyone stared at him as he rode past. Some tried to look away and pretend they didn't notice him, but others couldn't and blanched when he made eye contact with them.

  When they arrived at the castle gate, the guards raised the portcullis to allow them entry once they realized who Conley was. Conley led the others to the stable before entering the front castle door.

  “Lord Rowan, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?” the steward said, coming down the stairs from the right side of the room.

  “I have an urgent matter I need to address to His Lordship, Duke Rainald,” Conley answered.

  “I am afraid that you just missed the Duke, for he left this morning to visit the King in Whitspire,” the steward ruefully informed. Upon seeing the guests' fallen expressions, he added, “However, I am sure Alastor would be willing to meet with you on his behalf.”

  “Who is Alastor?” Varg asked.

  The steward stared at Varg as though his ignorance actually caused him physical pain, then answered, “Lord Alastor is the eldest son of the Duke Rainald. When the Duke is away, Lord Alastor is left in charge.”

  Conley stepped forward to avoid conflict between Varg and the steward and said, “May I speak with Alastor, then?”

  “He is quite busy at the moment, but perhaps I can see if he has time tomorrow morning,” the steward said.

  “This is important,” Varg boldly insisted.

  Though he seemed agitated, the steward looked at Conley and said, “I can perhaps fit you in to see him, but you must talk to him alone, Lord Rowan.”

  Though it was a clear that the steward was making an indirect stab at Varg, the half-jotun exchanged a glance with Conley, who nodded reassuringly and followed the steward.

  The steward led Conley through the throne room into a door that opened into a corridor, then he followed the corridor until he came to another door that opened to a library. Inside the library, Conley witnessed a meeting between an unfamiliar wealthy man and a younger gentleman whom he recognized as Alastor. Conley waited patiently by the door with the steward at his side while the Duke's son and the other noble guest conducted their business. Once they were done, and the nobleman stormed out after the Duke's son denied his request, the steward stepped forward and bowed humbly before the son of the Duke.

  Alastor, a man in his mid thirties with dark, handsome features, said to his steward, “Alain, I believe I requested no visitors.”

  “Apologies for the interruption, Lord Alastor, but Lord Conley Rowan of Ironbarrow wishes to speak with you on an urgent matter,” Alain said.

  With a stone expression, turned to Conley and offered him a respectful nod and an outstretched hand. “Lord Rowan, it's a pleasure to see you again.”

  Conley shook Alastor's hand and said, “Likewise, I can only offer my humblest apologies for arriving unannounced.”

  Alastor excused Alain, who bowed again and stepp
ed out of the room. He then offered a seat to Conley. “To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting you this fine day?”

  Conley accepted the invitation and sat down opposite Alastor. “I require an audience with his Highness, King Reman, and I wish for you to put in your word with him on my behalf. Some colleagues of mine have been investigating strange occurrences in Fellen recently, and it seems that there is a group of people plotting violent crimes in the shadows.”

  “What kind of crimes?” Alastor asked, pouring a goblet of wine. He offered another goblet to Conley, who gratefully accepted.

  “They have been scouring Fellen for some kind of artifact of Elvish origin, and they've been known to kill those who get in the way. They believe in something called the 'Dawn', and that their leader, the Serpent, will lead them to see it.”

  “I see. Do you know who these people are, and how they've managed to go undetected by any of our other county officials?” Alastor pressed as his lips touched the rim of his goblet for another drink.

  “They call themselves the Shadow Hand, and it is our belief that they are gaining powerful men as allies to allow them to move more freely in the counties. They've come after me and my father-in-law with their offers, but we both refused. I'm afraid that Lionel wasn't lucky enough to escape their revenge like I was,” Conley announced after a sip of his wine.

  Alastor lowered his goblet, then calmly asked, “What proof do you have that these so called 'cultists' even exist other than your own account?” Alastor pressed.

  Conley went to speak, but hesitated, then answered, “None.”

  Alastor placed his now empty goblet on a tray that a servant held out for him, then said, “Lord Rowan, you don't know what these people want, nor can you provide proof that they even exist. Tell me, what exactly do you want me or my father to do?”

  “Please, Alastor, I have seen these cultists with my own eyes. They've killed my men, terrorized my citizens, and even tried to harm my beloved. They are dangerous, and therefore I must speak with his Majesty about this,” Conley pleaded.