Ghosts of Winter: A Dark Shapeshifter Urban Fantasy (Echoes of the Past Book 2)

by H B Lyne

  Stalker had to get through two classes that afternoon. She tried to avoid contact with her students as best as possible and had to hold back when she did have to get in and demonstrate something. It was incredibly difficult for her, and as she talked to her Bando class about the cobra system she had to fight away the images of Shadow's Step transforming into a cobra in front of her in the basement of the betting shop.

  At the end of the day, she didn't linger long to chat with her students. She made a slightly hasty exit and went home to get ready to see Rhys. She didn't have a lot of time and rushed to find clothes that were comfortable and just a little bit sexy. She listened to the radio as she applied a little makeup and hummed along to an upbeat song to try and get her into a good mood. She wasn't planning to spar with Rhys, so her super-hero strength shouldn't be a problem, but she knew that she was going to find it hard to keep her mind on him given that she was leaving him later to go to the funeral.

  She considered cancelling her date, but then what would she do to pass the time instead? She knew she would sit around growing more anxious and dwelling on things that she couldn't change.

  She rushed out of her flat and jogged to the bus stop, only just reaching it in time. She watched the bright lights and bustling streets of China Town pass through the window, and got off the bus before passing into Burnside. It was a short walk directly across the city centre to where Rhys lived, and as she approached her mind flooded with the memories of when she had last been there.

  She walked quickly up his street to his door and paused for a moment on the step; she composed herself and firmly pushed aside the feelings that threatened to overtake her. She took a deep breath in order to gather her resolve, and then rang the bell. She heard movement inside and a moment later the door opened. Rhys smiled warmly down at her and scooped her up into his arms.

  'Hi,' he breathed into her hair.

  'Hi,' she said with a smile.

  Rhys released her and led her inside. The front door opened right into the living room, which was full of books, CDs and DVDs. A sofa sat in the centre of the room facing a wall-mounted TV, and a door at the back of the room led through to the kitchen.

  'Come on in, let me take your coat.' Rhys fussed around her and she sensed that he was nervous. She stifled a small laugh and let him help her out of her coat. He took her hand and led her through to the back room. The smell of cooking and the sound of something simmering met them as they entered the kitchen. A small table and chairs sat against the wall; it was neatly laid, with a candle in the centre.

  'Oh, this is lovely,' Stalker said, taken aback.

  Rhys returned her smile and hung her coat on a hook in a little alcove, where a staircase led up.

  'It's not much,' he said modestly. 'I hope you like stew.'

  'I do,' she replied. She took a seat and watched him potter about the kitchen. He looked so at ease, this was the most comfortable she had ever seen him. 'It smells great.'

  He glanced at her and gave her a satisfied smile before turning back to the stew. She watched him adding a few herbs and stirring. He began dishing up two portions and brought them to the table, then turned off the main kitchen light. The candle light was just right and Stalker gazed at him across the table as she waited for her stew to cool a little.

  'How are you doing?' he asked solemnly, his kind eyes fixed on her. She looked deep into them and for a second felt as if he knew everything that had happened. She felt a wave of sadness and wanted nothing more than to leap into his arms and pour her heart out. Rhys blinked and that apparent depth of understanding vanished. Stalker shook her head a little, ridding herself of the tears that threatened to spill; and tried to smile.

  'Not bad, thank you,' she replied. 'Work has been a bit stressful and it's been hard not seeing much of any of my mates. Ben was away and has been too busy with work to catch up since he got back. So I was going a bit stir crazy.'

  'I know that feeling. Sometimes it feels like I spend all my waking hours working.' He picked up his spoon and dipped it into his stew. Stalker copied him, suddenly remembering her food. She took a mouthful; it was delicious.

  'Lovely,' she said, smiling at him. She was an atrocious cook and had survived on convenience food and eating out before she had changed. Now there was usually someone around to share the cooking with, and she had managed to disguise her ineptitude relatively well. She tucked in, pausing between mouthfuls to chat about what little she could share with him. He talked to her about his work and their shared music and film tastes.

  After they had eaten, they moved to the sofa and sat facing each other, chatting animatedly. It was so easy and Stalker began to feel almost human. Rhys held her hand and stroked it as they talked. Every now and then his other hand went to her shoulder or leg and each time he touched her she felt sparks. She longed to kiss him and gradually they inched closer together.

  Eventually their conversation began to dwindle and Stalker could feel the tension building between them. Rhys twisted his fingers in hers and looked down at their joined hands. His other hand went to her face and gently cupped her cheek. She tilted her face into his caress and closed her eyes. Their faces drew closer, his entwined hand released hers and snaked around her back. He grasped her and pulled her closer, planting his lips on hers in a passionate kiss.

  Stalker sank into the moment, losing herself utterly. She threw all caution to the wind and manoeuvred herself onto his lap, still kissing him. Her hands twisted into his hair, his hands gripped her hips and their kiss became frenzied.

  Stalker broke the kiss in order to breathe, and she held his head firmly, her eyes fixed on his. She needed to see into his soul. For a brief second his eyes were totally open to her, just as they had been just before they ate. She could see right into him. Suddenly that door slammed shut and he grabbed her, throwing her roughly back onto the sofa before climbing on top of her. She grinned, welcoming a little roughness, and wrapped him up in her arms and legs as they resumed their passionate kissing.

  After a while, a sense of unease began to prickle at the edge of her awareness. Stalker broke the kiss and pushed him gently away. She looked around the room for a clock, but couldn't see one.

  'What time is it?' she asked, her voice a little husky.

  Rhys frowned a little, but tugged his phone from his pocket and checked it.

  'Just gone 8.30. Why? Do you need to be somewhere else?'

  'No,' she replied quickly, seeing his slightly hurt feelings. 'Sorry, come back here.' She grinned and pulled him back down onto her body.

  Hands roamed to more intimate places and Stalker longed for more and more. Yet something tugged at her senses and she wasn't quite able to get back into the mood. She fought the sensation with all her might, but a voice popped up in her mind cautioning her not to ignore her instincts.

  With a burst of strength, Stalker flipped Rhys over and onto the floor, landing on top of him and grinning wickedly. He grinned back and pulled her head down to resume kissing her. She pinned him to the floor and surreptitiously looked around the room while his eyes remained closed. She couldn't see much while sprawled on the floor with her lips locked to his but she didn't think there was anything to see anyway. She didn't quite understand the feeling, but it still gnawed at her.

  She broke the kiss and locked eyes with him as his flicked open.

  'Are you okay?' he asked, frowning again.

  'I think so,' she replied, distracted. She reached out with all of her senses and tried to latch onto the strange feeling. She looked into his eyes, searching again for that openness. But it eluded her, his eyes were just ordinary eyes.

  'It sometimes feels like you're a million miles away,' he said quietly, his eyes searching hers this time.

  She slid off him and lay down next to him, propped up on her elbow.

  'Sorry,' she whispered.

  'No, it's okay. If there is anything you want to tell me, you can. But you know, if there are things you can't tell me, that's fine too.'
>
  She looked at him quizzically. She felt again like he knew everything and was being extremely sympathetic.

  'That goes both ways, you know?' she said, stroking his chest idly with her fingers.

  There was the strangest moment, like he wanted to tell her something, but it quickly passed and again he closed up. Stalker knew in that moment that there was something between them that couldn't be spoken; a mutual understanding that they both had secrets and were honour-bound to keep them. A quiet acceptance settled over her. She had no right to judge him for holding something back. The secret she was keeping was enormous. Whatever his secret was, it couldn't possibly match her own.

  She leaned in for a more gentle kiss. His hand caressed her face and he returned the tender gesture. When the moment passed, they lay staring at each other. Stalker took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She remembered where she needed to be in a few short hours and sadness settled on her heart.

  'Shall we put a DVD on?' Rhys asked quietly. She nodded, opening her eyes, and he helped her back up onto the sofa.

  'Something funny, please,' she requested, and he obliged.

  They sat in easy companionship, watching a classic comedy and laughing appropriately. Stalker snuggled up against Rhys's chest and listened to his heartbeat. She drank in his scent and contemplated the day that she would fully claim him as her mate. But not today, not now. Her heart needed to be with her lost pack mates now, and as the final credits rolled it was with great sorrow that she said goodbye and parted from his company. He saw her out of the door with such quiet sympathy, again she got that feeling from him that he knew where she was going, and as she walked slowly up the street his door stayed open as he watched her go.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stalker approached Crescent Park with a deep sadness clinging to every pore. There was a white van parked on the street right in front of the big, wrought iron gates that stood sentinel at the entrance to the park by the river. As she drew level with the van, Eyes pulled up in his smart, black car. She stopped and waited for him to get out, and greeted him with the warmest smile she could muster.

  'How are you?' Eyes asked as he approached.

  'Okay, given the circumstances,' she replied. She was relieved when he leaned in to give her a hug.

  'Let's go in,' he said quietly, glancing at the van.

  They walked into the park together. Tall trees lined the perimeter just inside a tall iron fence. Lamp posts were widely spaced, with deep shadows between the pools of orange light. The path wound its way downhill towards the river. Trees were scattered on the hillside with pale-coloured rocks and small, bare bushes filling the spaces. The whole park was crescent shaped and at the bottom of the hill, surrounded by incredibly old and tall trees, was a small, equally crescent-shaped lawn. It was perfectly sheltered; totally private.

  Stalker felt a strange calm settle over her as they approached the bottom of the slope, like still water. She suddenly realised that there was no veil here, no border between worlds. In this one small space you could be in all of the realms at once. It was deeply unsettling and yet calming at the same time; the ultimate contradiction. There were no demons or fae here, no bleeding between realms. It was a perfect still point, a place of peace.

  Standing on the grass were Scribe-of-the-Fallen and Last-Breath-Echoes, with a large, lidded wooden box. Stalker felt sick, she knew what was in that box; her family.

  Footsteps on the path behind them got Stalker's attention and she whipped around to see who was coming. Weaver and Wind Talker walked briskly down the path.

  'Hi,' Weaver greeted them warmly and gave Stalker a gentle hug. 'Everything okay?'

  Stalker nodded and the four of them set off across the lawn to meet the Scroll Keepers.

  'Is anyone else coming?' Stalker asked, not sure who would answer.

  'These things are usually a pack affair,' Scribe replied. 'We're here to officiate and to bring... the bodies,' he said, faltering slightly. Almost all eyes flickered to the box.

  'Just one box. Not separate coffins?' Stalker asked, a little offended.

  'There wasn't much left,' Echoes said dreamily. 'It was difficult to separate out...'

  'Okay!' Stalker snapped, interrupting her. 'I get the idea.'

  'Let's get started, shall we?' Scribe said, breaking the tension.

  He handed black candles to each person, and lit them in turn. He guided the shifters into a circle around the box and stood in the space between Echoes and Eyes. Scribe raised his arms and clapped over his head three times. Stalker watched in amazement as a pale blue light radiated out from his hands and spread slowly out, forming a dome around them. She had never seen anyone cast a ritual circle this way before. The blue light shimmered slightly and seemed to block out the world beyond it. Stalker suspected that it was concealing them from human eyes.

  'Welcome to the circle,' Echoes said, breaking the silence and bringing all focus back to the task in hand.

  'We call upon Osiris, Lord of the Underworld, and Anubis, Guardian of the Dead, to witness our ritual.' Scribe was holding a long, thin knife, pointing it to the ground, and Stalker saw small, blue drops running down the blade and dripping onto the grass. 'We ask that you safely guide these fallen shifters to the underworld or afterlife, each according to their beliefs and wishes.'

  Scribe turned to Eyes and invited him to place his hand in his own outstretched palm. The Alpha did so, and Scribe slowly pricked the tip of Eyes' finger with the knife. Scribe turned Eyes' hand over so that his palm faced the ground and a single drop of blood fell to the grass. Scribe set off around the circle, pricking Weaver next, then Wind Talker and finally Stalker. He held her eyes for a long moment as he held the knife just over her finger. He didn't need words to convey his deepest sympathy to her, and she gave a short nod of thanks.

  The knife pierced her skin and Scribe turned her hand over to drip.

  Echoes escaped the blood-letting and Scribe resumed his place in the circle.

  'The survivors of the Blue Moon give their blood freely in honour of their lost loved ones, and I invite them now to each say a few words.' Scribe gave Eyes an encouraging smile, indicating for him to go first. Eyes cleared his throat.

  'The Blue Moon was an honourable pack, they took us all in when we turned and immediately became our family. Fortune was my Alpha, my brother and my father. He died defending me and I will endeavour to be the shifter and Alpha that he would want me to be.' There was a small crack in his voice and he went quiet.

  Weaver reached over and gave his hand a brief squeeze.

  'The Blue Moon shared much with us,' Weaver spoke up. 'They guided us, protected us and tried to prepare us. They set us on a path and it is now ours to follow, or to stray from. Like orphan children coming into adulthood, we are now out in the world without our parents' guidance. May Artemis now guide us and shine her light on the correct path for us, the Lightning Lords, to follow.'

  Stalker felt a tear prickle at her eye and sniffed it back. Weaver sounded so mature and rational, yet there was a hint of sadness to her wise words. The candle that Weaver was holding shook slightly and the light flickered eerily across her face. Stalker wanted to rush across the circle and hug her pack sister, but felt she wasn't supposed to break the ritual circle.

  'We were only part of the Blue Moon for a short time,' Wind Talker said, breaking the silence and diverting Stalker's attention to him. 'But we grew as close as family in that time and they will be missed. I personally vow to uphold their honour and avenge their deaths.'

  'Seconded,' Eyes said firmly.

  Stalker looked around at the others. Scribe looked thoughtful, Echoes was impossible to read. Weaver was nodding solemnly.

  'Me too,' Stalker said, with a slight crack in her voice. She felt eyes all around the circle fall on her. It was her turn to speak. She didn't know what to say, whatever she said it was going to hurt. She looked down at her candle and focused on the flame. She didn't want to look at any of the others. 'I didn'
t grow up with shifters. When I changed I had no idea what was happening to me. The Blue Moon were there for me, they took me in, protected me. Shadow's Step was,' she faltered and tears began to fall down her cheeks. 'He was like a brother to me, and the others, all of them, they truly were family and I loved them all even though I only knew them for a couple of weeks.'

  She ran out of words, though there was so much more she wanted to say. There was no way to express the loss she felt, at times she was drowning in it. She wiped the tears from her face, though they continued to fall.

  Scribe cleared his throat gently and stepped towards the box.

  'Thank you for sharing your thoughts and feelings. We honour the fallen here tonight. Please all step over to the box now.' Scribe ushered them over and they gathered around the coffin. Scribe placed one hand on it and touched the point of the knife to the centre of the lid. Stalker looked around uncertainly, as one by one they all placed a hand on the box. 'In the tradition of the Scroll Keepers and our ancient Egyptian ancestors, we will now leave an imprint upon the box; stories of those we bury tonight. Please focus your thoughts on your lost loved ones, think of a memory, or an impression of their character.'

  Stalker pictured Fortune first, standing in the kitchen of the betting shop, laughing his big, belly laugh and pulling her in for a warm hug. She remembered Speaks-With-Stone sitting close to her and asking her if she was really okay, the day after she first changed. She thought of Flames-First-Guardian casting a circle and grinning when she showed him her dha. And Shadow, her brother in darkness, her mentor, shifting between a fox and a snake. She saw the pride in his eyes when she passed the initiation rituals of Odin's Warriors. Fresh tears spilled and dripped down her chin onto the box. Weaver was crying too, as was Eyes. Wind Talker sniffed loudly, she suspected he was holding back tears.

  Stalker watched in amazement as shapes began to appear on the wood. Pictures emerged, Fortune laughing just as she had pictured him, and the others. There were runes too and English writing. She spotted the rune for Odin's Warriors, which Shadow had tattooed on his hip. The writing looked like Weaver's handwriting and was appearing in front of her as her mind projected it onto the wood. Stalker tilted her head to read it but the writing was too small. The box was soon completely covered in images, runes and writing; it looked beautiful in the flickering candle light.