Maiden's Wolf (In Deception's Shadow Book 3)

by Lisa Blackwood

  He very much wished his Larnkin was capable of communicating at that moment, but it would likely be days or even moon cycles before his Larnkin recovered from the damage the acolytes had inflicted upon him.

  “So…” Her voice flowed over him and drew him from his thoughts. “I know you’re old. I can feel that much. But how old, exactly?”

  She was making idle talk, he realized. When he drew in a deep breath, he knew why. Her scent now held a spicy essence to it—fear. It overlaid her normal warm, herbal scent. Did she fear him? Or was it the thought of the acolytes some unknown distance behind?

  He couldn’t do anything about the acolytes, but he could help ease any fears she might have of him.

  “Old?” He grunted. “You make it sound like I’m halfway to the grave.”

  “Well, how long do lupwyns live?”

  “I’m five hundred and forty-nine years old.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t interrupt.

  “As a lupwyn counts seasons, I’m not even middle-aged. Although, unlike dragons and phoenix, lupwyns are merely long-lived, not immortal. It can vary a great deal depending on the strength of one’s Larnkin. A particularly strong Larnkin can and often will extend its host’s life beyond the normal span.”

  “So you could live to see a thousand years?”

  “Yes, easily, even if I was a full-blooded lupwyn.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” Silverblade gave a little shrug of his shoulders “I take after my mother to such a degree I’m able to shapeshift to other forms. My mother is…” He fell silent, his throat suddenly tight enough to choke off his words. It took three deep breaths before he’d mastered his emotions enough to spit out the words. “My mother was a full-blooded phoenix.”

  “Silverblade, I am sorry for your loss.” She stroked his arm where he’d wrapped it around her waist.

  As am I, he thought in the recesses of his mind.

  But even there he wasn’t entirely alone, and her sympathy flowed into him at the touch. If it was possible, his heartache worsened, but he found comfort in Beatrice’s warm caring as well. For all that she wasn’t pack, she acted very similar to how a fellow pack member would in the same instance.

  He leaned forward and pressed his nose into her hair. Eyes closing, he just breathed in her scent, thinking of nothing, merely existing for a few beats of his heart, and Beatrice allowed him those few precious moments.

  At last, he felt her draw in a breath and he knew she had something else to say.

  “I can do nothing for your pain, but I do promise to help you eradicate her murderers. You have my word.”

  He nodded to acknowledge her.

  Again he knew he should see to her safety before he embarked upon his revenge. She was too young to be bloodied in the battle that was sure to claim the land in the days or moon cycles to come.

  *****

  They’d continued in silence long into the afternoon. Throughout the day, Beatrice had been expanding her magic out into the world around them—hunting for signs of acolytes. He in turn had used his own dulled senses to track more mundane dangers that shared the forest with them.

  He sensed a bear, a small pack of wolves, and once, one of the large forest cats had padded alongside parallel to the trail. However, once the other predators caught a whiff of his underlying lupwyn sent, they soon ghosted back into the surrounding trees, wanting nothing to do with a human-looking creature with the scent of a lupwyn.

  Silverblade grunted.

  Not that he was feeling particularly predatory at the moment. Exhaustion weighed down his body, making every limb feel heavy and uncoordinated. The myriad of his injuries had been healed but there was still a dull, bone-deep ache in his shoulder where one of the crossbow bolts had struck him.

  Beatrice patted his forearm again. “There’s a clearing about a candlemark’s ride ahead. There’s also a stream for fresh water and it’s deep enough to bathe in, too. We should stop there for the night. Honestly, I’d like to put more distance between us and the acolytes, but the gelding could use a rest.” She paused and looked over her shoulder at him. “And so too could I.”

  Silverblade nodded in agreement on all accounts. No doubt the gelding would make better time with just one rider. If he’d been able to resume his lupwyn form, he wouldn’t have been such a burden. Unfortunately, once he did, he’d no longer have an excuse to hold Beatrice close either.

  And with this day’s ride had come the somewhat disturbing realization he’d missed how pleasant it could be to hold a female in his arms. Now there was a dangerous thought. He almost wanted to shove it back from whatever dark corner of his mind it had crawled out of—almost, but not quite.

  For the present time, he would take what she offered, and if he enjoyed it a little more than was called for…well, there was no one to know or judge except his own consciousness.

  He leaned a bit closer until her hair brushed his face and then he inhaled another deep breath. Beatrice’s scent filled his lungs and a contented smile curved his lips.

  Chapter Fourteen

  In less than a candlemark, the gelding finally plodded into the clearing, the horse clearly as tired as his riders. The horse came to a halt, Silverblade sitting unmoving on his back behind Beatrice. Her own exhaustion was such that she would simply have fallen asleep on the horse then and there had Silverblade not chosen that moment to grunt something under his breath.

  She didn’t catch the words, but thought they were spoken in lupwyn. Before she could ask, he dismounted and then reached up for her. He lifted her off the gelding’s tall back and placed her lightly on her feet. Again she was reminded how much stronger lupwyns were than humans.

  Another time, the show of strength might have caused the thrill of alarm. But she was too damn exhausted to care. Besides, riding double on the gelding for most of the day would have calmed even the most timid of maiden’s fears. And Beatrice had never suffered from that affliction.

  But there was more to this exhaustion than simply an overworked body. She’d never performed such a deep, prolonged healing before. It had done something to her magic. Even now, when they were not in close proximity, she could still sense his thoughts and emotions as if they flowed between them in an unseen current.

  He hadn’t alluded to such, but she imagined he could sense her thoughts and emotions, even with his damaged Larnkin. She didn’t quite know what to think of that or, more to the point, what he thought of her. His thoughts came to her more as emotions and impressions, rather than words that she could hear clearly.

  Silverblade tapped her shoulder to catch her attention. She glanced at him and watched his ears swing forward and his lips part. Catching a glimpse of fangs, she barely registered that it was a smile, the first smile she’d seen him make.

  “The scent of rabbit is heavy here,” he said as he handed the saddlebags to her. “You can build a small fire ring and get the fire started while I hunt. I’ll be back momentarily.”

  “At least let me look at your healing wounds before you go tearing through the forest.” Beatrice rested her fists on her hips and frowned at him.

  “Lupwyns heal quickly. Even without my Larnkin’s aid, I am well on the path to recovery.”

  Well, that was a lie if she’d ever heard one. By the time she drew breath to call him out on it, he’d already vanished back into the forest.

  Beatrice was a touch in awe of his grace and speed. She had not thought anything on two legs could move so fast or silently. The poor rabbits didn’t stand a chance. With a shake of her head, she went about collecting stones for a fire ring.

  *****

  Returning from a successful hunting trip with rabbits in hand, Silverblade paused at the edge of the trees before walking into the clearing. He didn’t call out or make other noise, yet still Beatrice seemed able to sense his return and she waved him over.

  Her magic must have granted her senses sharper than a normal human’s. Mild disappointment unfo
lded in his gut that he’d been unable to approach her without being detected. Secretly, he’d wanted to watch her for a time.

  With a mental shrug, he stepped out of the shadowy tree line and made his way to the fire. When he reached her side and placed the skinned and gutted rabbits on a flat rock next to the fire, she looked up from coaxing it larger with twigs and dried moss and smiled at him in greeting. Her strangely pale skin had a pink tint high on her cheekbones, and strands of her pale gold hair had plastered itself to her cheeks.

  He’d been among humans long enough to know this one would be considered pretty, or perhaps even beautiful, and he found her pleasing to look upon. That shouldn’t even be entering his thoughts, he admitted a touch guiltily. Although perhaps he could blame his phoenix heritage for any hint of attraction he might feel. That species seemed to enjoy mixing their bloodlines, his own existence being a prime example.

  The possibility of physical attraction didn’t really disturb him—he’d learned his lesson and wouldn’t be making that mistake again. However, there might be another, more concerning reason he’d always been drawn to her and her family.

  He absently rubbed at the tattoo branding his chest. For good or ill, he would bet the mage mark was somehow behind his growing fascination with this human.

  Beatrice’s eyes tracked his movements with interest as he rubbed at the mark. “You know something about the marks. Are you ever going to tell me about them?” There was no accusation in her voice, just curiosity.

  He made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat and left her by the fire to go wash the blood from his hands. He’d used his claws to dress the rabbits since he hadn’t taken a knife with him. He took his time washing away the blood before returning to Beatrice’s side.

  Yes, he’d been avoiding answering her about the mage mark, he admitted a bit guiltily.

  She spit the rabbits without further comment and then situated them next to the fire while she waited for the flames to die down a bit first. That done, she studied him intently, one of her endless cups of tea held out before her. She gave it a little shake for emphasis.

  Taking the offered tea, he sat next to her and dredged up all he knew about mage marks and just what these ones might ‘mark.’ Considering what he’d learned about the acolytes, these ones might actually be in reaction to the acolytes’ arrival. Acolyte Ironsmith had been interested in them and acted like he didn’t know what it was when he’d seen Silverblade’s mark.

  The more he thought about it, the more likely that was. Throughout history, there were instances when Darkness threatened to tip the balance of the world and Light responded to mend what was broken.

  And sometimes Light sent its greatest champions, the Twelve Talismans and their wielders, to defeat the Dark.

  The acolytes certainly filled the role of dark conquerors. Silverblade had a little more trouble picturing himself as one of Light’s great champions. However, Beatrice seemed a much more likely possibility? Perhaps his role was to protect her?

  His lips curved down unhappily at the realization he didn’t know much about the Twelve. As a child, he’d studied under his mother at the Elementals’ capital city of Grey Spires. So he knew the basic histories like any Grey Spire-raised youngling.

  But at the time, those histories had seemed so long ago as to be unimportant. More like fancy legends used by his mother and the other mentors to spice up long, dry history lessons. Ones of such power no longer existed, he’d been certain. Besides, playing outside in the practice ring and sparring with other youngsters had held more appeal to him at that age.

  As he’d grown older, his lupwyn bloodlines had won out and he’d felt the call of the pack, the endless bounty of the shadowy forests and the wide open grassland calling to him much louder than his mother’s heritage. In the end, he’d traded the grandeur of Grey Spires for the calm darkness of the forest.

  His mother had seen it, and together they’d come to live with his father’s pack. There was much traveling between Grey Spires and the lupwyn nation, for Cymael was a councilor and had many responsibilities, but Gates made for swift travel, faster even than flight.

  So he spent the remainder of his adolescence—and the customary hundred years of mentorship—among the lupwyn nation and Grey Spires. As a result, he was much more widely traveled than many lupwyns, and he’d learned and seen things far beyond his years. That was how he knew anything at all about the artifacts known as the Twelve Talismans.

  Again, Silverblade rubbed at the mark on his chest, his frown deepening. Yes, he knew a little about the Twelve Talismans. But not as much as he needed. Just enough to spawn fear in his heart.

  “If you glower any harder, you’re going to set the rabbits on fire from that look alone.”

  His gaze jerked from the fire to Beatrice, where she’d come and sat next to him.

  “Care to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  He hunched his shoulders and grunted an answer.

  “Oh, so no then.” She grinned and returned to tending the fire and the rabbits cooking over it.

  While she’d claimed not to know anything about magic, and he believed her, she certainly was powerful and her Larnkin was clearly an old one.

  But just how old? Was Beatrice harboring one of the ancient Larnkins which had once been linked to the Twelve Talismans?

  Chapter Fifteen

  While Beatrice might not know anything, it didn’t mean her Larnkin was ignorant.

  Finding a way to communicate might be a challenge, though. When a Larnkin left the Spirit Realm to take a host, it was weakened by the transition between spirit and mortal flesh. The elders claimed if one half of a Larnkin pairing left the spirit realm and took a host but the second Larnkin remained behind, then the subsequent separation was damaging and it might be years or even centuries before a Larnkin truly awoke after taking a host.

  Silverblade’s own had only stirred to consciousness after his second century. But in the last few months, since first taking on the mission to spy on the humans, he’d felt its interest in the world around him sharpen.

  At the time, he just thought his Larnkin was reacting to what it might consider danger to its host. Now it was clear his Larnkin had been reacting to Beatrice. Was he, even now, sitting across from his Larnkin’s other half? Bondmates. Could they really be bondmates?

  It was impossible to know for sure until his Larnkin recovered enough to enlighten him. Curse the damn acolytes. And what if his Larnkin was now too damaged to form the bond in this lifetime? He chewed on that unhappy thought and scowled.

  The next question was if he should share his suspicions with her. He had nothing to go on other than a gut feeling, and with his Larnkin damaged and un-communicative, he had no way of knowing for sure.

  There was also the possibility that she was one of the members of the Twelve.

  He grabbed a couple more sticks, snapped them savagely, and fed them to the fire. If only his troubles and concerns could be so easily reduced to ash.

  “Ummm…” Beatrice drawled. “Embers cook more evenly than vigorous flames.”

  Silverblade felt heat rush to his face in that annoying habit human bodies had. He grunted again. Beatrice was correct. He’d cooked enough meals over a simple cook fire to know it.

  “Just tell me what’s weighing so heavily on your mind.” She shrugged. “You’ll likely feel better afterward.”

  With a sigh, he ran through possible half-truths to tell her. After three heartbeats, he settled on the most plausible. “I’m reasonably certain now that acolytes have had a taste of my Larnkin, they will continue to hunt me. I can’t rule out the possibility that they may be able to track me wherever I go.”

  Her brows folding down into a scowl, she planted her hands on her hips. “While that’s a legitimate concern, it’s also a lie. I’d like the basic respect of hearing the truth, not a falsehood uttered out of some misguided sense that you need to protect me.”

  Damnit! He wasn’t accusto
med to being read so easily. Silverblade tilted his head to look her in the eyes. He drew a deep breath, released it, then dragged in another. Oh, by all the Light, perhaps he should just share his suspicions. They might help Beatrice protect herself from the acolytes if they managed to track Silverblade’s trail. Either that, or sharing his suspicions might be enough to scare the young woman into leaving him and making her way back to her grandmother. If Beatrice decided she wished to leave, he would certainly see her to safety.

  He wouldn’t tie her to him, either with pack bonds or the possibility of them being bondmates.

  “Well?” She arched an eyebrow at him while she awaited his answer.

  “Since you say you don’t know much about the being you are host to, I imagine your Larnkin hasn’t actually communicated to you directly.” An elusive calmness settled over him now that he was talking. Ah, so perhaps his unease was because his own Larnkin wanted him to share knowledge with Beatrice, but he was too damaged and weak to make his desires known.

  “They can communicate with words?”

  “Yes, when they awaken fully.” Along with his words, tension flowed out of his body. The more he told her, the more he relaxed. “Larnkins are powerful creatures of magic that dwell in the spirit world for most of their existence. In truth, they are neither male nor female. Although once they take hosts, they seem to mirror the host’s gender.”

  “Interesting. So mine thinks of herself as female because I am female?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, but yes, basically.” He smiled at her look of concentration. Beatrice was a blank slate just looking for knowledge to absorb. “While they dwell within the spirit world, each Larnkin has a soulmate. They are linked so closely as to be one being. When they leave the spirit realm to journey here and take a host, the two beings must sever their eternal ties for a while. This causes great damage, but one that heals over time. Once the Larnkin is strong enough, it awakens and can communicate with its host in more complex ways. Until that point, the most a host usually senses is a few emotions and vague images.”