Vernal

by Randi Cooley Wilson

  Fuck, that is sexy.

  Her unruffled gaze meets mine, and she smiles before cracking her neck and grabbing a gun off the wall.

  She pulls back the safety and hands it to me.

  Again. Fucking sexy.

  I almost don’t recognize the girl staring back at me. She’s unafraid. Ready for anything. A true protector.

  Inhaling deeply, I close my eyes and focus on the mission. Regardless of where today leads, I’ll protect her, even if it takes me to my grave.

  The sound of breaking glass yanks me out of my head. I look over at the window, and see that Keegan has taken an ax to it, busting it wide open. He motions to Asher to grab Eve.

  “You, Henry, and Eve take the front,” Keegan instructs. “McKenna and I will take the back and give instructions to the protectors as they arrive. Rulf, Abby, and Callan will hold off Kupuva up here. Gage, I need you and Tristan to teleport Serena to Paris and watch over her.”

  Serena crosses her arms. “Like hell they will.”

  “Serena,” her father barks. “Not up for discussion.”

  “I am a royal protector, which means I fight,” she states.

  Asher mutters a few curses under his breath and grabs his mate’s hand, dragging her toward the window while she snaps at him in protest. Henry follows along behind them.

  Every sound in the building has ceased. It falls completely still and silent. Eerily so.

  A whoosh of air whirls around us and suddenly dust, stone and plaster explode into the room with a bang. I throw Serena onto the ground with a grunt, covering her with my body as large pieces of rock fall around us.

  Seconds later, we scramble to our feet and come face-to-face with Kupuva and the Diablo Fairy army.

  Kupuva’s soulless black eyes lock onto Serena, and I slide in front of her so she’s protected from the glare.

  Dust and debris float in the air around us.

  In an instant, Rulf and Gage take places to my right. Callan and Abby appear to my left.

  “Well, now. You’ve made a huge mess,” Callan sighs, disappointed. “I’m going to need a card with your boss’s name and address, so I know where to send the cleaning bill. This shit is not going to be cheap. Right, babe?”

  “It’s true. I don’t think insurance is going to cover destruction caused by demon fairies,” Abby replies.

  “Really?” Callan glances at his mate. “We don’t have a rider on the policy for that?”

  Abby shakes her head, playing along. “Nope. Just flood.”

  “Hope you brought your checkbook,” he taunts Kupuva.

  “I come for girl,” she states.

  Callan laughs. “I feel like we’ve done this before.”

  Abby sighs. “I think we have. We need a vacation.”

  “I come for girl,” Kupuva states again, more firmly.

  “You’ll have to go through me,” I interject.

  The leader slides her gaze between Serena and me.

  “We Donga fight for her,” the leader challenges.

  “What the hell is a Donga fight?” Serena asks.

  “It’s a very serious and fierce ritual among the Suri tribes in Africa. A stick fight. It normally takes place in the name of love, so that young men can prove their masculinity and virility, show their courage and resistance to pain,” Callan explains. “Settle conflicts.”

  Serena steps around me. “I can Donga fight for myself.”

  “No. Him.” Kupuva shakes her stick in my direction.

  Serena bristles. “Did you just say no to me?”

  Callan releases a low whistle. “Lady, my daughter is like her mother. You say no and she’ll kick your ass. Hardcore.”

  I grasp Serena’s shoulder. “Donga fighting has to be done by a champion—on your behalf.”

  She snorts. “That is barbaric and archaic.”

  I pin her with a hard glare. “It’s a respected ritual amongst warriors and tribes.”

  Serena falls silent in contemplation before I see the light bulb go off in her head. A small smile crosses her lips.

  “You’re going to fight for me?” she asks.

  “This time, I am,” I confirm.

  Serena

  In a strangely respectful and calm manner, we make our way to the quad. My uncles and aunts, as well as the protectors that were called in for reinforcement, have all appeared behind us and have been informed of what is taking place.

  This is by far the oddest thing I’ve ever seen.

  And that’s coming from a gargoyle who grew up in a supernatural world filled with vampires, nymphs, goblins, sorceresses, and other creatures most only dream of.

  If there’s one thing to be said about the supernatural realms and the beings in them, it’s that we respect traditions and rituals.

  No matter what we’re fighting for.

  Even love.

  I watch as the decorated warriors slide fingers full of clay on their bodies in preparation.

  Kupuva motions to Tristan that he should do the same, and with a heavy sigh, he takes off his shirt and necklace, throwing them both to the ground with annoyance.

  A Diablo Fairy steps up to me and hands me a stone bowl filled with the black dirt. I look at it and after a moment, the fairy pushes it toward me, ordering me to take it. I do.

  “Since I am fighting for your honor, you’ll need to decorate me with the clay,” Tristan whispers.

  I catch his eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

  “You’re lucky I don’t have to wear the string of colored beads around my genitals,” he replies, and I laugh.

  I dip two fingers into the cool mud and scoop some up, then step closer to Tristan’s bare chest, holding his eyes while he looks down at me with a fierce expression.

  The minute the clay touches his stomach, his muscles twitch and he flinches under my touch.

  “Sorry. Is it cold?” I use a soft voice.

  “No,” his voice cracks.

  Placing more clay on my hand, I move toward the protector mark over his heart. At my touch, Tristan braces his hands on my hips, exhaling a hiss before his eyes darken.

  I still my fingers and we just stare at one another.

  His jaw is tight as he works it back and forth.

  “Keep going,” his voice is gravelly.

  Once I finish, he looks down.

  His lips lift on the sides when he sees the raindrop around the protector mark and the S I made on his chest.

  “Really?” he questions. “Superman?”

  I shrug. “Superman is hot. But that S stands for Serena.”

  He closes his eyes briefly before he opens them again. “I protect what’s mine, Serena. You are mine. Trust me.”

  I swear the universe shook around me at his declaration.

  “I do.”

  We face the warriors, who are carrying a man, dancing, and singing in chant. Kupuva hands the man her stick, and he is placed on the ground before taking a fighting pose.

  Magali runs over to Tristan and hands him a stick.

  “You have a Donga stick?” I ask.

  She rolls her eyes. “My family is South African. It hangs on the wall in our family room. It’s more of a decoration.”

  “Thanks,” Tristan nods, and steps forward.

  So does the warrior they’ve chosen.

  Without warning, Tristan snaps his stick out and lands a hard blow to the Diablo Fairy’s back. The warrior grunts.

  In the next second, he returns the blow to Tristan.

  When Tristan growls, I take a step forward to stop this, but am grabbed from behind by Gage, who pulls me to him.

  “Do not interfere, Serena. This is custom. They’re testing one another to see if they’re worthy opponents.”

  “You want me to just stand here while they torture and beat on him?” I seethe.

  Gages voice softens. “No. Watch as he fights for you.”

  Both warriors suddenly throw themselves into the fight. They hit one another over and over again with feroci
ous and fast strokes of their sticks. With each contact of the stick, they bruise and bleed, grunting and groaning in pain. It’s violent, and my stomach roils at the sight.

  Gage releases my shoulders and slides his hand into mine. I look down at our clasped hands and he squeezes mine as a form of reassurance that Tristan will be okay.

  The demon fairy stumbles, and Tristan lands a hard blow to the back of his neck. The demon ducks and snaps his stick at Tristan’s midsection, but Tristan moves out of the way and lands another blow to the demon’s back, sending him sailing to the ground.

  “It’s forbidden to hit a being when they’re on the ground,” Gage explains why Tristan is circling the demon with heavy angry pants instead of ending him.

  When Tristan’s back is to the warrior, the demon stands and rushes at my protector. On instinct, Tristan twists and lands another hard blow to the side of the warrior’s head.

  Surprise flickers across the demon’s face for a split second, before he’s hit again with another smack to the other side, black tar-like blood gushing out of both holes.

  Tristan pants as he faces the demon. His eyes shift over the demon’s shoulder and land on me. With a loud roar, Tristan lifts his stick and knocks the demon’s head clear off his body.

  The warrior’s decapitated body falls limply on the ground as silence falls around us, and I exhale in relief.

  Tristan smiles at me, while blood and dirt cover him.

  I shimmy out of Gage’s grasp and with measured steps walk toward him. Just as I’m about to pull him into my arms, Kupuva steps in front of us and I yank out my knives.

  “Serena, stop,” Tristan grunts.

  Kupuva’s gaze falls to the weapons in my hands. She bends down, holding my eyes, and picks up her bloodied stick from the ground.

  Wordlessly, she lifts it, and pushes my knives down with the tip so they’re not pointed at her.

  “Your champion won.” Her voice is deep, authoritative.

  “And you lost,” I bite out.

  “This round,” she says, and points her stick at another demon. He places a beaded necklace onto it and she swings the stick at me, “Take the necklace. It is his right.”

  Confused, I slide it off the wood, while she faces Tristan.

  Holding his side, Tristan lifts his stick to me.

  Kupuva slides her focus to the necklace and then to Tristan’s stick, telling me wordlessly to place it on the weapon. I do.

  “CHAMPION!” she calls out, and her army retreats.

  I watch in shock as they disappear.

  I turn to Tristan. “What just happened?”

  “I won.” He exhales.

  “Won what?” I ask.

  “Your love. You’re mine,” he says.

  In the next moment he collapses in my arms.

  Tristan

  IT’S FUNNY HOW AT THE END of your existence all you think about is the beginning. The things you never got to do along the way. I’d always wondered what it would be like to sacrifice yourself for love. Today, I found out.

  Serena’s smile flashes behind my eyes, and my heart squeezes. I don’t know how it happened, but she managed to maneuver her way into the deepest part of me. She’s destroyed me, and in the wake of my destruction, she’s become my salvation.

  I hear shouting all around me, but it sounds far away. A groan comes from my lips as my wet, sticky body slumps against the ground. Warm arms wrap around me, cocooning me in safety. My breaths are coming out in sharp pants, and there is too much pressure on my lungs to breathe.

  Every gasp hurts like my chest is on fire. The pressure is choking me, pushing and tearing at my existence.

  Serena’s voice is at my ear. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay,” she assures me, as the blackness takes over.

  Something soft and warm caresses my body in long, gentle strokes, leaving a wet trail in its path. A sponge, maybe.

  “How is he, Ophelia?” Gage asks.

  “The bruises are gone. His wounds have healed. Slowly, but they’ve healed,” my mother replies. “His broken ribs punctured his lung, but that, too, has mended itself.”

  “That’s good news,” Gage exhales.

  A soft hand brushes across my forehead. “It is.”

  “He protected her, with his life,” Gage states.

  “I know, Gage.” My mother’s tone is sad.

  “He loves her, Ophelia,” Gage continues.

  “Sometimes in life, love must be sacrificed for peace.”

  “The princess I used to know would have chosen love over her royal obligations, Ophelia,” Gage points out.

  My mother sighs. “The queen sitting before you knows better. Love doesn’t bring peace. Love doesn’t save realms. Treaties do. Power does. Sacrifices have to be made. Tristan understands and respects the way of our world. After Camilla, Gage, you should understand how deadly and foolish it is to choose love and forsake all else.”

  Silence fills the air.

  “Even if it meant war, I’d sacrifice everything to have one more minute with Camilla. To tell her that I love her. To hear her laugh. See her smile. To feel her touch. Or taste her lips. I’d choose those sixty seconds over a lifetime of peace,” Gage’s voice cracks. “Any day of the week.”

  “Why is that?” my mother whispers.

  “Love is peace. Death is war,” he replies, and I hear his footsteps retreat.

  A little while later, my mother kisses my cheek and moves her mouth closer to my ear so she can whisper.

  “This isn’t the end of your story, it’s just the beginning.”

  Serena

  I slowly move through the large tent, pretending that breathing is easy. The façade of happiness is firmly etched across my expression as the eyes in the room follow my every move with morbid curiosity.

  Huge white flowers hang from the ceiling, draping the entire gala in an elegant white canopy.

  The tent’s walls are open, allowing for the warm breeze to float through. With each light gust of wind, the hanging vines sway as though they’re dancing with one another.

  Strewn about the gala are large vases and balls made of white flowers classily highlighted by crystal chandeliers.

  This year’s Summer Solstice Gala has a white party theme, and it’s simply breathtaking.

  “Hey, Princess,” Ethan whispers in my ear, and I turn.

  He and Lucas are dressed in matching white tuxedos.

  “Don’t you gentlemen look dapper this evening?”

  “Save us a dance?” Lucas pouts adorably.

  “I always do.” I return his pout with a seductive wink.

  “Where is Magali?” Ethan asks.

  “Dancing with her date.” I point to my best friend.

  Zander dips Mags for the third time, and she giggles. From her upside-down position, she waves at us. I smile and shake my head at how silly they are together. Over the past month, they’ve gotten really close.

  It’s nice to see her so happy.

  Ireland and Ryker join us, and Ryker hands me a glass of champagne so that we can toast to summer.

  I take a sip and continue to scan the room for the one being that I need and want to see more than breathing.

  On cue, the lights dim, infusing the tent in an amber hue.

  I lock eyes with Tristan as he makes his way toward me.

  Everything fades away and suddenly, it’s just him and me. His grin is wide and unapologetic as he approaches. I love the way his eyes darken when he looks at me. A lazy, seductive look crosses his face, the one that always makes me weak in the knees.

  “Hi,” he says in a hoarse voice.

  “Hi, yourself.” I try not to burst into tears at the sight of him, standing and completely healed.

  “I notice you’re without a date this evening.”

  “It’s a long story. I was supposed to come with this guy, but he got into this incredibly brutal fight a few days ago. He went all alpha caveman and beat some dude with a stick. He’s been on bed res
t since then, healing.”

  Tristan grimaces. “Sounds like an asshole.”

  “Oh, he is,” I laugh.

  “You should up your standards,” he suggests.

  “Did I mention he’s also engaged?” I add.

  “Definitely not fake boyfriend material,” he teases.

  “Nope. That means I’m free. If you’d like to dance.”

  “I would be honored,” he holds his hand out.

  I take it and let him lead me to the dance floor. Tristan pulls me closer, and we sway to the music.

  “You look beautiful,” he says near my ear.

  “Thank you,” I whisper into his shoulder.

  “Have you ever walked through someone’s personal space and looked at their framed photographs?” he asks.

  I look up at him. “Yes. Why?”

  “It’s rare to see rain in a photo,” he surmises.

  “I never thought about it.” Until now.

  “There’s always a storm, Serena. The rain will always come, and when it does, I’ll think of you now. The rain is my framed photo of you. With every drop of water, I’ll close my eyes and remember our first encounter. The one where you were twirling across emerald fields, with your hands out, in the rain. That’s how I’ll remember you. Free,” he whispers.

  A hard lump grows in my throat, making swallowing impossible. “That’s a beautiful memory.”

  With his head, he motions to the back of the tent, clasping our hands together and weaving us through the bodies on the dance floor.

  We step out to the patio, and I take in the sunset. The warmth of Tristan’s body presses against my back, and his scent wraps around me. He places a small kiss behind my ear and I shiver at the contact. Slowly, I turn and face him, rendered speechless at how handsome he looks in his white button-down shirt and black dress pants.

  “Promise me something?”

  “Anything,” he vows.

  “Promise I’ll see you again.” I hold my breath.

  “Even if it’s only in our dreams, I swear,” his tone firm.

  I try to fight back tears, but one escapes.

  The back of his knuckles brush over my cheek, wiping away the tear, and he grants me a small smile.

  “Listen to me carefully. Tonight, I’m going to let you go. Not because I want to, but because I have to. I will take care of you. Even if it’s from afar. I’ll dream of you every damn night. I’ll remember you, always,” he says slowly.