Forever After (Post Apocalyptic Romance Boxed Set)

by Rose Francis

  “Conwynne taught me as well,” the prince said, taking her hand in his. “Though I am not half the student as you, clearly. But I remember my lessons. Denying your feelings, repressing yourself, that leads nowhere good. If you want to be an alpha knight, you need to embrace your emotions. You have to reconcile your woman and your wolf.”

  The prince leaned in to kiss her, and Lucia instinctively shifted back to her human form.

  “Oh!” the prince said in surprise. “You’re beautiful.”

  He leaned in again for the kiss, and just as his lips were brushing hers, the door opened. Farid’s bolter twanged, hurling one of his barbed quarrels across the room, straight at Conwynne.

  The old knight effortlessly deflected the bolt with his glaive. He shot a look of disgust at the pirate, then closed the door and sat down before Lucia and the prince.

  “We have much to discuss and little time to do it. The witch knows we are here.”

  Chapter 11

  The Bond of Pack

  The old man looked tired as he lowered himself to the floor. The storeroom held boxes of cups and plates. No food or water at all. It was useless to them except as a place to hide.

  “It’s good you’re alive, my prince.” Conwynne bowed his head low, pressing his forehead to the floor.

  “I have you to thank for it, my dear man,” the prince beamed. “If you hadn’t sent your alpha knight to my rescue, I would surely be dead. Or worse.”

  Conwynne raised his eyebrows in surprise at Lucia. “An alpha knight? Getting ahead of ourselves, are we?”

  “I never said—,” Lucia began, but the old gray wolf interrupted her.

  “Yes, yes, yes. No need apologizing now. Many years of training lie ahead of you, Brightwolf, if you want to truly be the alpha you pretend to be.”

  “Now look here,” the prince rose to his feet, “you didn’t see what she did in there. She was a storm of claws and silver. A veritable fury!”

  “She took on two alphas,” Farid added, “by herself. And won.”

  Conwynne waved his hand, as if he was brushing their words away. “These are not true alphas. They’re just alpha-spawn. You could paint a dog black but he wouldn’t be any more a wolf than these things would be true alphas. They’re just inflated with the Suzerain’s power. Pay them no mind.”

  “Pay them no mind?” The prince was clearly outraged—he wore his every emotion on his face for all to see. He was so unlike the guarded pirate. “Those monsters killed a third of my men!”

  “Yes, yes. Terrible losses,” muttered Conwynne. “There is more to do, my prince, so if you are done bellowing like a fool bent on attracting as much attention as possible, I suggest you sit and listen at the knee of your elders.”

  “I am no pup, General, to be ordered about by you.”

  “And you are no alpha, my boy. So who will you follow?” Conwynne growled.

  The prince’s eyes flicked to Lucia, so fast she almost missed it. Conwynne didn’t.

  “Yes, the girl shows great promise. There was no alpha stronger or more fearsome than her mother, but she lacks experience, training, and focus. For now, my prince, you must pledge yourself to me if we are to have any hope of escaping this hell.”

  “What’s your plan, Conwynne?” Your plan she thought, keep it vague. Don’t call it our plan yet. Something was off about the old shifter, his eyes held a mania that hadn’t been there before and his fingers spasmed as if being in the Warmaw was eating away at him.

  “I’ve located the weapon,” he said portentously.

  “The one that wiped out my people?” the prince asked.

  “The very same.” Conwynne sighed. “It’s located in a room near the top of this tower, but not at the very precipice. That is where the witch resides. The weapon is powered by a crystal charged with stolen lives. It’s the same ritual that made the Suzerain so powerful, somehow locked in a gem. Every time the weapon fires, it grows stronger. The attack on Sierren was only its most recent atrocity, though by far its greatest.”

  “How do we destroy it?” Lucia asked. Conwynne was hiding something, but that didn’t matter—only destroying the weapon did.

  “Strong magics shield it from all but silver. A glaive would do the trick quite nicely, I think. Little else stands a chance.”

  “You want to walk us deeper into this nightmare so she can stab a magic crystal with a broken sword?” Farid was incredulous. “No thanks, old man. That sounds like suicide.”

  “You have a better idea, I trust?” Prince Joaquin sniffed.

  These two get along like fire and fuel.

  “You bet I do.” Farid was on his feet, poking a finger into the prince’s chest. “We run. Get out of here. We find help, get an airship, and come back to blow this battleship out of the sky.”

  “Or never return? Get as far away as you can?” Conwynne asked.

  “That’s also an option,” Farid snapped. “I don’t see the percentages in hurling myself into a meat grinder. This isn’t my war.”

  “What about all the lives that will be lost if the witch fires that weapon again?” Lucia asked the pirate, her eyes pleading with him.

  “What about my life, kid? I only have the one.”

  “General, how did you come by this information?” the prince asked, trying to defuse the tension.

  The old man glanced down at his fingertips. They were stained almost black with blood. “Never mind that. We need to go.” He slung a bag off his shoulder, tossing it onto the floor. It landed with a thud, spilling out rinds of cheese, hanks of dried meats, and a dozen canteens full of fresh water. “Eat and drink. We leave in five minutes.”

  Farid pulled Lucia aside, to the corner of the storeroom, as far from Conwynne as possible. A pile of crates marked “tea settings” formed half a wall around them. The prince and his soldiers devoured the stolen food in a frenzy. The pirate eased himself down onto his heels in a smooth motion. Lucia tried doing the same, but tipped over onto her behind.

  “Please tell me you’re not going along with this plan.” Farid’s voice was serious now, all traces of sneers or sarcasm gone. “Look, you were really good on the Letherine. You took to the rigging like an old pro. Come join us. Join me.” He reached out and took her hand in his, squeezing it nervously. “We could use someone like you on our crew.”

  “Is that what I’d be to you, Avar? Just a member of your crew? I saw how you treated them back in Los Robles. Am I just to tag along with you until you get bored of me?” Lucia’s wolf wanted to emerge, to pin Avar down and roar straight into his face. How dare he abandon her now, just when she needed him most.

  “Of course not. You know how I feel about you.” His eyes pleaded with her.

  “And how do you feel? Can you even say it?” Tears welled in Lucia’s eyes. She wondered if she could shift just her tear ducts. Did wolves cry? “Just say it, Avar. Be honest for once in your life.”

  “I—” he began, a panic rising within him. Lucia could hear his heart crashing in his chest. “I need to pay your uncle.” Why was he bringing this up now?

  At the mention of his name, Lucia bristled. She felt a darkness stir within her.

  “Right. With the money you stole from those dying villagers.”

  “I don’t have a choice. You know that. It’s not like Conwynne’s going to pay me the fee he promised, is it? I came along on this fool’s quest to get paid, so that your uncle wouldn’t feed me to his men like a slaughtered pig. I’m not here for your revolution. I’m not a soldier. I’m a pirate, remember?”

  “Get away from me, you—scoundrel,” Lucia growled. “Before I tear your throat out.”

  Farid touched his forehead in a merchant’s bow, his eyes cold and distant. “Yes, Baroness Lawson. Of course.” The pirate bounced to his feet in one smooth motion and went off to find Quinn. The two of them spoke with hand language in the gloom.

  Lucia trembled with rage. How dare he? How dare he! She was nothing like her uncle. She was no baroness. Lucia was
trying to do what was right, what was good for everyone. Destroying the witch’s weapon would save lives. How could Farid not see that was a good thing?

  Because he only cares about his own life. And maybe Quinn’s.

  Lucia’s hands spasmed as she began to shift involuntarily. Her knuckles cracked and extended. Her fingernails thickened, pushing out of her skin until they were six-inch-long claws, hungry for flesh. The fur that emerged on her skin wasn’t midnight black like when she fought the alpha-spawn—it was a dull gray, like slate, with flecks of white salted at her joints.

  It’s the anger, she realized. I’m shifting out of anger, out of hate.

  It didn’t feel unnatural. It felt strong. Like she could claw her way through the stone walls as easy as a prairie dog tunneled under the wastes. She hid her hands under her robe, tried to force them back to normal, but they wouldn’t change.

  She looked up over the stacked boxes, trying to catch Conwynne’s eye. He’d trained alphas. He knew how to help. Instead, she caught Farid staring at her with a forlorn expression, and her anger blazed like his eyes were kindling tossed into her bonfire.

  The dark shift pulsed through her body. Her teeth became razored fangs. Her eyes narrowed to see better in the darkness. The muscles in her arms and legs bunched and reformed into stronger configurations.

  If she didn’t do something, she was going to leap across the room to kill Farid. And anyone else who got in her way.

  “It’s settled then,” Conwynne’s voice rang out. “We form two groups. Farid and Quinn will take noncombatants and the injured to their ship. If we all die, they need to tell others what is transpiring here. And the rest of us will free the ship, then make our way to the weapon.”

  The prince stepped in front of the old shifter. “Men, there is no shame in turning away now. You have all given so much in the name of freedom, of liberty, that I cannot ask you to follow me one step further. You have families out there, loved ones who weren’t in Sierren when the weapon struck. You can go find them. You can find a way to be happy. Or at least to live.” The prince paused, gathering steam. “Or you can make sure those families will not be struck down from afar, by cowards like the Suzerain and his witch. They kill us because we scare them, gentlemen. They live in a fog of fear and hate and anything that thinks differently, that dares to love, must be terrifying to them. We know a better way to live, but we need to fight for it. We’ve lost so many already. Their names will never be forgotten. But only if we win. Only if we take the fight to the Suzerain and bloody his nose with our claws.”

  The prince’s men, one by one, raised their voices in a quiet howl. Lucia shivered to hear it. This was a pack. A true pack. Their voices one, their purpose unison.

  The prince bowed his head. “But I am not your alpha. I have tried that role and find myself ill suited to it. This woman, this stranger who risked everything to save us from the witch’s dungeon, she is.” The prince beckoned to her, his eyes saying step forward, now is the time. But Lucia was still caught in her twisted shift. She didn’t want to be seen. She shook her head at the prince. His brow furrowed.

  “General, I pledge myself to the Brightwolf pack, now and forever. Will you perform the ritual?”

  Conwynne’s eyes twinkled. This was what he wanted. This was the old man’s plan. “I’d be honored to.”

  Conwynne crossed the room as the prince’s men all took a knee, ready to pledge themselves to Lucia. When he neared and saw the state of her, he winced. “Now is not the time for this, girl. Cage your wolf. Harness your hate. Save it for the witch,” he muttered low, so no one would hear.

  “I don’t know how.” Her words came out ragged, pushed around the unfamiliar fangs in her mouth.

  “Breathe and think of what makes you happy.”

  “Conwynne, I don’t know what makes me happy. I used to think leaving my uncle would do it, but everything’s been such a mess since I left.”

  The old man nodded. “Draw your blade.”

  “What? No. It’s already all I can do not to start fighting everyone here.”

  “Trust me, girl. Unsheathe your glaive.”

  A vision of pulling the weapon free, of some malignant spirit grabbing her from the depths of the blade and using her to butcher everyone in the room swam before her eyes.

  “Do it. We’ve come so far,” he growled. “I’d hate to have to kill you now.”

  With shaking fingers, Lucia pulled the glaive free of the wrappings on her back. An electric shock surged up her arm, sending spasms into her muscles. A spirit formed around her. Her mother. It was her mother again. She was so sad, like the weight of the future was crushing her to dust. Could her mom sense her? Did she know she was embracing her own daughter?

  The spirit glanced around the room, saw there was no immediate threat, and vanished back into the sword.

  A strangled cry emerged from Lucia’s throat. The dark shift was gone, driven away by her mother’s presence.

  With the glaive still gripped in her hands, Lucia walked before the prince.

  “I accept your pledge, Prince Muir. We are now pack. And any others here who wish to formally pledge, now is the time to do so. We are stronger together.” She caught Farid’s eye for a second, but he folded his arms and looked away petulantly. “Lend me your strength and I will lend you mine. Let us become pack and show these twisted souls the meaning of vengeance.”

  The first to come forward, after the prince, was Foxtail. The dour, stout woman eased herself down onto creaking knees, saying the words that began the pack bond. “Pledge myself, my lady.”

  Triptongue followed, then the prince’s soldiers, one by one, beginning with Phaera, a red-haired squirrel shifter with bright eyes and a quirky smile. Conwynne drew runes on the ground, spoke old words of power to seal the bonds between them.

  In the end, only Farid, Quinn, and Conwynne did not formally pledge themselves.

  Chapter 12

  An Alpha’s Promise

  Conwynne pulled his invisibility trick and slipped from the room to scout the paths to the weapon and to the Letherine. No one spoke while he was gone. Farid and Quinn held themselves away from the pack, all familiarity vanished now. They were just two smugglers, pirates, done with a job and stiffed of their pay. Farid was especially sullen, refusing to meet Lucia’s eyes at all.

  Quinn was harder to read. The big mutt seemed annoyed at Farid’s act but was too loyal to break with the man. He’d have his back in every circumstance until the sands took their bones.

  The prince and his pack buzzed with energy. They didn’t speak, but a sense of purpose animated them. They fidgeted, anxious for their mission, but also empowered by the pack bond. Lucia’s strength and gifts flowed into them and their strength into her. She felt nearly drunk on it.

  The pack bond reminded Lucia of a party she’d been to once as a girl, before her aunt had been murdered. All of the minor lords of the wastes had been there, to celebrate some victory or another. At the time she hadn’t paid attention to the reasons for the party, only that she’d been allowed to go. Wearing a fancy dress for the first time ever, though still just a little girl, she’d danced and twirled with all of the other youths, forgetting the savage wastes for just one night.

  Later she heard that one of the families had been ambushed on the way home by raiders, everyone slaughtered or worse. But she hadn’t let that tarnish her memory. Living on the edge of oblivion, you had to cherish the joyful moments you could find because death and deprivation always lurked in the tomorrow.

  At the party, everyone had been smiling and chatting and dancing and drinking. A magical buzz filled the room. Little Lucia had become giddy to the point of silliness with the attention she’d received.

  That’s how she felt now, with the pack surrounding her. Their hopes and fears and dreams and joys pulsed at her through the bond. She couldn’t sort them out, didn’t know them well enough to recognize the signatures of their thoughts, the flavors of their heartsongs, but she’d
learn.

  Unless they all died in the next hour.

  Along with the strength came the knowledge that Lucia was responsible for the pack. They were hers to keep, hers to protect. Failure would mean not only her death, but the death of her friends. If they didn’t wreck whatever twisted machine stole the life from Sierren, it’d be only a matter of time before the paranoid Suzerain or his witch turned it on some other village that dared to hope.

  Conwynne returned, slipping into the room like a ghost. Only Lucia saw him, and even then just barely. He shimmered like a reflection on dirty glass or like a heat mirage. The old man walked slowly, limping. His pant leg was dark with spilled blood just above the knee.

  “Conwynne, what’s happened?” Lucia ran to him, elbowing her way through the pack. The soldiers jumped in surprise at her voice and then again when the old wolf shifter allowed himself to be seen.

  “Careless and stupid, that’s what age makes you. I ran into a squadron of red jackets and one of those twisted alpha-spawn. They put up a better fight than I was expecting. The alpha had some sort of flechette gun. He sprayed the whole room, killing the soldiers just to get me. There’s a dozen silver needles jammed in my leg, straight into the bone. My flesh healed around them, but walking is,” he winced, “damn difficult.”

  “Let me see,” growled Foxtail. The woman shouldered her way through the burly soldiers like a lizard through dry grass. From her knapsack she removed a cloth bundle and unrolled it to reveal a selection of pristine medical instruments. “This’ll hurt,” she said, choosing a hooked knife. “A lot.”

  Conwynne beckoned Lucia closer. “Girl, you must take my pain. It’s an alpha gift. One of the oldest. Feel out for my suffering and embrace it, share it with your pack if you need to.”