The Unraveling, Volume One of The Luminated Threads: A Steampunk Fantasy Romance

by Wanrow, Laurel

  “Wyatt sees them,” Rivley confirmed, and a moment later added, “Doesn’t look good.”

  And Riv would know, after hunting with this team for a few seasons before Master Brightwell asked him to help in the workshop full time.

  The day guards didn’t falter in their steps, but a nudge of Wyatt’s elbow to Famil caused her to look up. Her eyes narrowed, and her arms wrapped her leather vest tighter over her faded plaid shirt. Another pace and a slight turn of the head to Gunther, and all three slowed their steps.

  Daeryn’s spine crawled with the urge to change. Naked, a foot he couldn’t walk on, unseen predators—his deficiencies sought some fix. “Call them over,” he whispered to Rivley.

  The avian pitched a long, low whistle, the sound of the wind through the pines. Three heads tilted, and the day guards veered to the farmhouse. Wyatt and Famil came to stand by the window, still turned half toward the kitchen. Gunther leaned casually against one of the porch posts, making a show of inspecting his nails.

  Great. Designated watch. Coupled with their wary actions, the tension in Daeryn’s shoulders ratcheted up another notch.

  “Big, dark.” Famil answered their unasked question in a low, stiff voice. “Mammalian, as we expected for night workers, but…not quite. They’re different.”

  Different? Famil and Wyatt had traveled the wildest corners of the Basin and encountered many species along the way. If they considered these hires unusual…

  Wyatt muttered, “Chiroptera. Megachiroptera, by the looks of them.”

  “Species?” Daeryn looked from Wyatt to Famil. “In plain words.”

  “Ropen is the common name,” Wyatt said. “An obscure flying mammal. Related to bats and flying foxes. Only bigger.”

  “Much bigger.” Famil shook her head. “Think cougar.”

  “No, canine.” Wyatt tipped back his hat and frowned. “I heard sometime back that they crossbred with wolves.”

  The hairs on the back of Daeryn’s neck pricked. Either a cougar or a wolf was big. And something that size flew? Every worry Rivley had persuaded him to dismiss regarding his small ’cambire form taking the lead position returned in a rush of churning to Daeryn’s gut. Nerves gripped the others, too: Famil and Wyatt glared at each other.

  “I might not have recognized their human form right off,” Famil said, “but I’ve heard as much as you. We Westenders aren’t entirely isolated, you know.”

  Wyatt snorted. “Beg your pardon, but all you’ve got is hearsay. I saw a week of fly-by terror one summer at Cliffdrops.”

  She rolled her eyes. “And just when was that?”

  He darted his gaze upward, too. “I remember it well enough.”

  Famil snorted. “Your mum did not let a boy barely on the wing out to fight.”

  Gunther cleared his throat. Loudly. Their argument cut off, just as Jac appeared around the corner of the kitchen. Mistress Gere and Zar brought up the rear, and between them strode two men in identical black duster coats over black trousers and shirts.

  Big and dark, as Famil said, but not because of skin coloring. Their shade was lighter than Gunther’s and browner than Daeryn’s, but intensified by their unkempt, brownish-red hair. Long strands blended with beards that haloed their faces, one older, one young. Daeryn couldn’t quite tell from this angle, but it appeared the less craggy of the two had his gaze on Jac’s ass.

  She stopped and pointed to the line of peach trees. “The split-rail fence divides Wellspring’s property from the cemetery next door. It extends north to the woodlot.” Jac waved and pivoted. “The orchard and the berry bushes west of them make up section one.”

  The older of the two sliced a hand in a cutting motion. “We’ll just hunt where we find the vermin.”

  Jac’s jaw tightened. “We’re focusing on the northern fields because of the damage the growers report. However, we cannot leave any section unattended for an extended time. Section assignment and reporting allow adjustments to the rounds for the best coverage.”

  In answer, the ropen shoved his hands into the duster’s pockets and spat on the ground.

  “Maxillon?” Mistress Gere stepped forward to stand beside Jac. “My teams have a system in place for complete coverage.”

  “Stupid one, if you ask me,” said the younger man. “You want us to kill these creatures or not?”

  Mistress Gere’s brow shot up, but before she could say anything, Maxillon backhanded the other ropen’s mouth.

  Daeryn blinked. His canines jutted to his lip, and his skin buzzed at the display of temper. Next to him, Rivley flinched. Wyatt and Gunter were halfway across the farmyard, but Jac and Zar had sprung between the ropens and Mistress Gere.

  “Shut yer trap,” Maxillon snapped. “If the lady gives you a direction, you follow it.”

  After a brief pause, the younger man dipped his head to Mistress Gere. “My apologies,” he muttered.

  Jac stepped forward. “I don’t care if Paet is your son,” she said, her tone hard. “Physical reprimands are not allowed on this property. Understand?” The last word rolled out on a growl, and Jac’s canines showed white against her decidedly dark face.

  Wyatt and Gunther stopped yards back, though their bodies looked ready to spring. This time the pause stretched out. Jac held the gaze of the ropen without wavering.

  Daeryn leaned forward, willing her ironic demand to work. These ’cambires needed stiffer rules than Wellspring usually laid out. Nasty in human form translated to a vicious temperament in ’cambire form.

  Maxillon finally nodded. “I do,” he said, and Paet echoed him. Maxillon shifted his gaze around to all those in the farmyard. “You need our help, but we also need the work. We will do as she”—he gestured to Jac—“directs. Despite this disruption, we are good at following orders.”

  Mistress Gere raised a finger. “One infraction, and you are gone.” She nodded to Jac and strode back the way they had come. Both ropens turned, giving Daeryn and those at the farmhouse a full-on view of their faces. Their mismatched yellow and green eyes shone like beacons, keenly tracking the owner until she disappeared around the kitchen addition.

  “Going to reset her property barriers,” Rivley said quietly.

  Damn, they were stuck with the bastards, and with keeping them in line. Jac set the rules, and by the Creator, he’d make sure the ropens stuck to them. Daeryn crossed his arms on the windowsill, the feel of his fur-covered skin flooding him with three-year-old pack memories. Like the teeth, it was a show of alpha. A second later, Paet’s gaze landed on him. Daeryn stared back and the ropen’s gaze flitted off. To Rivley and then Famil. To Wyatt and Gunther. Good. The bastard knew a number of them had witnessed the clash.

  Jac cleared her throat. “We’ll walk the property to view the section divisions.” She gestured westward across the farmyard and waited until the ropens stepped forward with her.

  Rivley rolled his back to the window frame. “I apologize for my earlier comment. You did Wellspring a favor granting Jac your position.”

  Daeryn started to sink back into his chair, then stiffened his spine. By the Path, he would not show any of them how grateful he was for his own decision. “Authority,” he corrected.

  “Nocturnal lead in your absence?” Famil asked, and he nodded. “If they are as intense while hunting, their skills should solve the problem,” she said, a hopeful note to her words. “Mistress Gere doesn’t want this to drag out, so she’s gotten the best available. Or the worst, I should say.” A nervous twitter slipped out. “Hate to say it, but they give me the willies.”

  Hell, yes, but Daeryn tightened his jaw to keep that to himself.

  “And Wyatt witnessed an aerial battle with creatures as rough as these two?” Rivley whistled. “Can you imagine?”

  Famil shook her head. “The tale of Cliffdrops’ Summer Slaughter is renowned.”

  It was, even in Rockbridge. Daeryn’s gaze met Rivley’s. Before their time, but as he’d heard, the only time all of the smaller predators had been pull
ed from duty on OverEdge.

  “Horrible for an adult, let alone a fledgling.” Wyatt stepped up behind Famil. “A ropen in ’cambire form is easily four times our size, probably double our wolves’ ’cambire weight. Consider yourselves lucky Miz Gere hired them to fight with us.”

  chapter seventeen

  Daeryn chased the last of his dinner’s juices around with a hunk of bread before setting his plate next to Rivley’s on the bedside table. “Their eyes were the worst. Did you notice they never blinked? If the ropens do the same in the dark, they’ll spot every pest, without a doubt.”

  “I felt like pinned prey,” Rivley muttered.

  Daeryn’s gaze jerked to him. “You didn’t admit that to the others.”

  “Neither did you.”

  But Rivley had noticed. Daeryn swallowed. “I’m trying to follow your advice and tell myself I’m as good a leader as any other ’cambire.”

  “It doesn’t hurt you have Jac laying down the rules.”

  “Ouch. So we’re being honest here?”

  “I thought we were.” A smile edged over his face. “Hey, I don’t want to be out there with them.”

  Daeryn threw his napkin at Rivley. “Fine, then I won’t deny it crossed my mind that having Jac on my side helps. Following your suggestion, I told her straight up I wouldn’t fight, and so far she’s willingly talking through team plans. But soon, it’ll be me again. A small polecat in charge of ropens.”

  “Two huge ropens.”

  “You can drop the honesty anytime.” Daeryn pulled at his covers, adjusting them over his legs and middle. “They agreed when Jac set them straight, so are due a fair chance. If Jac has problems, I’ll get myself out there to back her up. Take over if need be. We’ll do what it takes to fold them into the team, because we need the help.”

  After a moment, Rivley nodded. “Good to hear you sound so determined. Can I dare hope this will carry over to addressing our gildan obligations?”

  Daeryn’s gut tensed, but he tried to answer lightly. “Honestly?”

  Rivley groaned. “Flew into that net, didn’t I?” He rose from the wing chair and went to look out the window. The crescent moon had risen in the purpled sky.

  A silent breath escaped Daeryn’s lungs. As unfair as it was to keep his best friend bound in the gildan, losing Sylvan was harder to face. He’d watched her die and could do nothing to help her. Recently the pain had lessened…perhaps he could—

  “I suppose it’s too soon to hear anything.” Rivley let the curtain fall. “Jac better keep an eye on that one ropen. They just aren’t the same as others here at Wellspring.” He shrugged and returned to his seat. “Everyone else has a certain bearing. They fit, or will. Even the artist. She’s not like us, but her manner says, given time she’ll adapt.”

  This bit of hope raised his spirits. “I’m certainly planning on her fitting in,” Daeryn purred.

  “Clearly you’ve returned to thinking of normal activities already.” Rivley grinned. “You talked to her, didn’t you?”

  “Hardly. Wanted to. I couldn’t keep my eyes open, though now I can’t curse Miriam’s remedies.”

  “Those cuts look all but healed. If it wasn’t for climbing the stairs with your injured foot, you could convince Miriam to let you back to our room.”

  His foot had quit throbbing after he’d hobbled back to bed. Daeryn experimentally rolled one shoulder and then the other. They felt fine. “With this rate of improvement I’ll soon be back to running the team.”

  Rivley snorted. “Oh, please.”

  Daeryn angled his left forearm up to inspect it. “Darned cuts are itchy.” He flicked at one with his finger.

  “Ugh, don’t pick at it.”

  “I’m not.” But now that Rivley had pointed it out, he couldn’t stand the feel. He poked the scab aside. Under the smear of salve was plain, golden-brown skin. “Hey. It’s gone.” He leaned forward and thrust out his arm.

  Rivley grabbed his fist and turned Daeryn’s arm to the light. Daeryn lurched back to keep from falling off the bed. “Watch it. The foot still hurts.”

  Shaking his head, Rivley released him. “But not your shoulder? How’d that happen?”

  “Don’t know. Miriam’s goop?” He ran his nails up another scab, peeling it away. Beneath, every inch of skin was smooth and unblemished. He looked up.

  “Ugh.” Rivley edged back, but still stared at his arm. “You don’t think…” He cleared his throat. “Your cuts have disappeared. Like the dead vermin.”

  “What?” They had killed only a few, but surely the growers had found one. “We’ve seen strange beasts among the Basin’s species, but never one to just disappear when dead.”

  “Not saying they did. But we looked all over the orchard and couldn’t find anything.” Rivley’s gaze flitted from Daeryn’s arm to his face.

  A shiver ran down Daeryn’s spine. “Oh, Great Creator.” He rubbed his unscarred arm. “That animal can’t be the reason.”

  “What then? Perhaps this one is enchanted beyond our normal level of bewitchment.”

  “Jac suggested it isn’t from the Basin.” At Rivley’s frown, Daeryn shrugged. “Think about it. Terrent’s from Forestridge, up north. Zar and Gunther come from the east. Between us and Famil and Wyatt, we know the entire Black Mountains. The wolves grew up in the central lowlands, and none of us has ever seen the likes of this pest before.” He started scratching again.

  “Jac’s theory doesn’t work when the Basin is sealed. Mistress Gere is asking around—oh, hang it! You’re flinging that crap everywhere.” Rivley scrambled from the chair and grabbed a napkin to brush off his trousers.

  “Ah, stop your preening. Nothing got on you.” He swept up the scabs and gathered a portion of the white blanket to shake them into his bedside waste can. “What did Mistress Gere learn?”

  “She’s sent a few messages to her cronies, and they’re no further in their guesses than we are. One speculation was the animal is from some remote Wildlands corner, which our growers had already put forward. They hope if the species is intelligent enough to have collected those bodies, the rest will move on.”

  Daeryn shook his head. “They might be intelligent enough to be mad and retaliate.”

  “Or they could have just eaten them. Cannibalistic.” Rivley pressed his lips together in a grimace.

  The distaste sat poorly in Daeryn’s stomach as well. Nicer to think about this mysterious healing. He peeled up his shoulder bandage. “I’m looking forward to getting out there and catching one.”

  Rivley clicked deep within his throat. “When will you learn that some thoughts are best kept quiet? Telling Jac you’ll be up tomorrow was ridiculous.”

  In answer, Daeryn rubbed his shoulder. The smaller scabs flaked away. “Ha.”

  “There, but not the chunk—” Rivley pointed to the gash given by the pest Daeryn couldn’t shake off last night—no, this very morning.

  Daeryn swiped at it with a piece of linen bandage. The brown crust slid off like butter on a hot frypan, stitches and all.

  Rivley slumped against the wall, staring at Daeryn’s shoulder.

  “Gone, isn’t it?” Daeryn stopped craning his head and wiped his hands down his chest. “They’re all rubbing right off, clean as you please.”

  “It can’t be.”

  “It is. I feel great. Little tired maybe, stiff, but not in pain. Time to try the foot again.”

  “Slow down.” Rivley waved a hand. “We’ve got to figure this out.”

  “Why? Miz Gere is working on what those vermin are and where they’re from. It’s my job to keep them out of the crops.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, started to throw off the covers and stopped. “Huh. Get me some trousers, would you?”

  “Get them yourself.” Rivley remained where he was, arms crossed.

  A low growl rose in Daeryn’s throat. He yanked the sheet free this time. Wrapping it around his naked waist, he stood. The foot didn’t feel exactly right, but no worse than ea
rlier. He secured the sheet, then shifted his weight and took a step on the bandaged foot. His muscles seized in pain. He slammed down his good foot. Rivley lunged forward to catch him, but Daeryn tottered aside. “Damn!”

  “Still bad then.” Rivley poked him and pointed to the wing chair. “Have a seat.”

  “No, it’s just stiff. I can make it back.”

  “It’s me, Dae. Shut up and sit.”

  “Back off. I’d be fine if you weren’t standing on my sheet. It’s—”

  Tap, tap, tap.

  He froze. Not Miriam. Please. She’d skin him alive.

  “Ha.” Grinning broadly, Rivley called, “Come in.”

  Daeryn grabbed his sheet and dropped into the wing chair just as the door opened.

  Annmar walked in carrying a tray. “I thought you might like—ohh.” Her eyes flashed to him. In an instant, her face turned red.

  Oh, hell. What was wrong?

  She backed up. “Sorry, I—I’ll go.”

  “Don’t!” Rivley spun to stop her.

  She held out the tray. “Cake. For dessert.”

  Rivley didn’t reach for the tray, but instead assumed a concerned look. “Could you do me a favor?” he asked.

  What happened to giving her a chance to adapt? They had no idea what the delicate girl was thinking. The birdbrain should let her go, and by instinct, he sent Rivley that message, only to realize that without a pack mark nothing happened.

  Still gazing at Rivley, the girl dipped her head slightly, indicating he should ask. Yet her fingers clenched around the tray edge belied her apparent comfort. Her scent drifted to Daeryn. The city smells were fading, giving way to that sweet fragrance that wasn’t quite honey. Maybe she wasn’t that distressed. He filled his nostrils. Gosh, she smelled great.

  The avian also took a deep breath and released it slowly. He was laughing at her nervousness, damn him. Not Riv’s usual sensitivity…oh. Riv was laughing at him. “Daeryn is set on walking, but his foot”—he waved to it—“isn’t taking the weight. Could you stay with him while I go hunt down some crutches?”