True Storm

by L. E. Sterling

  He doesn’t answer. He stalks toward me, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “You’re mine, Lu.” Jared claims my lips in a searing kiss. His lips scrape against my teeth as his tongue invades me. My stomach lurches and I’m close to being swept away until I hear the hiss of his indrawn breath, the quick stutter of his heart against my hand. But this is madness.

  I don’t recognize my voice as I pull away and step back, breathing so hard I might have run for my life. “I-I know what you said before. But we really can’t go on like this, Jared. You don’t get to be possessive of me but never let me get close. Or when we do get close… Closer.” My fingers brush the swollen, tender flesh of my lips. My legs tremble violently. I’m not sure how I’m still standing. “You push me away. It’s exhausting.”

  Jared stares at me in horror. “Lucy, I’m sorry.” He takes a step toward me.

  I hold up a hand. “Don’t. You don’t get to decide who I’m friends with, Jared. You don’t own me. And as you keep reminding me, you never will.”

  “Lu—”

  “Alastair has proven his friendship. God, Jared, he’s put his life on the line for me. For both of us.”

  A scant couple of feet separate us, though it could be a mile. As we stare at each other, his eyes flicker from emerald to indigo, and I know that for now, at least, the beast has been leashed.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says again, so simply and quietly it all but disappears on the wind. “It will never happen again.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away from Jared so he won’t see the tears. It will never happen again. He’ll what—never kiss me again? Never be with me? Dread and pain lash me as I remember what life was like when Jared stayed away from me before. It was like no life at all.

  In silence, we watch the path that threads through the park. A moment later, cheeks still hot and flushed, my attention turns to a small mob of people moving slowly through the skinny trees. A raven-haired man walks just ahead of the people around him. Something in my chest squeezes as Jared mutters under his breath, “Show-off.”

  “Jealous much?” I toss back breezily and throw Jared a huge Miss Dominion smile. He smiles back, only his grin is filled with death. “Be nice, Jared,” I warn.

  “As long as they behave themselves, Princess,” he says cheerfully. “And that means Ali keeps his bloody hands off you or I’ll feed them to him.”

  I roll my eyes at the True Born but have to suppress the small smile that works its way across my lips. He is jealous, says a little voice inside me. I tamp the thought down to better deal with the situation before me. I reckon it won’t be as straightforward as Storm had thought this meeting would be.

  Alastair is far from alone.

  …

  I count a solemn-faced band of seven. They are all dressed the same, in muted colors that help them blend in with the trees. Tan leathers and tall boots rise to the knees of their breeches. They aren’t all men, either, I note. Two women are there, with fierce expressions stamped across fine, high cheekbones. Elaborately braided hair cascades over their shoulders. I catch gray eyes, brown eyes. Two of the men wear guns. One has a spear. And the remaining people carry bows strung across their shoulders.

  But it’s Ali I have my eye on. He saunters up, a glint of mischief in his midnight eyes. I’m distracted as he throws up his little pet pebble that has come out from nowhere, then catches it.

  “Hey there, Miss Lucy. Miss me?” And out comes the grin.

  “Yes, a little.” I grin back and launch myself into his arms. He smells familiar now, the heavy scent of leather enfolding me. I close my eyes and squeeze him in a quick, tight hug.

  “I’m so happy to see you, Ali,” I tell him. And I mean it.

  Alastair has earned a place in my heart. He’s as mysterious as they come, but he risked his life for me again and again and has asked nothing from me in return. There are few in my life, I muse, I can say that of. We pull apart and inspect each other. “Didn’t I warn you that you wouldn’t be able to help but fall for me?” he jokes. But there is something serious to his eyes as he says this. “How’s Margot?”

  I nod, unsure how to answer. “Fine. She’s looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Good.” A lightning-fast smile crawls across his features, casting a fine web of laugh lines around his eyes. “But we have some formalities to get out of the way first, I’m afraid.”

  As one, Ali’s people crouch to kneel. Shocked, I step back as Ali himself sinks down, one arm folding across his upright knee. He stares up at me with a sober look.

  “I bring you greetings, Mistress Fox. I hope you will accept the friendship and hospitality of the Red Wing Clan, who are devoted to the great Horned One, Cernunnos.” Ali stands, and I step back again as he unsheathes a short sword from his hip. I’ve never seen its like: a curved dagger embroidered with silver thorns and knots, a set of stylized antlers resting on the cross guard. Jared takes hold of my arm. I feel his rigid warmth against my back, but he doesn’t shuffle me off as I half suspect he wishes. Alastair’s eyes stay tight on mine as he holds out his palm. He hoists the dagger up and slashes at the skin of his palm. Blood wells and he turns his hand over, letting drops run to the ground.

  “I offer you the friendship of blood, Mistress Fox. We offer you and your friends the protection of Clan Red Wing.”

  Crimson pools join in small red circles. My voice trembles with shock. “Wh-why—why would I need your protection, Ali?”

  “Because a war is brewing, sweet Lucy.” Alastair’s obsidian, thick-lashed eyes look back at me, solemn and sad. “And you’d best gather all the friends you can. Because this war is headed right for you.”

  9

  The air is heavy with moisture as we slowly thread our way through the park. It had been the plan to bring Alastair directly to Storm’s, but given the size of his contingent—and the bombshells Ali keeps dropping—Jared thought it wiser to parlay with Storm at the edge of the woods.

  A murder of crows loudly communes in the barren trees. Their voices, angry and sharp, pull gooseflesh to my arms. Sinister at the best of times, these particular woods carry their own saying in Dominion. Want to get into trouble? Take a hike through the park. Of course, there are worst places than these woods, I think, remembering the unsavory side street where I first met Ali. Far worse places.

  The Upper Circle used to come here to this park. They’d bring their children and ride horses, once upon a time, my mother said. Now it’s a place where Lasters sleep on pillows of the dead, I muse, as Ali suddenly picks me up and swings me over a heap of bones half-covered in decaying leaves and rotting cloth.

  “Careful.”

  “Thank you.” I cast a look at him through my hair. It seems as though he’s grown in the few months since we parted. His shoulders seem broader, his frame more solid. He glances back at me, his chestnut brown eyes throwing me questions I’m not sure I’m able or ready to answer.

  “How have you been?” he says now, quiet, almost shyly. His hand floats like a ghost at my back and directs me through the woods as though he lives here. But it occurs to me now I don’t know where Ali lives when he doesn’t appear like magic through the trees.

  “Oh, fine, I reckon. You’ve cleaned up some.” A smile tips onto my lips. It’s only as I say the words that I realize how true they are. He’s in a smart leather jacket, his hair neat, though long now, past his ears and down to his chin. The longer hair makes him look less like a charming rogue and more like a capable, solid fighter, not least because it looks as though he’s eaten more regularly. Unlike when we first met, there’s not a single hole or stain in his trousers, and his face is cleanly shaven.

  If I didn’t know better, I’d say Alastair has fancied himself up.

  “How are things between you and Lover Boy?” He flips a thumb toward the scowling menace of Jared, who keeps ten paces behind.

  “He’s not my lover,” I say defensively as a blush works itself across my face.

  Alastair surprises
me with a laugh. “That good, huh?”

  My limbs lock. I can’t answer this line of questioning. Things are far too complicated for me to go there, even if I were willing to talk. “And you?” I inquire, ever the polite diplomat’s daughter. I think I can continue with the niceties, but then, as though a switch has been thrown, I realize I can’t. Not without some answers. I halt in my tracks. “What was that back there, Ali? What are you doing here—and who are all these people?”

  Ali tugs my arm and moves me what he thinks is a safe distance from Jared’s prying ears, though he’d be wrong. “I’m going to answer all your questions, I promise. Some will have to wait for a few minutes, though. Listen, you got my letter, right? I wasn’t, you know, messing with you.” A splotch of red works itself up Alastair’s neck as he speaks. He pulls me into the shadow of a tree, his hand on my shoulder like a weight. “Lucy, I—”

  “Hands off. Now.” Jared stands not five feet away, arms crossed and murderous intent chiseled onto his handsome features.

  “We’re having a private conversation, Price.” Alastair turns his back on Jared.

  “Alastair,” I murmur, “that’s not a wise idea.”

  “I said hands off.” Jared is closer now. Two feet. One. He throws such simmering menace I’m surprised Ali doesn’t put his hand up to ward it away.

  I relax an inch when Alastair seems to size up the situation correctly. “Okay, listen. We were just talking, right.” He throws his hands in mock surrender. “You know, you’ve got some aggression issues, True Born.” Ali shoots Jared a huge, knowing grin.

  Jared returns the look, though it’s filled with barbed wire. “Touch her again and I’ll enjoy feeding your bones to the crows.”

  “Noted.” Alastair slowly removes his hand and steps away from me one pace. Jared visibly relaxes. “But do you mind if your girlfriend and I have a conversation in private?”

  Jared’s jaw works furiously. To his credit, he looks at me for confirmation. I nod. I need answers, and I need to not be worried about bloodshed while I try to get them.

  When Jared is far enough removed, Alastair turns back to me. “Sorry about that,” he says, not at all sheepishly.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “You did that on purpose,” I accuse.

  With a smile in his eyes, Ali shrugs. “So what if I did? Nothing like finding out the lay of the land.”

  “All right.” I sigh. “What are you really doing here?”

  An uncombed sea of leaves rattles like snakes beneath our feet as Ali shrugs and moves a few feet farther from Jared, pulling me with him. “Maybe I missed you.” He smirks.

  I cross my arms. “Right.” I am not in the mood to play games. Not with Ali, not with anyone. Beneath a flip of hair, I sneak a look at Jared. His eyes bore into me relentlessly, hot and wild. Girlfriend. Ali called me Jared’s girlfriend. My mind spinning and my face flushing hot, I try to play the ice princess as I prop my hand against the trunk of a tree. “If you’re not going to talk to me, then we should just get going,” I tell him. “Storm will be waiting for us.”

  Alastair grabs my elbow as I push off and begin to walk away. “No, wait.” For the first time since I’ve met him, Ali seems unsure of himself. I turn. I’m close enough to see the light spray of freckles across his nose. His eyes are huge. “What if—what if I told you I really was here for you, Lucy Fox?”

  My mouth opens but no words tumble out. I bark a laugh. It disappears into an uncomfortable silence. Alastair runs a hand down the back of his neck, ruffling the tips of his longer hair. He grins at me, the lines around his eyes deepening.

  “I’ve shocked the unflappable Miss Fox.”

  My jaw gapes in the breeze. “No. I mean, yes. I suppose.” Was Ali’s letter a declaration? Frankly, I hadn’t read it that way, and even now I’m not entirely sure I know what he’s after. I try to mask my confusion by taking a few steps away. But then I catch Jared’s cynical, knowing expression. The True Born watches me under his thick lashes. Hot, heavy guilt settles in my chest. Breaking Jared’s gaze, I bend down and pick up a stray leaf. The small gesture gives me a precious few moments to collect myself. The last thing I want is to somehow give Alastair the impression that our friendship could become something more. Should that be what he’s looking for…

  “I think you’d better come and meet with Storm,” I end lamely.

  A drop of cold, heavy rain falls from the sky. It lands on my cheek and rests there, sliding off like a tear.

  Jared’s growl drowns out whatever Alastair was about to say. “It’s raining,” he says. “Get a move on.”

  Alastair holds my look. “Another time, all right?” he says, winking at me. The rock he carries around everywhere flies high up into the air and falls back into his palm as he whistles a little tune I’ve never heard before. I follow him onto the path, Jared’s eyes devouring my back, and I can’t help but think that in the space of the afternoon the world has tipped on its axis and sent me flying.

  …

  Three quarters of an hour later, we are ensconced in a boardroom I’ve hardly ever ventured into. Despite the large, colorful oil paintings adorning the walls, the room is cold and has the formal, barely used feeling of an Upper Circle receiving room. Alastair sits in a chair across from me, while at the head of the table, Storm occupies a massive chair that creaks as he shifts in his seat. Jared hangs back behind me, but I can feel his burning attention. No one else was admitted to our little meeting, yet another surprise.

  Storm levels wintry eyes at Alastair. “Why don’t you tell me about the followers of Cernunnos, Alastair.”

  Ali places his stone on the table before him, setting it spinning before he grins up at me. “You’re True Born,” he says knowingly. “So you’ve heard the going theory that the True Borns are a step backward in human DNA. We who follow the Horned One know better.”

  My mouth gapes open. I’m about to answer when Storm shoots me a look that would stop bullets. I snap my jaw shut, wincing as I bite the tip of my tongue.

  “Go on,” Storm says in low tones. “I’d like to hear more about this theory.”

  “Oh, it’s not a theory,” Ali says, sounding slightly smug as he lowers his hand to about two inches from the spinning stone. As though obeying some command, the stone halts its rotation. “It’s a fact.”

  Storm folds his hands before him on the table, leaning slightly forward. As he does so, his rack of spun light shifts into sharper definition. “Enlighten me.”

  “We’re his people.”

  “Who’s people?”

  Ali’s hand comes down and slaps over his stone. “Cernunnos’s. Look,” he continues when Storm just stares at Ali with harsh, wintry eyes. “I know you’re not as obvious a True Born as some of the others around here.” Ali’s eyes shift to behind me, where Jared’s body heats the space at my back. “I don’t know what the heck you share your gen code with, and it’s really none of my business.” Ali raises his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But what I do know is that Cernunnos was the first. The True Borns? They’re all Cernunnos’s children. Which makes us family. It also means”—Ali smiles sweetly—“that Cernunnos is almost ready to return.”

  “You follow Cernunnos.” Storm says it again, slowly, skepticism dripping from every syllable.

  Storm doesn’t believe him. Not for a moment. And with Ali’s next words I understand why.

  “We were his servants. The Order of the Horned One. They used to call us druids. We’ve been serving the Horned One for millennia. But we’ve always been smart, see. Stayed hidden, away from trouble.”

  But if that’s true, then why don’t they know of his living ancestor? Can’t they see Storm’s lineage, the tangled crown shimmering above his head? I open my mouth again, ready to ask the question, but snap it closed just as quickly when Storm throws me another warning glance.

  Ali continues. “We’re his representatives. We are both friends and allies of the True Borns. We can assist you in the coming war.”

&n
bsp; Storm actually laughs. “You are, are you? Tell me, Alastair Red Wing, how do you suppose you and your friends can help us with this so-called ‘war’?”

  Ali nods as though he expected this response. “We aren’t without our resources,” he says. I barely catch it, but out of the corner of my eye I see Ali lift his hand a fraction of an inch. The stone on the table flies at an incredible speed and hits the window. The glass shatters, sending shards everywhere. I duck my head in my arms as Jared encircles the top half of my body.

  Held within the safety of his arms, I can feel my breath mingling with Jared’s. Anger radiates from him like the heat of a sun. My heart pounds in my ears until I wonder if I’ve gone deaf. A long moment later, Jared clears his throat and uncurls me from his embrace. He stares at me, his eyes spitting sparks. The bones in his nose stand clear, a sure sign he’s about to turn beast. But if he does, he’ll spoil whatever pact Storm and Alastair are about to set up. I’ve not played the diplomat’s daughter all these years for nothing.

  “Jared.” I murmur the word, trailing two fingers down his face. “Thank you. I’m okay.”

  Jared blinks as though he’s been struck. But his eyes are a shade more human, and the persistent growl in his breathing dims. He moves only an inch away, choosing instead to linger right at my back. Not that I can blame him.

  The window is a mess. Thick cracks have spun the window into a spiderweb, with one gaping hole in the middle. But it’s Storm I turn my attention to. Shards of glass sit in his hair, are scattered across his shoulders and arms. He stares hard at Alastair, something in his eyes I’d not want to call up.

  “Apologies.” Alastair doesn’t sound all that apologetic. “Sometimes I don’t have a clear sense of my own power.”

  I don’t see Storm move, not really. More like his arms tighten, holding the wood of the desk as he bores holes in Alastair. The hair on my arms stands up as the atmosphere in the room changes in the blink of an eye. It thickens, shimmers with what I think of as Storm’s power. I can’t breathe. I put a hand to my neck. The heavy air feels like a blade at my throat, choking the oxygen out of the room. Alastair must feel it, too, I reckon. He blanches, white as daylight, though he won’t give Storm the satisfaction of an apology. The fool.