by R. E. Butler
He heard familiar footsteps and turned to see Cael come into view.
“I scented an unfamiliar female in the tunnels, and I wanted to find out what was going on.”
He quickly told his second about Trinity’s appearance.
“Shit, really? How the hell did that happen?” Cael asked.
“Not a damn clue.” He didn’t really care how she’d come to be in his arms, he only cared that she wasn’t in his arms at this moment.
“Why did she take off? Does she not recognize you?”
“She recognized me, but she kept saying she was dreaming and she wanted to wake up. I don’t know how she didn’t realize we weren’t dreaming.”
“Magic brought her here?”
“It’s the only logical explanation. I’ve long believed she wasn’t from our world, but I’ve had no way to know for sure.”
Cael hummed and stared into the forest. “Do you want us to help find her?”
“Yes. Send our best hunters to me.”
“Will do.”
Cael disappeared, and Wrath turned back in the direction he’d last seen his mate. He inhaled deeply and sifted through the scents on the air—earth, trees, crisp morning air, various animals—but not a trace of Trinity’s sweet scent.
Just moments later, his three best hunters were at his side.
“We scented a human female in the tunnel,” Auberon said.
“Who is it?” Kayne asked Wrath with an arched brow.
“She’s my true mate.”
The three looked at him in confusion. “How did she come to you?”
For a moment, he wished he’d told them about the dreams, because then they’d already know about her. “It’s complicated. Suffice it to say that she’s mine and she’s in danger.”
Teller nodded sharply. “We’ll help in any way we can.”
“Grid search the forest, howl if you catch her scent. She hit a magical path, and I lost her.”
The four of them started into the woods, separating so they could cover more ground. Wrath was certain he’d find Trinity. The question was whether he’d be able to find her before the monster who guarded the forest did.
Chapter Seven
Trinity wove her way through the forest toward the mountains. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, and the most recurring one was that she should turn around immediately and go back to Wrath. Stubbornness and an unwillingness to admit that something profound had actually happened to her made her keep walking toward the mountains and not turning back. There was no way that any of this was real. It was too fantastical. It would mean that the dreams were actually drawing the two of them together somehow, that Wrath’s world was as real as hers, populated with people she’d written about. How much influence did her writing have on this world—if it was actually a real place?
She stopped walking and sighed deeply, letting her head roll down to her chest. No matter how much she tried to focus her thoughts on this whole situation being part of some fantastical dream, she couldn’t shake the feeling that it was real. She started to walk again, forcing herself to move forward and not retreat.
A howl rent the dawn and everything in the forest went quiet.
She froze, her heart hammering in her chest and her breath catching in her throat. Branches cracked nearby as if they were being crushed by something large. She could feel menace bearing down on her, fear rising inside her like a tidal wave.
And then she saw him.
The enormous creature she’d named Mytan stalked into view.
He howled, lifting his great head to the sky and letting out a warbling “Arooo!”
Then he lowered the front half of his body, his tail whipping back and forth like a flag.
Play bow.
“Montana,” she said softly, emotion choking her so she could hardly say his real name.
He flopped fully to the ground and then rolled to his back, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he waited for her to scratch his belly. She walked to him and dropped to her knees, sinking her hands into the soft, white fur. Something clicked within her, a profound understanding that she absolutely was not dreaming.
In all the years she’d dreamed of Wrath, she’d never once dreamed of the forest-guarding monster Mytan. She’d written him in her grief three years earlier when her dog—Montana—a husky she’d adopted at ten weeks old, had passed away. He’d developed arthritis in his hips and joints and been unable to get up and down the stairs to go outside. She’d been utterly wrecked by his death and hadn’t been able to write for over a month. She’d toyed with getting another dog, but after a few trips to a local adoption agency, she’d decided she wasn’t ready.
“Montana,” she whispered, giving his belly a good scratching. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
He rolled to his stomach and nudged her hand, urging her to scratch his ears.
“Arrooo.” His howl was softer, a “hello” of sorts that she’d always thought was hilarious.
In real life, he’d been a seventy-pound purebred husky, white with a black and gray saddle, and ice blue eyes ringed with black that she always thought looked like eyeliner. He’d loved tennis balls and begging for food. Besides Montana, she’d given him a hundred nicknames—Bad Dog, Mooch, Bed-Stealer, and My Tana.
After her heart had healed a little, when she wasn’t sure if the ache would ever really go away, she’d decided to write him into her stories. She’d commissioned an artist to turn a photo of him into an illustration of a Clydesdale-sized monster with deadly claws and fangs. He was the forest guardian, and she’d used him a few times over the years to kill characters she didn’t like.
“How do you recognize me?” she asked, brushing at the tears on her cheeks.
“Trinity!” Wrath’s voice was harsh, edged with fear.
She looked over her shoulder at the glorious male, his eyes the amber of his beast, a sword brandished threateningly.
“Hey,” she said, scrubbing at her wet cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Come to me, Trin,” he said, lowering his voice as he held out his hand. “Don’t make any sudden moves.”
Three men joined him, all dressed similarly in hide trousers with bare upper bodies and no shoes. She recognized them as the best hunters in his pack—Kayne, Teller, and Auberon.
She turned to face the four men. The big creature curled around her with a hum, nudging her hand until it rested on his head.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“How is that possible?” Teller asked, his eyes wide.
“How is what possible?” she asked.
“You’ve tamed the Mytan,” Wrath said. He took a step toward her, and Mytan growled, his upper lip curling.
Wrath froze. Trinity chuckled and scratched Mytan behind the ears.
“He’s my pet. Well, I guess it’s true and not true. Mytan is a character I created for my Alpha Mates book series. I wrote him after my husky Montana died as a way to memorialize him.”
“What are you talking about? Character? Book?” Wrath asked as he put the sword into the sheath on his back.
“I can explain,” a woman’s voice said.
Trinity’s mouth fell open as the strange woman from the conference strode into view. Mytan growled and tensed, curling even tighter around Trinity.
“You!” Trinity said. “How are you here? Why do you look familiar?”
“You wrote about me. I’m a witch. I had a fling with a high-ranked wolf and was cast out of my coven and exiled to this forest.”
Trinity’s mind raced, tripping over story lines and plots from the books in her series. She stared at the woman for several moments and then she gasped.
“Isolde.”
She nodded with a smile. “You forgot about me, didn’t you?”
Trinity didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. She’d enjoyed writing about Isolde, but while she’d found the coven interesting, the series was about the packs and their battles with the Blood Wolves and vampire
s. Witches, like some of the other types of supernatural creatures she liked to sprinkle around the series, were plot fodder, useful when needed but generally not worth an entire book.
She’d even toyed with doing a spin-off series based on the coven and starring Isolde, but she’d never gotten around to it.
“I did forget about you, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I have a great life.”
Trinity patted Mytan on the head and rose to her feet, brushing off the dirt and debris. The big creature rose and shook himself out, sending white fur flying. She brushed at her shorts. “I don’t miss the fur.” Montana shed twice a year like it was his life’s purpose, leaving hunks of white fur all over her apartment.
“Can you tell me what’s happening?” Trinity asked Isolde. “I don’t understand how you came to me at the conference or how I ended up here.”
“My home isn’t too far from here,” Isolde said. “I’ll tell you everything. Your true mate and his males can come with us.”
Wrath gave Isolde a narrow look. “I’ll not put my mate in danger, witch.”
“There’s no need for threats, Alpha.”
“I need to hear what she has to say, Wrath. Either come with us or stay here.”
He frowned with a snarl.
She held out her hand and gave him a smile to soften what she’d said. “It’s important. Please.”
He took her hand and the moment their fingers linked, everything snapped into awareness within her. This was no dream. He was real. The whole damn world she’d dreamed about for twelve years was real. She didn’t know how it was possible, but Isolde appeared to hold the answer.
“Lead the way, Isolde,” Trinity said.
“I think you could get there without my help,” Isolde said with a wink.
Trinity nodded.
Wrath looked at his men. “Auberon come with us. Teller, Kayne—go tell Cael we’re going to the witch’s home to discuss Trinity’s appearance.”
The two men walked away. Trinity looked at Mytan, who gave her pleading eyes and a whine.
“He can come too, right?” she asked.
“Of course.”
She motioned for the big beast, and he happily padded next to her as their quartet walked away from the mountains where Trinity had been headed and made their way northeast.
Isolde walked ahead and Auberon brought up the rear, walking a few feet behind them.
“I’m sorry I ran,” Trinity said with a low voice.
“Why did you?”
“I was scared and confused.”
“You knew it was me, though. You know I’d never harm you.”
“I know. It’s not that, Wrath. I thought it was one of the dreams.”
“It felt real to you, though. I could see the war in your eyes.”
“Yeah. I shouldn’t have left, even if it did bring me and Mytan back together again.”
“I cannot believe you’ve tamed him,” Auberon said.
“I technically didn’t tame him,” she said. “I created him.”
Auberon snorted. “You’re a witch, then? Able to create life?”
“Witches can’t create life,” Isolde said over her shoulder. “Not like this. I’ll explain everything, I promise.”
Trinity kept her thoughts to herself as they walked. Mytan was on her left, his big body brushing against hers from time to time. He was several heads taller than her, and big enough she could ride him if she wanted to. Wrath was on her right, holding her hand tightly, his wolf occasionally rumbling out a growl as his gaze scanned the forest.
Isolde’s home looked like it came straight out of the pages of a fairy tale. The small cottage had a dutch door with a large lavender wreath hanging on the outside. Smoke curled out of a white brick chimney, and two windows at the side of the house had wooden shutters. A stone path led up to the front porch, which had several clay pots overflowing with bright colored flowers. The flower beds were filled with shrubs and plants.
They reached the wood rail fence that circled the home.
“It’s so lovely,” Trinity said. “Prettier than I imagined.”
“Thank you. It was a shambles when I found it. It used to belong to a hermit, but he passed away. His ghost used to haunt the woods around the home, but once I helped him with some unfinished business, he went on his way to the afterlife.”
Isolde waved her hand over the top rail of the gate, and it swung open. Then she swooped her hand over her head in an arc.
“The protection spell is lifted; you may all enter.”
She held the gate open for them, and then closed it once Auberon had walked through. She made the swooping motion again, resetting the protection spell. Hurrying ahead of them, Isolde opened the front door, and they followed her into the cozy home. A fire crackled in the hearth, heating the contents of a cast iron pot hanging from a hook. It smelled heavenly inside. Trinity’s stomach took that moment to growl loudly.
“I thought you might be hungry,” Isolde said, pulling off her scarf and hanging it on a hook. “I’m afraid I only have one kitchen chair, so we’ll eat in the sitting room. It’s more comfortable in there anyway.”
She gestured to a room off the kitchen that was enclosed in glass. It reminded her of her grandmother’s sun room, where she’d drink tea in the mornings while she read.
Trinity and Wrath sat on the small sofa and Auberon sat on a chair. Mytan sat at the back door and looked in, because he was too big to come inside.
Isolde brought a tray into the room and set it on a little coffee table made of carved wood. Five bowls and four spoons filled with what looked like beef stew were steaming on the tray. She took one bowl and placed it in the doorway for Mytan, who gave it a tentative sniff and then set into it, curling his huge paws around it.
Isolde smiled. “I’ve got fresh bread cooling on the counter. It’ll just be a few minutes.”
Wrath lifted one of the bowls and gave it a sniff.
“She’s not going to poison us,” Trinity said, elbowing him. “You’re very suspicious.”
“With your safety, absolutely.” He dunked the spoon into the thick stew and took a bite, chewing it thoroughly. He swallowed and seemed to be waiting for something to happen. When nothing did, he gave the bowl to her and picked up another for himself.
“I like that you’re protective,” she said. “It’s one of the first things I remember about you.”
“I’m really confused,” Auberon said in between bites of stew. “Where did you come from?”
Trinity took a spoonful of stew and ate it, barely stifling the groan of pleasure at the taste. Wrath narrowed his gaze at her, his eyes banked with heat. Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she dropped her eyes to the bowl to take another bite. “I’m from... well I’m not sure exactly. I’m from Earth, but it’s not like this Earth. Where I’m from is really, really different.”
Isolde brought in glasses of tea and sliced bread slathered with fresh churned butter. She sat on a wicker chair and lifted the remaining bowl of stew. She glanced at Wrath and Auberon, holding their empty bowls. “Help yourselves, boys. There’s plenty. You can even take whatever’s left back to your pack; I’m sure they’d enjoy something home-cooked.”
Auberon stood and held out his hand for Wrath’s bowl, which he handed over.
“So,” Trinity said, dunking a corner of bread into the bowl. “Tell me everything.”
Isolde smiled. “Of course. As you know—or perhaps are just beginning to realize—the world of your books is real. We’re what you would call an ‘alternate Earth.’ We exist in the same time, but we’re not accessible to your world except through magic. In our world, the purebred wolves and the vampires hate each other and have been at war for millennia. In your world, there aren’t any shifters or supernatural creatures.”
Wrath’s brows went high. “None at all?”
Trinity shook her head. “Nope.”
“You and Wrath are destined mates.”
“Then
why weren’t we born in the same world?” Trinity asked. She put her empty bowl on the table and shook her head when Auberon gave her a questioning look as if to ask if she wanted more.
Isolde shrugged. “I can’t say. But regardless of where you were born, you and Wrath were connected through some mystical way. When did you start to dream about her?”
“When I shifted at sixteen. I only had a few dreams that year, and then the following year I had them more regularly.”
Trinity nodded. “I was fifteen when they started.”
“You were meant to be in this world, Trinity,” Isolde said. “I don’t know why you weren’t, except that fate sometimes has a warped sense of humor. However you were separated, the dreams were a way to bind you two together.”
“How did you know where I was?” Trinity asked.
Isolde mused in silence for a moment. Then she said, “I was at the market in Carreth, and I heard some chatter that Alpha Veltris had sent word out to every alpha within five hundred miles to come to a meeting. He planned to form an army of purebreds to take out Wrath.”
“They can certainly try,” Wrath said with a snort.
Trinity’s hand flew to her mouth. “I wrote about that. It was in my last book.”
“What the hell books are you talking about?” he said.
Trinity explained how she’d started to write down the dreams, that it made her feel connected to him. She turned the dreams into a series of books.
“You wrote about me?” he asked.
She pursed her lips and then said, “Yes. You’re the villain.”
Auberon barked out a laugh and then covered it with a cough when Wrath shot him a dirty look.
Isolde smiled. “Don’t be mad, Wrath. She wrote you as she saw you. You two basically grew up together. She watched your rise to power; she understands the ferocity and feralness of this world. Whether you feel it’s flattering or not, you are the villain of this world. You’re the most feared alpha on the continent, considered to be the most dangerous male alive. Of course you’re the villain.”
He looked at Trinity. “You know what I’ve done to become alpha.”