The Reclamation (Shadowed Wings Book 3)

by Ivy Asher

  “I won’t ask again, where is my mate?” an enraged voice demands, and as the frantic crowd starts to thin, I see that it’s Ryn who’s squaring off with a female who’s taller than him and all lean muscle.

  “And I’ll tell you again, I don’t know. You three popped up here alone. How are we to know what happened to her?” the female argues, frustrated.

  She’s almost as tall as Zeph, but her muscles are lean and feminine. The sides of her head are shaved, leaving a strip of white wavy hair to flow back from her face and down her back. She has scars all over her arms and what looks like a set of three claw marks that slash through the middle of her face. The raised scars give the effect of war paint across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, and she’s all the more fiercely beautiful for the imperfections. This is definitely not a female I’d want to fuck with.

  I observe the way the other gryphons with her defer to her lead, and I deduce that this tough-as-nails-looking gryphon runs shit in this camp. She’s wearing a similar Narwagh armored clothing that many of the Hidden used to wear, and my heart leaps with excitement when I take in the pants her legs are clad in.

  I look to Wekun. “Well, she looks like she’s got things well in hand,” I tell him, turning to leave.

  I don’t want to talk to Ryn, Treno, or Zeph, and honestly I don’t care if they’re upset that they don’t know where I am. They can find someone else to shit on all the time. They’re surrounded by Ouphe-tainted gryphons as big and as menacing looking as the three douchebags are. It’s a sea of white tones of hair or ghostly streaks as far as the eye can see.

  I realize that many of the Ouphe I saw in the other camp didn’t have that same white hair, purple eyes thing going, and I make a note to ask Wekun about why that is. He turns to follow me away from the gryphon showdown.

  “Falon!” Ryn calls my name, and I groan.

  Fuck. I wasn’t fast enough in sneaking away.

  I don’t bother to turn around, I just keep walking.

  “Falon, you will come here right now!” Zeph orders, like I’m a misbehaving dog.

  Savage rage slams through me so hard that I can barely breathe through it. My wings shove out of my back, as though my body is arming itself, as I whirl around and fix a scathing glare on my three mates.

  “I am not yours to command!” I bellow at them, my voice louder and filled with potent power.

  Everyone around me—including Zeph, Ryn, and Treno—goes still, their eyes filled with shock and unease. Purple streaks of something crawl up my limbs and disappear into my skin, like I’m some kind of electromagnetic force and this purple energy is drawn to me. I’m reminded of the plum-colored pulse I sent out when shit was going down in Kestrel City with Lazza.

  My breaths are heavy, weighed down by wrath and indignation. My pure black wings give a little snap, and I can feel Pigeon’s take that in it. I turn and continue to leave, not a sound of protest lobbed at my back.

  Wekun is quiet at my side, but I can feel excitement wafting off him in steady waves. Another flicker of purple climbs up my torso, and I point at it.

  “What the fuck is up with this?” I ask, “...and where can I get some pants?”

  Wekun cracks up and wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into a side hug that squishes one of my wings. “That, Falon, is how you’re going to help save everyone, but first let’s get you cleaned up, and then I’ll explain everything.”

  Steam rises up all around me from the warm pond I’m standing shoulder deep in. It feels so good I could probably orgasm right now if I just think about it long enough. I don’t because that’s weird, and Wekun is lying on the shore, facing away from me, explaining what the fuck is going on. I figure a bunch of random moans and sex gasps is not the impression I should leave on this helpful stranger, so I rein my shit in.

  “Wait,” I tell Wekun, pausing the comb I’m running through my hair to get all the snarls out, and turn toward him. “So the Ouphe, or Sentinels—or whatever—fucked things up for themselves so badly in this world that they created the gates so they could escape? Then in the new world—my world—they tried to rule over everyone again, wash-rinse-repeat, and now they’re once more in hiding?” I ask, half in shock and half to clarify that I’m understanding what he’s telling me correctly.

  “Pretty much,” Wekun concedes.

  “Talk about not learning from your mistakes,” I mumble, shaking my head. “I mean, how can you convince yourself that you’re a superior species and then get hunted to almost extinction in not one...but two worlds?”

  Wekun shrugs and picks another leaf off the weird looking tree he’s lying under and sucks on the stem. The trunk looks petrified, like it’s more crystal than bark, and the leaves remind me of green flowers; they’re like roses made out of leaves. Wekun keeps sucking on their stems, so I’m guessing they’re sweet, but grot berries have traumatized me, and I don’t trust anyone’s taste buds in this world.

  Although maybe Wekun could be an exception, because it turns out he’s not exactly from this world. He’s not solely from the world I grew up in either, but travels back and forth as needed, doing what he can to protect what’s left of his people.

  “The Sovereign of the Sentinels just changed, and I have a lot of hope that things will finally move in the right direction. She’s surrounded by good minds and hearts, and I have faith that she’ll do right by our people...or Vinna will kick her ass.”

  “Vinna? Is that like the Ouphe version of karma or something?”

  Wekun laughs. “You know, she just might be,” he tells me with a chuckle and amused smile on his face.

  “So I’m a Sentinel?” I question as I put everything he’s told me together and continue to brush my hair.

  “Part of one; the blood’s running through your veins, but so is that of the Gryphon’s. In my opinion, it makes you stronger. All the strongest Bond wielders and magic users I’ve seen are always a mix of Sentinel and something else. All of your Sept bring new things to the table, it’s quite exciting,” he tells me, his head resting on the crook of his arm as he stares thoughtfully up at the overcast sky above us.

  “My Sept?” I question as a particularly gnarly tangle meets the teeth of my comb, forcing me to get all aggressive and show it who’s boss. The water of the hot springs agitates against me as I get all confrontational with my hair. At least it’s white again, but I can’t get it as clean as I’d like it until I deal with the uninvited dreads I started to form thanks to my recent adventures.

  Pigeon impatiently taps her talons inside of me as she waits for her turn to play in the water. I ignore her, no intention of rushing the first bath I’ve had since the night Loa slit my throat.

  “Yes, all Bond possessors have a Sept. It’s like your family, or casters in our world call it a coven. With Bond users, you can call on each other’s abilities and magic when a Sept is complete. It makes you stronger and more protected.”

  I raise my hands in victory when the nest of hair finally submits. One down, who the fuck knows how many left to go. I’m in a hot spring, learning all about magic and the worlds and how I fit into all of it, and yet the thing I seem to be most excited about is getting clean.

  Maybe it’s the fact that I’ve been oh shit deep in this world and all of its crazy for so long that some hot guy—who can pop in and out of existence—telling me I’m some magical being from a dying race just isn’t the surprising revelation it would have been months ago.

  Technically, Zeph’s been hating on me for being exactly that from the get-go. It’s not like I didn’t know about casters and shifters and other things that go bump in the night before. Granted, I haven’t heard of the Ouphe or Sentinels, but given that they’re in hiding, that makes sense.

  “So where’s your Sept? Do they pop in and out, fixing things like you do?”

  Wekun stills for just a fraction of a second before continuing to casually suck on the stem of his leaf flower, but I catch the reaction.

  “They’re
dead. I’m the last of my Sept,” he tells me evenly, like it’s a simple fact, but I catch the hint of sorrow in the word last.

  “I’m sorry,” I offer.

  He smiles sadly but doesn’t offer any more information. I don’t feel right about prying, and I turn away to give him the moment I sense he’s in need of.

  “So my Sept will be other Bond magic holders like me, right? Am I supposed to go looking for them? Are they in this world? How will I know who they are?” I start again after a minute.

  “When your Sept is complete, the Sept rune you all have will activate and pull you together.”

  Concern and sadness crawls through me, and I sink down into the water a little more. “But I don’t have runes anymore, Wekun, so how is that going to work?” My voice sounds small, and I try to shove away the memories that flood me of my dad taking the marks on my skin and the pain.

  In truth, I have Treno’s runes, but I don’t get the impression his marks are the Sept rune that Wekun is talking about. Unless Treno has Bond magic. He’s never told me what he can do and how, so I have no idea.

  “I’m hoping I can fix that,” he tells me, and I pause and turn back to him. He takes in the shocked look on my face and offers me a warm smile. “Awlon occluded your core somehow, but the purple magic that was crawling all over your skin? That was your Sentinel magic, and it showing up like that proves that it’s not dead, just hindered. I’m hoping I can undo what he did to hide your abilities and what you are.”

  I take a deep breath and tamp down the flash of excitement that flickers through me. There’s a part of me that’s begging to be made whole and a part of me that’s nervous about what that means for me. I shake that thought away. I said I’d do everything to help the Gryphons, and that means being as powerful as I can be, regardless of how much that scares me or whether it makes me more of a target than I already am.

  “Even if I can’t restore your marks and abilities, your Sept rune isn’t something you’re born with. It shows up when it wants to, when magic has compatible Bond wielders for you. I’ve seen Sept runes that are triggered by loss or trauma, or one day they just show up out of the blue for no obvious reason whatsoever.” He rubs a hand over his buzzed white hair and half shrugs. “There’s really no rhyme or reason when it comes to magic. We’ve been gifted with the ability to use it, but no one knows how or why it works the way that it does.”

  I run the comb through my hair and do a little underwater dance when it finally glides smoothly through all my locks. I open my mouth to ask Wekun how he knows I will have a Sept or pack of Bond homies, but a group of male gryphons tromping my way makes me pause. Sinking down until water edges my chin, I back up in the warm pool of water that’s being fed by a quiet, misty fall. The pool I’m in trickles down into several other pools below me, like a stairway of natural jacuzzis that ultimately lead to a calm river that steals the water away to who knows where.

  The group of male gryphons part, and I see Treno, Zeph, and Ryn. I realize that the gryphons surrounding them are serving as guards, and I find myself wondering what went down after I left them to deal with things on their own. As though the three of them can suddenly feel my eyes scanning over them, their heads snap to where I’m currently bathing.

  I freeze, not sure how I feel about seeing them again. A handful of hours apart isn’t nearly enough to begin to recover from all the bullshit. I feel Pigeon fluff up all her feathers, equally agitated by their presence. Wekun must sense the change in atmosphere, because he suddenly sits up and looks over in the direction of the guards.

  Zeph’s eyes flick over to Wekun and then back to me, and fury ripples through him. He takes a step in our direction, but two of the guards around him move to get in his way. His nostrils flare, and the tic in his jaw starts up. He’s clearly pissed that I’m bathing in front of Wekun, but he’s once again letting his temper get the best of him. Wekun couldn’t care less about my naked ass.

  Zeph mumbles something, and I look to find both Treno and Ryn shooting daggers our way too. I turn, no longer willing to absorb any more of their anger, and the guards guide them to a lower pool that’s thankfully far away.

  I’m silent for a moment as I try to wash the rage that was just aimed at us from my skin.

  “Wekun, can mate bonds be severed?” I ask as I rinse my hair and body one last time, ready to get out and get on with things.

  It’s quiet for several beats.

  I look over at him so I can gauge his response. He’s looking down at the group of gryphons, his eyes fathomless and far away. I watch him for a moment, and just when I accept he’s not going to answer, he does.

  “Yes, they can be severed. It’s brutal, and I don’t recommend it, but it has been done.”

  I turn away from his sympathy-filled, champagne gaze and stare down at Treno’s runes on my chest. Thoughts swirl in my mind, and I wade through them as I trace the black marks with my eyes.

  “When you try to bring my runes back, I’d like you to sever my mate bonds too.”

  I look up at him, so he can see the determination in my face and in my eyes. I want him to see that my request isn’t a rash decision, and that spite isn’t the catalyst for my appeal.

  I let the pain I feel bleed into my gaze, and I open myself up so that he can witness the emotional wounds I’ve been collecting from being attached to these males. I’m slowly dying inside, and not just me, but I need him to witness how wrong and awful the mate bonds are for them too. I know we’ll all be better without each other.

  He studies me for a moment and releases a resigned exhale.

  “If that’s what you want,” he starts, pausing like he’s waiting to see if I’ll take the words back.

  “It is,” I answer instead, relief swirling in my chest, as the rest of me hardens with resolve.

  I take one last look at the lower pools and the three gryphons currently cleaning off in them. Ryn looks up at me. I know he’s too far away to have heard anything, but his eyes are conflicted all the same. We stare at each other, and his gray and white wings spring from his back. He doesn’t take his eyes off of mine, and they flicker between frustration and sorrow. I turn away and climb out of the hot spring. Wekun turns away, but I can feel my mates’ eyes on me, and goose bumps crawl up my arms.

  “Let’s do it then,” I tell Wekun as I reach for the makeshift towel that’s been laid next to the pile of clothes he acquired for me.

  Pigeon sends me a flash of desolation and then a steady stream of resolve. I withdraw inside myself and give her a hug.

  “I’m sorry, Pidge. If you don’t want this, I won’t do it, but I think it’s for the best,” I tell her, and she butts her feathered head against my chest. I run my fingers over her soft angled ears and give her time to show me what she wants. The elation she felt when the call went out to each of her mates flashes in my mind. She shows me the rightness she felt when the call was answered, and I can feel her contentment radiating through me.

  But then image after image of Zeph’s, Ryn’s, and Treno’s angry faces, their mouths warped as they spit hateful words that hurt not just her, but me as well, flow in my head like a river of pain. Their secrets and rejections wrap around our heart until we don’t feel like us anymore. Pigeon tears at the hurtful bindings with her razor sharp beak and shows me pictures of the two of us flying and talking and laughing.

  I smile and feel a tear slip down my cheek. “I want that too,” I tell her, burying my face in the soft feathers of her neck. “I’m sorry I couldn’t make them love you the way you deserve, Pidge,” I tell her quietly.

  She drops her head on top of mine, and we just sit like that for a while. Both of us mourning the loss of what will never be with our mates and accepting our future without them.

  10

  I step out of my newly acquired pants and set them aside gently. I just got them, and I hate that I’m being asked to abandon them so quickly. They’re a little big, but it’s better than traipsing around in an oversized shi
rt, free-lipping it, and trying to pretend like the crotch rot from not bathing in weeks is no biggie. Now at least the chafing rash caused by my thighs rubbing together from too much evil walking can finally start to recover.

  I pull the weird tank top dress down from the top of the screen I’m changing behind and slip it on.

  “Why haven’t you explained how underwear works to the Ouphe-Sentinels of this world?” I ask Wekun as I pull the maroon fabric down over my ass until it falls to my knees.

  I step out from behind the screen and motion to my weird outfit. “Why do I have to wear this, again?”

  Wekun doesn’t look over, as he’s too busy positioning the big fluffy cushions on the floor of the corner of his tent. I take it that’s where this whole rune restoration thing is going to go down, and move toward him.

  “If this works, it’s not going to feel good. Your body is going to behave like it’s going through an awakening. You’ll thank me for the lack of restrictive clothing,” he tells me over his shoulder.

  “I won’t thank you if my vagina’s business is being flashed to the whole camp,” I retort as I sit on a cushion and yank the hem of my tunic tank top down.

  “I’ll be the only one in here; your vagina and its business are safe with me,” Wekun declares on an amused snort.

  I watch him as he continues to make a pillow nest. In my past life, I would have taken his words as a challenge. He’s good-looking, nice, probably knows what he’s doing between a girl’s thighs. I would have relished the opportunity to make him see me as desirable and then happily walked away when I had gotten what I wanted from him.

  But now, I must have turned over a new leaf, because I find myself not caring whether Wekun sees me as anything. It’s almost a relief in a weird way that he doesn’t care, that he’s not flirty or subtly pushing boundaries.