The Siren

by Petra Landon

  Stefan Simeonov’s eyes swept away from her. “It’s Tasia’s name on the door, Alpha” he said easily. “Her forty-five minutes are up.”

  Tasia dusted herself off the floor. She did not intend to linger here a second longer than she must.

  “Stefan and I can come back later, if you’re not done, Alpha?” Elisabetta offered smoothly, her eyes taking in Tasia’s attire of sweats and tee.

  The Alpha turned to Tasia. “Are we done, witchling?”

  Tasia nodded mutely, making for the door. She wasn’t going to be left behind to answer any of Elisabetta or Simeonov’s questions. It was clear that they were curious. And why shouldn’t they be, she admitted ruefully. The Alpha Protector was renowned for his aloofness and for trusting his own counsel. He kept his distance from everyone, including his Pack. Only Duncan was known to occasionally break through the legendary reserve. To find him in a tête-à-tête with the Wizard he’d thrown the mantle of Pack over, going against his well-known unflinching dislike for Spell Casters, was worthy of notice. Especially, when his Shifters knew only too well that the equation between the Alpha and the Wizard, he forced his Pack to associate with to repay his Wyr sense of obligation, was thorny and difficult. Rumors had been rampant for weeks that the relationship was strained to breaking point. Whispers that had gained in prominence since Tasia had walked away once, after a furious confrontation with the Alpha over her intransigence in flouting Pack norms and his bidding.

  “I’ll have a solution for you before the next session” he directed at her, with immense confidence.

  Tasia hid her smile. The man had confidence in spates. Confidence that frequently bordered on arrogance. But she would not cavil at it. When it came to her and the unique challenges and threats her abilities and unusual heritage exposed her to, he’d proven more than up to the task. With a dexterity and subtlety, she had not associated with him, he’d steered her safely through some seriously murky waters. And continued to do so. If it wasn’t for the dilemma that confronted her now, she’d be content with the choices she had made since the night she’d risked everything to free Hawk’s wolf from a silver cage. After a long time, she felt centered, safe and confident out of the shadows she’d clung to for most of her life, and at ease among her new friends and allies. The Pack would always be a challenge for her. But she was learning to ignore the gossip and rumor, and to navigate the various centers of influence and ambition without burning any bridges in the process. This she owed to Duncan’s excellent advice and tutelage, and the encouragement and support from Hawk and Sara. The roles played by other non-Shifters in the investigation had made it easier for her to blend in. Sienna, Jason, Nandini and occasionally, even Roman Durovic, now called the Lair home. Their presence and the Alpha’s willingness to accommodate them had diverted some of the Shifters’ attention away from her. Not all of it though. For she was the only one accorded Pack status. The others were merely guests the Alpha offered temporary sanctuary at his Lair while they dug into the fraught past of Sienna and Nandini’s mother, a powerful Guardian risen from the dead to stake a no-holds-barred claim over the Chosen.

  “Session?” Elisabetta’s voice held overt curiosity.

  In the process of skirting the trio to make a quick getaway, Tasia sighed silently as the Alpha ignored the question. Evidently, he had no intention of satisfying the Were-Alpha’s curiosity. Tasia wished she could give vent to her frustration. He would continue to stride down the halls barking orders, doing as he pleased and ignoring anyone he wanted to, but she could not afford it. With more to lose if any rumors about the Alpha and her churned through the Pack, she must nip this in the bud.

  She flashed Elisabetta a quick glance. “The Alpha’s giving me tips on surviving a skirmish” Tasia explained succinctly, staying deliberately vague on the details. Only three members of the Pack were aware of her powerful magic and some of her dangerous secrets — Hawk, Duncan and the Alpha. She suspected that Sara had guessed some of it, but her friend would never betray Tasia.

  “With the investigation heating up, I must learn when and how to duck” she added, hoping to use a measure of the truth to satisfy the Were-Alphas’ curiosity.

  True to their respective personalities, Simeonov seemed to accept her explanation without further ado whereas the female Were-Alpha merely looked intrigued. Tasia knew that Elisabetta was a shrewder and more astute opponent. No L2 Wizard had a hope in hell of escaping an altercation with a powerful Chosen, least of all any confrontation that involved a horde of rampaging Vampires or a ruthless Guardian like Lady Bethesda. But Tasia had done her part. Elisabetta would have to be satisfied unless she was intrepid enough to demand more answers from the Alpha Protector.

  Leaving the Alpha to deal with his Shifters, Tasia exited the hall. She had watched him deflect Elisabetta’s advances for months now, without a hint that he was even aware of them. She knew he was. It suggested a certain adeptness when he chose to bestir himself. Besides, no one ever questioned Raoul Merceau, especially not his Shifters. Alpha Protectors, Tasia knew, tended to give their fractious Shifters little rope, reining them in with a lethal combination of ferocity, aggression and violence the Wyrs understood only too well. This particular Alpha could shut down his Shifters without a single word, a mere glance from the arctic gold eyes sufficient to quell them. He was a man used to keeping his counsel and answering to no one. Elisabetta would get nothing from him.

  Raoul watched the witchling walk away with an amusement he kept under wraps. She was learning, he mused. Becoming adept at walking the tightrope — deflecting uncomfortable questions and dousing potential fires with the right dose of ammunition. She’d given Elisabetta just enough to dampen the Shifter’s curiosity and left him to deal with any fallout, knowing fully well that he would shut down any further queries. And she had done it publicly. Before long, the Pack would be buzzing about the training sessions. But now, the sessions would be a two day wonder — no Shifter would gossip about the time spent secluded in the hall off the gym.

  “The room’s all yours” he said to the two Were-Alphas, striding away without a backward glance.

  Elisabetta turned to watch the Alpha go, only to catch her companion eyeing their resident Wizard. A few halls down from them, framed under the open archway, Tasia conversed with Joaquim and Michael, two of Duncan’s Shifters she was friendly with.

  “Spar, Stefan?” she offered.

  “Yes” he answered a little absently, his eyes on the Wizard.

  Elisabetta scribbled her name on the board by the hall to reserve it for an hour, before closing the door with a sharp click.

  Cut off from the object of his interest, Simeonov turned to her. “Want to be private with me, Elisabetta.” He smiled with practiced ease. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  The bright blue eyes crinkled at the corners, the attractive face lit up by a high wattage smile.

  His companion directed an amused look at him, unaffected by the masculine beauty before her. “Save it, Stefan. Your routine doesn’t work on me.”

  Simeonov subsided, without rancor. He knew that Elisabetta had her eyes on a bigger prize. He felt no affront at her ambition. The way he saw it, they were like two peas in a pod. They each understood the other’s ambition, and appreciated the ruthless moves, relentless manipulations and unswerving drive required to achieve their respective goals.

  She moved to one end of the hall and he made his way to the other. Elisabetta was a powerful Were-Alpha and they had fought and trained together before. But as he prepared to engage her, she surprised him.

  “You’re playing with fire, Stefan” she cautioned him.

  Simeonov arched an eyebrow lazily. “Which one?”

  “That pretty little witch you have your eyes on.”

  He laughed, amused by her rare caution. “Who’s going to stop me from amusing myself — Duncan?”

  She vouchsafed no answer to his rhetorical query, simply shrugging in response.

  “Duncan has no grounds to
object” Simeonov retorted. His voice hardened subtly. “I’d like to see him try.”

  Elisabetta’s sharp eyes searched his face. Duncan would wipe the floor with Stefan if the English Shifter ever decided to exert himself. But Elisabetta let the comment pass. In her way, she liked Stefan Simeonov. There was naked ambition in him she understood and appreciated. So, she did her best to caution him. She was good at reading people and she had a strong suspicion about what was afoot in the Lair.

  “It’s not Duncan I’d worry about, if I were you” she said mildly.

  Simeonov looked puzzled. “Then, who?”

  Elisabetta pursed her lips. It wasn’t like Stefan to be this obtuse. “The one Wyr every Shifter in the Pack fears, Stefan.”

  Stunned surprise flashed across his face and Simeonov looked incredulous.

  Elisabetta chose her words carefully. “Do you not note how he keeps a surprisingly close eye on his witchling?”

  “Like a pet he feels obligated to watch over” Simeonov said dismissively. “The Alpha’s never had anyone under his care, Elisabetta. He’s just going through the motions for a hapless witch he brought into the Pack.”

  “She’s not hapless” Elisabetta said quietly, a subtle warning he did not heed. “Nor is he going through the motions. Watch yourself.”

  Simeonov shrugged, clearly unconvinced. And Elisabetta, after another sharp glance at him, changed the subject.

  “On guard, Stefan.”

  CHAPTER 2

  An Archmage enters the fray

  “What’s up?” Raoul looked up as Duncan strode into the Alpha’s Room.

  “Roman is agog” the English Shifter responded. “Something to do with The Games.”

  The Alpha followed his friend into the Pack Room. A quick glance around the vast room confirmed that the team was all accounted for. Including Maartje, who at his request had joined the investigation.

  Roman hailed him. “Prepare to be blown away, Merceau.”

  The Alpha’s lips quirked. “Let’s have it” he said, taking up his usual stance by the mantel.

  The Ancient waited for Duncan to take his favorite chair by the Alpha, before he addressed the gathering.

  “As you know, The Games are held every year at the same venue in Belize. Five years ago, the eco-resort and the arena changed ownership to Setik. I’ve been working on persuading the owners to give me a sneak peek into their investigation of the explosion.”

  “What have they found?” the Alpha asked.

  Roman almost vibrated with excitement. “It was what they didn’t that is significant, Merceau. They found no trace of explosives at the site.”

  Raoul straightened, his eyes flashing to Duncan. Here was a massive hint to the identity of the perpetrator. No wonder Durovic was pumped up. They’d caught an unexpected break, thanks to Roman’s influential First Ones connections.

  “I don’t understand.” Hawk looked confused. “Why is this significant?”

  It was Atsá who answered his grandson. “It implies that magic was used to set off the explosion, Hawk.”

  “Magic” Elisabetta exclaimed bemusedly. “Is that possible?”

  “Improbable perhaps, but not impossible, Elisabetta” Duncan contended thoughtfully, a pucker between his brows. “But it would take a very powerful and singularly skilled Magick to pull off something like this.”

  Jason pointed out the obvious. “And thus, easier for us to track him down.”

  “Yes, Jason.” Roman did not hide his enthusiasm. “Even quicker if I can get access to the guest list for The Games.”

  “Assuming he was a guest” Simeonov countered.

  “The resort is surrounded by thick rainforest. The only way to access it is a private airstrip, Stefan. It’s what makes the location so perfect for us Chosen. Whoever set off the explosion was at the resort.” Roman was confident. “They’ll have a record of him, though it might take some sifting through the nom de guerres.”

  “A Mage, Roman?” Atsá inquired knowledgeably.

  “Definitely Mage” Roman affirmed. “And not a garden variety one, Atsá. One of the Deadlies. That should help us narrow him down.”

  “Mage!” a startled Hawk repeated.

  Roman shot Duncan an amused look. “What are the Wyrs teaching their young, Were-Alpha? Clearly not Chosen lore or history.”

  The English Shifter smiled at the sally. “It’s your Black Mage who gives rise to such confusion in our young, Roman. Not Wyrs.”

  A hitherto silent Nandini proffered Hawk an explanation. “First Ones with serious power have been addressed throughout history as Mages. But after the Black Mage’s mad rampage, the term acquired a certain notoriety in Chosen circles. It’s not widely used anymore, except by students of Chosen history.” She cast a glance at Atsá, one he acknowledged with a gracious nod.

  “And Roman” she murmured.

  Durovic looked thunderstruck by the comment. “What do you mean by that, Nandini?” he demanded.

  The Indian Ancient deigned to meet his gaze. “What would I mean?” She shrugged. "You’re not an Elder, yet you use the term.”

  Roman’s expression darkened, but before he could respond, an amused Sienna jumped in to divert the two Ancients spoiling for a fight.

  “I’m familiar with Mages — the result of an elite Wizard school education.” The comment was directed at Hawk with a smile. “But I’ve never heard of the Deadlies, Roman.”

  Controlling his temper with an effort, Roman switched his attention from Nandini to her half-sister. “It’s how First Ones refer to the Mages with deadly magic — Archmages capable of inflicting devastation.”

  “How many in the category?” Luis Beltran asked curiously.

  “Not many. Living, that is.”

  There was a short silence as the Pack Room digested the information. It was a crucial nugget to track the whereabouts of the third sister, but also a complication. A Mage that powerful would change the dynamics of the investigation, even by a peripheral involvement in it. Plus, they knew nothing of his motivations, which added another layer of complication to an already complex endeavor.

  “Might be worthwhile to pursue this from a different angle” Duncan suggested. “What kind of Mage could set off an explosion with his magic, Roman?”

  “Many Mages could rig a small one. But this was not a minor explosion — a chunk of the building collapsed.” Roman looked apologetic. “I’d need more details to answer your question, Duncan.”

  “Take an educated guess” the English Shifter encouraged him. “Who’d possess such magic?”

  Roman pursed his lips. “A powerful Elemental would be my best guess.”

  “An Elemental Mage with the power to cut a building in half” Duncan mused aloud. He wondered how easy it would be to find the Archmage. While there were few Magicks capable of the feat, such a Chosen would also know how to cover his tracks well.

  “For us Shifters without such vast knowledge of Ancient powers, Roman” Elisabetta chimed in tartly. “What is an Elemental Mage?”

  “A First One with power over the elements.” Roman was unperturbed by the gorgeous Were-Alpha’s sarcasm. He did not expect the Shifters to know the ins and outs of how First Ones classified their magic.

  “They’re Eru, correct?” Jason confirmed. As a Guardian, he knew more about the Ancients than the Shifters did. But much like other Chosen factions, the First Ones did not share certain information openly with the others, so Jason used the opportunity to indulge his curiosity.

  “Usually, Jason. But not always.” Roman’s gaze wandered to the other Ancient in the room. “We have one amongst us. The Nagas are Elementals.”

  Hawk looked stunned. “You can command nature, Nandini?”

  The Indian Chosen shook her head. “Not command, Hawk, more like pick up on subtle hints others cannot. The Nagas can read certain signs in nature — interpret slight vibrations of the earth, for instance. I’d say we are sensitive to cues from the elements, much like Wyr senses are h
yperaware.”

  “But there are Ancients with power over the elements?” Hawk persisted, immensely astonished. Wyr powers came from their physical attributes. And Hawk, young for a Chosen, had not yet experienced the old magic that many First Ones could command.

  “Yes” Nandini admitted quietly, not shying away from the question.

  Sienna interjected, drawing the young Shifter’s attention. “Mastery over the elements is deadly, Hawk. But there are Ancients who possess more potent magic than that.”

  “Sienna has it right” Roman professed soberly. “There are First Ones, there are Mages and then, there are the Deadlies — each with exponentially more devastating magic than the previous.”

  “Magic with the power to cause such destruction is too dangerous to keep secret from the other Chosen” Hawk remarked baldly, not mincing his words.

  Beside him, a silent Tasia wished she could jump in and second Hawk. Throughout history, the Supreme Edict had been threatened by the actions of Magicks who believed their power made them infallible. Something about potent magic drove Chosen to lose their heads and flirt with darkness. In some ways, she was glad that circumstances forbade her from using the weapons in her kitty capable of devastation. But it also meant that her arsenal must be protected so no one else could weaponize her magic. With her heritage, the stakes were much too high. This is why, though she wished she were free to follow her heart, Tasia understood exactly why Chosen mates had been declared off bounds for her.

  “Out of the mouths of babes” Duncan murmured, sotto voice.

  Roman met the English Were-Alpha’s eyes ruefully but did not defend the Ancient position on old magic.

  “I’m with Hawk on this” Elisabetta proclaimed, to challenge the First One. “We Wyrs have taken our eye off the ball on such matters. But the Ancients don’t exactly make it easy for others, do they, Roman?”

  “No, they don’t” the Ancient agreed. In their own way, the First Ones, while not as arrogant about their powers as the Wizards, tended to close ranks. The rightful heirs of the Forebearers deemed themselves the custodians of magic, treating their non-Ancient brethren, with a few exceptions, as children to be guarded and cossetted from the consequences of great power and even their own mistakes. Faoladh was a rare exception — he’d won the respect of the First Ones by his deeds over the centuries.