by Petra Landon
“Keep climbing, Red” he directed from below her. “I want to be higher than the flying Blutsaugers.”
“Temi” she muttered mutinously, unstraddling the branch to continue climbing. “Not little girl and not Red.”
He did not respond, merely waiting for her to climb higher. When he was satisfied that she was high enough, he called to her. “That’s enough. Find a perch and hold on.”
Temi mounted a branch, carefully sliding her legs down through the dense foliage.
Soon, he was beside her, hooking the rucksack on a branch before straddling another.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” he asked.
She shook her head. “But I’ve never been this high.”
Truth to tell, it gave her a weird feeling. The ground seemed far away. While there were other tall trees, there were also many far smaller, creating a small canopy beneath her through which she could only see occasional glimpses of the forest floor.
“I’m going to tie you to the tree with magic.”
Temi shot him a skeptical look.
“You won’t feel a thing” he assured her. “Just a precaution. When those Blutsaugers come flying out in a pack, I don’t want you to lose your nerve, Red.”
She grit her teeth. “I won’t. And don’t call me Red.”
He ignored her to place his palm on the trunk. As before, she felt nothing.
“All done” he declared, withdrawing his palm.
The unusual pale eyes flashed to her. “They’re close” he warned softly. “Remember, they can still hear you. The magic only shrouds your scent. Be very still.”
They came flying out of the darkness, so fast that watching them made Temi dizzy. Some paused to hover over the canopy below her, while others went on, deeper into the rainforest. Temi stayed absolutely still. She knew many of them well, though in the dark, she could only make out silhouettes. Her heart pounded so loudly that she feared the Blutsaugers would hear it. That her companion was unconcerned about such considerations helped calm her a little. He seemed almost a part of the tree, an extension of the branch he perched on, his eyes on the canopy and the Chosen below. As the Vampires whizzed around them without success, circling back again and again, Temi’s doubts and suspicions gradually melted away. She might well have jumped into the fire but perhaps, she mused hopefully, it did not intend to use her like the frying pan.
That night, they did not abandon their exalted roost, perched high up above the forest while the hunters scoured the woods around them. Temi waited for him to declare the coast clear but as groups of Blutsaugers doubled back, time and again, he seemed content to sit in his lofty aerie and wait them out.
CHAPTER 4
The Seer’s interpretation opens a can of worms
Tasia trudged into the hall to find the Alpha waiting for her. Drained and bleary-eyed, she felt ill-equipped to handle a session. But the Alpha had a hectic schedule. They were to leave for Greece the next evening. And this afternoon, Guardian Bergdahl was slated to hand over the Seer’s notes to Sienna, while DiZeyla and David Hamilton were to be briefed about Lady Bethesda. She knew that it might be a week, maybe more, before they returned to San Francisco. On the road, there would be little privacy. Thus, this session might have to suffice until they were back at the Lair.
Closing the door, she made for the center of the hall. He watched her take guard, the gold eyes missing nothing.
“What’s up with you?” he asked bluntly.
“Didn’t sleep well” she muttered after an infinitesimal hesitation. Did he sense her weariness with his Shifter abilities or was he reading her like an open book as he did so often, Tasia wondered uneasily, reminded anew about everything that had her jittery and wary of the Alpha.
His brows drew together at her response. “Nightmares again?” he inquired softly.
Raoul hoped not — she’d intimated that the vivid dreams, about a beast attempting to take her over in a Shifter’s skin, had ceased after Russian Hill. He would never wish such a horrific experience on anyone, least of all her.
She shook her head. “Those are gone.”
Well, not quite, she amended silently. The dreams that plagued her now were not terrifying like the nightmares before. But they were strange and weird — almost an extension of the nightmarish events from before, including many of the underlying emotions. In the newer dreams, she roamed vast plains at night, in an untiring quest to feel the bounty of the moon on her skin. There was a sense of relief and a kind of giddiness at the newfound freedom. Yet, under the euphoric high, she could almost taste the bitterness bubbling inside her — a burning hatred for the Chosen that had imprisoned and tormented her. She was all alone again, amidst the vast lands and silent night, except for the occasional presence of the massive bear. Once she’d believed the bear’s role in her dreams to be a metaphor for her solitary struggles, but no more. The animal was more a guardian angel than a threat. No longer did Tasia awaken in a panicked daze, her skin drenched with sweat and fear. Yet, the dreams continued to baffle and trouble her. With every hint that connected them to the previous nightmares, she found herself pondering each new clue from the dreams. She was an animal now, not a Shifter anymore. That assuaged Tasia — anything was better than the torture and sensation of being overpowered from within. But the all-consuming feelings of grief, pain and loss in the dreams felt like an open sore she could not redress. Tasia, plagued by yet another dream followed by a sleepless night, was exhausted this morning.
“Your reflexes will be slower today” he remarked. “Forget the magic bubble, just focus on targeting me.”
But even the scaled down goal was easier said than done. With practice, Tasia was becoming proficient at holding her palms by her side when dispatching bursts of magic. Her accuracy with the blasts was improving too. But he was so superhumanly fast that even without the burden of weaving a protective bubble, she could not hold him off for long. As always, he was tireless, challenging her relentlessly while covering the breadth of the hall phenomenally fast. After a few attempts that left Tasia increasingly frustrated, he called a halt to it.
“Take a deep breath, witchling” he directed at her. “Change your tactics if something isn’t working. Your reflexes are very slow this morning. Take them out of the equation if you can.”
A tired and disheartened Tasia reflected on his words.
“In the woods with Nandini, you made very creative use of your powers” he prompted her. “Think outside the box. You’ve done it before.”
Slower reflexes against a superhuman. How do I level the playing field?
And suddenly, it came to her. Tasia closed her eyes, allowing all the distractions to fade away. His aura showed up bright in her mind’s eye. An unusual intertwining of hues that was uniquely his, different from the other Shifters.
“You’re using your magic barometer” he noted perceptively, defining it in colloquial terms. “Good! Here I come.”
That was all the warning she had. But fast as he was, it was easier to track him with his aura. Before, she’d had to adjust constantly to the fast-moving blur, correcting position furiously to keep him in her sights. But now, she stood her ground, tracking him in her mind’s eye though his magic. His extraordinary speed was negated to a great extent with little exertion on her part, to level the playing field. The first few blasts she directed at him went wide, as before. But Tasia checked her aim and corrected quickly. The technique she had to master now was different than before, for she was targeting him blindly and her previous hand-eye coordination was of little value in this scenario. But she wised up quickly, to patiently observe his tactics as he came inexplicably closer. And, readied herself, her magic at her fingertips, waiting for just the right moment to strike. Then, quick as a flash, she opened her eyes to target him with a blast. To her astonishment and joy, the spinning flash of denim and white ceased abruptly.
“You got me, witchling” the Alpha announced.
A spontaneous smile bloom
ed on Tasia’s face, exhaustion and frustration banished in an instant. “Again?” she asked excitedly, her eyes shining.
The Alpha studied her. “I’m not sure how to take your excitement at blasting me” he said gravely.
Tasia’s smile grew wider. “A student who rises to the occasion is a compliment to the teacher” she countered.
He inclined his head. “In that case, on guard.”
Suddenly, it was as if the dam had been breached. He was still much too fast and wily for her, but with a little experience under her belt, she was able to best him every now and then. She’d need to practice her lobbing of magic at an opponent while using only an aura to guide her, but tracking a phenomenally fast Chosen, like a Shifter or a Blutsauger, was suddenly within reach for her. Not only was it more feasible than tracking in the physical, this way she also expended very little energy in the hunting. In a longer skirmish, she would need to conserve her strength, so as to not tire herself early against a stronger Magick. If today had proved anything, weariness dulled all her senses.
At the next break, he strolled over to join her. “Your magic sense is sharper than your regular ones, much like the Wyrs” he observed.
“It’s the one ability I’ve never had to hide” she said slowly. With no cause to disguise it, it had become the only weapon in her magic kitty she had access to at all times. Thus, her sixth sense had been used extensively, enabling her to hone it.
He mused on her words. “If what you require is a Chosen aura to target, I could improvise something for you to practice with.”
A relieved Tasia, finally at touching distance of her potential, allowed her curiosity free rein. “May I ask you a question?”
He gave her an absent-minded nod, preoccupied by the issue of devising a target for her to train with. One that would allow her to practice on her own and hone her skills.
“Do all Wyrs shift like you?” she asked. She’d seen him transform an appendage without shifting into his beast. It went against everything she knew about Shifters.
“No.”
Tasia hesitated, wondering whether an explanation was forthcoming.
He shot her a gold-eyed glance. “The Spell Caster blood changes my physiology from the others.”
She should have guessed that his other heritage would affect his Wyr genetics, especially if the Wizard magic in him was strong, Tasia reflected. For the first time, she wondered at his Wizard powers. Strong Spell Caster magic interspersed with his Shifter physiology would set him apart from both Wizard and Wyr alike.
“The ability to transform partially is unusual” she observed. He was not unwilling to talk about this, so Tasia indulged her curiosity. As far as she was aware, there had been no other illustrious Chosen in their long history with strong Wyr and Wizard heritage.
Raoul shrugged. He diverged from other Wyrs in two major aspects — it was something he’d been aware of all his life. “I heal and shift differently from other Wyrs.”
After what she’d witnessed at the woods near Portland, Tasia had had her suspicions about his unique shifting abilities. But his comment about healing differently roused her memories of other incidents. After the cage, he’d healed her in his kitchen when a scalding pot had blistered her arm. He’d done so with a mere touch and a quip about the Wizard blood flowing in him. He’d also admitted to using his hated Spell Caster magic to heal her during their first encounter at the San Francisco Nest when his outnumbered Shifters had fought to save her from the Vampires. Clearly, he’d inherited at least some magic from his Wizard mother.
Her eyes tangled with his. “Your ability to heal others is phenomenal” she said softly. This was uniquely Wizard magic.
“My mother came from an illustrious line of healers. I have some of that in me” he acknowledged. “But as you know, I do not claim that part of my heritage.”
You did for me.
Raoul thought back to the night they’d met at the leech Nest in San Francisco. He’d used his healing powers rather reluctantly to seal her wound. The bite had been bleeding heavily, the injury reopened in the hall while the Pack fought the leeches for her. His suspicions about her role in the magic, that had held back the Clan, had compelled him to break his pledge for her.
“Were you ever tested as a Wizard?” Tasia asked.
His brows shot together. “I’m the son of a Were-Alpha, witchling” he rebutted sardonically. “How do you think the Spell Casters would react if a Wyr asked for the fruit of his loins to be tested on the Magic Level Scale?”
“You also have Wizard blood. Did not your mother’s family …” her voice petered off when he shook his head.
“Her family disowned her when she chose a Shifter. They had no interest in a half-Wyr child after she was gone.”
Though he answered her questions readily, she detected a note of constraint under the even tones. It wasn’t anger or regret or even bitterness, but something far more complex. But Tasia ploughed on. He’d been patient, taking time out of his busy schedule to work with her. She wanted to return the favor. Inexperienced she might be on many matters, but no one knew better how to work magic.
She met his eyes. “You know nothing about Wizard magic?”
“I wouldn’t say that” he admitted. “There was a time in my teens when I toyed with realizing my Spell Caster powers. I read up what I could get my hands on, before abandoning the effort.”
He’d hinted at something like this before, she recalled, during one of their late night Embarcadero sojourns.
“Did you experiment with your powers?” Tasia pressed him.
“I didn’t know where to begin.”
“It’s not too late” she prompted him.
He was amused by the suggestion. “There might be little magic in me to make it worth it. I could be an L2 for all we know, witchling.”
“You’re not” Tasia asserted confidently. “Your mixed heritage makes it tough to read your magic, but I’d bet you have more power than a L2.”
“The point is moot. I want no truck with Spell Casters.”
She contemplated him, meeting his gaze head on. “You’re always telling me to make the most of my powers and to be creative with it. Who does it benefit when you refuse to use your Wizard magic? Not the Spell Casters you despise. They don’t give a damn what you do.”
The gold eyes widened at her words. “You have me there, witchling” he ceded, after a short pause.
Tasia pressed on. “You tapped into your legacy to save me.”
“Despite your reluctance” she amended, supremely aware of his animosity at being forced to work magic he eschewed to heal her.
“It was a one off” he reiterated. “But yes, I did tap it for you.”
Healing magic was the one power that even an untaught Wizard could call on without learning to work it. Some Wizards were born with more of the healing touch in their blood. It appeared that he was one of them. But without a teacher, he’d find it impossible to tap other latent Wizard powers.
“When there was no one to help you, ignoring it was the only choice” she averred.
A tawny brow arched fluidly. “Are you offering, witchling?” he inquired blandly.
“Yes” she answered, without prevarication.
The gold eyes blanked before her gaze. Tasia waited patiently.
“I’ll think about it” he said eventually.
“One last question” Tasia interjected curiously. “How strong was your mother?”
He said nothing, the gold eyes merely meeting her gaze.
“Surely, it can’t be a secret” she persisted.
“Nine” he confessed.
Tasia’s jaw went slack as she gaped at him. “That’s Guardian territory” she exclaimed incredulously. More powerful than Caroline Hamilton who was a very strong Wizard.
“She qualified for the Academy but in the end, decided to not join the Guardians” he revealed.
Another strange twist of fate, Raoul brooded silently. If his mother had left for
San Diego, her life might have taken a very different turn. There was little opportunity to fraternize with Shifters at Wizard Headquarters or form any romantic attachment to a Wyr Were-Alpha.
“I … I have no …” The voice trailed off as the flabbergasted leader of the Wizards in San Francisco fell silent.
Beside him, DiZeyla appeared more thoughtful than stunned. Like everyone else in the Pack Room, Tasia turned her attention to the Ancient leader. Roman and Nandini had just finished briefing David Hamilton and DiZeyla, bringing the two local leaders up to date with what they’d uncovered about Lady Bethesda’s machinations and ambitions. Tasia had a hunch that the GCW disarray, coupled with the threat Lady Bethesda posed to the Wizards, was what rattled David Hamilton. With no such dysfunction among the First Ones to contend with, his colleague and fellow local Chosen leader had accepted the revelations with more composure.
“Do you have anything that ties Lady Bethesda to the murder in India?” DiZeyla asked.
Though the question was directed at Roman, it was Nandini who answered. “She had my father assassinated, but I doubt we’ll ever find any evidence connecting it to her. She’s careful to keep her hands clean.”
DiZeyla contemplated the Indian Chosen, her expression somber. “Then, I’m afraid that what you have is not enough to sway the First Ones.”
A silent sigh seemed to blanket the room. The Shifters were clearly disappointed, though Tasia noted that Roman looked resolute.
Maartje stirred. “You don’t believe that Lady Bethesda poses a threat, DiZeyla?”
“I do” DiZeyla assured the Were-Alpha. “But only because Raoul says so. If he tells me she must be stopped, I believe it. But with the other First Ones, you’ll need more than his word to convince them.”