by Petra Landon
Under Tasia’s enraptured gaze, the sun broke free of the clouds, its rays skimming the water. The Ionian Sea gleamed, the iridescent blues and greens vivid under the sun. Yesterday, they’d arrived in the afternoon to a blustery day in Corfu. But today, after a few showers in the morning, the skies had cleared up. Now, their village was a picture perfect backdrop for the sun-drenched Greek isle images made famous by tourist brochures. On arrival yesterday, they’d driven north-east from the airport. First, through the capital with colorful houses covered in bright bougainvillea. And eventually, on a winding road that skirted the headlands. A series of small windswept promontories jutted into the sea, following the curving coastline. Tasia’s eager eyes had glimpsed secret coves and tiny beaches, far down below where the water lapped in undulating waves. Up on the bluffs, lone cottages nestled between cypress trees, while down below, tiny inlets glinted under the sun. Irrespective of the gray weather, the colors of the Ionian Sea had stood out. Despite her weariness, jetlag and the weather, the island had taken Tasia’s breath away.
Faoladh had arranged accommodations in a tiny village on the eastern coast, with Mount Pantokrator rising mightily to its west. Sandwiched between the mountain and the water, the village was cut by the same winding road that doubled as the main thoroughfare on the island. A jagged unpaved road provided access to the thin strip of pristine white sand at the bottom. Houses either sloped down towards the beach, or were seemingly cut into the lower slopes of the mountain to provide panoramic views of the water. The hotel had been placed at their disposal. Tasia guessed that it was busy during the high season. But now, they were the only occupants. The caretaker had handed the keys to Duncan, taking off after some cursory instructions about the property. Built into the sloping hill with twelve storeys of rooms, a wide staircase provided access from the street below. The rooms, three to a level, were built on top of each other, with balconies that faced the water. A riot of flowers bloomed around the house, and on urns marking the staircase. Midway up the stairs was a large roomy kitchen and common area. Assigned a room on the eleventh floor, with Sienna and Nandini as her neighbors, Tasia had been charmed by the spectacular view from her small balcony. The room was a studio with a queen bed, a desk and a tiny but decently stocked kitchenette. A table and two chairs on the balcony allowed for al fresco dining.
They’d gone to dinner at one of the two local tavernas that serviced the village in winter. Much to Tasia’s secret amusement, the Shifters, despite their otherwise superhuman constitutions, had been horrendously jetlagged. Maartje and Atsá had been the first to retire. Elisabetta, Luis and Simeonov had followed suit. Duncan and the Alpha had valiantly attempted to discuss trip schedules with Roman but had not lasted much longer. Tasia had assisted a stumbling Hawk up to his room, before accompanying the others to check out the village. She’d noted a bakery, a grocery and what looked like a handful of souvenir shops and hotels shuttered for the off-season.
This morning, she’d awakened to a clear day with a light drizzle and the sun threatening periodically to burst through the clouds. They had the day to themselves, while the Alpha and Roman conferred with the Chosen they’d come to Corfu to meet. This was their day off, for in the morning, Faoladh’s investigators were slated to fly in from Venice to brief them. After coffee and pastries at the local bakery, Sienna, Nandini and she had walked down to the white sand beach. The water had been crystal clear and warmer than expected. Resolved to attempt it again if the weather permitted, they’d walked back to the hotel. When Jason had suggested renting a car to drive around the island, Tasia had joined in enthusiastically. Atsá, Maartje and Luis had set forth for an appointment with local Shifters, and Elisabetta and Simeonov had excused themselves from the outing. The others had driven north through tiny villages teeming with olive groves, mimosas and almond trees, to follow a steep path along the upper slopes of Mount Pantokrator, stopping to buy bottles of olive oil and taste the local ouzo and retsina. Up north, Albania could be glimpsed across the water, a dark shadow under the pelting rain. Bordering the Iron Curtain, Greece had been at the forefront of intelligence gathering during the Cold war. Duncan had regaled them with stories about the smuggling of goods and peoples between the island of Corfu and communist Albania. Lunch had followed at a taverna with the white-washed walls and red and white striped tablecloths so ubiquitous to Greek islands. They’d gorged on marinated olives, cheese saganaki and bowls of Horiatiki salad, the Greek version of hearty farmer’s fare with feta, accompanied by fresh pita, tzatziki and a smoky roasted eggplant spread called melitzanosalata. This was followed by platters of grilled lamb chops with roasted potatoes, souvlaki and thick slices of moussaka. For vegetarians, there was gigandes, a stew of giant beans, and bream, a concoction of roasted Mediterranean vegetables. Tasia had enjoyed the glimpse of island life. Sienna had brightened noticeably, restored to her usual effervescent self. The pleasant interlude had been a respite from the investigation, as well as a chance to experience an ancient culture and some gorgeous scenery in convivial company.
By late afternoon, they had returned to the hotel. Armed with a thriller, borrowed from a basket of books for guests in the common area, Tasia had ensconced herself on the balcony to enjoy the panorama, while the sun played hide and seek with the clouds. As she stared out dreamily at the glistening water, a car swung around the curve of the road to stop in the street below. A man alighted from the car to exchange a few words with the driver, before starting up the long array of stairs that provided access to the rooms from the street. Curious, Tasia made for the edge of the balcony to peer down. The driver unfurled his long body from the car, to stretch his broad shoulders with fluid grace. The sun glinted off his tawny hair, turning it golden.
She stared down at him; riveted, as always, by the jumble of contradictory and confusing desires he invoked in her. Silhouetted by the sunlight, he stood alone, a golden-hued giant who made her simultaneously want to run for the hills and into his arms. It had always been so. Reconciling the strong and contrasting emotions he awakened in her had been a long road, but now, Tasia could admit it to herself. Looking back, she could almost trace her inner turmoil to the very moment he’d crashed into a darkened room to pull the Vampire off her. As she brooded silently on the incongruity of it, he cast his eyes up to the house. Almost as if he knew she was there, the gold eyes zeroed in on her. The thought had Tasia’s hand clenching on the balcony wall. From down below, he beckoned her to join him with a muted gesture.
He waited for her at the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve something to show you” he said. “It’s a short drive away.”
She acquiesced, to be ushered into the car. Backing out, he made for the winding road, heading north like Tasia had this morning. He drove for about twenty minutes until they passed a cluster of houses by a taverna with a handful of tables. Parking the car by it, he led her across the winding road to a gravel path that meandered down to the water. Nestled below the gravel path was a tiny pebbly beach. A large rock, flattened on top by the sea, perched by the water, like a natural bench to take in the view. An abandoned house, open to the elements, fronted the beach. The extensive gardens around it were overgrown with a tangle of creepers and weeds. Wildflowers rioted through the tangle, along with a few lemon and mandarin trees.
Tasia’s breath hitched. Pristine and secluded, the little beach was a sight to behold.
“This is beautiful” she breathed.
“I saw a sign on my way this morning” he explained. “A secret retreat, tucked away from the road.”
Apprehension assailed Tasia at his remark, puncturing her delight at the untouched stretch of seashore. On the way from the airport last evening, she’d glimpsed cloistered beaches and tiny coves nestled below the jutting headlands. Had he sensed her hankering with the uncanny ability he seemed to reserve for her, she wondered uneasily? This is what made the decision to follow her heart such a complicated proposition, she reflected forlornly. As if her father’s dire warnings about Chose
n and their ambitions were not enough to deter her.
She glanced uncertainly at the Alpha, but he seemed preoccupied, a furrow between his brows as he stared at the water. It shimmered under the sun, the waves lapping at the pristine beach. With no one else in sight, the gentle sound of waves was only broken by the occasional car on the road above them. The water and the serenity of the tiny strip of pebbles beckoned her. Whether he’d read her or not, the Alpha had taken the trouble to show her this secluded hideaway, Tasia told herself.
Shoving away her unease, Tasia made for the water. Unlike the sweep of fine white sand below their village, pebbles dotted this beach. But much like the village, the water was warmer than anticipated for late January. With the waves licking gently against the shore, she made haste to strip off her shoes and wade into the sea. From the beach, the Shifter watched her silently, making no move to join her.
With the water swirling around her ankles, Tasia lifted her face to the sun, reveling in its warmth. As the rays caressed her face, the uncertainties and questions in her heart melted away, to leave behind jubilation and elation without any shadows to mar them. The horrific nightmares, that left her terrified in the aftermath, had waned. The dread of tackling a Wyr’s torment in a Shifter’s skin was receding. The strange abilities that had her question her sanity no longer troubled her. The Guardian hunting her relentlessly had been neutralized. And, for a few hours a week, her magic was allowed free rein in a sequestered hall at the Lair. She had survived, Tasia rejoiced fiercely, despite the challenging circumstances. More crucially, she’d accomplished it without offering significant concessions or any major compromises. For that, she owed the man, who paved her way, a debt of gratitude. At the very least, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt.
When she relinquished the sea, to perch on the flat rock in her bare damp feet, her heart full, he was still staring at the water, seemingly lost in thought.
She took the bull by the horns. “Why did you bring me here?” she asked him.
“I saw your face last evening” he said absently, distracted by his own musings.
Something in the quality of her silence must have struck him for the gold eyes swung to her. “You doubt me” he stated, with a deliberate lack of inflection in his voice.
Tasia met his gaze squarely, hoping he believed her. “I don’t.”
He studied her, impassive as always. “This ability to read the other goes both ways, witchling. I fucking hate that you sense what I’m thinking and I know it makes you uncomfortable. But it is what it is. I have no explanation for it. Do you?”
Tasia shook her head mutely.
“Then, let’s not second guess each other.” He gestured around him, the gold eyes opaque and unreadable. “I wanted to give this to you. Can we leave it at that?”
“Thank you” Tasia acknowledged softly. “Given our schedule on the island, I didn’t expect to see much of anything, especially something this untouched.”
The cold eyes of the Wyr wandered her face. “That’s more like it” he murmured. “Gratitude, not doubt, witchling.”
Tasia’s lips quivered suspiciously and she hastily averted her gaze, to gesture at the water “It’s warmer than it looks.”
The Alpha grimaced. “Shifters don’t like water.”
The statement took Tasia by surprise. The Vampires avoided the water when possible, but the Wyrs were usually less squeamish. It seeped in that this trip to the beach was solely for her pleasure. As warmth coursed through her, Tasia’s eyes tangled with his. “You are right. I am charmed, and grateful.”
The gold eyes gleamed. “I’m always right, witchling. You should know that by now. But I’m pleased you like the beach.”
Tasia studied him. “You’re preoccupied.”
“ElDarZin’s friend told us something that has me thinking.”
Hope stirred in her. “Something to help trace his daughter?”
He shook his head. “No, it’s about why ElDarZin was drawn to the leeches. I was unaware that there are Ancients who believe their Elders did not go far enough to support the Clan.”
Tasia was not surprised. The gamut of reactions at the original decision had run to both extremes.
Raoul noted her lack of reaction to his comment. “You’re not surprised” he contended, characteristically blunt with her.
Tasia hesitated, reluctant to open this particular can of worms.
“Roman can explain it much better” she suggested tactfully.
He strode to her, to perch on the rock with her. “Durovic has proven himself to me. He’s always willing to answer my questions. But this is a matter that has divided the Ancients over the centuries. Perhaps, even more so than other Chosen, since the First Ones were entrusted to decide the fate of the leeches. In their own way, they’ve rewritten history, so as to cast no aspersions on the original decision by their Elders. As TorElnor’s heir, Durovic is very much a part of the establishment. It compromises his perception of Ancient decisions and choices, to an extent. You, on the other hand, are an outsider. I’d trust your take on this more than his.”
Tasia said nothing.
The gold eyes bore into her. “Once, when we were strangers, I asked you about Spell Caster history. You told me about the First Wizard’s nomination and Lady Bethesda’s subsequent flouting of their norms. I’ve heard many versions of the events since, but yours was the least varnished and the best assessment of what really went down. Everyone else who told me the story colored it with their perception of the truth.”
I was not biased about Lady Bethesda, but I am about this.
Tasia wanted to say it aloud but reined herself in with an effort. If the past ever caught up to her, she would not put the Pack in the middle of a war.
“I must understand this to piece together the past, witchling” he urged her, as she remained silent. “Monseigneur stands at the nexus of both Lady Bethesda and ElDarZin. In her case, it is an alliance with a like-minded Magick to further her ambitions, but from what I hear about him, ElDarZin’s motivations are more complicated.”
It wasn’t just the investigation that concerned him, but Raoul didn’t share that with her. The witchling’s past was irrevocably entangled with the powerful Lombardi Master. Her mother had been the leech’s prisoner as well as intended, and her father had double-crossed the Lombardis. Monseigneur was not known to forgive or forget. The threat to her had never been greater, her potent magic against leeches notwithstanding. As more revelations about the past pointed their investigation towards the Lombardi leeches, he must make sure the witchling’s cover remained ironclad.
Tasia kept her eyes firmly averted and he employed a different tactic. “I could ask Faoladh. He’d be less biased than Durovic. But this pertains to the Blood Mages. I’m sure your father made you familiar with their history, witchling.”
This time, he got a reaction out of her.
Heart beating uncomfortably fast, Tasia turned to him. “What makes you say that?”
The gold eyes held her until Tasia felt she was drowning in their depths.
“You’re a Blood Elemental from your mother’ he said quietly.
Tasia wrenched her eyes away from his perceptive gaze. “How did you know?” she whispered. She’d revealed little about her First Ones heritage to him, just enough to keep him from being blindsided by the Clan. His formidable intellect had filled in the blanks, to arrive at the right conclusion. The dominoes were starting to fall. Tasia wondered whether this was a portent of the future. Her legacy from the First Ones went to the heart of everything that prevented her from pursuing any relationship with a Chosen.
“When Durovic talked about Blood Elemental powers, it struck me that the effect of your blood on leeches fits the magic” he answered. “You told me it was a legacy from an Eru mother.”
“Also, your ability to gauge the inherent magic in Chosen is uniquely Blood Mage” he amended.
Struck speechless, Tasia didn’t know how to react. She could not refute
any of his assertions.
His brows drew together at her silence. “Shall I give you my word again, witchling?” he professed, a note of puzzlement in his voice.
She shook her head. “I know my secret is safe with you.”
The Alpha was not what worried her. Tasia had always known that their examination of the past would uncover more than just one unscrupulous Guardian. Given the Chosen’s long and bloody history, it was likely more buried secrets would come to light. But she had not expected the investigation to rattle her skeletons or come dangerously close to breaching her cover. Somedays, she marveled at the improbable coincidences. How ironic it would be if the Shifters and their Alpha proved to be both her salvation as well as her downfall.
Unsure what her expressive eyes might reveal to him, Tasia kept her gaze on the water. She must distract him from going down this path. He could be relentless when he wanted something. She had ample experience of it.
Raoul studied her, his gaze searching. This had puzzled him, since the day in the Pack Room when he’d pieced together what she was. Why did the witchling not claim her rightful place as a Blood Elemental, he wondered? They were powerful Ancients who could guarantee her safety from other Chosen. Yet, much like him, she chose to deny her heritage. Even when he gave her an opening to talk about it, her silence was evocative. He mulled over what he knew of the Ancient mother — her mystifying imprisonment at the leeches’ hands, Monseigneur’s desire to take her as his bride, the betrayal by her family and the perilous elopement with a Guardian even as the baying Clan chased after them.