by Petra Landon
At this, he abandoned his post, to saunter towards her, drawn into the silvery mist cast by the illusory moon she’d conjured up for him. Tasia leaned back to look up at him as he loomed over her. Enveloped by light, the Alpha glowed against the background of the darkened rainforest. For an instant, he appeared surreal, like a figment of her imagination that might vanish in the blink of an eye, to leave her alone in a hostile milieu. In that moment, Tasia’s subconscious reminded her conscious self of what she had known for a while. When she decided to follow her heart, despite the canons laid down for her, there could be no ambiguity or half measures. He must be told the truth about the past and what lurked in her. She owed it to him to warn him of the danger he courted by pursuing a relationship with her, irrespective of how much of her dormant powers might apply to a Wyr.
“I would never sell your Spell Caster powers short, witchling” he remarked. “But few Wizards could conjure up something like this.”
“Illusions are my strong point when it comes to Wizard magic” Tasia acknowledged, unable in good conscience to refute his point.
His lips quirked in response. “I remember. You used a mirage to scare away the rogue Shifters, in the alley by your apartment in San Francisco.”
Tasia was surprised. She had not expected him to remember that. It seemed a long time ago, though it had only been a few months. Those mercenaries had intended to wipe away the last tie to their assault on Hawk in Pack territory.
“I remember everything about you” he said softly.
Crouching down gracefully, he knelt to face her. “But I didn’t realize that you have weaknesses when it comes to magic, witchling?” His voice was both amused and skeptical.
She met his eyes, more candid than she intended to be. “My healing powers could be better.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You forget that I’ve seen you heal.”
“That comes from my First Ones heritage.” It was a subtle distinction but Tasia knew the cost of it. Wizard healing allowed a Magick to heal others, whereas the other kind was inherent to a Chosen and enabled his own immortality.
Raoul was a little puzzled by her comment. “Does it matter where the power comes from?” he asked.
It does. I’d have given anything to gift my father a few more months, but despite all the magic in me, I could do nothing.
But Tasia remained silent. She wasn’t ready to open up about this yet.
“I know that you have phenomenal healing powers” she proclaimed.
“From my Wyr side” he countered, echoing her words.
“No” she reminded him. “You said you used your Wizard magic on me at the San Francisco Nest. If you did seal my wound, you have a lot of Spell Caster healing in you.”
“If?” he repeated, his eyes glinting. “I saved your …”
His words petered out as he stiffened, his nostrils flaring, unable to believe what they were telling him.
“Goddamn it” he vented aloud, his irritation clear. “What am I running here — an investigation or a matchmaking service?”
Immensely entertained, Tasia let out a giggle before she could stifle it.
“You laugh, witchling” he retorted. “But tonight, I merely want a break from everything.” Raoul shook his head, outraged that he was to be interrupted yet again.
Having noted how much he basked in the largess of the Wyr Goddess of lore, Tasia understood his frustration. She could even sympathize with him. Sometimes, Tasia too wished for a moment of peace, free from the scrutiny of the others so she might relax her constant vigilance.
All you want tonight is to run free in the rainforest and frolic in the moonlight.
The gold eyes entangled with her. “And you” he said baldly, characteristically blunt as always.
What she glimpsed in the gold-colored eyes, under the wispy light of the illusory moon, had Tasia’s heart quicken its beat. But for once, she did not deny her own feelings. The forest, the moonlight and the Alpha in a mellow mood sounded perfect to her — a small interlude stolen from time, where she had no life-and-death decision to make.
As a charged silence blanketed them, Tasia made a tacit admission about something she had not yet acknowledged openly to him.
“Maybe, they’ll pass us by” she submitted hopefully.
“Maybe” he echoed, pleased by the small concession.
Raoul glanced at the moon above him, clear and gleaming. Illusion or not, with her attention to details, it seemed absolutely real to him. He felt elated. The witchling had given him the perfect gift. He knew how jealously she guarded anything to do with her magic. Her secrets were intrinsically entangled with her powers. It’s what, he suspected, prompted her to hesitate at his overtures. Thus, this exhilarated him, especially since the gift of magic had been offered freely, without any persuasion or cajoling from him.
Tasia watched him assess the chimera she had summoned for him.
“You like it?” she asked.
“Very much.”
“It’s a Tasia special, concocted only for you.” She tried to say it lightly but her words came out as a whisper.
This time, her admission served to push their pent up feelings into the open. The rainforest and everything else seemed to recede into the background as the insane attraction between them took center stage. It charged the very air between them, to leave them both wanting. For a change, it was the Alpha who put a stop to it.
“Don’t risk it” he said quietly. Given her secretive and complicated Ancient heritage, Raoul thought it prudent to not take chances with Durovic. TorElnor’s heir must never suspect that the witchling was not who she purported to be.
Tasia took a second to allow her heart to slow down. She sighed inwardly, wishing she could give him this for a little longer. It was the work of a minute to dismantle the illusion, where it had taken a lot of magic and skill to build it. The interlopers might be upon them soon, though she hoped that Nandini and Roman would skirt them, no doubt engrossed in the argument that had been brewing since their visit to the blackened ruins left behind by the explosion.
“Next time, I’m taking you deeper into the forest, where any wandering love birds are less likely to intrude” the Alpha remarked, as the mirage flickered away to screen the moon from him once more.
Tasia blinked. “It’s Nandini and Roman” she reminded him, puzzled by the Alpha confusing them for a couple.
He cocked his head to study her. “She’s harder to read, I agree, but Durovic wants her. It frustrates him that he messed it up the first time they met.”
Tasia goggled at him, flabbergasted by his take on the two Ancients.
“What? He’s crazy about her.” Raoul did not hide the amusement in his voice.
Tasia tried to wrap her head around it. “I guess that means Roman’s going to be disappointed” she said slowly.
The Alpha surprised her yet again. “If he allows himself to relax around her, Nandini might find they’re not that different after all.”
Tasia sobered at his words. She was careful to keep her distance from Roman Durovic, always conscious that he was heir to TorElnor. But Nandini was different. Ever since their shared ordeal in Oregon, there had been a tentative but burgeoning bond between them.
“They’re moving away” he murmured, just as Tasia sensed the two Ancients start to skirt them.
Tasia, astounded at his reading of Nandini and Roman, made an observation. “They worry you.” She’d taken note of it, despite his habitual poker face.
He did not deny it. “I’d ignore it if the constant dissonance didn’t jeopardize the mission.”
Raoul paused. “Then, I remember Portland. When it came down to it, they made the right calls, without letting their personal feelings get in the way.”
“Do you think Roman will succeed in getting answers from the resort?” she asked him, wondering whether they were likely to uncover the identity of the Archmage. If they knew what he was, perhaps this sense of dread would dissipate.
&nbs
p; “Yes.”
His confidence surprised her. He must have sensed it, for he expanded further.
“TorElnor did not choose his heir lightly, witchling. It is unusual for one so young, in Chosen years, to be picked to succeed such a powerful leader. Roman Durovic is not to be underestimated. If he says he can get us the information, he will.”
That was something at least, Tasia reflected.
It was his turn to make an observation. “The Deadly worries you.”
Right, read me. Why don’t you?
But she owed him the answer to this question, Tasia knew. He led them on this journey. He could not make informed decisions, unless he was aware of all the bits that made up the puzzle.
“The magic he commands ….” Tasia’s voice trailed off.
He shrugged it away. “Raw power is not enough, witchling. Never will be. It gives him an advantage alright, but nothing we can’t negate if we are smart.”
In her heart, Tasia knew that he was right. And yet, somehow, she couldn’t shake it off.
“Now that you’ve agreed to use all the magic at your disposal” she quipped, trying to banish away her dark thoughts. “I’d say we are working smartly.”
Tasia had expected him to counter with a riposte, like he usually did, but instead, he surprised her by springing to his feet.
“No time like the present. Teach away, witchling” he directed.
“Huh?”
“Show me how to use my Spell Caster powers” he repeated.
Tasia glanced around them in bemusement. “Now?”
“What better time or arena than here and now.”
Tasia stood up, to follow him to the clearing beyond, free of tree cover. Here, the moon was bright and the ground flooded by light.
“What now, witchling? What is the easiest spell to master?”
It was Tasia’s turn to be amused. “None you’d have the patience for” she retorted.
His eyebrow arched, the gold eyes glinting. “I can be a very patient man” he said softly.
Yes, Tasia mused, he was proving to be surprisingly patient with her. A quality she had not associated with the ‘only answer I want when I say jump is how high’ Alpha Protector.
“The spells to be mastered in an evening are the simple ones that befit the magic of an L1 or L2” she explained. “You’d have little use for those.”
Raoul grasped the subtext of her remark. Given his Wyr capabilities, the only magic worth the trouble for him to master was that commanded by Wizards with more power.
“Spell Caster magic is divided into four broad categories — offensive, defensive, healing and illusion. Healing is intrinsic, so that leaves the other three” he mused aloud. Limited his experience of Spell Caster magic might be, but he knew the basics.
“A good illusion is tough magic, with complicated spells” Tasia pointed out.
Raoul agreed with her. The witchling had just demonstrated a masterpiece of chimera magic to him, one he was sure had taken plenty of power, experience and skill to create and hold.
“If it boils down to defensive or offensive, I choose the later” he interjected. It was in his nature to fight an aggressively offensive battle than to play it safe with a defensive strategy.
Having expected the Alpha to pick the option, Tasia smiled. “You’re in luck, for good defensive Wizard magic cannot be done without mastering spells either. However, generating a raw blast of magic requires no spell.”
His brows drew together. “The kind you throw at me during our training sessions?”
She nodded. “A blast is simple, effective and needs no spell to power it. It can also be dialed up or down, to suit the occasion, once you learn to control your magic.”
“So, any Wizard can do it, even an untrained one?” he asked.
“In theory, yes. But only one with enough magic can give it some teeth.”
Now, he understood what she was getting at. “You believe I can produce a magic blast with some zing to it?”
Tasia did not hesitate. “I’m confident you possess the magic.”
“I’m game” Raoul said. “What’s the target?”
“No target. To begin with, you must learn to generate a blast of concentrated magic.”
Tasia thought back to the early days when her father had taught her to project and control the raw bursts of power. It was so long ago that she barely remembered those initial steps in her training.
He waited patiently, while Tasia cogitated on how to initiate his first attempt at Wizard magic. Eventually, the answer came to her.
“Close your eyes and take a moment to feel the magic coursing through your veins” she suggested.
The tawny head shot to her, to study her with an incredulous expression.
“What?” he bit out, in the whisper-soft voice he’d once used to great effect to petrify her.
Tasia felt a spurt of laughter bubble up in her. Though she did not give in to it, she could not resist from teasing him a little. “It’s kinda like how you start a yoga session.”
The gold eyes narrowed on her, his expression forbidding.
Tasia threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t tell me you haven’t tried a yoga class yet? And you claim to be from San Francisco!”
Raoul’s lips twitched, but he tamped down on his untimely mirth. Two could play this game. “I could still change my mind about Spell Caster magic” he reminded her.
As he’d known it would, his bluff clinched the argument.
“I’m serious” Tasia assured him earnestly. “It is similar to yoga. You have to clear your mind of all distractions, search deep to find the magic, call upon it and project it. It’s mostly practice, with little skill involved.”
“I’m a Shifter” he retorted. “I know how to summon the magic in me.”
But it was much harder than Raoul had anticipated. He wasn’t sure whether it was a consequence of the two very different brands of magic he’d inherited, but calling forth his Spell Caster power proved a difficult endeavor.
Tasia offered to show him, hoping a demonstration would make it easier. To her, picking from the various strains of magic in her kitty came naturally, but she couldn’t remember if that had been the case when she was first starting out, or whether the years of training had made it easier to do so.
Raoul watched as a glowing blob materialized before them. Dense and spherical in shape, it was tiny enough to fit in his palm. In the moonlight, it seemed to sizzle angrily, with little sparks that bounced off the ball of white fire.
He glanced at her. She was relaxed, her eyes on the ball of magic. She made it seem effortless and easy, but he knew that her control of it was magnificent.
“Like I said, it’s practice, not magic” Tasia attested cheekily.
As he observed the glowing blob hover in the air, it struck him that, in all the times in the training hall, he’d only ever seen sparks from her magic once — when she’d lost control of it.
“I never see your magic this clearly when we train” he remarked, curious about it.
Her eyes skittered away from him. For a moment, she was silent, her eyes on the ball of fire. “Wizard power within the Magic Level Scale is invisible” she said quietly.
Raoul did a silent double take. The witchling was projecting more power than the GCW could measure. Much more. Like the logarithmic Richter scale to measure seismic activity, the Magic Level system was graduated exponentially. For the second time that night, he was awed — not by the magic in her, for that was an accident of birth, but by her skill and control of it. Despite her nonchalance, he knew that such artistry over power did not come without extraordinary discipline, dedication and application. The forest was his domain, yet she was in her element; her eyes shone, the quiet joy in her palpable. She was like him — a Magick who could not give free rein to that which made her a Chosen. Compelled to live under strict edicts that forced her to hide her magic and conceal her true heritage, the witchling must engage in a ceaseless struggle to
suppress her identity and soul. Once, in the early days at the Lair, she’d hinted at this.
“A Chosen whose magic is shackled is one without an identity. A Si’ffa’s lot is much better.”
The comment had been about Lady Bethesda choosing to survive by temporarily sacrificing her powers. But now, Raoul found himself mulling over this statement from another perspective. If he was forced to walk away from his Wyr heritage, it would be like losing his anchor, his purpose in life … everything that made him who he was. Had he not suffered through unimaginable horror for ten long months rather than give in to the blue-eyed witch? In his heart, surrendering to her had been akin to relinquishing his heritage, for a Shifter without control over his beotan was no Wyr. He was just a beast to be put down mercilessly by his peers. It was to the witchling’s credit that she had not allowed her circumstances or the confines forced on her to deter her. Her plight scratched at his scabs, reminding him of what had been inflicted upon him.
Tasia cast a sidelong glance at the Alpha. His eyes were on the sphere of magic that sizzled and flashed in the moonlight. She allowed the blob to rise towards the sky, before it burst over their heads, to scatter like a thousand stars under the moonlit heavens. The potent magic twinkled and sizzled all around them, enclosing the two in a cocoon of power.
“Under normal circumstances, this would be the preamble to a magic bubble — the kind I struggle to build during our training sessions” Tasia said drolly, a whimsical note in her voice. “But tonight, I have you for any wandering predators. An armor would be overkill.”
She waved her hand at the cascading sparks that lit up the forest, haloing the two Chosen that fate had brought together. “Thus, this is merely a colorful firework.”
The gold eyes shot to her, glittering amidst the sparks. “I feel it, witchling” he stated.
Tasia’s brow shot up, confused by the avowal.
“I feel the magic surging around me” he asserted, an underlying excitement in him. “This must be how you see power with your sixth sense.”
Tasia gaped at him, letting go of her command over the magic. The sparkling fireworks around them collapsed in the blink of an eye, to leave the clearing lit only by the moon. “How?” she stuttered.