by Dee Garcia
Might as well rip it off like a bandage, right?
"The sirens had a hand in helping Peter cross the portal,” I start, noting almost immediately how she tenses. “They coerced him into murdering one of the Sacred Six under the pretense that would serve as his ‘sacrifice’ to access the portal—which is complete bullshit because a sacrifice isn’t needed. Then they abducted Persia’s young daughter, N’Isabelle, and kept her hidden within the cavern in a deep slumber. The most brainless part of it all? Their leader, Marlena, went running to Hook for assistance, knowing they’d wind up dead once Persia came back from overseas to reclaim her child.”
Wendy’s gone wide-eyed—as expected—her mouth slightly ajar as I give a little nod.
“The end result? Got themselves locked up with a boundary spell much like the Fae are in the Hollow."
"The Fae…” she muses, eyebrows fixed pensively. “Why have I heard that before?"
"Half of Tinksley's DNA. Half of Peter’s as well."
"That's right.” Her dark head bounces as it all comes back to her. “Then why did he seem so alarmed when she mentioned it?"
"Because halflings must trigger their Fae side, and to trigger it—"
"They must do something unthinkable."
"Pretty much," I concur. “But really it has more to do with their emotions. All it takes is one time for them to lose control, to give into that rage swimming in their veins, and that’s it. From what I know, a violent act doesn’t necessarily have to precede it.”
"Is that how it works for wolves, too?" she questions, shoving Peter and the Fae aside without care.
"No, thankfully. All wolves make the first shift on their twenty-third year. It's inevitable."
"How does someone know if they are?”
"There’s certain signs to look out for. Usually a shifter will start showing an increased temperament around eighteen or so. Sporadic at first, then more frequent and prominent as the time approaches, along with sense of smell, vision changes, etcetera."
Wendy reaches for my hand then, gently tracing the lines in my calloused palm. "Does it hurt?"
“Shifting or the callouses?” I chuckle, knowing damn well what she means.
“Shifting.” She laughs, too.
"The first few times, yes.” I could shudder just remembering it. “You can feel every bone in your body cracking in multiple places as you prepare to shift from human to beast. It gets better, though. Happens so fast now I don’t even feel my clothes ripping to shreds."
She squirms at the mention of ripped clothing but seems to recover rather quickly, clearing her throat. "I've realized you can pretty much do it whenever, too. The lores I've been told all say you need a full moon."
"Yeah, no, not at all.” These mortals and their stories. “The moon affects our disposition, but we can shift as often or as little as we please."
“Interesting.” She peeks up at me beneath her lashes. "One more question and I swear I'll shut my trap."
Don’t you dare. "Ask as many questions as you'd like, little wolf. We’ve got nothing but time."
A ballsy implication, but she doesn’t deny it.
"When your dad said you nearly slaughtered Hook's men, what did he mean by that? Was that a moon thing?"
"Yes and no,” I sigh. “The moon was out, fueling my rage, but that rage came as a result of their disrespect. My people often celebrate our ancestors on full moons. They congregate on the reservation—where I took you that first night—and the vampires were trampling around there that night. Almost the whole lot of them were intoxicated. They were littering, causing a hoot. I asked them in the nicest way possible, and on more than one occasion, to please leave, but they refused to listen, mocked me to hell and back. So I shifted out of impulse and ran them off. Mauled the fuck out of a few, too."
Wendy inhales a sharp breath. "Is your bite lethal?"
"To them? Yes. But, of course, they've found a cure for that, so after a day or two, the leeches I brought down were right back on their feet." I can feel the way my lip curls simply voicing it aloud. There’s nothing more frustrating than having the power to take someone down, only to have that power stripped away by a source that shouldn’t exist.
Pa says it’s called balance. I call it bullshit.
"I’m assuming that's why Hook took your sister?”
"Yeah, 'cause her dumb ass volunteered." My eyes roll in a perfect circle. Fucking Tigerlily and her valiant crusades.
"But your dad said he would've killed you otherwise?"
"Ehhh, I don’t know about all that to be honest. That’s coming from a man who claims Hook respects him. If the leech values him as much as he believes to be true, the worst he would've done is keep me down there where they had you. Maybe rough me up a bit."
"You're right. Executing the Chief's son when his men were out of line doesn’t seem like it’d blow over well."
“Exactly. Not to mention he agreed to keep them off our land during full moons out of respect. So he’s either full of shit and let them roam, or they went against his rule.”
"Considering what I’ve learned about them in my time here, I’m going to go with the latter. Hook isn’t my favorite person, not by any means, but he was far kinder to me than the rest. Never laid a finger on me. Armand, however—"
"Wendy?" Persia’s voice interjects. "All done."
Except we’re not done because my brain is still stuck on one very alarming fact. Armand. That motherfucker is the worst one of them all.
I watch in what feels like slow motion as Wendy rises to her feet to claim the small satchel Persia’s offering.
What. Did. That. Bastard. Do. To. Her?
"There's seven jars in there. Warm up one nightly and consume it in entirety.” The witch’s instructions break through my inner-turmoil, snapping my eyes up to their interaction. “If you can record in the mornings whether or not you experienced another episode, that would be extremely helpful and could increase our chances of finding pairings and ingredients that work faster."
"I can do that." Wendy nods, hugging the satchel to her chest. "So what do we do once I’ve drank them all? Come back in a week?"
Persia nods. "If you find that this works well for you, we can prepare more and slowly start reducing your intake until you’re sleeping soundly without it."
Armand aside, the question is: will she ever sleep soundly without them again? I want to trust Persia, but something about her aura doesn’t feel genuine to me. I’m not sure why, either, because if there were ever a witch to trust, it’s her—but there’s a hitch in her vibe.
She did say she hasn’t been feeling very well.
She also said illness can dampen magic, so if that’s the case, what does that say about these teas? Will they work? Are they nothing more than a placebo type of thing?
I don’t want Wendy to go through that. I’ve said it at least a dozen times before and I’ll say it a million times more: She’s. Been. Through. Enough.
And when I find out what that asshole did to her, he’s going to regret his whole entire life.
♫ Read Your Mind - Avant ♫
Tavi and I leave the Sanctuary in silence. Like most treks through the island, my hand is lodged firmly in his grip—something I’ve grown to love—but he hasn’t said a word.
And I think I know why.
From the moment I so much as mentioned Armand, I felt the shift in his demeanor. The way he tensed and almost zoned out on me, lost in his own head. The first thought that comes to mind is: Was Armand one of the vampires he assaulted all those nights ago?
I want to ask, but fear rekindling the topic might not be the smartest decision.
Not if it’s going to work him up.
“Think I’m stupid to be hopeful of these teas?” I question instead, peering up at his hard-pressed profile.
Tavi gives a little nod, dropping a much softer gaze on my form. “Of all the witches to trust, Persia’s your best bet. She’s a good egg.”
“She doesn’t seem to like me very much, though. Should I be worried that might compromise the integrity of her concoction?”
“That’s all conditioning, little wolf. These people, no matter who they are, hear Peter Pan and immediately the walls go up.”
“And I’m connected to him,” I sigh, prompting him to give another nod as he adjusts the satchel slung over his shoulder.
“Unfortunately.”
“Can’t they just link me with you? I mean, the only times they’ve ever seen me are with you.”
“I told you”—he chuckles—“Word spreads quickly around here and he’s still too fresh a fixture for them to realize that you’re not like him, or a product of him I should say.”
The place I immediately go to upon him uttering those words leaves me shaking my head at myself. “I’m such a bad person.”
He jerks back palpably, and it’s not because he’s holding my hand. He almost flies back. “Why on earth would you ever think that?”
“Because you said a ‘product of him’ and the first thing I thought was, I’m so glad I miscarried that baby.”
I’m going to hell, I know.
“I don’t think that makes you a bad person. I think it makes you honest. Besides, you’re completely justified. Who could blame you for feeling this way?”
“You don’t know my people.” I scoff an acrid laugh. “They fight for women’s rights, yet many crucify the same women for not wanting to bring a child into the world. Even the ones who hadn’t a say in the matter of how that baby was made, or those who truly just aren’t ready. A woman’s body is her choice and people often forget that. They shun you when you don’t conform to the norm—the expected.”
Tavi hums in correspondence. “Objectivity is crucial in life. If they can’t understand or view a situation without bias, they shouldn’t be weighing in on anything to begin with. That’s why, if you noticed, my tone was a bit harsher with Persia. I’m disappointed that she’d let my father’s views cloud her better judgement. She really is a good egg.”
“I can tell. She was much sweeter toward the end. Hopefully she realized I’m not Peter nor will I ever be like him. I guess all we can do is hope these teas work.”
“They should,” he squeezes my hand reassuringly, “Persia and the witches are always spot on. The only thing that worries me is her claiming to feel unwell and how that affects her magic.”
“That’s right.” I had completely forgotten she said as much. “She mentioned telling you that last night, too. I’m assuming this happened after you dropped me off at the house? What happened?”
Tavi makes his way down a steeper hill, then helps me down as well before releasing a small sigh. “Last time the boys howled for me like that was the night the vampires were trampling around on the reservation. I thought they’d come back for more with Hook in tow which is why I took off so fast.”
“Because of me?”
“That’s what I assumed, yes. But when I caught up with them, they were in the Sanctuary with two very mangled and very bloodied Fae bodies strewn at the witches feet. Evidently, they’d somehow gotten out of the Hollow and were wandering the island in search of sustenance.”
“The Fae were wandering? Didn’t you say the Hollow is contained within a boundary spell?”
“Precisely why I said ‘had somehow gotten out.’ But wait, that’s not all, it gets better.”
How much “better” could this possibly get?
“Go on,” I insist.
“We must have left before it started, but the Sirens could be heard for short periods of time throughout the night, and as I mentioned at the Sanctuary, those water cannibals have the exact same spell cast upon their Cove. These last few weeks, their cries have gone unheard beneath that ‘dome’, so for them to break through on the same night two Fae break free, what does that tell you?”
My eyes bulge. “The spells are glitching.”
“Yup.”
“So what does that mean? What happens now?”
Tavi hitches a shoulder, peering at me from the corner of his eye. “The witches fixed it. Used remains of the Fae’s corpses to reseal the Hollow and fed off the energy from the Sirens’ melody to drown them out once more.”
“Will that actually work?”
That sounds like too easy of a solution for something I’m perceiving as a bigger problem. But what the hell do I know? I’m not a witch.
“Who knows.” He shrugs off that reply, too. “Seemed to do the trick for now. Only time will tell.”
Kind of like Persia’s teas. I hate to be cynical, but with her boundary spells collapsing, who’s to say her magic is up to par for anything else?
That’s what I’m mulling over when small peeks of what looks like water cutting through the greenery on our left catches my eye. My entire being seems to buzz at the sight of it, shifting my focus away from Persia and the teas and everything else.
“Is that Lost Lake?” I don’t know why I’m so excited or why I hadn’t noticed it on any of our other walks through these parts. I mean, we’ve been through here how many times now?
“It is.” Tavi chortles. He knows how much I like sightseeing. “Detour?”
“Please. I want to see it in daylight.” I grin.
He flashes me a grin in return and swings the satchel around his neck, allowing it to drape over his chest as he crouches just slightly. “C’mon.”
“C’mon what?” I’m arching a brow at him.
Tavi rolls his eyes playfully and tips his head backward. “Hop on.”
Hop on—as in on his back.
“Are you serious right now?” He can’t be.
“Very.” His grin widens.
“You’re not carrying me. I can walk.” Why does he always think I can’t?
“But my strides are far bigger. We’ll get there faster,” he explains, crouching lower.
Cocking my head aside, I cross my arms, lips curling jovially. “Is there somewhere you need to be?”
“Yeah,” he points up to the sky, “in the house before it starts pouring.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t like getting a little wet?” I quip, and much like the strawberry comment with Soren, I realize a minute too late how that question only adds fuel to the fire.
I’m doomed.
So doomed.
Tavi rises to full height, flashing me that knee-weakening, devious smile as he closes the small distance between us and breaks into my bubble. “Oh no, I love getting wet,” he purrs, “but I’m hungry.”
My heart slams against my chest at his choice of a reply, throat jouncing as I murmur, “You’re always hungry.”
He doesn’t deny it, nodding surely as he leans in closer still. He’s so close I can feel his lips ghosting along my cheek. “I’m a growing boy, little wolf. Need to keep strength and stamina up at all times. Now c’mon.”
I don’t protest this time, but that’s probably because I can’t. I’m tongue-tied, far too fixated on “strength” and “stamina” and what images those words trigger to form a proper rebuttal, which I’m sure was his intention all along.
The man isn’t brainless. He knows what he does to me, just like I know what I do to him.
We’re a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
Feels like that might happen right now with the way his grip on my thighs sends ripples of heat shooting to my core the moment I latch onto him. I literally have to breathe through it, nails digging into my arms as I lock them around his neck.
Such torment doesn’t stop there, though.
Of course it doesn’t.
His strides have me digging my nails in deeper still as we near the lake, the friction of his back rubbing against my semi-exposed center more than I can handle. Thanks to my short dress now pooled around my hips, my clit is on fire, I swear.
By the time he sets me down at the start of the dock, my legs feel like jello.
At least I didn’t come, I think to myself. I’d be mortified if I had.
“It—um…” I clear my throat, pulling in another cleansing breath. “It looks so different during the day. I hadn’t realized the entire perimeter was surrounded by trees.”
“Another reason for its namesake.” He’s chuckling away and I’m almost certain it has nothing to do with my commentary. “Come.”
I see his proffered hand, know exactly what he means, and yet my mind is stuck in the gutter. I nearly groan aloud at my increasingly demanding libido. What the hell is wrong with me?
Don’t wolves give off pheromones?
Sliding my palm in his, we trail down the length of the dock to the very end. The sky has closed up significantly, dark, stormy clouds gathered overhead. There’s a wind picking up, too, but nothing alarming, just a gentle reminder a storm is about to roll through.
“Lil and I used to swim in here all the time as kids,” Tavi comments beside me.
“I’ve not swam in a lake. At least not that I can remember. Shows you how different our childhoods were.”
Different isn’t even enough of a word, really.
“Next time it’s sunny, I’ll bring you. I actually haven’t gone swimming in a long while.”
“Or we can go swimming now.” I push him off the dock in nothing but sheer thoughtless impulse.
His wave of a splash pelts droplets on my skin, luring a squeal free as my shoulders shoot up to my ears. Seconds later, he comes up for air, a thunderous laugh following his gasp as he wades over and sets the satchel on the dock. “You’re so in for it,” he warns playfully.
But I’m jumping in before he can grab my ankles, plugging my nose between my fingers.
Cold water welcomes me beneath the surface—a lot colder than I was expecting—firing me upwards with a brisk push of my feet. I’m gasping much like he did, filling my lungs with precious air, when I feel the first few droplets falling overhead. Takes nothing more than another minute before it really starts coming down, and I mean really.
It rains a lot in London, but I’ve never been caught in a downpour like this, a veil of thick, heavy droplets battering the top of my head. Thunder rolls somewhere in the distance, shooting another squeal forth from deep within my throat. I try wading toward the shore, but it’s useless. I can’t see a thing, my eyes clamping shut of their own accord to block out the deluge.