Shifters After Dark Box Set

by S M Reine et al.

  God forgive me, at that moment I understood what about her had cozened Pel so, saw the mortal danger he could well face were he to stay near. With no regard save for Pel’s soul, I threw myself at him, wrapped an arm about his chest and hauled him clear.

  In thanks, he twisted from my grip, balled his fist, and struck me. More shocked than hurt, I watched as he threw himself upon the ground before his doom. When he reached out a trembling hand, the same that he had hit me with not a moment before, and laid it on the shoulder of the hound-that-was-not-a-hound, I knew my brother was lost.

  And when the thing that was not a hound turned its gaze on me, I knew I was as lost as he.

  10. Brinn

  The fair-haired man who dared to touch me had more warrior’s courage—or maybe it was a fool’s heart—than I had first credited. Or so I thought, till he fell groundward, locked in pain. On the outside he was unmarked. But within—ah, within he’d felt the touch of magic. He was a sensitive, as close to having magic without wielding it as any mortal man was like to get. Magic ran through him, teased at his senses, hummed along his nerves. It touched off fire within his soul. But he could do nothing with it. Not use it; not dissipate it. And so it consumed him from within. His was a life destined to be short, even by mortal years.

  If my own magic had not been chained, I might have felt pity. Circumstances being as they were, I watched the one called Alain struggle with whether to keep me under his eye or tend his brother.

  Blood won out.

  “God’s wounds, boy! Did she witch you?”

  It was touching, after a fashion, to see Alain’s concern as he knelt beside his brother searching for marks he’d never find.

  Pel shook his head carefully, and just the once. “Maybe?”

  Maybe was enough. Alain swept to his feet, placing mortal flesh solidly if futilely between his brother and me. I could admire him for that. In fact, I could admire much about this princeling knight. But as with all men he knew but one argument, one course of action to make wrongs right. He drew steel and angled the blade to point at my collared throat. “Release him!”

  I had to skill myself not to smile. Save for the steel poised like death between us, this man owned nothing that could tame me to his command. Or so I believed, even as I faced him, wounded, naked, and soul-chained to this mortal’s world.

  I, of course, had never been so wrong.

  “You have it counter to truth,” I said. “It is not him who’s bound to me.” I might have explained more had not the shock of wound and shift and binding caught up with me just then. The ground swayed and I collapsed, bound fast by the touch of iron, the press of mortal flesh and the taste of bread still upon my tongue.

  I cursed my foolishness at having accepted their food even as the princes fell to their knees at my side. Then I would have laughed had I been stronger to see the deference Alain now paid the fae that he had not shown the hound. He and Pel had both been kind enough with the hound certainly—I could not fault them there. But they had also been familiar and free with it in their ministrations.

  Now, to examine the wound they thought was the thing that made me weak, they faced a new obstacle. A prominence of milky flesh tipped with a rose-dusk bud that rose over the fast-healing wound high in my side. I felt their hesitation acutely as their gazes traveled from the lift of my breast over the curve of my waist and across the rise of my hip to the thigh that lay crossed over the dark portal for which men hungered.

  “If you wish to help, then give me room to breathe.” The weakness that had come over me had been acute but fleeting. Already I felt stronger—and not inclined to suffer their stares any longer.

  A shudder rippled through Alain. As though waking from a trancement he lifted his eyes to mine. “You are breathtaking,” he whispered. “What are you?”

  “Wounded. Lost. Alone.”

  “I didn’t mean—”

  “You wanted the answer important to you. I gave you the answer important to me.” Only I had not spoken the word that tore most at me now. The word that defined me more than any other but my true name.

  “Bound,” I whispered. Last week, it could have meant happiness at the thought of being handfasted to Edern, promised to spend the rest of our days together, mated in heart and flesh.

  Today, though, the world held only darkness and death. An ugly shadow of the beauty that word might have conjured before I fell and Edern abandoned me.

  Abandoned. I turned the word over in my mind, trying to assess its fairness. Edern had followed his father away. Would I have done the same? I closed my eyes and tried to capture the bone-deep, heart-rending love for Edern that would cry, “No!”

  I came up short.

  I loved Edern, and he me. But with the comfortable love of familiarity, not the love of legends.

  “Bound?” Alain echoed. He pointed to the torque still around my neck. “By that you mean?”

  “You are a child if you think that.” Of course I was bound by the torque but it was not the thing that bound me.

  “By … us.” It was not a question that Pel spoke. There was wonder in the younger man’s tone. I glanced sharply at him, saw him struggling for the underlying truth that eluded him yet.

  But not for long.

  “Yes,” I said. “By you.” It was surprising how easy it was to give away truth to those who could not recognize it.

  Pel’s brow furrowed, knowing intuitively he was missing something, earnest to discover it.

  “We won’t hurt you,” Alain assured me, even as his gaze dropped from the torque at my neck to furtively wander the wonders below.

  “Do not make vows you cannot keep,” I snapped. “Men have always done hurt to fae kind.”

  “Fae?” The wonder in Pel’s voice deepened.

  “There are thirty dead men whose bones would likely say whatever hurt we’ve visited upon your kind has been well returned.”

  “We punish evil in whatever form it takes.” I shrugged my free shoulder. “Our wrath is not for men, but neither do we discriminate to find so much evil in men to draw that wrath.”

  “You would judge Pel and me by the actions of others of our kind?”

  I sneered at Alain’s indignation. “Is that not what you’re doing to me?”

  “You slaughtered thirty men.”

  “Who had already destroyed the lives of a hundred of you and who would have destroyed a hundred more. Do your laws not take ‘intent’ into account? “

  ”Why should the fae care about us?”

  “You? We don’t. But we care deeply for the fate of our home. In that, we chase the same hare you and I—peace.”

  “So you’ve taken on the duties of judge and hangman both. How convenient for you.”

  “You would dare lecture me? The Hunt has been guardian of this land since long before your kind arrived to claim it.”

  “You’ve done a poor job of it, then. We of Rome’s blood are not the warmongers here. This island was rife with unrest before the first of us set foot upon it.”

  One thing our argument had accomplished well was to redirect Alain’s focus from the charms of my flesh. That he’d been so easily distracted gave me hope that honor might yet rule his deeds.

  As for accusations that The Hunt had been ineffectual… “You have your perspective, but I own the truth of it. The fae are fading. We can no longer be everywhere, an advantage your chieftains have been exploiting. That does not mean The Hunt has failed. There would have been no peoples here for your Roman forefathers to conquer if that were so.”

  Pel, who had been fussing at my bandage only to find my wound well on its way to being mended, at last gave up the premise of caring for it. His eyes on me felt far different from Alain’s. As though he saw not flesh but spirit. His eyes lingered not on breast nor hip but drank in the whole of me at once in adoration.

  “The Hunt?” he whispered. “Is not The Wild Hunt legend?”

  “Apparently no more than the fae themselves,” Alain, the prac
tical one, pointed out.

  Pel’s intercession, though, reminded Alain of the thing that lay so vulnerable and near to his grasp. The effort it took to master his sudden rush of lust was palpable. His hunger to hold my dark-budded breasts and explore my every secret was clear in each furtive look he could not help but cast my way. Yet he held himself in check. For that I gave him my grudging respect.

  Oblivious to his brother’s struggle, Pel asked, “What will you do now?” His voice trembled, as though he were fearful I might have the power to simply rise up and walk where I willed.

  He had no idea how much he should fear my staying instead.

  I knew of only one thing capable of breaking free a fae inadvertently bound to the mortal world: the blood of the one who bound her.

  “The Hunt will find me soon enough. In the meantime, I will bide with you as you both seem honorable men. See that you do not disappoint me in that belief.”

  A flicker of regret passed through me.

  They did seem honorable. And well-formed. Pleasing to the eye.

  It was going to be a shame to kill them.

  11. Pel

  Fae.

  I had heard the cradle tales, of course, but to see the stories made flesh…

  And not just flesh. There was a truth here that demanded be acknowledged, no matter how much I would wish it buried.

  As a hound, the fae had been beautiful: lithe build, flame-tipped ears and the astonishing emerald of her eyes. As a woman … Alain had called her breathtaking, but she was so much beyond that. The exquisite power and otherness that coursed through my very soul at touch of her elevated yet humbled me at the same time.

  More than even that, to find her real gave hope The Beast I dreamed might also prove real as well. Alain thought me mad, though it was something he would, out of love, never admit to me. But while he tolerated my growing obsession, others would never be so generous. And I was not so mad I couldn’t recognize that truth when it threatened.

  Fae and Beast both felt a part of me. As though they belonged here and nowhere else. It could not be coincidence that I was out from the shelter of my father’s keep on the nights they ran free, their voices raised—perhaps in expectation of my leaving the safety of my brother’s keeping. Tales of changelings and men lured into fae camps never to return again crowded my thoughts.

  I looked to Alain, wondering if he felt the same elation I did when the fae declared her intent to remain with us. The look upon my brother’s face was strange—not displeased but tight and strained. As though he were trying desperately to not allow his true feelings to be known. Why that would be, though—

  Fool, I chided myself. One look toward where Alain so pointedly refused to stare reminded me that, like Alain, I was no longer a boy. The fae had charms beyond the norm, and they were on display to pique our—my—every temptation. I caught my breath. Surely she would not be traveling like that. Naked. Or did the fae not feel the same shame Adam knew in the sight of God?

  “Does my lady have a name?” I asked, trying not to stammer.

  She speared me with a stare so sharp I felt like a river trout must dangling on the end of a knife. “Do you not have power enough over me as it is?”

  I stared blankly at her. “My lady?”

  Her expression softened. “I sometimes forget how truly blind men are. And how ignorant in the ways of Magic.”

  If this was an answer, I was sure my question had missed the mark.

  “You may call me Brinn.”

  Not missed then; merely took a detour along the way.

  “Alain”—I nodded toward my brother—“and I’m Pellinore, although mainly only during formal occasions or when I’ve done something to annoy my brother. Otherwise, it’s Pel.”

  “The sons of King Pellam of Listeneise. I know. At least I’ve known of you for many years. Your father is as well-spoken of as any man among the fae. Your own deeds have yet to earn your names such honor. Though you, Pel”—she hesitated only a moment over using the diminutive of my name, and I confessed to feeling a slight thrill to hear it from this fae’s fair lips—”yours is a name we should have sung long before now.”

  The thrill turned to confusion. “My name? Surely you mean Alain’s? Or perhaps Pelles? Our oldest brother has taken on many of our father’s duties of late.”

  “I might mean them if they were brothers to the fae as you are. But since they aren’t, it is not of them I spoke.”

  She—Brinn—stretched to her back then, obviously searching for a more comfortable position but exposing more of her lovely self to us in the process. I heard Alain’s soft gasp—half admiration, half lust.

  My own emotions were even more conflicted. I burned with the desire to touch her again. Not only to feel the peaks and hollows of her in my hands but to feel again the tingle of energy pulse through my body. To take it to a higher level, to feel it explode within me. I was finding a single taste had not been enough. Memory of it was not fulfilling. In fact, it only made me crave it more. So much so I felt I might go mad with desire.

  I fell to my knees beside her, head in my hands, fingers gripping my own hair and flesh to keep them from her fair form. I fought the dark thing that beat at me.

  I was not mad.

  I would not go mad.

  She read my mind. Or perhaps she didn’t need to. “Remove your brother before he goes mad!” she cried.

  I felt arms, then, and hands, powering me up and dragging me away from temptation. No distance would be great enough, I knew, but the few steps we took away were enough to clear my head.

  What had she said right before she ensnared me with her charms?

  Ah, yes, that I was brother to the fae.

  No mere politeness that. It was a revelation weighted with fate.

  If only I could discover what it meant.

  12. Alain

  Whether God- or demon-created, this fae woman had thralled us both. My own mind went to dark and passionate places with each tiny move she made. I clung to honor alone to stay me from becoming nothing more than a brute in her presence. I would not force myself upon any woman. Her nakedness was not an invitation. It was not even by design. She was caught as much by circumstance in this as Pel and I.

  But as reasonable as it sounded in my head, my body was not convinced. I was still battling down my desire when Pel crumbled beside her.

  He fought his own battle, but not against something so simple and pure as the lust I fought. And it was mine now both to keep my brother from madness and to deny my own temptation.

  Once Pel was breathing easier in my arms, I shrugged gently away from him and hurried to my pack. Pulling out my spare tunic, I draped it at Brinn’s side. “Cover yourself,” I commanded.

  “No.”

  My eyes narrowed. “If you’re to stay with us, you will be covered.”

  She smiled then, a sad and faint expression that hid a secret I knew I had to discover. “Fae do not wear cloth that has been woven by human hands.”

  I didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in my voice. “This fae will.”

  “I will not be further bound.” Her voice was firm, but the meaning of her words inexplicable.

  “Bound? It’s not an obligation I’m creating. It’s for the sanity of my brother—and myself. And it’s not a request.”

  Her sad smile didn’t waver. “Leave me then. If you can.”

  I looked from her to Pel, who had withdrawn into himself. I sincerely believed the choice was between protecting her while she healed and saving my brother.

  To wit, there was no choice.

  I left the tunic where it lay, gathered the horses, and led them to Pel.

  “Mount,” I directed, reaching to help him up.

  He looked toward Brinn and shook his head. “I’m not leaving her.”

  Fear pricked at me. “She has you thralled. We must leave her or you’ll be lost.”

  He looked at me then and my gut clenched at the vulnerability that shone naked in his ey
es. It took all my strength to silence the voice inside that insisted, He’s lost already.

  “Bah! Then I’ll leave you both.” It was an empty threat, of course. If there was any certainty in this world, it was that I would never abandon Pel. He was my brother, my second half, and he needed me, more now than ever.

  And too, something more prickled at the thought of leaving. A vague unease that felt almost physical. A not-quite pain that stitched across my heart.

  I accepted defeat less than graciously when Pel refused to rise, grumbling as I unsaddled the horses and retrieved my tunic. I had been gainsaid and bested by a naked temptress and a mad sibling.

  That had ever been my weakness—letting my heart rule whatever good sense I had in my head. The way of the heart could lead to the greatest of adventure or the deepest of sorrow. History taught us all it could never be both.

  13. Alain

  Brinn healed rapidly. Like most everything else about her, unnaturally so. It was far into the evening of the next day before I found the courage to sit by her again. Though Pel and I had already both retired, I couldn’t sleep. Seeing Brinn awake as well, I rose from my blanket, drew it around me and moved slowly to the fire where she sat, expecting rebuff at any moment.

  When it didn’t come, I asked a permission I hadn’t asked before. “May I see your wound?”

  She nodded, the exquisite facets of her eyes glittering in the firelight, nearly undoing me with their charms. I stilled the shuddering of my breath and bent to examine the hole the arrow had torn through her side. Only it seemed a mere blemish now, barely puckering the smooth perfection of the skin around it.

  “Does it hurt still?” I asked, carefully schooling my eyes from the delicious curves of her, and failing miserably.

  “A twinge only, nothing more.”

  “But you’re weak still.”

  “The arrow was iron-tipped, the bread milled, the torque hand-forged.”

  “Has anyone ever mentioned you have an annoying habit of not answering a question straight on?”

  “Was I unclear?” She seemed genuinely surprised.