Shifters After Dark Box Set

by S M Reine et al.

  Twenty paces distant the dogs slowed their hasty charge.

  Ten paces distant they circled us on angry feet and whined.

  Five paces distant, their tails hung stiff and low, they bowed their heads to the ground and made obeisance, puppies before their dam, a pack before their leader.

  Brinn swaggered toward them, all wrath and beauty and fae magic. Keeping distant from the iron in their spiked collars, she extended her long muzzle and anointed first one and then the other with her cold and haughty nose.

  Spell-caught as both Alain and I had been by her charms, the war dogs’ ears perked with interest and anticipation of some very non-warlike activity before a low growl from Brinn reminded them of their place.

  Abashed, they slunk away to find other, less-alluring prey, leaving me looking the fool I said I’d be with my sword still raised.

  “Should I be jealous?” I asked, lowering my weapon.

  Her eyes danced, just as a series of war horns sounded from the forest.

  My father’s troops had arrived.

  42. Brinn

  Would that men’s minds were so easy to cozen as a dog’s. A dog’s thoughts are ordered, its behaviors predictable. No so Pel’s. Touched I was to see Pel’s concern for me, yet frustrated to not be able to assure him all would be well. In truth, a part of me felt peeved that he would think I was in need of his protection, but I forgave him that transgression when he dropped to his knees beside me, drew me to the hard plane of his chest, and wrapped me in his warm embrace.

  I think I loved that most about Pel. How willing he was to wear his feelings on his sleeve for all the world to see. In his world, though, I gathered such excess to be a failing in a prince who would be a king.

  The line of battle never reached Pel, and I caught a whiff of vague disappointment from him. If he were here and The Beast was not, he wanted to feel useful, not like an afterthought. Heroic deeds, though, would need wait till another time

  It was a matter of a half day only before the augmentation of Pellam’s warrior host forced a concession. By nightfall, Gyrd’s men had withdrawn to the forest and Cynric’s soldiers were congratulating each other on the battlefield and marking time till the word came down they could return again to their everyday lives with their own stories of battle now to tell around the hearthfires.

  We watched a parade of men enter the keep through the gates we guarded while Pel awaited word of his release from duty, but Alain was not among them.

  “Pellinore! Prince Pellinore!”

  The voice that cried Pel’s name was not a familiar one. I crowded close even as Pel strode to meet the man who called him.

  “I am Pellinore. What goes?”

  “A message, Your Highness. His Grace bids you to the Great Hall. King Pellam’s proxy invites you there as well. I am to escort you. And to tell you your brother already awaits you.”

  Pel nodded—

  Then the scent of The Beast crashed into him, into me. He stumbled, quickly recovered, and whirled about to face his invisible foe.

  The Beast, of course, lurked far beyond sight. It was Old Magic that curled its spore around us.

  Hands to hilts, the men about us peered across the same distance as Pel, straining into the darkling wood to discover what new enemy approached.

  “A jest, Your Highness?” one of the men ventured at last. “A bit of levity now the fighting is passed?” He kept his eye on Pel as he cautiously lowered his sword.

  The Beast crept nearer, taunting Pel with its presence. Pel winced, as though blow-struck.

  “Are you unwell, Your Highness?” another asked.

  “It is quite possible,” Pel said, trying to focus on the messenger and for the most part failing, “that I am going mad.”

  The cry of The Beast cut across the distance—a melancholy wail mere mortals’ ears would never hear. To Pel, it was a lover’s cry. He closed his eyes and swayed to its siren call.

  A pang of jealousy ripped through me. I nudged his hand once, twice, three times to turn his attention from the call that held him so thralled. The fourth time I caught his hand between my jaws. I didn’t—quite—draw blood.

  He took a step toward the forest and my own blood pounded in my ears.

  A second step and my heart clenched with the pain of it.

  A third step and he was tugging his hand away.

  I clamped harder, uncaring now whether I left bruises or tore the tender skin.

  “Hey there! Get off him, you brute!”

  The hard kick to my ribs caught me unexpected. It half knocked me from my feet and my first instinct was to drag Pel down with me.

  I fought that impulse, relinquishing the precious hand as I fell back, only to have a tooth snag a fold of flesh and tear the fragile skin. A scratch, naught more. Pel did not even react.

  But the men on the field did.

  “Hah!” the one who kicked me shouted. “I’ll teach you to blood a prince!”

  The sword in his hand was heavy with iron, as were all the crude weapons leveled my way. These were not war dogs to bow to my will.

  Dropping belly to ground, I slunk toward the forest. It would be the direction Pel would run, should he take off, and he was safe enough otherwise. It was clear I wouldn’t be able to help Pel alone and in hound shape. I needed Alain.

  But Alain was no longer at the post where once he’d been. In fact, all the men had either disbursed or were cleaning the field of valuables. What had the messenger said? That Pel’s brother was awaiting him in the Great Hall? He had not entered by way of the entry Pel guarded, so he must have slipped in by way of the kitchens, or perhaps another door that I knew not, expecting Pel to follow soon.

  The Beast sounded again. A plaintive wail that beckoned like a forgotten lover. It was not to me it called, but even I was finding it near impossible to ignore its plea.

  I circled the keep, looking for the serf’s entrance. The outside door to the kitchen through which scraps were carted out was through a short underground cellar passage that opened up in the small field to the rear of the structure wall. To open the door, I had to shift.

  Naked, I slipped through the field door and down the few but steep steps. Sacks of oats and wheat flour lay piled against the earthern walls beside empty chests and hemp sacks waiting for the fall harvest. This would be overage, of course, not needed stock to be easily plundered on a raid.

  But an army attempting to enter would be hard pressed to maneuver the steps into the crowded cellar and through the thick oaken door at the head of another run of steep stairs that led into the kitchens. Barred it would have been during battle, but now it was unlocked, welcoming weary soldiers home.

  Thankfully, none of those weary soldiers were currently about. I pushed through quickly, shifting as I went. Only one kitchen maid looked twice my way as the door closed and my hound appeared. Waving my tail at her, I trotted off for the audience hall.

  Instinct led me aright, for Alain was there in deepest discussion with Cynric and one who I assumed was Pellam’s man.

  “Pay? For what?” Cynric sneered. “Your men barely lifted a blade.”

  “You asked for help to rout Gyrd. That’s done,” the stranger pointed out. “What does it matter how it was accomplished, or how quickly?”

  “Those southern Danes live in force to invade again once you leave.”

  “Gyrd is subject to the same laws as any man who marches against Listeneise. He will be censured for breaking the peace and will be punished by fine.”

  “Then have him pay for my protection as well.”

  “What hubris! You’ve willfully refused your duty to pay geld tax into the common coffer for six years. You’ve forfeited your position to sue Gyrd for the costs to bring Pellam’s troops to you.”

  “You’re going to hang me either way about this, aren’t you?” The duke’s anger was clear.

  No doubt infuriating him even more was that the stranger remained calm and resolute, if a tad arrogant. And there was some
thing familiar about him…

  “I am quite sure my brother has not neglected to mention the purpose of why he came here in the first place as acting bailiff. You will pay for our presence here today and for the taxes owed that are in arrears. Alain has granted you till—”

  “—All Saints Day,” Alain filled in.

  “If full payment is not in Pellam’s hands by then, you will see us again. And I assure you, the consequences will be far grimmer than anything Gyrd might have intended for you.”

  I cared naught for the politics of the negotiations, but my ears perked at the one word: brother. Edging closer to the stranger, I breathed the scent of him. He smelled vaguely of Alain and Pel, and the strong cheekbones, solid jawline and piercingly dark eyes suggested the same Roman features Alain bore. The kinship was certainly possible, though not a certainty by casual glance or sniff.

  “Do we have an understanding?” Alain’s brother waited with the confidence of one certain of the answer in advance.

  Even I knew the conversation was done. I whimpered at Alain and nudged his palm. From the corner of my eye I saw the curt nod from Cynric. Flattening my ears, I nudged more insistently at Alain despite the not now glance he favored me with.

  “The pretty lass seems to require your attention,” Alain’s brother said, his tone warm and touched with humor now that he was no longer addressing a king’s vassal but a well-loved peer.

  In sharp contrast, Alain’s tone was measured, formal even, and I could feel the wave of resentment that shuddered through him as though it were my own. “Perhaps she could use some air. I know I can. By your leave.” He didn’t wait for permission but strode quickly for the door, I trotting at his heels.

  Warriors new come from the battlefield swarmed the halls. I daren’t shift, but Alain knew to follow when I padded passed him and led him without.

  Pel, however, was not where I’d left him.

  His scent was, though. Only we’d been long enough at that post his familiar, dear smell hung on every grass blade. I cast about to find the freshest whiff of him, ignoring the men who’d abused me who lingered there still.

  “Hey there now, be gone, you bitch!”

  The man who’d kicked me before looked ready to raise his boot to me again. Alain grabbed him by the front of his tunic, balling the material tight between his fingers.

  “Touch her and you’ll have me to answer to.”

  “And who would you be?”

  “Brother to the one we came to fetch,” the messenger hissed at him.

  The man looked none too contrite. “But Your Highness, she laid teeth to your brother!”

  “And I’ll lay sword to you if you harm her. She is under my protection, do you understand?”

  “As you will, Your Highness. Of course.” The man backed off, chastened, but with anger still pounding palpably through him.

  “The prince Pellinore, have you seen him?” Alain asked the next man nearest him, the messenger who had come to escort Pel within.

  “He’s in the trees, just there.”

  “You didn’t think to follow?”

  I peered in the direction the messenger nodded. Gabriels were gaze hounds unlike the baser creatures who followed prey with their noses. My eyes could better see where my nose could not—even in the dark.

  “I thought he’d gone there to—I didn’t think it right to … intrude. Did I misjudge?” The concern in the messenger’s tone was for his own person not Pel.

  “The prince is not … himself … right now. Yes, he may be in danger. Yes, he needs an eye on him. But no, you could not have known that. Go. Tell Pelles that Pellinore and I will be along shortly.”

  The distant shape of the prince moving from shadow into a spackle of moonlight just beyond a thinning grove of yew caught my eye. Alain followed as I loped away.

  The longing cry of The Beast cut into my soul and Pel stumbled forward, inexorably drawn to its siren call. I threw myself against his legs, tangling his way until Alain arrived and pinned his arms, holding him close, holding him safe.

  The Beast was beyond my magic, but I’d had enough of it. With Pel safe in the arms of his brother, I could hunt it now, confront it. Against me alone it could easily stand. But against The Hunt it would fall, like everything else we’d ever confronted. The Beast was Old Magic; it would know my threat was real.

  If Herne would answer.

  If I asked it, would he come?

  My resolve wavered. For me, yes. Herne had not abandoned me; he had only freed me. But for Pel? For one petty prince in a land rife with petty kings and every one of them claiming more of the isle in their name? What loyalty had Herne to Pel other than the heart bond he and I shared? The Beast was more a part of this land than any Roman upstart could ever be. The Beast belonged, Pel did not.

  I bared my teeth against the agony of my decision. The time of The Hunt was not yet. I pointed my nose to the moon and howled my despair and my anger toward The Beast.

  An answering bellow—far from the sweet belling it seduced Pel with—told me I’d been heard. The challenge in its voice was clear. It would be ready when I was.

  I wrenched myself from its distant threat to find Alain’s gaze full on me and filled with fear.

  We were alone. No warriors had followed after Alain’s threats. I shifted to offer fleeting comfort to him … and for me.

  Pel relaxed in his brother’s grip as The Beast retreated. I laid a hand on his cheek and another on Alain’s, the stubble of their beards rough against my palms.

  “It’s gone … for now,” I told Alain.

  The relief in his eyes lasted only a moment before his whole face twisted in anger. I followed his gaze to my ribs where an angry bruise had spread.

  “Who—?”

  I laid my fingers against his lips. “It is no matter. The men knew no better.”

  “I’ll stripe them for what they’ve done!”

  “For what? Protecting your brother? That’s what they thought they were doing.”

  I felt a gentle touch beside the bruise. Dried blood told me it was the hand I’d bit.

  “I’m so sorry.” Pel sagged to his knees.

  I shook my head. “You were not yourself. It’s not your fault. Should I apologize for hurting you?”

  “Of course not.” Pel bowed his head. “Will it always be thus? Will it never be easy? This between us?”

  “All will be right once you stop mooning after that Beast of yours,” I teased. “I can only share you so much.”

  Even then I knew where Fate would lead. Even then I knew the thing that was never meant to be.

  43. Alain

  I knelt on the rich loam beside my brother and sighed. He needed support now, not condemnation. “You’ve never shirked from responsibility. When a thing went wrong by accident or stupidity, you were always quick to shoulder the blame. I cannot recall a time when you pointed your finger to another. I admire that in any man, but most especially in you, who could so easily have abused yourself of your station.”

  The seriousness in his eyes when he lifted his face to me made me catch my breath. Perhaps I did not compliment him enough that he seemed to hang so on my words now. “You cannot bear responsibility for all that goes wrong in this world. You are not Pandora to unleash sin upon sins. Men will act upon their own for ill or for good to neither your shame nor your glory.”

  “Man was born into paradox,” Brinn added. “Each man follows the fate destined for him. But within that destiny lies a thousand thousand choices of free will. Just as no single choice of its own is enough to sway fate, no single man can be responsible for all the choices of the men around him. Do you think by simply waving your hand and saying otherwise, you can take away free will?”

  Pel’s gaze slid from us to the deepness of the woods. “I am a fool.”

  “No.” Brinn smiled, and the kindness on her lips was as a kiss to Pel and me. “You are simply young. And earnest. And above all good.” She bent her head to his and it was no longe
r her smile kissing him from afar.

  They fed greedily upon each other’s lips, then parted, breathless and hungry for more.

  “The men we left behind won’t stay behind for long,” I said when I saw Pel’s hand shift from Brinn’s bruise to the sweet breast mounded above it. “Besides, I have a surprise for you.”

  Pel’s hand hesitated on the peak it had scaled. “Surprise? You don’t sound very happy about it.”

  “In other circumstances, I would be overjoyed.” That claim at least was true. Though not equally—and even less so today—I loved both my brothers. “Pelles is here.”

  ~ ~ ~Our older brother greeted Pel in the audience hall with a full and hearty embrace before putting him off at arm’s length. “Here now, let me look at you, lad. You’ve grown. Inside, I think, as well as out.”

  “I’ve been grown, had you but looked.”

  I blinked at Pel’s retort. Resentment filled my own bowels that our father had sent Pelles here to handle what I knew I could handle well enough, but I had not thought there would be any rift between Pellinore and Pelles.

  “Sometimes we see only what we want to see, little brother. You’re right. I missed you growing into a man.”

  That was, of course, pure Pelles, who could charm anyone to his will. Catching his arm, I led him away from where Cynric hovered. He watched us nervously, no doubt thinking we plotted on how to extract even more tribute from him. Pel joined us in a private corner with the red-eared hound tagging at his heels.

  “What are you doing here, ‘Les?”

  He stared at me with a look of frank confusion. “We’ve had no word from you all summer—not since May Day at least. Pellam agreed I should come with the soldiers to ensure you were all right.”

  “Cynric’s messenger would have told you we were alive and safe. The ring we sent him with would have affirmed that. What need really do you have to be here? Unless you or our father-king had no trust I could handle this situation.”

  “You sent for help.”

  “I sent for bodies to fight not a brother to take my place as bailiff here.”

  “Cynric has been running Warwick as his own private palatine for far too long. He needs a reminder that Pellam is king.”