by N. D. Jones
“None. Why should he?”
He shouldn’t, but werewolves in Janus Nether no longer wore silver snares and muracos who served their prison sentences now had Steelburgh instead of living the rest of their wretched lives in a maximum security prison. Neither should’ve occurred, but both had, thanks to the young matriarch.
Abelone had already spoken to a few Steelburgh guards, not that she’d told her wife. That argument would come later. The other guards agreed with Abelone. If Matriarch Oriana wouldn’t see what she was doing to Earth Rift and the untenable situations she was creating for her sisters in magic, they might have to take drastic measures to get Matriarch Kalinda’s attention.
If provided with the right motivation, Matriarch Kalinda would step in, ending the werewolf threat. Sacrifices would have to be made. Abelone was prepared to suffer the consequences for her actions. Something else she hadn’t shared with Bharavi.
Abelone encouraged Bharavi to rise from her knees with a gentle tug to her hands. She got the message and retook her seat beside Abelone. “Hold off on the transfer requests.”
“Why? You hate it here, and I go where you go.”
She should take her wife away from Steelburgh. Hell, out of Steelcross and away from Matriarch Oriana’s bleeding-heart policies. But they couldn’t run from this. If left unchallenged, Matriarch Oriana would continue nipping away at the fabric of their matrilineal system, one ill-advised decree at a time.
Perhaps, with a consort in residence, she’d come to see the true nature of werewolves. Abelone’s loyalty to the realm superseded her allegiance to a young matriarch who spat on the legacy of her foremothers.
“I do hate this city. But at least here I can help guarantee the animals stay in their cage, a threat to no one.”
“No one but us, you mean.”
“I’d kill them all before I’d let them hurt those of us who work here.”
“You’re still plotting.”
Bhavari’s comment hadn’t sounded as disapproving as it had earlier. Good.
“If I am, can I count on you?”
Bharavi kissed her again—longer and sweeter than the last time. “As I said, where you go, I go.”
Abelone didn’t want to die, and she sure as hell wouldn’t wish that fate on her wife. But the future of the realm was more important than their lives.
She did have a plan—one that could end in their own deaths but the continued life of witches.
A fair exchange.
Misae pretended not to notice when Dr. Bhavari closed her office door. She’d kept her eyes focused on her computer, as if she hadn’t heard Abelone refer to the young matriarch as “spoiled.”
Closing the electronic file, Misae contemplated her next steps. She hadn’t heard much, except for Abelone’s normal grumblings. The witch complained about everything from rainy days to shift hours. The guard could be blowing off steam, fussing for the sake of complaining, and nothing more. Yet, Abelone’s seriously angry tone had Misae rethinking her interpretation.
What if Abelone and Dr. Bhavari were planning on doing something they shouldn’t? Then again, what if the privacy they sought had nothing to do with Matriarch Oriana but everything to do with the convenience of spouses working in the same building.
No good ever came from jumping to conclusions. Misae tapped the screen, opening another medical file. Until she knew differently, she’d give Abelone and Dr. Bhavari the benefit of the doubt. She liked Abelone well enough, and respected Dr. Bhavari, although the healer had a few quirks she found strange.
Still, Misae had been assigned to Steelburgh for a reason, and it wasn’t only because she had experience working with incarcerated muracos.
She’d keep her eye on the couple. A very close eye.
Chapter 5: Moonless Sky
July 3, 2240
Steelcross Realm
Moonvale Forest
“How long are we going to have to wait?” Zev complained, his deep voice loud against the quiet of the dark night.
Marrok was about to tell his oldest brother to go screw himself, but Alarick stepped in. “Stop being an asshole.” Alarick shoved Zev, who leaned against one of the towering red mahogany trees. “This night isn’t about you. It’s about Marrok. So, shut the hell up and relax.”
“I’m just saying. Why in the hell do witches have to take so damn long to do everything?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Marrok and his brothers snapped around. Zev really was an asshole. Had the jerk forgotten who’d transported them to the forest? The clearing was the same location Oriana had jumped them to in May, near Silentdrift Lake. He’d relished every minute of the two hours as a werewolf Oriana had given him. The time had passed too quickly, Marrok hadn’t been ready to leave when Oriana had returned for him. She’d promised he’d see the river and forest again soon. Back then, he’d had no idea she’d meant the location to be the spot for their moonless sky wedding ceremony.
“Present witch excluded, of course,” Zev said with a politeness Marrok knew to be false.
Their beautiful mother, Lita—five-six, slim, with almond-shaped eyes—ran her hand through dark, curly hair they’d inherited. Unlike Marrok and his brothers, who kept their hair cut short, Lita’s grew long and thick, an attractive halo of coils as lovely as the fifty-five-year-old.
“Sorry, Mom,” Marrok said, offering Lita a sincere apology. He walked away from his brothers to his mother. “Thank you for being a part of this.”
“No one says no to a matriarch.”
Eyes dropped. “Oh, I see.”
He felt the touch of a warm, soft hand to his cheek. “No, you don’t see, and I should’ve stated that differently. Yes, Matriarch Oriana asked for my presence, but she didn’t make it an order, not even one couched to sound like a request or invitation. She didn’t arrive on my doorstep as Matriarch of Steelcross but as the witch who loves my youngest son.”
Lifting his eyes, he asked, “If I would’ve invited you, would you have accepted?”
“Yes, of course, I would’ve.” The hand on his cheek slid to his silver snare. “I’ve always loved you boys. I know I haven’t told you and that I haven’t been a proper mother to you.”
“You, umm, you love us?”
As if his unsteady voice and doubting tone broke Lita’s heart, tears filled her eyes. Her hand fell away from his collar, fisting the side of her ceremonial robe. “Staying away from you boys was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”
“Self-preservation makes people do things they may not have done otherwise. Living in a house with four werewolves wasn’t an option, not if you valued your life.” He smiled, making light of his own pain over her abandonment and hoping she’d stop weeping. He never could stomach the sight of a crying female.
She shook her head, tears falling from eyes nearly the same shade of brown as his. “Ask any werewolf why the mother of his children leaves him and their pups, and you’ll receive the same wrong answer.” Lita shifted slightly toward the coastline behind her, taking in his kneeling father who stared out at the lake. “I’m sure Io has told you boys that witches leave because we’re afraid of our werewolf lovers and sons.” She turned back to Marrok, wistfulness having replaced tears. “While true for some witches, it isn’t for most, and rarely for mothers.” Lifting her hand to the silver snare again, she thumbed the collar. “We keep our distance for protection.”
“I know. You need to protect yourselves from us.”
“No, to protect you all from us. If we maintain our distance, we aren’t a temptation. It’s a fight you cannot win, Marrok. Werewolves have no control over their blood-and-magic lust. That’s not their fault.”
“It’s our curse.”
“It’s a condition of life we’ve made the best of.” Lita’s hand rose to his cheek again. “I walked away because of love, not fear. At some point, every witch lover and mother will make that heart-shattering choice.”
With a jerk of his head, Marrok stepped away from Lita. “No. O
riana won’t leave me. She loves me.”
“She does. And I love Io.” Lita glanced back to his father, as enraptured by the peacefulness of their surroundings as Marrok had been the first time he’d seen Silentdrift Lake.
Love? Not past tense. Surprising. Does Dad know? Probably not. Then again, maybe he feels the same way, which would explain why they cannot bare to be in the same room with each other for long. I thought it was hate. Maybe it’s been repressed love all this time.
“As matriarch, Oriana will deliver a girl first,” Lita said, her focus still on Io. “It is then you’ll understand why Io never wanted a daughter. I grew to despise the fear I saw in my own father’s eyes when he looked at me, fear that the scent and sight of me would drive him mad enough to attack me.”
This was the last conversation he needed to have before starting a life with Oriana. He wanted to stop the words flooding the air between them. But Marrok couldn’t deny how much he feared harming Oriana. He’d never experienced the kind of craving Alarick had described, and he hoped he never would.
Lita grasped his hand, twining her fingers with his. “I’m telling you something today I should’ve told you years ago. I know now is not the ideal time for this kind of mother-son conversation. Then again, perhaps it’s the perfect time. No doubt, Matriarch Kalinda would’ve shared the same with her daughter. Considering Matriarch Oriana hasn’t changed her mind about taking you as her consort, she listens to her heart. Know this, Marrok: witches always protect those we love, even when it seems our actions are anything but loving.”
“Are you saying Oriana will hurt me if she thinks I’m a threat to our daughter?”
“I’m saying Oriana will do most anything to spare you the pain of living with the guilt of hurting your child.” For a third time, Lita looked to Io. “That’s the reason why your father never wanted a daughter. Losing a mate is far less painful than the anguish that accompanies the death of your offspring at your own hands. So, we had three sons. In the end, Io had you boys, and I was left with nothing but regrets.” She squeezed his hand. “Love fully yet fairly, Marrok. Cherish the time you’ll have with Oriana.”
Marrok looked away from his unhappy mother to his frowning brothers, to his brooding father, and back to Lita. Why in the hell had any of them come, if they felt so strongly against the union? He didn’t need their presence if it didn’t also come with genuine happiness and emotional support. Marrok wasn’t naïve, and neither was Oriana. They’d calculated the risks against the love they had for each other. It wouldn’t be easy, but they’d find a way to make it work.
He stepped away from his mother, releasing her hand.
“Marrok, no, no, I’m sorry.”
“For telling me Oriana will, at some point, either leave me to spare me the temptation of wanting to consume her, or kill me to protect our daughter from me, or kill me to protect me from the guilt of having murdered my own child? Even if any of those awful things come true, tonight sure as hell wasn’t the time to bring them up. Thanks for that, Mom. You sure know how to make a werewolf feel good about himself and his future.”
Marrok stalked away from Lita, trying not to care he’d made her cry or that her warning, brutal as it was to hear, had come from a place of love and concern. He and Oriana should’ve kept their families far away from their special event. That opinion solidified in his mind when a stony-faced Matriarch Kalinda and a glowering Bader arrived with Oriana, a perfect landing that couldn’t have been his witch’s doing.
Solange stood beside Oriana, the only smiling guest, which said a lot, considering the witch was hardcore law enforcement. Then again, so was Oriana.
She hadn’t stepped down from the post of Crimson Hunter since becoming a matriarch. Marrok supposed she eventually would turn over the high-ranking position to Solange. None of that mattered now, though, not with the way Oriana was beaming at him, her smile bright enough to vanquish the ugly conversation he’d had with his mother.
Needing to cleanse his emotional pallet, he strolled up to Oriana, lifted her off her feet, and swung her around. He breathed in her lemon scent, wishing they were alone and that he didn’t have to place her back on her feet and deal with their pessimistic families.
“What’s wrong?” she whispered against his ear.
Marrok wouldn’t give voice to the fears Lita had brought to the surface. “Nothing. I’m fine. I just missed you. Two weeks without seeing each other, you know?”
He had missed her, that Oriana would believe. The rest of it she wouldn’t. He’d tell her the truth later. She would know that too without him having to assure her his prevarication wasn’t intended as true deception.
She kissed the spot he loved just behind his ear. “I can have Solange take them home. Her extraction magic is advanced enough where she can perform double jumps with a single spell. She can have them back home in less than two minutes.”
Marrok set Oriana on her feet, already feeling better. “You’d do it, wouldn’t you?”
“I won’t have you upset the night of our union. Out of respect for our families, I invited them, but what you think and how you feel are more important than their offense.” She glanced around Marrok. “Zev looks like he couldn’t care less. Say the word, Marrok, and this night will be just for us.”
Strange as it may seem to others, Marrok often forgot Oriana was a matriarch. To him, she was simply Oriana of Irongarde, the woman he adored, the woman he would do anything to make happy. Yet, there were times when the softness he’d come to know and love was replaced by a will of iron and a spine of steel.
Her arms hadn’t transformed into her Ravagers of the Lost cannons. She also didn’t wear her Crimson Hunter’s body armor or hold the Blood of the Sun wand of Steelcross, symbols of her dual roles. Yet, there was no denying Oriana’s readiness to go into battle for him, if only against their disapproving families.
A lesser werewolf would’ve hidden behind the might of his witch, but what kind of consort would Marrok be if he began their union as a sniveling coward?
He kissed her, on her lips, with tongue, and uncaring what anyone else thought. Except for, well, Oriana’s father, Bader, who growled at Marrok.
“You aren’t her consort yet. Kindly remove your hands from my daughter.”
Oriana giggled into his chest and, just like that, the twenty-six-year-old woman was back, the monarch gone. “Father—”
“There is a protocol, Oriana, and this isn’t it,” said Bader, consort to Matriarch Kalinda, his title of Aku of Irongarde decades old. “Come, you are Matriarch Oriana of Steelcross. This will be a proper moonless sky wedding ceremony.”
Her father, shoulder-length dreadlocks with streaks of red in the front—just as in Oriana’s hair—stepped forward and waited, his hand outstretched. Oriana nodded to Bader, accepting his proffered hand.
Bader’s smile was one Marrok had never seen the man offer anyone before. It revealed a depth of emotion Marrok feared, based on Lita’s words, he would come to comprehend all too well. Unlike Io, Marrok couldn’t talk Oriana into giving them only sons. He observed Bader, regal in his Aku of Irongarde ritual robe—black with red trim, matching red buttons on sleeves and front. However, what most caught Marrok’s attention was an image displayed on the robe over his heart but which he’d also seen on the werewolf’s chest —the Aku Moon of Irongarde—a bluish-white new moon under a blue, white, and green Earth.
Matriarch Kalinda wore a black, hooded, pullover robe with wide, hanging sleeves, and a black center inset with red ribbon lacing. His mother wore the same style of robe, as did Solange and Oriana. Yet, Oriana’s robe came with a red center inset with black ribbon lacing. Her hood and sleeves were two-sided with red-and-black double-knitting. Black hair piled atop her head, her red streaks left out—an accent that contoured a cheek, drawing the eye downward to her cleavage, the perfect location for his gift.
As if pulled by the moon the darkness hid, they walked to the edge of the coastline, joining Io. Marrok, his fath
er, and brothers all wore forest-green ceremonial robes made of soft suede. Taffeta trim in the same forest-green color accented the mandarin collar, sides of the open front, and the shoulders to the hem of the wide sleeves. The belt was made entirely of taffeta, lending a shiny appeal to the family robe.
His family stood in a line behind him—Io to the far right, Lita to the far left, and his brothers in between. Several feet in front of him stood his smiling witch. Oriana’s parents flanked her, with Solange behind and to the right of the matriarchal family.
They all stared at each other, no one speaking for an awkward three minutes. Behind him, he heard the first of what would be many bones cracking then reforming. Io, his father, had begun the ritual, although tradition dictated the witch’s father should’ve been the first in werewolf form.
Marrok’s gaze shifted to Bader to see if Io had offended the man by taking the lead. More snaps sounded behind him, and Marrok wanted to curse and snarl at his brothers. But the Aku of Irongarde appeared unfazed by Marrok’s family’s lack of etiquette. He turned to see three fully shifted black werewolves behind him, standing upright on their hind legs, discarded robes at their clawed feet. Marrok allowed himself to observe his mother who, to his surprise, didn’t look afraid. Then again, perhaps it was not surprising, based on their conversation. Lita did, however, shake her head, face awash with embarrassment.
Yeah, Marrok could relate.
“Do you wish to shift?” Matriarch Kalinda asked Bader. “I’ll hold your robe, if you do.”
The older man seemed to consider his estranged mate’s offer, his face suddenly impassive. Marrok wondered what emotion Bader didn’t want to be revealed to the matriarch. Maybe the same one Lita had kept from Io all these years. No way this side of the moon did Marrok want his and Oriana’s union to end up like either of their parents’.
Bader raised Oriana’s hand to his mouth and kissed the back, a smile accompanying the loving display. “I think not. If I do, I won’t be able to touch our daughter like this.” Bader’s attention shifted to Marrok. “What about you? When will you shift?”