Quinn
I wake up sometime in the evening, Ryatt resting peacefully at my side. How we both slept so long is beyond me. He had nearly retreated after the declaration of my intent, but I had stopped him. The word “wait” having bolted past my lips before I could think to stop them. He had turned around with such hope written across his face I couldn’t stand to devastate him once again like I knew my earlier words had. The soulmark was softening my resolve to him, which made the need to leave all the more urgent.
I was tucked into his body. Our legs loosely entangled. Hands resting gently upon one another. As if sensing I’ve awakened, Ryatt slowly begins to come to. His fingers flex against my hip before pulling away to properly stretch. I hesitate, then carefully detach myself from the comfort of his warmth. Enough of my wall had been torn down in the past couple of days; I didn’t need Ryatt slipping past my weak defenses.
“Why don’t you stay in bed a little while longer,” he asks, sleep still staining his voice. “I’m sure we can find a way to entertain ourselves.”
There is a teasing lilt to his words, though they still carry a familiar dark promise to them. The soulmark pulses with awareness, but I find myself shaking my head and shifting away from the warmth of his body. He clears his throat and the bed dips on the other side.
“I doubt Zoelle is around to make us any treats, but the kitchen staff will no doubt be around. How about I grab us something to eat and bring it back up here?” he suggests, discreetly adjusting his waistband as he walks towards the bedroom door. My eyes track his movements.
“I’ll come with,” I tell him just as his hand turns the doorknob. “We can eat downstairs.” He gives a nod and a small smile, opening the door with his usual flair.
“After you,” he murmurs.
I scoff as I pass, though it is halfhearted as his gaze follows me. “Don’t think I don’t know you just want to check out my ass.” He grins rakishly in response.
“Me? Never.” My returning grin halts halfway as the previous night comes into focus. “Hey,” his hand reaches out to grab hold of my chin, “it wasn’t your fault, Quinn. You could never have known that Vrana would have gone after your friend. In fact, it’s quite odd that he was able to figure out her role in our plot so quickly.”
I shake my head dully, escaping his gentle hold easily enough. “She’s done jobs for him before. He’s familiar with her work.”
“I see.”
We walk silently to the dining room, my stomach grumbling as I wait for him to return with our food. It gives me ample time to dissect the mess of thoughts colliding together in my head. Why had I agreed to wait? The longer I was around him the more I…felt. And feeling was something I desperately didn’t want to do right now. I could learn to live with the guilt of M’s death, but I wasn’t sure if I could do it with Ryatt’s constant empathy or that of the pack, which I could feel sifting its way through the bond. I wasn’t sure how to handle it, and that’s what I disliked most of all.
“I hope you like ice cream,” Ryatt announces, coming in with two bowls of iced dairy goodness. The vanilla is barely seen under the obscene amount of chocolate that has been poured over both. I desperately want to put on some character to hide behind, but his rather ridiculous choice in food keeps plain old Quinn in place.
“Ice cream for dinner?” I ask, amused. He sits down next to me with a happy sigh.
“I like to live dangerously,” he says, scooting his chair closer to mine. I can barely fend off the blush that douses my cheek and take a spoonful of the treat in minor defense.
“Where is everyone?” I ask once I’ve swallowed and Ryatt is busy with a mouthful of chocolate and ice cream.
“Out at the borders, no doubt,” he informs me, words cutting a bit too sharply. “They’re piecing the crystal back together, which will take a lot of magic and leave the witches vulnerable. If the crystal isn’t put together, or the wards fall along the border, then the wolves are needed there to protect them.”
“But not you?”
His smile turns slightly bitter. “Not I. I’ve been ordered to stay behind…with you.” I catch his sidelong glance and find my breath caught in my throat.
“Why?”
“My brother hopes I’ll be able to convince you to stay,” he admits slowly. Though his tone is light, and his expression mirrors it, something behind his eyes is daringly hopeful. “But I certainly don’t harbor any illusions that you will. Tomorrow we’ll see you off, with an escort, mind you. I won’t be deterred from that,” he tells me sharply. “They know your face. Until you can slip away unnoticed someone will follow you at a distance. Probably Keenan.” I let my spoon fall with a clatter.
“Not Keenan,” I say seriously.
He eyes me surreptitiously. “Definitely Keenan.”
“Why him? Why not some other wolf lackey? Keenan is pretty hard to miss.”
Ryatt sends me a quick wink, “He’s quite sneaky actually. One of our sneakiest wolves, I dare say.”
“You’re not actually going to have someone tail me, are you?”
His face turns serious. “I am. Keenan will know who to look out for to make sure you aren’t being tailed by someone from the Wselfwulf Pack, or to protect you from a vampire.”
“I thought you were going to let me go?” I ask, heart strung tightly as I say the words.
He nearly growls back, strikes of lightning flashing in his eyes. “I am.” A look of frustration passes across his face. His cheeks grow hollow as he takes in a steadying breath. “Despite how desperately I might want you or how painful it will be for both of us for you to leave, I won’t make you stay. But you’re still my soulmark. I won’t let you go unprotected when the supernatural world is holding its breath waiting on the outcome of this day.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Adolphus Pack and the Trinity Coven have been the talk of the town ever since we took on the Wselfwulf Pack together. Our alliance is unusual as the supernatural community prefers to stay close to their own. Vampires with vampires. Witches with witches. Lycans with lycans. We don’t tend to mingle. Even the shape shifters and otherworldly creatures don’t bother each other. If Zoelle wasn’t Xander’s soulmark, I doubt we’d still be here today.”
A rather simple “oh” is all I can manage to muster. “Is there some kind of special Facebook group for supernaturals to use, where they can gossip about all the news and politics?”
“It happens easily enough through word of mouth. We tend not to lend our secrets to the vulnerability of the Internet.” I hum accordingly and turn my attention back to the ice cream. Ryatt’s mouth opens as if to say more, but his phone lets out a series of chirps. He frowns and reaches for it.
“What is it?” I ask, going for nonchalant since Ryatt holds his phone just out of view.
“They’re preparing the union of the crystal, and the Wselfwulfs have been spotted in the distance.”
My eyes widen and search for a clock. “But the moon shouldn’t be out for hours still.”
Ryatt lets a rueful smile spear across his face. “You’re right; it won’t. There’s no point in them arriving early, like they did last time. We’ll be safe unless the ward falls, and if it doesn’t, they’ll scurry back home with their tails between their legs.”
“What happens if the ward falls?”
“A bloodbath,” he tells me darkly, “one I’ll be missing.” He scoffs and takes a spoonful of ice cream spitefully. I raise an incredulous brow.
“You want to be out there fighting?”
He mirrors my incredulous look. “Of course I want to be out there fighting! This is the one night of the month I can shift and it just so happens to coincide with a potential battle.” He bops me on the nose with his spoon, startling me back at his juvenile action. “Of course I want to be there. Think of the glory of it all.” His hand reaches out next and presses firmly beneath my chin, closing my mouth with a snap.
“Men,” I mutter. “If you want to go, then go. I’m not stopping you.”
“I can’t,” he repeats, ire clear. “I’ve been ordered to stay back with you.”
I sigh and wipe the remnants of ice cream off my nose. “Did he say to stay back, or to stay with me?” Ryatt takes a moment to consider my words, then promptly grabs my face and kisses it.
“You’re a genius,” he whispers against my lips happily. Taken aback once more, my eyelashes flutter open a second later, my breath catching just so on a shaky exhalation. His eyes alight with mirth and the telltale anticipation that comes with finding the perfect loophole. It’s a look I know well. One I have worn often. I swallow and push away the emotion, but give him a shy smile in return. Then he takes my hand, and we go.
+++
“I’m glad we changed before we left, but I wish we would have put on bug spray before leaving. I’m getting eaten alive out here,” I complain. I’ve only one pair of shoes suitable for a trek in the forest: my pink Nike runners.
“You’re about to witness something quite spectacular; you do realize that, yes?” He continues to lead me into the thick of the forest, every so often sniffing the air. His brother would be furious, he claimed, if he got wind that Ryatt had come out. Let alone with me tagging along behind him.
“You’re really going to change in front of me?” I ask dubiously.
“Shift,” he stresses.
“Whatever.” He gives my hand a squeeze and continues on silently, but I catch the amused smirk that finds his lips. It makes my heart skip a beat, and I wonder faintly for the millionth time how I’m going to leave when I keep letting myself be pulled in by his smiles and eyes. By his candor and wild side. Ugh. I shouldn’t have come out here with him. Shouldn’t have even hinted at it in the first place. But I couldn’t deny that there was a part of me wanting to see him transform.
“Here,” he says, coming to a standstill and inhaling the air deeply. “Any further and someone is bound to catch my scent or yours downwind.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, obviously,” I joke, but then he is stripping off his shirt and handing it to me. I take a startled step backward. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, watching in shock as he starts on his belt and toes off his shoes.
“I’m not going to ruin a perfectly good pair of clothes by shifting in them. They’ll get shredded,” he tells me as if I’m the crazy one. When his pants drop my eyes close, though why I cater to his modesty when he has none is beyond me. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before, sweetheart,” he whispers close to my ear. I give a yelp and turn around wide-eyed, but he is no longer where I would have guessed him to be beside me.
A sudden cracking sounds from behind. Like the breaking of bones —an unforgiving and constant snapping and cracking and crunching.
I forget to breathe. My mind skittering to a halt. Do I dare turn around? Fear grapples with my curiosity until a vicious snarl leaves me no choice but to spin round on my heel.
I fall to my knees, watching in a mixture of astonishment and horror as Ryatt’s body lengthens and realigns. Another choked snarl and a crescendo of bones splintering into place, Ryatt falls to all fours. For a brief moment I see vestiges of the man he was, and in the next, his skin is pulling taunt over bone to become something else. His body vibrates with unrestrained energy before fur erupts from his stretched flesh. It sheaths his body in a sandy coat.
The shaking continues. The wolf’s head twisting erratically from side to side as its snout finishes forming. Its lips pulling back to reveal pointed canines. An unsteady breath passes by my lips as I watch the transformation come to its end. Where once was a man, now stands a wolf.
“Holy shit,” I whimper, squeezing my eyes tightly shut. Everything was true. Everything. My hands move to cover my face. Hiding me from the truth I had been so desperately running from. Something cold and wet presses against the back of my hands and slowly I let them fall. I lock gazes with the familiar golden eyes of Ryatt’s wolf.
My hand ghosts upwards across the rough muzzle, aware that my every movement is being watched carefully. Up close I see how his fur coat is underlined with streaks of brown and tan. My fingers tangle in the coarse hairs about his neck and chest.
“You’re…” Ryatt lets out a whine and lies down, placing his large head in my lap. My hands continue to stroke the fur, marveling at the sheer size of him. The wolf snuffs against my stomach. The heat of his breath almost burning me clean. “…Beautiful.” His tail gives a lazy wag, tongue lolling out to give my leg a lick. We stay like this for some time. Me, marveling at what can no longer be denied. Ryatt the wolf peacefully resting upon me.
A faint buzzing sounds in the air, but it takes some time before either of us acknowledges the noise as something electronic and not of nature. My hands grope for his pants that lie nearby and track down his phone.
“I don’t know your passcode,” I tell him, and wave the phone in front of his face. The wolf huffs and begins to stand, another whine treading on its vocal cords. “I have an idea of what it could be though,” I inform him with a coy smile. “I’ve watched you type it in enough times over the past week to get an idea. You focus here, in the bottom left, then end right. Most people choose a birthday or an arbitrary four number combo, but you always punch in five.” The wolf sits up, staring at me very intently as I continue to ramble. “I’m going to take a guess and say your code is 7-8-4-6-6.” The key lock screen vanishes after the final number and I stand triumphantly. “Ha! I knew it! Quinn: 7-8-4-6-6. You idiot. You hack all my files and then put my name as your passcode. Amateur.”
The wolf takes a few steps away from me, shuddering like he’s undergone some violent seizure, and then the snapping sounds again. The fur recedes. The bones contract and snap back into their proper place. Yet this time, no noise escapes him. No growls. No snarls. Not even a whine. All the sound that carries is his deft transformation back to his human form. He pulls to a grotesque height for one startling moment—his limbs too long, his spine unsure as it twists about—and then he is a man once more. Yet his golden eyes remain steadily upon me.
“Give me that,” he heaves, hand outstretched, the serious look he wore as a wolf still somehow translating onto his face. But all I can stare at is his…
“Your pants?” I ask breathlessly. He snatches the phone from my hands and turns his back to me to read it, pacing forward. The muscles of his leg and derrière flex deliciously with each movement. I feel the air around us seize for the briefest of moments and unconsciously I find myself biting my bottom lip. The sensation is a tantalizing reminder of our steamier moments together: Mexico, the hallway, his bedroom, and the most lucid wet dream I had ever experienced. The air grows electric, and I can feel a heat spread through me as the memory lights my skin on fire. When had it become so easy to become lost in the mere sight of him?
“We need to go,” he snaps, turning around towards me. Ryatt’s face is torn in an angry scowl. It deepens upon further inspection of my current state. Eyes dilated. Face flushed. Heartbeat racing faster and faster by the minute. “What’s wro—” he inhales deeply, eyes widening then narrowing in on me. Lord have mercy.
“If there were time,” he tells me slowly, stalking towards me with sordid intent. “I’d have you up against one of these trees moaning my name ’til your legs gave out.”
He stands inches away from me, staring down at me with those golden eyes full of desire. A hand trails from my neck carefully along my collarbone, and he leans in infinitesimally closer. “And then I’d take you on the forest floor until you begged me for more,” his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. The feel of his calloused fingers winds an unforgivable tension inside of me. One that begs to be snapped. “But I won’t,” he tells me without a hint of malice or bitterness, “because even though your body and the soulmark are screaming at you that you want to, I know that here,” his fingers reach out to graze my heart, then up to brush along my temple, “and here, you’re not ready.” My breath leaves me in a whoosh as he takes a step back. He dresses in record speed, leaving me little time to compose myself.
“Where are we going?” I ask numbly, swallowing down the hurt of rejection I have no right to feel. My stomach clenches uncomfortably with guilt. My friend was dead because of me, and here I was lusting after some man. Except he wasn’t just some man, was he? The traitorous thought does nothing to ease my shame. Ryatt’s eyes narrow.
“The Baudelaires’ house.”
+++
The sun is sinking gradually in the west, the night air turning cool as we race in Ryatt’s BMW something-series towards the Baudelaires’. I keep my eyes trained out the front window for the entirety of the ride, keeping count of how many glances Ryatt steals. He had just reached 17 when we pull along a somewhat familiar tree-lined street. Each house boasts neatly trimmed yards and shiny new paint jobs.
“Are you going to tell me why they wanted us to come over?”
Ryatt’s grip tightens on the wheel. “The moon has risen, you can see it—just over there.” He points out my window, and sure enough, there it is. Its’ pale glow trickling past the treetops. “They’ve joined the crystals and the border is secure.”
“That was fast,” I say, a semblance of disbelief clouding my voice.
“It was either going to work, or it wasn’t,” he tells me, pulling to a stop in front of the familiar craftsman-style two story.
“And it worked?” He nods, though I can sense his hesitation, both through the bond and his body language. “What aren’t you telling me?” I ask quietly, hand stilling on the seatbelt release.
“Something rather unexpected happened,” he tells me, undoing his seatbelt.
“What?”
He gives a short sigh of frustration, his brow pinching together in thought. “A girl appeared after the crystal was joined.”
“A girl appeared?”
“Yes.”
I pause, then ask tentatively, “From where?”
“That would be the question,” Ryatt says on a sigh, exiting the car. I scramble after him.
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that some chick just ‘poofed’ into existence?” Ryatt gives me a tight smile and places a hand on my lower back.
“I don’t know the full details, but I’ve been told not to be, and I quote, ‘A creep.’ Something about not wanting to frighten the girl.” Ryatt opens the door with an eye roll, steering me inside before him and towards the kitchen.
“Holy fuck,” I breathe, eyes widening at the sight that greets me. I receive several pointed glares. “Sorry,” I mutter, shifting back slightly as I take in the mysterious woman. She has a blanket wrapped loosely around her naked figure, though it does little to hide the more fascinating aspects of her features. My eyes are torn between tracing the iridescent wings materializing from her back and the vines and flowers gently winding beneath the surface of her skin. Her hair is a startling white, cut bluntly to hang just above her shoulders. She turns to look at us, purple eyes wide with a mixture of fright and curiosity.
“Hello,” she says tentatively. I give her a small smile, nudging Ryatt to do the same with an elbow to the ribs. She smiles brilliantly back and thrusts a hand out towards us. “Would you like to shake hands?” she asks excitedly, the blanket dropping from her loosened hold. “Or would you prefer to kiss on the cheeks?”
My hand slaps over Ryatt’s eyes and the woman looks mildly offended at my reaction. She turns back to the witches “Did I do it wrong?” Zoelle is there in the next instant, wrapping the blanket back around her, face aflame.
“Just, don’t forget to keep the blanket up, okay?” she says rather breathlessly.
“But it itches,” she complains, a cross look covering her petite features. “I never have to wear anything in the Hollow Woods.”
“You aren’t in the Hollow Woods anymore, sweetheart,” Maureen coos from nearby. “But don’t you worry, we’ll get you back there.” The woman’s lip trembles, eyes welling with tears before she throws herself at Ryatt. He stumbles back, eyes opening comically wide as her arms wrap around him and the blanket falls again.
I gasp, but soon find myself having to hold back a laugh at the alarm on his face. The woman sobs into Ryatt’s chest, foot stomping every once in a while to demonstrate her displeasure.
“There, there,” he mutters uncertainly, gently patting her atop her head. She turns her face upwards, eyeing Ryatt hopefully. “If Maureen says she’ll get you back, she will.” She nods her head, sniffling lightly before stunning the room with another of her smiles.
“You’re so kind,” she breathes, reaching up a hand to stroke his face. Ryatt looks at me in a panic, and I too find myself stilled with sudden…jealousy?
“Why…thank you,” he replies, gently taking both of her wrists and stepping out of her hold. I pick up the blanket and thrust it into the woman’s chest. She looks at me in alarm, but I have my most saccharine smile on. Her eyes flicker with uncertain confusion, then she pulls her lips into a disgruntled pout, adjusting the blanket reluctantly.
“I don’t like it here. Everyone acts so confusingly. Saying one thing but their bodies saying another. All of my friends in the Hollow would never dream of treating each other this way. I just want to go home. Can’t you send me now?” she pleads, sadness sinking back into her voice. “I don’t belong here. I belong in the Hollow.”
I insert myself into Ryatt’s side and soften my posturing. The room stays oddly silent at her words, mournful expressions passing between the older women.
“What happened?” Ryatt asks, his eyes turning Xander’s way. The Alpha stands at the kitchen window silently; eyes turned out towards the forest.
“Ask the witches,” he quips. Diana sighs, rolls her shoulders back, and begins.
+++
The Earth was displeased. The air nearest the Elder Triad sizzled with magic and barely restrained energy as the remainder of the Trinity Coven—spread throughout the forest—implored the Earth to settle. It was the joining of such an unnatural item that brought about its displeasure. The Crystal of Dan Furth was not meant for the likes of this world, yet somehow, centuries ago, the object had been smuggled across the planes of one world to the next. Witches around the world coveted the crystal for its powerful properties, but seldom few could be trusted with its care. Indeed, the splitting of the crystal was in part due to a band of unfit witches. With the crystal halved, the Earth new no worry of what unnatural acts could prosper from its magical powers. Until now.
“The crystal,” Diana Baudelaire bids her granddaughter and another witch forward. The two approach the small circle the coven elders create, yet their carefully measured steps are laborsome. Each witch holds her hands outstretched, palms flat and facing forward, steering the crystal into the circle. Their struggle is clear. The very presence of the Earth urging them back even as they trudge forward. The crystal halves quiver in either excitement or detest. No one is certain, yet the witches continue. The crystals pass by the interlinked arms of the elders.
Maureen Clybourn lets her head tip back, her long white hair stirring in the growing wind that encircles the trio. Her skin carries the weight of the last encounter involving the crystal. Devilish red patches scarring her alabaster flesh. She takes the lead, her voice a whisper as the two crystals hover uneasily within the band of their circle.
Diana and Lydia’s heads follow suit, their necks bent at an almost unusual angle as Maureen’s words grow louder.
“Ad lucem. Ad mortem. Qui semper.”
The spell is taken up on the wind and soon the invocation begins to tumble from the mouth of each witch present. One by one the words grow into a litany of hoarse cries that build and fall with the growing wind.
Howls echo from afar; the Wselfwulf Pack responding. Wolves dot the tree line, a smattering of golden eyes piercing the darkening forest. The Wselfwulf Pack was ready and waiting with barely restrained contempt for the Trinity Coven to fail and fall to ruin. Along with their sworn enemies, the Adolphus Pack, that dare side with them.
The air splinters. Visible fissures of light sparking in a shockwave along the poorly held magical border protecting the Adolphus Pack’s claimed territory. The wolves stiffen. Each side standing with hackles raised, and horrible gnashing teeth bared. The Wselfwulf Pack prowls forward. There is a palpable electricity to the air, riding high on a fine tension that is on the cusp of breaking. The witches slowly rise from the ground. One perilous inch at a time as their words are lost to the swell of wind sweeping them upwards. The crystal halves shine brighter and brighter as they near each other, until with a sharp and distinctive crack, they collide.
The border shatters; the wolves advance, and a new light appears. The witches of the Trinity Coven fall to the ground, spent of their magic and defenseless. Yet the body of light that remains shines brighter. Grows larger. The Wselfwulf Pack hesitates, and in doing so, is spared their lives. The light takes a corporeal form, and with it, a new barrier erects itself in a brief prism of colors.
The woman who remains standing is unearthly beautiful with snow-white hair and wings that gleam like opals. Beneath the surface of her skin roams a seemingly never-ending track of vines spouting leaves and pale flowers. The woman’s wings fold themselves neatly against her bare back as she splays a hand tentatively against the wall she has created. Her violet eyes growing wide as she takes in the scene before her. Rokama surround her. Or something frighteningly similar for they lack the telltale markings of the rokama she knows. No obsidian eyes or red-stained muzzles. No leathery, wings jutting from the spine. The new creature squeezes her eyes closed. Rokama or not, these beasts would not bring her harm. Nor the innocents fallen too her left and right.
Taking a deep breath she opens her eyes and meets the golden gaze of some beast across the way. It sounds a savage bark, the pack around it echoing the reprimand. The woman’s fists clench against her side, a blinding fury growing inside her chest. The flora dances beneath her skin, further winding her defenses.
A second later and the Adolphus Pack would have found themselves at the mercy of the strange creatures fur—if not for their Alpha. The largest of the wolves, he steps in front of the strange woman with a threatening snarl directed at the Wselfwulf Pack.
The winged-woman stares flabbergasted at the act. Mouth comically held open, as the anger simmering inside her stalls at her throat. The act is not enough to earn her full trust, but it is enough—enough to spare those who stand with her on the east side of the barrier. She walks to the wolf’s side. Anger flooding her once more like some wild rapid. She has never been very good at controlling the swing of her emotions.
Too bad for the Wselfwulf Pack.
The Alpha lets out a whine and takes a tentative step back as the earth starts to shake. The Wselfwulf Pack scatters. Startled yelps and barks sounding as vines jut from the forest floor and begin to impale those not fast enough to escape. It is a bloodbath. A frenzied chaos that ends only when the woman lets out a piercing scream. The Earth shivers at the abrupt silence that follows, calming the forest floor with an eerie groan. The woman steps back and retrieves the Crystal of Dan Furth from the ground. She holds it to her breast as she sends a tentative, but warm smile to those who remain around her.
“Hello,” she murmurs. Though she remains unsure as to where she is or how she came to be in this peculiar forest, she no longer feels afraid. Her smile turns brighter as she gazes down at the bewildered Elder Triad. “You can call me Luna.”
+++
“The spell to rejoin the pieces worked just as planned,” Diana finishes, her voice hard as if in reprimand to Xander’s earlier tone.
“Did your plan involve her?” he asks briskly.
Diana visibly bristles. “No. We’re looking into the matter as we speak.” Xander says nothing, holding himself still at the window. “We aren’t sure as to why joining the crystal would bring Luna to us.”
“He’s mad at me, isn’t he?” the woman, Luna, asks. She fiddles with the blanket, her face scrunching up as it slides against her skin. Zoelle comes forward once more to help her adjust it.
“He’s not mad at you,” Zoelle tells her softly, “he’s just confused.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
“Why?” Luna tilts her head to the side, fussing once more with the blanket as impatience darkens her tone. For one who is clearly a grown woman, she acts most decidedly like a child.
“Because he didn’t realize you would be here,” she explains carefully. “If he would have, we would have prepared.”
“Oh.”
Silence once more. No one seems to know what to say next, but I can feel my curiosity rising. As if sensing my shift in mood, Ryatt’s grip tightens on my waist in warning. Like that was going to stop me.
“What are you?” I ask. Luna blinks.
“I’m a fairy,” she says somewhat matter-of-factly. “What are you?” Well, shit.
“I’m a human.” Luna looks at Ryatt, the flowers and vines beneath her skin slowing their winding path to a halt.
“He’s not.” I give a short laugh at her blunt words.
“He’s a lycan, just like his brother.” Luna stiffens and shuffles back towards Maureen.
“Rokama,” she hisses, eyes darting nervously between the two men. “They cannot be trusted with the innocent. Come,” she holds out a hand to me, “you should not be so close to danger.”
Ryatt stiffens and his hold tightens. “He’s not going to hurt me. Neither of them will, Luna.”
“They’re rokama,” she tells me stubbornly, “like the others. They cannot be trusted.”
“They’re lycans, not rokama, and they are our allies, Lunaria,” Diana tells her. “No harm will come to you while you are under our care. Nor theirs.” The words do little to placate Luna, but she does cease her glaring and drop her hand.
“He doesn’t hurt you?”
“No, Luna. Sometimes he can be a bit of a prick, but he’s never deliberately hurt me. Except for a few incidents, that is…”
Ryatt flushes under my regard. “I apologized for that,” he mutters.
“And you…forgave him?” My heart skips a beat under her scrutiny.
“I did,” I reply slowly, almost unsure of the answer myself. Ryatt straightens. A sudden surge of happiness pulsates through the bond, leaving me glowing with strange satisfaction. “He’s not so bad,” I finish lamely.
“…You are in love?” she asks, equal parts curious and serious. I guffaw.
“She can barely keep her hands off me,” Ryatt replies smoothly, squishing me into his side.
“Get over yourself,” I grumble, struggling to push away from him, the smile I tried so hard to beat winning out.
“It’s definitely love,” he continues, keeping me within the circle of his arm. “I’m preparing a winter proposal and a June wedding. Expect an invitation in the mail.”
“A union!” she squeals excitedly, clapping her hands together and bouncing about. “How joyous! Who would have thought a beast such as yourself could ever love, or be loved in return!”
The blanket falls to the floor in her glee, giving the entire room a show not easily forgotten.