Present
Rover
I wake with a jolt, breathing hard. Next to me, Muddy is awake, watching my reaction no doubt. Sweat soaks my back and hair. It takes a couple of seconds to realize I’m no longer in the past, viewing Muddy’s memories. I crack my fingers to make sure I’m back in the present. Even so, I can still remember the scream, the smell of burning meat, and the fat ruby that sits on the witch’s finger.
“Everything that happened, it’s real, isn’t it?” I whisper.
I know the truth, but I need Muddy to confirm it for me. He nods, and I reach for him, wanting something warm to hug. Muddy doesn’t comment or protest and I pull him to my chest, breathing in his scent. I can almost taste his suffering, and it doesn’t take me long to come to the realization I no longer want him to hurt.
But what can a wolf do? I’m merely a newcomer to this game, but Muddy’s waged this war for a long time. He’s lost each time, but now I am here. He buries his head against my shoulder, and whispers my name. Rover, not Brandon, but it doesn’t matter. We’re all the same. I feel them all in me—men with different names, all wearing my face.
The witch is right. In every lifetime, Muddy and I fall for each other. My reincarnation wonders why we’re such a perfect fit, and why Muddy can read me like a book. It’s because I’m a story he’s read a thousand times, and he also knows the terrible ending. Muddy loves me nonetheless. We let the silence speak for a while, then I lift Muddy’s chin, biting my lip at the raw vulnerability in his eyes.
Muddy’s happy to meet the ‘me’ in this lifetime, and he’s ready to pick up where he left off, to love and lose, except I refuse to go out like a meek lamb to the slaughter. I close my fingers over his, and lift them to my lips for a kiss.
“This time, we will break the cycle,” I say with resolve.
Muddy blinks, telling me those were the last words he expected me to say. “The cycle can never be broken. Don’t you think I’ve tried?”
“I know you did, but this time you have me to fight by your side.”
Muddy lets out a bitter laugh. “And will you waste your short life, trying to find a solution that does not exist?”
“Why are you so negative?” I can’t keep the anger out of my voice. Can’t Muddy see I refuse to let him go through this again? I might not be an immortal, but defeat does not sit easy with me.
Muddy parts from me, running a frustrated hand through his hair, then gets off the bed and begins to pace. “Don’t you understand? I showed you my memories so we can move on.”
“You call this moving on? What are you going to do, Muddy? Be by my side until I die?” I ask in a mocking voice. We average werewolves don’t possess eternal life, but we live a longer lifespan than most humans.
“We cannot ask for more,” Muddy snaps back.
“You fucking frustrate the hell out of me. Where the hell is the persistent dragon who stalked me throughout winter? Why the hell won’t you find a way to break this curse with me?” I demand. Compromising, or hell, giving up, is not in my cards. Not now, not ever.
“Because it can’t be broken. Fuck, Rover. Get that in your hard head.” Muddy’s about to walk out, but I use my supernatural speed to catch up to him and grab his arm. He waves me off like I’m an annoyance, but I hold on. For a centuries old dragon, Muddy sure can act like a damn brat when he wants.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
“Out,” he says curtly, shaking me off. “I need some air.”
Damn. I want to bend him over my lap and spank him silly until he’s squirming and begging for my forgiveness, but I decide to let him go. For now. I cross my arms and realize we’re back at the landing. With a snort, he shifts and I glare daggers at Muddy until he flies away.
“Christ. Dragon shifters are fucking drama queens,” I mutter under my breath.
“Tell me about it,” a voice says, and I whirl to see Lorenzo leaning against the wall, arms crossed.
I sigh. Not my favorite person to talk to, but I can’t keep thinking of him as an enemy either. Muddy is my fated mate, and Drakon is Muddy’s only living blood. I need to learn to get along with Lorenzo.
“You don’t particularly like me, do you?” Lorenzo asks.
“Don’t take it too hard, I’m sure you feel the same way,” I wryly say, noticing the way he eyes me up and down.
“How can I not? You’re a prick, but then, you acted on the interest of the pack. Plus, you didn’t make it easy, making poor Muddy chase after you.”
I wince, not bothering to defend myself. “That’s true.”
Lorenzo looks surprised. “Being the bigger man, huh? Come on, you look like you need a beer.”
I follow Lorenzo back to the kitchen. “Where’s Drakon?”
“Probably out hunting, and no doubt Muddy’s going to join him,” Lorenzo explains, handing me a cold beer from the fridge.
“Thanks,” I say honestly, dunking it down. “So, how much did you hear?”
Lorenzo doesn’t bother lying, but it’s beginning to dawn on me he genuinely cares for Muddy as a friend. Pray to God only a friend, because I won’t deny I’m the jealous sort. “All of it. Seems like fate, the universe or whoever is out there dealt you guys the worst cards.”
“Pretty much,” I admit, and then regarded him, an idea taking root.
Lorenzo smiles at me wryly. “Why do I have a feeling I’m about to be roped into your problems?”
“Will you help?”
Lorenzo glances around the space, cocking his head to one side to confirm no one is listening in. “Follow me.”
He grabs my arm like we’re the best of friends and takes the lead. Past the main living areas, paths twist and turn. Muddy’s home is larger and more complex than I imagined. I have the sensation we’re moving into a lower elevation, deeper into the mountain. We begin to descent a flight of stairs, carved into the stone. “Where are you taking me?” I demand.
“To the archives, the biggest library you’d ever see.” Lorenzo’s voice, full of excitement, is infectious.
“Remind me why you are helping me again?” I ask, annoyed by his chuckle.
Lorenzo halts in mid-step, proud gaze meeting mine. “Do you love Muddy?”
“I do,” I say without hesitation, surprising both of us. “How can I not?” I say quietly.
Nodding, Lorenzo slaps my shoulder. Why do I have the feeling that gesture means he approves? “There must be plenty of records down there.”
I follow Lorenzo, and we climb down a whole lot of stairs. Lights light the way, but as fit as I am, I begin to puff and huff. By the time we reach our destination—double doors that simply read ‘Great Library’, Lorenzo’s panting, using me as a walking stick.
“God, I need to do more cardio and ease up on the kegels,” he mutters.
“Don’t women only do that?” I can’t help but ask. I’m finding out it’s hard not to like Lorenzo, even if he likes to complain and talk. God, this guy can’t stop talking about his modeling shots, and his sexy times with Drakon.
Not shy, Lorenzo snorts. “Oh, you’ll be surprised what kegels can do to improve your sex life. Can you see my silver dragon king complaining? No way Jose, plus along with my squats, I become a sex god. Why don’t you put those muscles to good use and help me open the door?”
Lorenzo’s not kidding, the damn doors are heavy. I soon understand why it’s called the library. Shelves of books line the enormous cavern, from floor to ceiling. It feels like we’re two kid wizards who just apparated into the library of some magical academy—I love the Harry Potter books, and it’s no secret.
I come to a halt. “Oh wow.”
One art piece, if its polite to call it that, dominates the otherwise normal looking hall with comfy couches, chairs and tables—a fifty-foot dragon, wings outstretched, carved in marble. I don’t miss the wolf riding on the back of the dragon’s back, so it’s obvious who they are. I clear my throat, and think of a polite thing to say, but thank God Lorenzo beats me to the race.
“Marvelous isn’t it?” Lorenzo asks, puffing up his chest. It’s clearly not a question, but a declaration. Marvelously tacky, I bite my lips from saying. I want to ask him how he could afford that huge thing and how he got an artist to work on it, but I don’t need to. “Made a deal with the fairies for this beauty. Worth it, don’t you think?”
“Well. Sure.” God, I take my words back. This guy is shady.
Someone clears their throat, and I blink to see an old woman seated behind an enormous desk. The word ‘librarian’ is embossed on the pin on her blazer. She looks at us severely, and then uses a stick to tap at the sign on the wall behind her, which reads ‘Silent Pups Go to Heaven, Loud Ones Go to Hell.’
“Designed for you?” I ask Lorenzo warily.
“Hag,” Lorenzo mutters, not without a hint of fondness. “Come on.”
He drags me to the desk, and I introduce myself politely. It never hurts to show manners to the elderly. “Why yes, I can see it now. Muddy’s Brandon in the flesh, although he never looked so—”
“Buffed and rough?” Lorenzo cut in.
“Healthy,” the woman finishes. “You look like you have some strength in you. How can I help?”
At Lorenzo’s encouraging nod, I tell her about my plan to break the curse. She frowns, and types something on her computer.
“Muddy has tried. My great grandmother would tell me he frequented this place, reading and unearthing old records, bringing in everything he could about the line of witches who placed that curse.”
I didn’t need to read the silent challenge in her eyes. What can you do? They seem to say.
“He didn’t try hard enough,” I answer simply.
She blinks in surprise, and then nods. “You’ll want the records about the witch line and the history.”
After directing us to a room filled with old musty records, she leaves us to our devices. Lorenzo is helpful at first, before frustration sinks in. He seems to have a short attention span, but I’m far from giving up. I’m not aware of him leaving, but after what feels like hours later, I sink into an arm chair, staring at all the information strewn around me.
“Muddy has centuries of head-start,” I muttered under my breath.
“Still here, aren’t you?”
I look up at that voice. Drakon uncrosses his arms and I wonder how long he’s been watching me. Did Lorenzo send him?
“I’m not leaving until I find a solution,” I quip back.
“You’re as stubborn as my brother. Figures,” Drakon mutters, taking the chair next mine. “Like calls to like after all.”
“Are you here to tell me it’s useless?”
Drakon regards me for awhile before answering. “Fools,” he says, and that irks me.
“Oh fuck you. Muddy can’t keep going at this. He’s stretched too thin, and the heart can’t keep breaking and fixing itself forever. One day, he’s going to snap.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” Drakon’s thunderous voice makes the ground, hell, the walls vibrate. He settles back down, jaw tight, his pupils gleam like silver fire and outwardly in their fury. “He is my only blood, but each time you are reborn, you take a piece of his heart and soul.”
Drakon points an accusatory finger at me. “I once tried accidently arranging your death, and my brother didn’t speak to me for a century.”
“How is that helpful?” I ask warily.
“These records will tell you nothing. Comb through it if you what, but I can give you the answer,” Drakon says simply.
“Which is?”
“The latest descendent of the witch lives in Puppyville, but even she cannot reverse what her ancestor did. The power is diluted—”
I jump to my feet. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”
“Are you deaf, pup? I said the curse is irreversible,” Drakon snaps.
“Nothing is. Thank you,” before I leave, I steal a kiss on my brother-in-law’s cheek, and rush back up. I see Lorenzo staring at us, mouth open.
“You kissed my Drakon,” he accuses.
“For luck, he’s all yours, don’t worry,” I pat his shoulder as I pass and he snorts.
“Oh, I know. Be easy on Muddy,” he says.
I remember to thank the librarian and sprint back up. Soon, I begin cursing these steps. Going down is a lot easier than up. The stairs seem to go on forever, and by the time I reach the main living quarters, I’m sweating profusely and collapse to my knees to steady my breathing. I hear footsteps closing in, and I know immediately its Muddy. It’s the first time I see him look genuinely cross.
“What the hell were you thinking, even dragging my brother and Loren into this?” Muddy demands, and while it’s inappropriate, I admit he looks so fucking cute pissed. I press my hand against his jeans, and hear his sharp exhale. I know my dragon can’t stay mad at me for long. Seconds later, I feel his hand on my hair, stroking, tugging.
“Baby,” he whispers. “Let it go.”
“Never,” I say, looking at him, showing him teeth. “We’re paying a visit to Puppyville’s local witch.”
He blinks. “How did you get that far? Drakon,” he curses.
I rise to my feet and he gives me a knowing look.
“No matter what I do, I can’t stop you, can I?”
“Nope. Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll find a way down this damn mountain.”
Muddy sighs. “Let’s get this foolishness over with then.”
My turn to look at him. “You’re agreeing to this?”
“Better to watch you do something foolish than worry about it,” he mutters.
I grin. “Know-it-all.”
“Stubborn ass wolf,” he mutters. “Need to grab some clothes.”
After packing a bag, back to the landing we go. I remember to pack us winter coats and boots. Muddy grumbles all the way, until he shifts and I mount his back—with more grace this time.
“Baby, what do you think about me getting some kind of saddle and reins?” I ask. Snorting, Muddy lifts off before I can prepare myself. Cursing, I hang onto his neck tight. While it’s tempting to fling the bag containing his spare clothes aside, I think better of it because I can’t have humans gawking at my dragon. I’m over-the-top protective, so sue me.
“We’ll talk about it another time,” I yell, whooping as wind whips at our faces.
Muddy seems to like showing off this time, making swoops and hair-raising dives, but I trust him without a doubt. He’s been taking care of my soul for many lifetimes. Him dropping me doesn’t even cross my mind. He lands on the woods near the property where the witch lives. While he shifts back, I hand him clothes and put on more warm ones for me. I pat down my messy hair, but Muddy doesn’t seem concerned.
“Who needs a car or plane, when I have you?” I tease, trying to lighten the mood, and he actually cracks a smile.
We hold hands, like two boys frightened of the dark, and stare at the tiny cottage in front of us. The sign in front reads ‘Aunt Lavinia’s Knits and Things.” It’s a local establishment I know, because one of my pack members and good friend, Trig, loves to knit. Trig buys all his supplies here, and swears Lavinia’s is a knitting enthusiast’s dream palace.
Since it’s the dead of winter, I expect the road to be empty of cars. Snow starts to fall over our heads, but the sign on the door reads ‘Open’. We go in, and the bell jingles. There’s no one in the shop and a sense of déjà vu fills me.
“Have you ever met this witch?” I ask. It can’t be Lavinia, the nice little old widow, who I greet at city hall meetings with the town mayor and shop owners.
“Yes, when she was younger. She only confirmed what I suspected.”
“No nasty fights?” I ask. “Some kind of Buffy moment when she stakes you, wounds you or whatever?”
He snorts. “You’re too young to watch Buffy.”
“No I’m not. I thought she was my crush, until I saw Spike,” I retort and Muddy looks at me, bemused. Then he considers my question seriously.
“It’s not like that. Whatever hate and resentment her ancestors harbored, it all happened a long time ago. Lavinia and I occasionally still have tea. Your friend Trig sometimes joins us to get knitting tips from Lavinia.”
“Trig, huh? That bastard,” I mutter, making a mental note to talk to my buddy.
“Be welcomed, I foresaw you two coming,” says a familiar voice. I blink, realizing it is the same Aunt Lavinia. “Come over to the back, boys, I’m no longer young.”
Muddy and I look at each other then follow suit. Out back, behind the cashier, we’re surprised to be in the back of her house. The smell of freshly baked biscuits makes my mouth water, and tea too. Muddy nudges me sharply in the ribs.
“What?” I grumble.
“Don’t drool.”
Lavinia looks amused and takes a seat on the kitchen table, where two steaming mugs await us, as well as a plate of biscuits.
“You can see the future?” I ask.
“Not always. Visions of the future is a more accurate term, but I knew this visit would come,” Lavinia says.
Muddy glares at me when I scarf down my biscuits and take his too.
“There’re plenty more on the tray,” Lavinia offers. “Muddy, aren’t you feeding your mate?”
“He eats like a pack horse,” Muddy mutters as I bring over the tray. “You’re going to get fat, Rover.”
In answer, I lift the hem of my shirt, flashing him my abs. I don’t miss the way Muddy licks his lips. “I’m good.”
“Oh, Muddy, he is a keeper,” Lavinia gushes.
“Lavinia, tell this idiot there’s no way to undo the curse,” Muddy pleads, going straight to the point.
Lavinia takes my hands with her withered and shaky ones. Every member of the supernatural community, including shifters, are able to sense a little bit of magic. Lavinia didn’t have much left, I can tell. Perhaps the power in her line became diluted over the centuries. Hopelessness begins to settle within me. Some of it must show on my face, because she touches my cheek.
“What Muddy says is true, except...” Lavinia hesitates. Muddy looks at her intently, and I can tell he does not expect her response.
“Lavinia, did you find out something new?” Muddy presses, leaning forward in his chair.
“The effect of the curse might be reversed, but the price is too high,” Lavinia says, shaking her head. She looks a little pale now, as if she’s regretting mentioning it at all.
“We’ll take it,” I answer with confidence, reaching to grasp Muddy’s fingers in mine.
“You do not understand, Beta. My ancestor knew what she was doing. The only way to undo the curse is to demand whatever of the same value. It can be anything—your ability to feel, or your memories,” Lavinia gently explains. Muddy lets out a breath, looking dejected again, but I squeeze his fingers.
“I no longer want you to hurt, Muddy. Don’t you think this option is worth exploring?” I demand.
Muddy studies me for a while, but I glimpse his tired soul underneath. Like Drakon says, living out this curse for most of his life has taken a toll on my bronze dragon. In those few seconds, we understand each other, Muddy and I. One doesn’t live through centuries or is reborn many times, to not be able to understand each other. We know each other inside out, better than any pair of soulmates who have only lived a single lifespan together. We both want this. Need this tale to end, one way or another.
“You two are crazy,” Lavinia breathes.
“Lavinia, please. Two decades ago, you told me you’d do anything to help me reverse this curse,” Muddy says. “We’re both giving you our consent.”
The old woman bites her lip, and then nods. “Give me a day to prepare. We will meet at the place, you know where it is, Muddy. Now get out, please. I need to think.”
“Thank you,” I tell Lavinia, meaning every word.
We leave the cottage, the load in our hearts not entirely lifted, but we feel much better.
“Are you certain we can trust her?” I ask.
“I trust her enough,” Muddy answers. “She wants this to end too. It’s not only us who inherited centuries of bitter resentment, and this is one fight she has nothing to do with.”