Weregirl (2 page)

I will not think of him, not now. Maybe not ever again. I must let him go, my normal love, no matter how he makes me feel.

Smiling green eyes flash in my mind regardless of my wishes, and I smother Sage’s handsome face with a litany of duty, honor and pride as I turn to my wardrobe and begin to dress. The opulence of the room around me is lost, wasted on a warrior who struggles to adjust to being a princess. I would be just as happy in a plain, small room, without the accoutrement of wealth and position. But I have no choices now, as I had none when I was a slave to the Black Souls, trading one loss of freedom for another.

The wardrobe door vibrates as I slam it shut, biting back my bitterness. I have a duty to my grandfather, to my people. I am free, but I will never be me.

My eyes meet my own gaze in the mirror and I draw a breath to settle myself. A few more and I’ve released my emotion, drawing on years of protections against the stirrings of my heart. When I’m done, I’ve succeeded in at least dulling both my physical and emotional aches to a distant throb.

Soft carpet muffles my long strides, carrying me quickly from my quarters and to the broad staircase leading down to the main floor and the throne room. I register and return the nods and greetings of the weres who pass me, wondering if they feel as out of their element now as I do. Yes, Syd did us a massive favor by healing us and giving us our freedom. But I can tell from the feel of my fellow weres, the sometimes awkward way they act, their hesitancy when faced with their own decision making instead of being directed, they, too, are still adjusting to not answering to anyone but other werewolves.

I think that is why most have stayed close to the palace. Not that we don’t have room for the Ukraine weres in the massive building. But the need to serve is so ingrained in us, even I find myself looking to Oleksander, my king before he is my family, for guidance and the familiarity of order.

The closer I come to the throne room doors, the more my eagerness returns. I’ve missed my dear friend—my former
пов'язаний
, my bonded one—with a pain I often marvel at. Her perceived loss is still agony to me, the severance of our bond one of the most painful memories I
will ever bear. She tells the story as though I had a choice to return from death, when the gunshot I took for her laid me low.
 

She still has no idea I had no choice but to come back to her. None at all.

The weres guarding the doors bow to me as I glide past, my focus now on the two figures at the far end of the long room. I no longer see the elaborate décor here, either, if I ever did, raised to it as I’ve been since childhood. The Faberge egg appearance of the overdone palace has become blasé and invisible to me. But every once in a while, I notice again and find myself standing, staring, in wonder how far my people have come to have taken this place from the evil that created us and made it our own.

My memories of living here as a small child are hard to chase away. Every time I walk this stretch of carpet to the throne, I recall the day I was given to the Dumont family, along with six other children of the werenation. And the memory still churns bile in my stomach. The ghostly, smiling image of Odette Dumont and her vile son, Andre, his eager anticipation terrifying me even then, winks into existence and out again as I banish the vision with a surge of raw hate.

But the sight of smiling Ethpeal shatters the old pull of fear and loathing and warms me with the fire of her love. This is my new life and I willingly hurry toward it.

***

I stride to her, needing the comfort where once I shunned the care of others. I hug her as she opens her arms to me. I never expected to be so physically demonstrative, had taken years to break from my shell of rigid control. Syd’s family brings out the best in me, though I fear they have also made me weak.

Not that I care, right now. The girl inside me is starved for love. I’m aware of her need and I can’t bring myself to deny her anything. Ethpeal’s lips brush my cheek before she pushes me back, hands gripping my upper arms, sly smile on her face. While she looks entirely different, her wispy white hair now lustrous black, wrinkled skin filled out into a rosy glow and faded blue eyes returned to the dark of her daughter and granddaughter, Ethpeal has always felt the same to me. Even her shift from witch to sorcerer hasn’t altered the intense touch of her spirit. I think I may have been the least shaken by her transformation when her sorcery claimed her.

She smells of grapefruit and honey, her soul a rich purplish blue engulfing me as much as her arms.

“Charlotte.” She flashes her white teeth in a big smile. “I’m early. Wanted to chat with your grandfather.”

Oleksander bows his head graciously, and I marvel at Ethpeal’s kindness. She understands my guilt at being late and is giving me a way out of my embarrassment.

“A most lively conversation it was,” my grandfather says in his deep voice, heavy beard unable to hide his smile or the sparkle in his eyes. He stands from his throne, towering over both of us, broad arms and shoulders more than large enough to embrace us in one big hug if he chose.

Which he would never do, out of fear he would offend the sorcerer next to me.

“My darling Sharlotta,” he bends and presses his lips to my forehead, bristly hair tickling my face, “I know you will bring honor to our family in your return to Wilding Springs.” I lean back and nod.

“Always, Grandfather,” I say.

His gentle smile triggers my gratitude for him. Meira has told me some of her history with her own grandfather on Demonicon, his cruelty and short-sighted need for power. I know I am fortunate that Oleksander truly loves me and wants what’s best for me. But at times like this, feeling the pressure of his need to show only the best face of the werenation, I want to run away and never come back.

I understand his nervousness, the anxiety he smells of often when important others—those he respects and whose respect he longs for in return—come to call. I feel it as keenly as he does. We’ve spent our entire existence at the beck and call of those who cared nothing for our wellbeing and everything for their own greed. Reshaping the reputation of the werenation will take the very best we have to offer.

My grandfather bends beside his throne and retrieves a small bag, handing it to me. I’m already aware of the contents, having chosen the gifts for Meira and the baby myself. His heart is in the right place at all times, but he has no sense of the appropriate when it comes to gifts. I still shudder at the wood-burning of the wolf pack he gave Syd for her matrimonial gift. I’m almost positive it lives in the basement at the Wilding Springs house.

“Please offer my love and excitement for Meira and her coming child.” He sighs softly, eyes sad. “How fortunate for her and her mate to have a healthy and powerful heir to look forward to.”

My teeth grind together of their own accord. “I shall, Grandfather.” The need to escape is so strong I grasp Ethpeal’s hand in my own and squeeze ever so gently.

“I’m sure Meira and Rameranselot will be delighted by your sentiment,” the sorcerer says, smiling as she pulls me down the steps away from the throne. “As much as I’ve enjoyed our conversation, we really must be going.”

We are a mere step past the throne room doors when Ethpeal giggles. It’s a sound that normally lifts my heart, but my rising anger—aimed at my poor grandfather—won’t allow me to smile.

“He’s not exactly the subtle type, is he?” She pulls me against her side, arm around my waist. “And you’re such an old maid, my dear, can you blame him?”

I turn my head to meet her laughing eyes. “You’re teasing me.” Sometimes I find it difficult to pick up the nuances of Syd’s family. Their constant prodding makes me shake my head.

“Of course I am,” Ethpeal says, pulling me to a halt outside the front doors of the palace. “Listen to me, Charlotte.” Where once laughter bubbled, now serious worry looms, her blue eyes locking on my gaze. “If anyone knows the pressure of marrying for power and honor, it’s the Hayle family.” I nod as she goes on. “And the last thing you want is to endure what we’ve endured.” Ethpeal’s true love didn’t come to pass until after she spent seventeen years locked in insanity, after giving the majority of her life doing everything for the good of her family. Our lives are parallel, indeed. “You’re only twenty-seven, Charlotte. There’s no hurry.”

“Convince my grandfather of that,” I growl, the wolf in me snorting agreement.

Ethpeal laughs again, moment over, still holding me near. “Not my job,” she says. “I know you’ll figure it out.” She suddenly smells of mint and stone. “Just trust and believe in yourself. And don’t let anyone push you into something you don’t want to do. Ever.”

I hug her, rush of emotion so powerful I can’t control it. I never know if I should embrace this oddity born of my association with the Hayle witches. There was a time showing what I felt to anyone meant certain ridicule and harsh punishment. It has taken me time to adjust, but this part of my freedom I enjoy most of all.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

She hugs me in return before turning to gesture into the night. The Steam Union agreed long ago not to use their sorcery inside the palace, a simple concession to our shed shackles under the yoke of the Black Souls. And though I personally consider it an unnecessary requirement, my fellow weres seem content with this show of their power, keeping sorcery outside the main palace. Werewolves so love to flex their muscles.

I enter the black tunnel still holding her hand, the handles of the gift bag in my other. I hope Ethpeal doesn’t feel the sudden rise of heat in my skin, or mind the slick sweat I can’t hold back as we enter the dark hole in the air. It reminds me keenly of my near death, the pull of the sorcery inside the gap drawing at my very soul.

The trip is over in a moment, but I’m as shaken as always. It’s one of the times I’m grateful for the Charlotte who learned to hide herself from the world, the mask of detachment sliding over my face as we step out and into the park behind Syd’s house. Ethpeal reaches for the bag in my hand, liberating me from its soft weight.

“I’ll spare you the walk through the crowd,” she says. How well she knows me.

I let her precede me, grateful she is willing to navigate to the center of the party for me, allowing me to remain in the outskirts, my favorite place now. There was a time when I guarded Syd I had to be in the middle of everything. But I had her as my focus. Now, alone and with my own title, I often found myself overwhelmed by the greetings and neediness of the coven who only wanted to be close to me while I just had to escape them.

Ethpeal disappeared through the hedge as I squared myself for the next few hours. The moment I move to follow, I stop. Pressure builds on the back of my neck, the weight of eyes on me. I spin, tense and ready to fight. But there is no one, nothing there, only the quiet park, the silence of the trees and I shake my head at myself.

Looking for trouble, maybe? The distraction would be welcome. If only to suppress my acceptance my grandfather is right. I’ve been shirking my responsibilities, putting aside the safety and well-being of my people in my longing for someone I can never have.

Sage. How had I allowed things to go so far? My hands relax at my sides from the unconscious fists I’ve made in response to the perceived threat. The only thing standing behind me is regret I haven’t acted sooner and just let him go.

Resolved to end things and finally move on, I step across the border into Syd’s yard.

***

This location is so familiar to me, I finally crack a smile through my disorientation. Ethpeal is long gone into the crowd through the worn path in the hedge and into the yard beyond. Lights flood over me, hung from the trees draping themselves across the property. Mixed scents hit like an assault, overpowering perfume from some of the gathered witches, dirt taste from the deep magic of the Wild Hunt buried under the ground. The tang of bodies and the sharp zing of the bowl of punch I pass make my mouth water and my stomach churn in equal measure.

The sun has just set here in this part of the world, the air shuddering shadows as vampires appear. I glide the edge of the gathering, nodding to Sunny Wilhelm, the queen of her clan, but avoid her as she smiles and waves to me. I’m in no mood to chat with the beautiful vampire leader, nor with anyone else. I only wish to find a quiet corner and contemplate the method with which I will break two hearts over a love affair that should never have been.

I find a quiet place to perch and observe, a chair pulled to the corner near the mouth of the drive, allowing the false face of calm to slip over me, the well-known embrace of old training hiding the churning worry hiding behind its walls. I observe everything with my wolf-sharpened senses, more habit than out of need to protect the ones gathered here. Doing so makes it easier for me to focus on what I have to do, rather than on what I wish with all my heart I could do.

Sage’s engaging smile warned me the moment we met. Syd believed my animosity toward her martial arts teacher came from my irritation at her demands to learn to protect herself. The contrary was more the thing. The instant Sage’s green eyes met mine, the rich, flavorful scent of him carrying through me on a wave of deliciousness, I felt myself tumble into emotions I’d never harbored before and, terrified by what they could mean, I only showed him coldness and flat annoyance while my true self’s curiosity drew me back again and again.

One time too many, long after Syd stopped working with him, in fact. My hands twitch in my lap, the only outward sign I give my mind is engaged in memory, as I play over the moment I finally understood what I was feeling.

He was alone in the dojo that night, cleaning up behind the last of the customers. And I was drawn to that place, to observe him as I had been for weeks. This time he noticed me, beckoned me inside, and some strange need carried me to him.

We ended up sparring, though I don’t remember why and, when the fight fired the wolf in me to different passions, I released my fear of what my feelings might mean and took him to bed. From the very first night, he was gentle and loving, as demanding as I when the need arose, but thoughtful in every act, in each touch.