เข้าสู่ระบบIanOakley walks out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Her wet hair glimmers in the faint light of the oil lamp I lit and rested on the kitchen counter. It’s the earliest, dead hours of morning. The sun won’t rise for another few hours, and it’s raining so hard her footsteps are drowned out by the downpour that thunders over the tin roof. I didn’t totally anticipate taking her here, to my home, tonight. I misjudged the weather and got a bit too enthusiastic about the fact that we both were able to shift. There was magic in the air, and that magic dragged me back here, to the home I intend to share with her, soon, if the Goddess sees fit. Still, according to customs shared by both of our packs and the tribes that laid our cultural foundations, this is an entirely inappropriate situation… for a couple who isn’t at least handfasted. And no one knows we are but Naomi.“Better?” I ask, handing her one of my shirts. She accepts the garment with a quick, embarrassed smile. “I guess I ha
OakleyThe night after my bride price was paid, I didn’t fall into bed until long after the moon rose. Wine flowed in the Silverhide packhouse until well after sunset, and a feast was laid out in my honor. The entire pack, including my future grandparents-in-law, if that’s a thing, celebrated me. More merriment will come, like it always does this time of year when the young women of Silverhide prepare for their weddings. But the evening was tinged with a certain kind of melancholy I could see in the eyes of my mother and my aunts. I will not be spending the winter in Silverhide. I roll over in my bed, jarred awake for some reason, and stare at the far wall. It’s raining, sprinkling, just hard enough to sound on the roof directly above my head while I watch shadows play over my dresser. Memories of the feast last night simmer and fade, and my eyes grow heavy again, and within a blink, I’m falling back into a dream state. A smooth, hard clunk rings through the room. I open one eye,
OakleyWe haven’t left the guest room in Skye and Alex’s townhouse all day. I watch the sunset fade through floral stained glass windows while Ian snoozes on and off beside me, my cheek pressed to his chest. This is all we’ve done. Slept. Touched. It’s been totally innocent, but I don’t think we have the energy for anything else, and also, we’re very much not alone. I think old habits and convictions have snuck back in. We’re handfasted, yes, but only a select few people know that. My family doesn’t know, for one, and I doubt Naomi told Ian’s family. To the rest of the world, and everyone currently in this house deciding what to do with us, we’re just Ian and Oakley, a somewhat-couple. In the eyes of everyone in the Deadlands, our current situation would be deemed wholly inappropriate without a bride price paid and a wedding of some sort, preferably one that takes place at the Harvest Festival like tradition demands. Even I am thinking about that while drawing lazy circles over the
OakleyThere’s something odd about Dr. Alex Scarlett, the world renowned paleomicrobiologist with shocking blue eyes, pale skin, and hair so black it has a slight blue tint in certain lighting, but it’s not his looks that are throwing me off. He’s been watching me in silence for the better part of an hour while people I don’t know flutter around me, talking about me without talking to me. I find his presence slightly reassuring. I also have come to the conclusion that his proximity has awoken my dormant wolf for the first time in weeks, who is now writhing and silently warning me that danger is very near. He is the danger, which seems strange and wrong. The only time he moves, and I mean at all, is to rise from an armchair nearby to refill my teacup. Even then, he glides with a quiet grace that betrays everything I know about the world. He’s real. I know that much. He’s not some apparition, not a ghost or a figment of my imagination. He’s Skye’s husband, and Skye is Naomi’s cousin.
Naomi The once quiet, empty, echoing corridor connecting the spacious rooms of Fraser’s more private areas of his massive palace are now absolutely alive with activity. I trip over a fox, who squawks in panic and leaps out of my way before getting trampled, which is in his or her favor, seeing as I’m not stopping. My cloak flows out behind me like wings, which feels fitting for the situation at hand. I’m still wearing my clothes from yesterday, still fit to travel, which was the plan up until a mere hour ago, when Wren alerted us that he’d found them. Skye immediately spirited to Ian and Oakley’s location, not knowing if she’d find their bodies mangled or flattened like pancakes that failed to rise. She left with the stark knowledge that they were dead–because how could they not be? We both bore witness to Fraser’s final act of mercy. That blade is still in the landing room, or whatever he calls it, and the blood that poured from Oakley’s heart is only just beginning to dry. I spen
OakleyI can’t remember what I’m doing in our kitchen for a moment. Sunlight drifts through floral print curtains that are oddly unfamiliar. My worktable in the center of the kitchen is covered in scattered flour and the beginnings of… oh, right. Biscuits. To go along with the eggs and bacon sizzling in the pan stationed over the cooking fire. I look down at my hands. A fresh jar of honey is clutched tight, still warm from the sun. Ian walks by outside the window with a shovel resting over his shoulder and disappears from sight, and I expect everything to rush back to me, reminding me of what exactly I’ve been doing all morning, but it doesn’t. My mind feels hazy. I snap out of it when the bacon begins to burn. “That smells great,” Ian whispers against the top of my head, the back door snapping closed behind him, my only clue that he’s nearby. I feel out of body while fixing two plates that seem oddly blurry, and I honestly can’t smell a thing. “How’s the oven working? I added mor
*Maddox*I walk ahead of the stretcher carrying Isla and try not to pull my fur out. If I had thumbs, I might’ve already pulled out enough fur around my forehead that I’d look bald.Images of a wolf with a receding hairline come to mind, and I almost laugh. But nothing is that funny right now.What the
*Isla*“Can I come in?”I stare at the girl, not quite sure what to say. I’m taken aback that she’s even here. What in the world could she possibly have to say to me?And yet, it’s very difficult for me to tell her to leave. She looks so sad, standing there in the doorway, her bulging stomach protrudin
ArisPosey disappears in a flurry of gray wool the second my powers fade like tendrils of smoke across the dark mosaic tiles of the grand foyer. Her footsteps echo down a darkened corridor, the only sound for what feels like an eternity–an eternity spent willing myself to stand still and not chase
Posey“I don’t think I understand.” I set the letter down and turn to Aris, who’s leaning against the hearth in our bedroom. “My father wrote this?”“It’s his blessing.” He crouches, inspecting the fire with a poker. I resist the urge to crumple the letter but set it neatly on the bed instead. “In







