3: Strange Magic

Jack    

Dark magic.

Green magic.

I don’t care what the fuck kind of magic it is! She’s a witch and I’m going to kill her.

I’d stop that if I were you, the bossy border collie warns through the link. Milady can hear your thoughts. I know she wouldn’t harm you, but Alpha would.

Right now, he’s behind the exam table and she’s on my side of it, I retort menacingly.

Behind the table where he can see your approach. Alpha is no idiot. You might be though, she adds unnecessarily.

That was harsh. Offended, I glanced down at the dog, my brows drawn together. She turns in hobbling circles a few times, then eases herself stiffly to the floor where she can watch me. Unable to help myself, I lean forward on the chair I occupy at the kitchen table and stroke her fur gently.

What’s your name, little sister?

Tessa. Why do you hate witches, Second triumvir?

Because vamps using witch cloaking killed my family when I was young. The vamps that attacked us this morning were cloaked too.

Milady is no witch, Tessa replies indignantly. Hers is the forest magic of the Fae.

My eyes shoot from the dog to the woman, stunned. Tessa's lady has her back to me as Ian helps her to her feet, but there's no mistaking the two pair of strong transparent wings with dark shimmery veins and an irridescent sheen draped vertically and originating at two spots between her narrow shoulders.  Seriously?

Yes, triumvir.

In shock, I peer at her, comparing what I see with what little I know of fae and watching the silvery wings curl and retract into her, disappearing entirely beneath her creamy skin. 

She's tall, fine-boned as a bird and elegant, and moves with a fluid grace rather than the airy intangible vibe I've always imagined fae would have. In fact, she seems entirely solid, slender and curvy at the same time, and now that I'm thinking of it again, scents strongly of breeding female.

Beyond that she's clearly attractive to my big brother— and that alone is no small feat— she doesn't appear all that different than any other well-built pretty brunette with one notable exception. Though she can't be more than her late twenties, something about her is old.

And I don't mean ageless, even if she does have that going for her too. 

I mean like survived from some long-dead era. Ancient and mysterious. And not just a little dangerous.  

**

Ian    

As the faery woman focuses her attention on Ivan and begins whispering, I position myself on the opposite side of the table where I can keep an eye on Jack.

“How can I help you?” I ask quietly, remembering what she’d said in the orchard, and trying not to disturb her concentration.

She darts to the corner of the room, wheeling a monitoring instrument on an ornately carved rolling pole to the side of the table. From a woven basket beneath it, she stretches a pressure cuff towards Ivan’s front leg, ripping the Velcro open before looping it loosely around his limb. “The second cabinet from the wall, second shelf. The vials with the yellow caps and red stripe along the label. I need one—,” she glances down at Ivan, skimming him from head to foot, “—on second thought, better make that two. Syringes are in the drawer beneath. Grab one of the largest ones.”

By the time I return to Ivan’s side with the vials and syringe, she has him cuffed up, and is adjusting settings using the buttons on the strange monitoring machine. A bag of clear medically labeled fluid hangs from the top of the pole, a packaged IV needle waiting on the top of the machine.

Removing the syringe from its sterile wrapping, she braces it between two long, almost spindly-delicate fingers while she removes the plastic caps from the vials, exposing the poke-through lids. She removes the wrapping, then the protective cap from the syringe needle with her teeth, spitting it to the floor with the rest of the trash.

“The good news is he’s not going to feel me yank this yew arrow out of him. The bad news is after I inject this,” she drains first one, then the second vial into the syringe, dropping these to the floor and kicking them out of the way, “he’s going to know it was there.”

Tapping a finger against the syringe, she forces bubbles out of it and looks up at me again, nearly knocking me senseless with those golden-green tip-tilted eyes. “I’m going to need that alpha command again. The minute he draws breath after I inject this, I need you to make him shift. I need him in human form.”

“Got it.”

She nods once, then looks down at Ivan and draws a deep breath. She braces her free hand in the matted and bloodied fur around the arrow and the wound begins to hiss and smoke.

“Holy shit.”

“Yep,” she replies, positioning the syringe over Ivan’s heart. “It’s going to get worse. Ready?”

“Let’s do it.” I rest my arms heavily over Ivan, prepared to restrain him during his shift.

On the other side of Ivan’s furry body, my mate closes her hand around the yew arrow, at the same time pushing the syringe into Ivan’s chest then forcing the plunger down. With a strength I didn’t think she could have, she yanks the hissing, smoldering arrow free and sends it clattering to the floor. The empty syringe follows so she can press both hands over the oozing hole where the arrow had been.

Ivan’s body jerks once, hard, on the table beneath me, then he draws a ragged breath. Blood pumps out of the open wound and down the faery healer’s arms and the breath Ivan had just taken becomes an agonized roar. My mate cringes against it, squeezing her eyes closed tightly, but she keeps her hands over the wound.

“Ivan!” I shout over him. “Shift! Now!”

Beneath my straining arms, Ivan convulses, his wolf half struggling against the commanded transformation in his pain. She was right—this is definitely getting worse. “Jack! I need help holding him!”

Jack vaults out of his chair and is beside my mate in a heartbeat, his full weight thrown over Ivan’s lower body. “What the fuck is happening?!?” he demands over Ivan’s tormented howls and thrashing.

“I’m forcing the poison out of him! Alpha! Command him again!”

I can barely hear her over Ivan's wolf’s anguished cries. “Ivan! I order you to shift! RIGHT NOW!”

This time, the command penetrates his consciousness beyond the pain.

Though the convulsions beneath Jack and I continue, Ivan’s fur retracts, and the familiar popping and morphing of bones and shape from wolf to man starts, but it’s taking far longer than it should.

“Hold on, buddy!” I urge, pinning his chest with all my weight, my hands gripping the opposite side of the table.

**

Darby    

A were's shift that normally only takes maybe a minute, takes the wounded Ivan nearly fifteen minutes to complete. It's agonizingly long, especially listening to his tormented howls and cries, and the viscerally disturbing pops as his body moves from one form to the other.

I’ve never healed a were before—or any shifter for that matter—and what I know of human medicine and normal veterinary medicine is insufficient to get my magic into him and ease his pain through it. All I can do is try to hold the bleeding vessels inside him closed and keep trying to start the healing process.

As his shift progresses, his convulsing stops and he grows still enough that Jack and the alpha relax their holds. Ivan’s also quiet now, allowing me to hear the erratic beeps and blips coming from the monitoring instrument and focus on the parts of his anatomy I can access and heal.

I lose track of how much time passes between when Ivan’s shift is complete and when the blips and beeps from the machine become stable. The distrustful Jack has retreated against the surgery wall, as far away from me as he can get, glaring threateningly. The alpha remains close though, his deep blue eyes watching my every move.

I pray the Powers that Be help me. This alpha is the fastest, strongest were I’ve ever encountered and if Ivan dies, I doubt I’ll survive him long.

With the sheer volume of magic that's channeled through me today, I know when I release both the magic and the wound, I won’t remain upright for long. Please, just long enough for me to start the IV, I pray, hoping my request is heeded as I relinguish the healing energy I've drawn.

And, maybe, if you can, don’t let me fall face first into any were blood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the wretched poisoned arrow lying on the floor. “Don’t…touch… that,” I say, releasing Ivan’s wound and pointing to the arrow.

Stumbling a bit, I snatch the IV needle off the top of the monitor and turn Ivan’s arm so I can see his veins, hoping he hasn’t lost so much blood that I can’t find one. “I guess I needn’t have worried,” I giggle to myself, now struggling to decide which of the thick cords twisting up his inner arm I’m going to use and unwrapping the needle.

“Are you sure you’re okay to do that?” The handsome alpha peers at me doubtfully.

“Oh, so little faith. This part I could do with my eyes closed.” Which I might have to, I think, seeing the edges of my vision beginning to blur and white out.

Selecting a vein quickly, I thread the IV needle into it, then press the securing protective adhesive onto his flesh. As I’m attaching the fluid and starting the pump, the white is constricting from the periphery of my sight towards the center, leaving me a narrow tunnel to finish adjusting the drip.

“She needs to sit down,” Jack says, almost urgently. It sounds like he’s in a tin can about a hundred yards away.

“I’m fine,” I lie, but I can feel myself swaying now. And I’m getting hot. And the tunnel is barely the size of a straw, turning dark now instead of white. The last thing I see is the alpha darting around the exam table towards me.

**

Ian    

I focus on my mate as she concentrates on Ivan, and when he settles at last, I hear her whispered words again. When she speaks in the Old Tongue to summon magic—the language of the earth itself— the combination of sounds is an eerie blend of vowels, trilling and humming babble to my ears. Whatever she’s saying, it’s drawing massive amounts of energy even I can feel through her, channeling it into Ivan’s wound. Her spectacular tip-tilted eyes stare into a place I can’t follow and her entire body pulses with green vitality.

She looks like Anann of the Three Sisters.

Jack’s comment isn’t far off and I nod. Though she’s not the most powerful deity for werewolves, Anann as a triple aspect, sometimes referred to as Three Sisters, is formidable, nevertheless.

As werewolves, the moon goddess, Arianrhod rules. To her, we attribute the selection of our mates and the gifts of our abilities, which makes the gift of this faery woman as mine particularly interesting. Why would Arianrhod give a fabled faery mate to the alpha of Candlewood pack? Least of all a fae as powerful as this one.

The vitals monitor has been beeping a steady rhythm for some time when suddenly she drops her hands. My mate sways, stumbling a bit, but rights herself quickly. A smile tugs the corners of my mouth. She’s stronger than she looks and it makes me proud.

“Don’t…touch…that.” She points to the blood covered arrow she pulled from Ivan laying on the surgery floor, drawing my eyes to it.

As if we didn’t fucking know? Jack spits sarcasm through our link.

She doesn’t know what we know, and I'm not sure she's in any state to figure it out.

“I guess I needn’t have worried,” she giggles, staring at the underside of Ivan’s forearm, tracing the veins along it with her delicate fingertips.

Unable to suppress it, a low growl escapes me. The only person I want her touching like that is me!

But I revise my opinion hastily as she removes the needle’s packaging. She’s planning on stabbing an IV needle about as thick as garden hose into Ivan. As she’s swaying. And lightheaded. “Are you sure you’re okay to do that?”

“Oh, so little faith. This part I could do with my eyes closed.”

Though I have my doubts, and she sways quite a bit while she’s doing it, the faery gets the IV placed, taping it down neatly afterwards.

Yikes! That was scary.

Tell me about it. As I watch, she slips in the blood on the floor, stumbles, recovers herself and sways, all while hooking up the IV solution hanging on the pole and adjusting the pump and monitor at the bedside.

“She needs to sit down.”

“I’m fine,” my mate reassures us.

But her face is flushed, and her eyes are wide and unfocused. Her pupils are constricted and she’s blinking erratically, long eyelashes fluttering over her peridot eyes. Her breath comes in shallow pants. Swaying hard to one side, she smudges a bloody hand against her forehead as she starts to fall and I nip around the table to catch her at her narrow waist.

Her head dangles backwards off her shoulders in unconsciousness and her rosy pout is alarmingly pale. I slide one hand up her spine, pulling her close to my chest and wonder momentarily where the shimmery filigree wings retract to and why she doesn’t like them touched.

Though the contact had been brief, for me, it had been profound. I felt like we’d been adrift inside one another and laid bare to our cores. Like she’d opened me to my soul, reached across time and space into the depths of my existence and woken some forgotten hunger that had been sleeping untold years. I yearned for that touch again.

“I need to get her cleaned up.” I look over my shoulder at Ivan—he seems to be resting peacefully—then towards the back wall and the glowering Jack. “Think you can get this cleaned up and see if you can find us some clothes?”

“And food. I’m starving.”

As if to voice its agreement, my stomach lurches and gives a loud growl. Through the surgery door, I can see the sun has shifted and now streams in through the western windows. “And food,” I agree. “Maybe Tessa can help.”

The little old lady dog waits just outside the surgery door, looking up at me patiently with her clouded eyes. She wags her tail, it’s white tip—called the shepherd’s lantern—tracing an infinity pattern in the air.

Yes, Alpha. Milady’s room is upstairs to the right. Triumvir, I will show you where things to clean are stored. Tessa hobbles a slow turn and, sweeping my unconscious mate into my arms, I follow her out, heading across the kitchen towards the stairs.

“Dammit, Ian! You left bloody footprints all the way across the kitchen! Now I have to clean that too!”

Don’t be such a baby, Triumvir. Come along now.

It’s all I can do not to laugh at Tessa—she’s feisty for someone perhaps thirty pounds and up against a two-hundred pound three-year-old like Jack can be. Thank you, Tessa.

So now I’m subject to this bossy old lady too? Jack whines in my head.

For the moment, Jack, she’s the Luna in this house.

Fuck. Hold up there, Tessa. Food first.

**

Ian    

My mate’s bedroom is awash with her odor, the delicious floral-scented shortbread smell of her permeating everything. I stand in the middle of the room, just breathing it in for a minute and look around. Her taste is simple, and the warm natural colors and utilitarian wood furnishings and cotton linens are a stark contrast to the modern luxury of the Candlewood packhouse.

She’ll get used to it, I think, making my way to the adjoining bathroom, a rectangular windowed affair with a gigantic copper bathtub at one end. And if she hates it, she can redo it until her heart’s content.

There isn’t a single goddamned piece of meat in this house!

I sigh, taking a seat on the side of the deep claw-footed tub, my mate’s legs dangling off my lap and her head cradled against my chest. For the love of Arianrhod, Jack. What the hell are you on about now?

The only things in this house to eat aren’t food. They’re what food eats. Apples. Pears. Lettuce. Lemons. Why the hell does she need so many damn lemons?

It takes a moment listening for me to figure out Jack is rooting through my mate’s refrigerator. I start the water running in the tub, waiting for it to warm.

And what the fuck are these? Tessa, what the fuck are these skinny green things? There’re two different kinds of them in here— one with a weird knob at one end and the other rounded at both ends. Why the hell do you need one kind of skinny green thing, let alone two?

Those are zucchini and cucumbers, Gamma. Milady is fae. She consumes only plants. Fruits. Vegetables. Nuts. Grains. Nectars. That which she can grow or gather.

Yeah? Well, I can gather a big fat deer. How’s that sound?

Jack, don’t be a douche. If you want deer, shift and go get one. There were animals in the woods. Just don’t make a bloody mess in her kitchen.

Oh? What? Like the bloody mess that’s all over her surgery I’m already supposed to clean up?

Is he always whiny like this, Alpha?

No. Apparently, he’s on his worst behavior for you, Tessa.

Ahhh. Come, Triumvir, Tessa says patiently through our link. I’ll show you where to hunt in the woods.

Now we’re talking!

You two stay as close to the cottage as you can and don’t be out there long. Jack, I’m talking to you.

Whatever.

Milady wards the woods in the valley, Alpha. I will take him there to hunt.

Thank you, Tessa. Jack, don’t be a dick, you stay where she tells you to stay. And I mean it—don’t be out there long.

Yes, Alpha. His snide and mocking Tessa imitation is so ridiculously petulant both she and I laugh.

Fuck off, Jack. Tessa, one more thing, please. What is your lady’s name?

Darby, Alpha. Milady’s name is Darby.

Thanks.

Of course, Alpha.

Behind me, the water’s become warm, so I close the drain and start the tub filling. It takes some shuffling Darby about on my lap to get her undressed, then I realize I’ve forgotten her braid.

Propping her against my chest again, I remove the tie at the tip, and begin to unravel her long walnut hair. By the time I’ve reached the back of her neck, there’s an unbroken, undulating drape of heavy, silky darkness wrapping from one side of my body to the other and tickling my shins. For a moment, I sit still and just stare at the way the light moves in the waves as we breathe. It’s absolutely glorious. Why does she keep such magnificence bound in a braid?

I wonder at the silvery strands, most dense at her temples and glittering randomly in the dark waves like stars in the night sky. Normally, these are a sign of age. I lean her backwards, brush her hair away from her face with my fingers. Her body and her face don’t reflect that though. She looks like a girl, nubile and graceful and definitely younger than me.

Not that that would be hard—I’ve been looking for my mate for a decade.

But something about those silvery strands in her hair belies her physical youth. And in her surgery, taking care of Ivan. Medical skills and knowledge like she has would have taken years to acquire.

I sigh and scoop her up. I know little about Fae beyond they exist. In all of the history I’ve learned, I can’t recall mention of any were ever meeting one except in stories of ancient lands. Essentially I'm cradling a myth tenderly against my chest. “I wish saving Ivan hadn’t taken so much out of you,” I whisper. “I have so many questions.”

Rising, I step into the tub with her and take a seat, slowly lowering her into the warm water. I hold her against my chest to turn the tap to off, then relax against the warm copper tub back to soak for a minute. After the night I've had, it feels glorious. Her soft sighing against me sounds like agreement and I smile, lifting water in my cupped hands to trickle over her gracile neck and smooth shoulders. 

We haven’t been submerged long, and the water is already red with the blood, mostly coming off her. Her hair floats on the surface, swirling ominously like tendrils of smoke.

“Maybe I should have rinsed you first,” I murmur against her head and she stirs a little at the sound of my voice.

I pull the shower curtain around the top of the tub, then use my toes to open the drain and start the water running again. When most of the bloody tub water is gone, I pull the valve to switch the water to the showerhead and let the warm gentle rain fall onto us, rinsing us clean.

There’s a bar of grainy, oatmeal-smelling soap in a dish on the lip of the tub. Under normal circumstances, its texture would be off-putting, but it lathers nicely. I soap up my hands and work them over Darby, massaging gently, and thoroughly enjoying the feel of her body.

Her bubble bottom fits perfectly into my hips and I harden and rise just noticing it as I wash her. I cup her breasts, growling when each fills one of my massive hands. Definitely delicious, delightful, delectable D-cups. I squeeze both rosy nipples between my thumbs and forefingers and Darby stirs.

She lifts one fine hand weakly, resting it on top of mine and pressing until I release her nipple. Then she slides her hand to the other breast and repeats the process. “Need rest,” she whispers.

“Okay,” I agree reluctantly. This time.

I let the water run, rinsing the last of the soap away, then turn everything off. Two of the biggest, fluffiest, softest bath sheets I’ve ever touched are hanging on the towel rack at the head of the copper tub, almost as if she was expecting me. I wrap her in one, then carry her out to her bed and return to dry myself with the other.

I haven’t heard any more complaining, so I don’t think Jack and Tessa have returned from their hunt yet. Which means he also hasn’t looked for any clothes for us. I drape the towel over the rack and return to the bed. Darby is curled up and sleeping soundly in the bath sheet, so I lay down behind her, pulling her body against my chest.

I drift off to sleep with the smell of shortbread and lilac around me.