Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 26
Her jasmine tea sloshes over the pretty purple ceramic. “What’s wrong?” she cries out.
Zoelle makes a noise. The sound like a hum of an acknowledgment. Her head pops around Luna’s body, the turquoise mug poised at her lips. Zoelle’s brown eyes grow wide at my frantic approach.
Again I seem to slip out of my body, watching in horror as Luna slides off the table into my path. I barely stop myself from colliding into her, and even Zoelle lets out a shriek.
“Don’t drink that!” I get out, grabbing Luna by the shoulders and jerking her to the side.
Luna lets out a startled cry, swinging far too easily in the air as she tucks her legs up and her wings beat rapidly behind her. “Ow!” She passes the purple mug back and forth between her hands before dropping it and skirting backward—flying backward.
It’s a momentary distraction as I stare at her in astonishment, my mouth hanging open like a goon.
“What’s wrong with it?” Luna asks, practically hysterical as her eyes dart between the tea and me.
“No—I….” My gaze darts to Zoelle, whose posture has changed only marginally to her feet planted on the floor instead of propped up on the chair next to her in case she needs to move as well. “Don’t drink that,” I tell her, holding out a hand in warning.
“It tastes fine,” she reassures me, a smile on her face. “What’s—”
No. No. No.
Not this. Not Zoelle. The baby….
A rush of blood shoots to my head. The dizzying sensation makes me falter. The world around me begins to dull, and though Zoelle’s mouth moves, clear lines of concern drawing her brows together, the sound is muffled. A hand wraps around my waist, tugging me backward and I stumble.
“Winter!”
The sharp cry pierces the fog walling up around me, but only for a moment. In an instant, a sense of foreboding envelopes me as my vision escapes me.
“Get the water. Winter? Winter, are you all right?”
My senses come to me gradually, but the panic hits me full force. “What happened?” I breathe, arching up. My hands scramble for balance, only to meet the hard floor. “Why am I on the floor?”
Zoelle shushes me, helping me to sit upright slowly. “You fainted,” she says calmly. “You’re fine. You didn’t hit your head. Luna caught you.”
I slant my eyes away from Zoelle to watch Luna’s quick return. A glass of water clutched in her hand. She’s still flying, her feet inches from the ground. Her wings help to lower her to the ground, in a move so graceful my breath catches once more. She passes me the water wordlessly, her face pale and purple eyes glimmering with unshed tears.
“Are you okay?” Luna asks.
“The tea!”
Zoelle’s grip on my upper arm tightens. “Winter… why didn’t you want me to drink the tea?”
I slam my eyes shut, thick self-hatred crawling up the back of my throat with an acidic taste to it. “Please tell me you didn’t drink it, Zoelle. Please.”
When I open my eyes to examine her expression, I am met with her startled expression. “Winter,” her voice belays her fear.
“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry. It wasn’t meant for you. It was—Zoelle? Zoelle!”
The dark-skinned witch’s eyes flutter, her rigid posture growing lax. “What did you do?” she whispers.
Her grip on me falls away as she places a steadying hand on the ground and the other to her temple. My full facilities come racing back to me.
“I don’t know,” I confess. “It's supposed to temporarily incapacitate a person.” Shame floods my system as tears rapidly make their way down my cheeks. I catch Zoelle as her arm buckles, pulling her into my lap. “I’ll fix it,” I ramble, a hand stroking her cheek. “I promise. I swear it. I’ll fix it. This wasn’t meant to happen to you.”
I see the whites of her eyes briefly before she succumbs to oblivion. I squeeze my eyes shut, a panicked sob wrenching from my throat. There is no escaping my guilt. Her fear and disappointment brand themselves across the back of my eyelids like a tattoo.
“What did you do?” Luna demands, her voice quivering with disgust.
The consequences of my actions crumble down upon me like a pile of bricks as I twist my head slowly to observe Luna. Though her skin is devoid of color, the vines and flowers that slither beneath her skin now writhe and whip in agitation. I suck in a steady breath, eyeing the fairy warily.
“I made a mistake, Luna. I—”
Her expression turns dark. “Don’t touch her,” she snaps, pointing a finger at me. “You hurt her! You were going to hurt me!”
With great care, I maneuver Zoelle’s sleeping form off my lap and onto the ground. She’s breathing—thank God—but the fear of not knowing precisely what the tonic will do puts me on edge. What if it kills the baby? What if it kills both of them?
“You don’t understand,” I plead, raising my hands in a placating manner as I stand on shaky legs. “I had no choice, Luna. She was going to do something irreversible to you. This… this can be fixed. She won’t stay like this forever.”
The cut of Luna’s glare is powerful, but it is the simmering electricity filling the air that worries me more.
“I’m sorry,” I beg through tears. “I didn’t want anyone to be hurt, but I didn’t have a choice. They made me. My—”
A cry erupts from Luna’s lips, but not just any cry, one that promises war. Her hands thrust forward, and I am tossed back by an unseen force. Her blistering magic scorches my skin, ending only when I hit the ground and rebound into the formal dining room table.
“You chose wrong,” she says. Her voice is utterly devoid of emotion as she makes another sweeping motion with her hand.
The magic thrusts me back once more, plucking me from my spot and forcing me from the dining room into the adjacent hallway until I am forced into the entryway. I scramble for breath against the onslaught of burning energy.
“Luna, wait!”
But my desperate plea is of no use. The front door slams open behind me, and I’m tossed outside like some rag doll. All the air dislodges from my lungs at the brutal impact with the ground. Tumbling like some fool, I barely manage to stop myself from being hurtled to the end of the yard.
When I manage to stand, my body is trembling. Luna stands in the doorway entrance, her eyes glossy with tears and hate before the door slams shut.
“No,” I whisper. “No, no, no.”
It’s difficult to place my feet under me when they shake so terribly. My nerves are shot, and my skin still feels ablaze from Luna’s dangerous outburst. What have I done? Oh, God. I reach the door breathlessly, banging my fist against it in a desperate attempt to reenter.
“Luna! Luna, please open the door!”
There is no answer from inside. I bang my fist once more, gasping for breath as tears continue to ruin my vision.
“Please, Luna!” I cry. “I’m sorry.”
In my state of shock, I don’t comprehend the sound of tires squealing to a sudden stop until it is too late. My body turns frozen as the slamming of a car door reverberates through the air.
“Zoelle!”
Knees buckling, I palm the door to find balance. It's Xander.
“Zoelle!”
I barely move out of the way in time as he slams into the door. His body forcing the door open with wild authority. He doesn’t spare me a glance as he rushes inside. When his howl of pain and rage fill the house, the countless threads of the Adolphus pack bonds constrict. My knees hit the ground a second later under the force of the alpha’s unbound emotions.
What have I done?
The Storm
Chapter 15
Whatever magic Luna has performed bars me from entering the house. The magic burns the pads of my fingers as I reach out a tentative hand against the wall. Inside, Xander's desperate cries echo clear and aching in the house.
The sound of another car's rapid approach reaches my ear. Its tires skid to a halt as the engine is abruptly cut off. I spare a look over my shoulder, my dread building all over again.
It’s Atticus.
“Winter? What’s going on? What’s wrong with Zoelle.” He races over to my side, faster than he should in such a public space. “Are you hurt? Who did this to you?”
Atticus drops to his knees in front of me, pulling me into his chest like a bear trap. Selfishly, I breathe in his scent and take a moment's comfort in his embrace. This will be the last of us. Tears momentarily blur my vision.
“Atticus….”
“Atticus!” Xander’s competing cry trumps my own. Both our heads snap in the direction of the house, peering down the long hallway that takes guests and occupants alike to the sizeable back kitchen.
Strong hands help me up, then rest on the last few vertebrae of my spine to urge me inside. I resist.
“What is it?” Atticus asks breathlessly, stepping around me and past the invisible border that denies me entrance.
“I shouldn’t go in there,” I mumble back, head shaking resolutely from side to side. “I can’t.”
Deep lines crease his forehead, but before Atticus can offer a rebuttal, Xander gives another shout. “Okay, just… just stay here.” He whips off his coat and thrusts it into my arms. “Put this on. You’ll catch your death out here,” he says in parting.
I watch, chin wobbling in distress as he goes to see my handiwork. Like an addict, I bury my face in his coat and breath in his scent. It soothes me in a way I cannot begin to understand. Even the agitated state of my wolf takes comfort in the act.
Damp moss.
Rosemary and other green notes.
Warm musk.
Atticus.
All of these scents have come to mean so much more to me than I’ve anticipated. Safety. Security. Home. Hope. A harsh wind beats at my back, and though I long to stay just as I am, my clothes provide no protection from the elements, not after I have been tossed so ruthlessly in the snow.
I slip on his jacket, my body aching as I do. Luna’s magic still spasms across my muscles as I stretch my arms through each sleeve with a hiss.
I had no idea Luna was so powerful.
Does anyone else?
Voices from inside are muffled and fast paced. They’re too low for me to keep up with, and I distantly wonder if the buzzing sound in my ear is the byproduct of Luna’s magic. My fingertips press hesitantly against the magical border once again.
“Ouch,” I mutter and bring the offended fingers to my lips. It might as well be an electric fence.
Minutes begin to trickle by. I wish desperately for my phone or a watch to study the hand as it inches past each tick mark on the clocks face. What is taking them so long?
I reach for the flask and give it a shake. I had only added a splash to the drink… maybe that meant the tonic won’t be as potent? I gulp. I can only hope.
My teeth bite down savagely into my bottom lip. What are they going to do to me when they find out? A coarse shiver races across my skin. Will they send me back to my parents? Lock me up in some cell? Take their retribution with my flesh?
Another shiver trounces my body as the wind whirls around me. Will they be as unforgiving as this winter wind?
I’m too lost in my thought to notice him at first. But when the distinctive creak of a floorboard gives under the weight of a body, I shoot my gaze in its direction. Atticus stands in the hallway, his phone clutched in his palm tightly and his face pale.
“Winter….” He steps forward, then stops. The floor creaks again, and a shadow emerges from behind him. Luna’s dark face stares back at me. “Winter, what did you do?”
++
I’m passed off to Keenan—the fifth-ranked wolf in the Adolphus pack—in the end. He drives me to the alpha’s house, a ferocious scowl upon his face. When we pull up to the house, he escorts me inside and upstairs to one of the guest bedrooms. I don’t protest when he locks the door behind me.
My “cell” is bright and warm. Why I haven’t been detained to more deserving quarters, I can’t begin to understand. And then I wait, left with my thoughts and guilt.
My bones ache. The blood in my body runs cold despite my lycan nature. Every other thought in my head berates my actions for the day, while the other part shouts its excuses and protests.
It was for Juniper.
My nails dig into my thigh. Was it though? A soft voice persists. Or was it for you?
Footsteps weigh across the hallway floor outside along with hushed voices. When the lock rolls over to its proper key, it is Keenan who enters my cell.
“I need you to come with me now, Winter,” he says gruffly. There is little emotion on his face, but what I can read turns my stomach violently. Disappointment. Shame. Anger.
All deserved.
“Okay,” I whisper, finding my voice rough. Still wrapped in Atticus’s coat, I shuffle after Keenan’s imposing figure as he makes his way down the hallway. We reach a room with two large doors. Keenan gives a single sharp rap against the wood before pushing forward inside.
Xander and Atticus occupy the large study. They wear matching frowns, though their eyes convey far different messages to me. I duck my head as Keenan leads me to a chair placed deliberately before their stoic forms.
“Leave us,” Xander orders. Keenan obeys, the door opens and closes softly behind him.
Silence hangs over us like a heavy blanket to slowly smother us with its tension. I dare not utter the first word. I know well enough that it is not my place to do so. Not when their emotions are directed so poignantly at me through the pack bonds.
There’s little more that I can do than bend my head to the side, fully exposing my neck as their displeasure weighs me down. A soft whine escapes my throat at their persistence. This… this is far worse than any punishment my parents have doled out to me.
The alpha and beta's disappointment resonates through every cell in my body. It forces the wolf to roll onto its back, exposing its vulnerable belly to them in tandem with the exposure of my neck.
“Why?” Xander asks, voice cracking painfully on the single word.
My lips press into a hard line. A dangerous lump forms in my throat as a sob threatens to surface. But my hysterics will have to wait. The command in Xander’s voice is unavoidable.
“My parents,” I say, attempting to find the right explanation. “They gave me an ultimatum. Help them, or see my cousin put in her place. They're going to marry her off—”
A vicious growl tears from Xander’s throat, and I flinch in response and snap my mouth closed. My eyes grow wide in shock and fear as Atticus steps into Xander's path. His palm presses firmly against the alpha's chest.
“You’d risk the life of Zoelle, of your alpha, to—to avoid your cousin getting married? Do you understand how absurd that sounds? Explain to me how you compared the two and determined who faired more important.”
“You don’t understand. June is practically a child. She’s seventeen, and he’s sixty-three and widowed twice through questionable means. If she marries him, she’s signing her own death certificate. Not to mention whatever other plans my parents have in mind to make sure she's up to the task.” Terrible gnawing guilt eats away at my insides at their expressionless faces. “They said if I helped… she’d be spared.”
Xander jerks back with a growl. A tanned hand spears through his dark hair in frustration. “Why? Why did they want you to hurt Zoelle?”
My mouth opens and closes as I sink into my seat. “My parents didn’t want me to hurt Zoelle,” I confess hoarsely. “They wanted me to give their tonic to Luna. To take her out of the game. It was never meant—”
“If it was meant for Luna, then why the fuck is my fiancée the one who’s unconscious?”
I shudder under the intensity of his rage. “She took the wrong mug.”
Xander curses and spins to the lone desk in the room. A single swipe of his arm and the contents it keeps on display crash to the floor. I flinch back.
This I'm used to and have seen before. Next, a well-placed hit against my cheek will occur. Or maybe the stomach. The familiarity of my situation provides little comfort, but at least in knowing what will happen next, I can—
A hand comes to rest on my thigh. The touch is surprisingly intimate, and as I look into Atticus’s blue eyes, I hesitate. His mouth is set in a grim line, and his cheeks are drawn in to suppress more emotions.
“Why do they want to hurt Luna?”
“To bring down the barrier around the town. My parents think Luna is the key,” I whisper back.
Atticus squeezes my thigh in reassurance. He takes a deep breath through his nose that I unconsciously mimic. “Why would they think Luna is the key?”
My chin falls to my collarbone as I struggle to answer. With my steel eyes averted to my lap, I reply. “Because I’ve been giving my mother updates on the pack. I stopped when Lucy came, but only because she took over the task.”
For a moment, the grip on my thigh intensifies. My heart skips a beat as anticipation runs through my body. This is it. I clench my jaw and stiffen, prepared for whatever blow is to be delivered at the announcement of my treachery, but none come.
Peeking through my lashes, I see the look of revulsion painted across his face at me. There’s no reason to bat away the tears that trickle down the side of my cheeks. The hot droplets run freely, stopped only when they reach the fabric of my—
His palm gingerly cups my cheek, for his thumb to wipe away the traces of my distress. “I’m not going to hit you,” he tells me gruffly. Atticus's hand drops, and he walks back several steps.
I let out a harsh breath, one that I didn’t know I was holding so tightly in my chest. “You’re not?” I blurt out.
My eyes dart between the beta and alpha. It’s well within their rights to dole out punishment as they see fit. Something of this caliber would call for a public shaming of some kind at home. But upon reexamining the wary horror that skirts across Xander’s face as he examines my tense form and the hunch of Atticus's back, I realize their revulsion isn’t directed at me. It is directed at my clear expectation of their reaction.
