Lunaria (A Soulmark Series Finale), page 9
His deeply sun-kissed skin darkens along the length of his neck and across his cheekbones. "Do you have to use the bathroom?"
"Oh!" I nod my head vigorously. "Yes."
He points to a shed nearby with a cutout of a crescent moon in its door. I go to it, my bladder urging swiftness in the matter.
After finishing inside the outhouse, Deval waves me over to his side with impatience. Once there, he places a hand on my lower back and guides me forward. I'm thankful there is no bag today and take the opportunity to survey my surroundings.
To the east where the sun has just crested above the horizon, sits a lofted building made of glass. Even from this distance, I can make out the plants inside of it. The Greenery. Deval steers me to the northeast, where, in the distance, three buildings lie.
Two stand out prominently, a barn and metal-framed building used to store large farming equipment. I recognize them from commercials on the tv and suddenly the yellow debris I saw the previous day makes sense. Hay.
Hay, which is kept primarily on farms and in barns...
There is little doubt that the barn is where Jax and Keenan are kept—where I was kept. My regard drifts to the third building. Back and to the left of the two farm buildings is a two-story house.
"Where are we going?" To the west, I spy a few scattered sheds that occupy the ground between towering trees. A chilly breeze flows peacefully between us, it nips at the apples of my cheeks and my nose. I peer back at Deval when he doesn't respond. "Why was I forced to wear that sack yesterday, when today I am allowed to see?"
His gaze appraises my amethyst eyes.
"I heard about what happened yesterday in the Greenery." Deval ignores my questions and goes about shaking his head in disapproval. "You can't pull that kind of shit today."
Anxiety floods my system, but I say nothing and will myself to be strong. Deval's hand inches up my back and steers us left, then moves back to the hollow of my spine.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask again. "Will I get to see my friends?"
"See that house?" I dip my head in acknowledgment. "We're going there—you're going there," he corrects. "You have to be good today," Deval continues, slowing our pace as we near. "Noah's out this morning and Carrie requested to see you—hey!"
I dig my heels into the earth. "No," I declare, voice pitched high. "She hurt me last time!"
"So did Noah," Deval counters, his nose scrunching up in exasperation. My face screws up at his bluntness. "Listen," Deval peels ahead of me and faces me head-on. He plants both hands on my shoulders to root me in place. "You have to trust me. You're better off facing Carrie. Noah is far more dangerous than her. Okay?"
My dread must read on my face for Deval's lips tilt downward. "More?" He nods.
"They're both dangerous in their own right, but if you behave," he squeezes my bunched muscles. "They won't hurt you like last time. Come on, she doesn't like to be kept waiting."
Deval leads me onward, though a pervading sense of panic expands inside of me. Be strong. Be strong. Be strong. I chant the mantra in my head all the way to the front porch's steps.
"Ready?" he asks, steering me up.
Every joint locks as Deval's hand stills adjacent to the front door. He grants me a brief depiction of concern that crinkles near the corners of his eyes and mouth.
“I'm as much of a prisoner here as you and your friend... If you seek a coward, merely look to the sorry dogs who have not the strength to leave here of their own will.”
With a shuddering inhalation, I round my shoulders back and level my chin. "Yes."
Deval knocks twice on the door then takes a few steps back to arrange himself behind me. The click-clack of high-heels sounds distinctly through the door.
"Remember—"
"Behave," I finish, and seek him out behind me. He stiffens and aims his sights straight ahead rather than at me.
The door opens with a flourish to reveal Carrie. She looks put together in a form-fitting sweater dress and thigh-high boots. She spares a closed-lipped smile, but it doesn't meet her eyes. Not at all, in fact.
"Finally." Carrie drags out the word, her inflection teasing even though a distinct, viperous cunning lurks in her icy blue eyes. "Come in, little fairy. I've quite the treat in store for you." Carrie's eyes drift to Deval. "Don't you have somewhere to be? Chop, chop."
"Yes, alpha."
Carrie sports a smug smile at Deval's retreat. She steps to the side, her arm swinging out to beckon me in. "Come along."
I enter with a grave sense of foreboding. It doesn't help that Carrie lingers near my back, out of sight but very much within my personal space. I shuffle forward, unsure where to go without any cues given by the she-wolf. I rely on my sense of smell to lead me.
The perfume of bacon and eggs is easy enough to follow. I pass tentatively through a generous reading room toward an arched doorway at its far back corner. It is in this adjacent room I discover the food…a feast, I correct myself.
Spread across a large mahogany dining table are bowls of fruits and a plate stacked with golden toast. There is a dish filled to the brim with fluffy eggs, and serving platters adorned with sausage links and bacon. My mouth waters before I finish registering each item.
"Don't be shy," Carrie coos into my ear. I shrink away, uncomfortable with her proximity, and slip into what can only be the house's formal dining room. My eyes roam the walls and the select pieces of abstract art decorating them. "Sit." Carrie pulls out the head chair for me. "Sit," she snaps when I hesitate.
I’m in the high-backed chair of her choosing in the next instant.
"Take off your coat."
This time I do not falter, nor do I particularly mind the command. The house is pleasantly warm, and my layers add to its effect. Carrie cocks her hip against the end of the table and examines me with a crinkled nose. "Goodness, you haven't bathed in days, have you? Your stench is positively rotten."
I cringe back into the chair as far as I am allowed and avert my eyes. Her dulcet laughter fills the room, and I register with keen awareness of how minty her breath smells. Body slouching, I delicately sniff the scent protruding from my clothes, then tuck my hair bashfully. She isn't wrong.
"I haven't had a chance to shower..."
"You haven't earned it yet, have you?" The callous remark leaves my mouth hanging open. Carrie leans across the short space between us and scratches a sharp-tipped fingernail underneath my chin. I almost bite my tongue as my mouth snaps closed.
"You must be ravenous," she comments idly and lets her scrutiny pass over the table's bounty. "Why don't you fill your plate?"
I cast a furtive glance between Carrie and the table, thoughts of poison or other horrible ailments coming to fruition should I partake in the succulent breakfast. My insides twist in desperate warning, but I succumb to my hunger.
I douse my empty dish with scoops of the glistening berries to start. The prongs of my fork pierce a strawberry before I quickly slide it into my mouth.
"You must forgive my atrocious behavior the other day," Carrie says without an ounce of sincerity. She splays a hand atop the table and allows her fingernails to drum across the wood. "Now that the curse which has plagued my kind has miraculously lifted, everything is so much more heightened.
"I've found on a number of occasions these past few days my emotions getting the better of me. It's rather fascinating, really. You'd be quite surprised to hear what number of things can set off my temper."
Another berry makes it onto the prongs of my fork and into my mouth, but not before I utter a semi-polite, "Oh?"
Carrie's lilting hum dashes after the heel of my one-note reply.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you? You and your friends were coming back from the Blanc territory, weren't you?"
I pause mid-chew and send Carrie and her perfectly curled hair a sidelong glance. Swallowing becomes an awkward affair as I hold her frosty stare.
"I don't think I'm supposed to talk about that," I say cautiously.
She smiles back, all teeth.
"Well, we know something happened, don't we? Before the full moon, we couldn't change at will or harness our full potential, and now, we can. The simplest explanation is usually correct, ergo, the curse has been lifted. Quite honestly, it doesn't matter how it happened—" Carrie shrugs indifferently "—though I'm sure the story is riveting with that droll, pasty girl, Winter involved."
I fiddle with my utensil as I contemplate what answer to give. Carrie's fingers stop their drumming at my prolonged silence.
"Did you know, the fine piece of jewelry you wear is an original creation by the Stormrow Clan? It's their version of a 'shock collar' used on dogs that have a tendency to misbehave."
A wicked and beguiling laugh erupts from the she-wolf as she curls around the corner of the table in a wide-stepped circle, and seats herself in the chair next to me. She tucks a fist beneath her chin and hinges an elbow on the table. Her devilish grin does not diminish.
"You wear the same kind as your fairy friends. Whenever you misbehave”—she waves a hand in the air with flippant regard—"it renders a reprimand. In your case, as well as your friends, the subjugation collar blazes like a fledgling inferno, progressively getting hotter and hotter until submission is inevitable."
Carrie leans back, clearly satisfied with how quickly the color drains from my face. She resembles a queen on her throne the way she angles one leg over the other and drapes her arms across the chair's armrests. There is no mercy to be found in her cold regard, only contempt. How can Deval think she’s the lesser of two evils?
“Why are you doing this to us?” I whisper, meal forgotten.
She doesn’t answer immediately. Crinkles appear on her forehead and the line of her cheekbones stand in starker relief as her lips pucker together.
“We’re not doing this to you,” she barks at last. “All of you here, you’re just collateral. It’s hardly personal.”
Her harsh indifference stokes my ire. Though she tilts forward to continue her rebuke, I jump in. “Does life mean so little to you?” I persist. “Why must you be so cruel?”
Carrie’s jaw drops before her features rearrange into a sneer.
“Us, cruel? The Adolphus pack spits in the face of our traditions. Is that not cruel? They abandoned their true pack to form a bastard one, is that not cruel?” Carrie slowly rises from her seat, planting her hands on the table's edge to rise. A fission of deep sorrow cracks the scalding glare she directs at me for a brief second. “They killed my father and humiliated my family and pack. This war gives us back our honor. It protects our way of life. I won’t be made to feel guilty, because some supernatural creature got caught up in the crosshairs.”
She reels back her visceral anger and hurt. A clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists stem whatever tirade aches to burst from her. Then, with an elongated exhale, her posture relaxes. She pastes on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.
“Allow me to explain further,” Carrie says with deceptive calm. Eyes wide, I nod. “Our traditions preserve our heritage. Our customs bind us together and make us stronger. Though they may seem onerous to the weak, they're worth the hardship for the safety and happiness it provides the pack. You don’t see me complaining about marrying Noah Alvah.”
I set down my utensils as my lips pull downward. “He is not a nice man.”
Carrie’s jaw ticks. It is the only acknowledgment I receive to my sentiment.
“Every person in this pack has a role to play in order for it to survive. A pack cannot be led by a female alpha alone, she must take a mate.”
I say nothing and watch as Carrie smooths her outfit and stands straight. “Noah is dominant and capable. The pack listens to him,”—her smile twitches to a grimace—“and respects him. Together we’ll lead the pack to glory and destroy those backstabbing fleabags you associate with.”
"Oh, I—"
"Oh, I—I."
Her mockery leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but it goes dry when she charges forward with lycan speed to close the distance between us. The shift in her mood is so startling, I yelp and hurl myself back as far as possible in my seat. She stops, her nose nearly touching mine.
"You reek, I can hardly stand to be in the same room as you."
She pivots and strides away. Hot shame colors me from head to toe. I drop my eyes to the table and sniff out my body fragrance again as discreetly as possible. While a waft of grime is apparent, a cleaner scent drifts from the second sweater I've adorned. I take in a second breath, honing in on the mollifying perfume of detergent and the smallest hint of wet pine.
"Don't you have anything to say?" she snaps.
"I haven't had the opportunity to properly bathe." I peek up and am met with scorn. “I told you this already,” I tack on, unable to stop myself.
"Not about that, you imbecile. What do you have to say about that throng of flea-ridden dogs you consort with?" Though I’m able to hold back a biting retort, I cannot hide my immediate disdain for her name-calling. Carrie's contempt intensifies, her canines coming on display as her brows hunch tumultuously forward. "Go on, say it," she dares me.
I scrounge up my courage and square off my chest. Unclenching my jaw, I reply, head held high. "Gran says, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' So..." I cock both my brows at her, feeling immensely satisfied in my retort.
Carrie freezes.
The tenuous lock on her facial expressions disintegrates and her jaw sags. Then, much to my surprise, she laughs. I press my lips together as she goes on and on, her callous amusement reaching every corner of the house and echoing back.
"That is priceless," Carrie murmurs at last. She drags a finger below each eye, still chortling. "You are the same fairy that reigned death from the earth and skewered close to a dozen of my brothers and sisters, are you not?”
Her nonchalance makes me flinch. "I do not know—"
She tsks. The reprimand is brusque and shushes me immediately. "Don't play innocent. You must remember your very first day here when the crystal was activated? My pack does."
I do remember. I remember believing to be surrounded by the rokama-like creatures my kind so feared. The stench of blood saturated the air and countless motionless bodies on the ground. My eyes drift closed. I remembered being threatened, and one brave soul coming to my defense. A stranger, and one of the look-alike creatures, no less: Xander.
The angry earth had demanded blood... and so I had given it.
Eyes fluttering open, I instantly note that Carrie's amusement is gone—vanished. Her arms cross beneath her in disapproval. There is not a measure of kindness about her now.
"I remember."
We hold each other’s regard in stoic silence, and though my pulse thunders in my ears, my courage builds. I can be strong. I can be brave.
"You've fallen, little fairy," she muses and stalks forward. She lets loose a docile and breathy laugh when I squirm in my seat. "When you first arrived, you were akin to some goddess of destruction. The earth bent to your will. Had you chosen the right side that day, just think of the glory that would be in your hands right now. Yet, you chose a rabid band of mutts to align with. Men and women who dare to jeopardize the very foundation of our supernatural world."
Again, I squirm, more from the soreness of my bruised rear end than the effect of her words.
She clearly misinterprets my shifting as a different kind of discomfort. A hungry look takes residence in her smolder, like a predator scenting the weakness in their prey. I redirect my gaze away from her.
"The Adolphus wish for peace."
Carrie scoffs. "Your kind really is so naive. They don't desire peace, little fairy." Carrie stops and sticks out her bottom lip for added effect. "They want to topple our very way of life and centuries of rules. All of which have kept us safe from ignorant humans in the name of some righteous crusade for 'equality.' All of this nonsense is to sate their damnable pride and avoid the consequences of their actions years ago. It's pathetic and I won’t have my family name dragged in the mud any longer by them. They’ve caused too much harm, and they will pay."
There is a sliver of anguish in her voice that twists my stomach. I do not like to hear it, even in such small amounts. To know there is a woman who mourns her father beneath this steel façade makes her passion for vengeance more sincere. It makes her more human.
I sway my head in the negative to Carrie’s previous words as she looks at me expectantly.
"They have no regard for the supernatural community and our laws as a whole. Supernatural do not mix, for the safety of our existence. To congregate en masse threatens our secret. Yet they work with witches. They team up with vampires and sorcerers—"
"They are called vampyré," I correct. "Or, so I am told," I whisper when she glares at my interruption.
"Who cares what they're called," Carrie snaps and tosses her hair over her shoulder. "Bloodsucker, leech, parasite, vampire. They're all the same. Undead low lives who treat the rest of us like we can't possibly compare. God, they suck—literally."
I nod back with reluctance. There is no point in adding hybrid to Carrie's list, though I'm sure Irina would be displeased to be so easily discounted. Carrie looks ready to continue her rant, but I cannot resist addressing another discrepancy in her remarks.
"You claim sorcerers on your list of... miscreants, but does your pack not work with sorcerers?"
My question is followed by silence. I itch to fidget with the suffocating accessory I boast but dread the ramifications of such a benign action. I’m surely testing Carrie’s patience. So why can’t I keep my mouth shut?
I stretch my arms in front of me, allowing Adrian's sweater sleeves to surpass my hands. I grasp onto the surplus material and hold the fabric tight. Tread carefully, I remind myself.
"Your ignorance is beginning to grate on my nerves." I freeze at the chill in her voice. "We don't work with the Stromrow Clan, we've hired them. Sorcerers aren’t cheap, but their work is worth the price." Carrie smirks. "Did you know that we anticipate your little sorcerer to be the first to crack? Once a traitor, always a traitor."
