Table of Contents

- Elusion

- To my Children:

- One

- Two

- Three

- Four

- Five

- Six

- Seven

- Eight

- Nine

- Ten

- Eleven

- Twelve

- Thirteen

- Fourteen

- Fifteen

- Sixteen

- Seventeen

- Eighteen

- Nineteen

- Twenty

- Twenty-One

- Twenty-Two

- Twenty-Three

- Twenty-Four

- Twenty-Five

- Twenty-Six

- Twenty-Seven

- Twenty-Eight

- Twenty-Nine

- Thirty

- Thirty-One

- Thirty-Two

- Thirty-Three

- Thirty-Four

- Thirty-Five

- Thirty-Six

- Thirty-Seven

- Thirty-Eight

- Thirty-Nine

- Forty

- Forty-One

- Forty-Two

- Forty-Three

- Forty-Four

- Part II

- Forty-Five

- Forty-Six

- Forty-Seven

Elusion

Facets of Feyrie: Book One

By

Zoe Parker

To my Children:

Without you, my imagination would have died a long, long time ago.

You can purchase a copy of this Ebook at: books2read.com/u/3GY28n

Copyright © 2017 by Zoe Parker

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the Author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Cover design by Zoe Parker

Book design and production by Zoe Parker

Partial Editing by Penned In Ink

Elusion

To my Children:

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Part II

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Acknowledgements

About Zoe Parker

Click on the links

The First Prophecy

Seed of Death and Dragon's womb,

suffering, her fated tomb.

She, our savior, the Fallen’s soul,

shall shed her blood to make us whole.

A vengeful Darkness she will arise,

her love calls forth the Darkest tide.

Yet, if her heart has ceased to beat,

the world shall eclipse in Dark complete.

One

Iza

My Pretend Ma, Mary, always said that the terrible things done to me were for the greater good. That the “Prophecy” said I would save the world, I could fight for justice. I would be a hero.

I really wanted to be that person. So, I believed her.

To keep going and to hold onto that belief, I would sneak out of the house, into the comfort of darkness, and look up at the twinkling night sky. Over and over I told myself that it was worth it because I was saving other people. So much so that one day I started to believe it.

Kids are dumb. I was dumb.

Pretend Ma is dead. And I’m in one of the many Schoth prisons because of it.

Memories from so long ago—before the things that brought me here—still have the power to haunt me. I put my hand against the cool stone of the cell wall. Leaning my cheek against it, the cold seeps into my face. I try using the bite of it to force myself to come back to the now.

The reality of now.

The memories are reluctant to release me. I miss the night sky and the feel of the breeze on my skin. I miss the sounds of the forest outside of my childhood home.

I miss freedom.

Aggravated with myself and my useless thoughts, I’m able to turn away from the wall and most of the memories with a grunt of annoyance. Why am I thinking of this depressing crap? The past before this place isn’t something I think of often.

Something brought it on. Irritated, I swipe my hand through the dirt on the floor.

Maybe it’s the unexpected transfer to this private section of the prison?

One day, about 6 buckets of water ago, I woke up here, lying naked on the dirty floor, stitched up like some little girl’s dolly, caked with mud and dried blood. This wasn’t the first time I woke up caked in blood, or worse, but it’s the first time I woke up with stitches. Thankfully, they dissolved a while ago.

Someone took care of me for once, with real medical supplies.

There are still some bandages taped all over me from the last time the guards thumped on me. I woke up with those on too. Just like with the stitches.

No idea who did any of it.

I have no memories of the transfer itself. And my memories of the moments before are hazy. There was a fight in the ‘lunch hall’ that I may have instigated in a moment of stupid weakness. Whirls of motion, and a cacophony of glass shattering. Screams followed by the guards rushing in.

Ultimately overwhelmed, I fell to the ground watching helplessly as a boot headed right for my face. I must have blacked out because I can’t remember anything after that. Extensive internal damage was a result of that boot being planted in my person, multiple times.

A knife or two was mixed in there somewhere as well. Overkill but, hey, it’s their thing. The Light Elves. Humanoid, delicate. Golden skinned and shiny. Way too pretty and full of Light Magiks. The leaders of this realm—this shitty world—they are the Schoth Clan and absolute assholes.

Knowing this doesn’t stop me from doing dumb shit and getting stabbed for it. I heal fast but I’m not immortal. I still bleed, hurt, and can die just like anyone else.

I’m a slow learner.

My stomach growls loudly in the silence of the room, dragging me from the morose mood I’ve fallen into.

When I first woke up here, rats were everywhere. A full-on banquet of them. And a girl has to eat. Sadly, I haven’t seen a rat for several sleeps. They’re either scared of coming into my cell, or the worst option: I’ve eaten them all. Either way sucks. The only way I’m going to get back to full health is by sucking down lots of calories. No matter where they come from.

Well, as full of health as an inmate in a prison can be.

The only thing keeping me alive at this point is water which I ration carefully, only using as much as I need to keep breathing. The liquid lifesaver is provided, anonymously, every couple of sleeps. Bizarrely, I’ve never caught anyone bringing it to me. It’s just there when I wake up.

The rationing is the only reason I’m still covered in filth. I can’t trust that the buckets will keep coming. They can stop at any time.

Survival always ranks higher than hygiene, especially in here.

Survival ranks higher than everything in here.

Luckily, they provided a waste bucket, so I don’t have to use the floor as a bathroom. A few rolls of toilet paper, too. An unheard-of luxury. Although, I’m not sure the guards who brought me here gave it to me. Seems out of character for them to do so.

It’s time to admit to myself that being in here has finally worn me down. Sighing, I realize why my earlier thoughts were so focused on my past. The thought of toilet paper being a luxury triggered it all. Something awoke in me I thought long dead.

The need for freedom is no longer just a wish—it’s an ache. I miss living.

I’ve spent most of my life in prison. It feels like a lifetime ago, since I laid in that old tree outside my bedroom window, dreaming about being a hero.

I try to picture that night sky, and I get a glimpse of lights in the darkness, but I’m not sure it’s right. To be honest, I’m not even sure what the night sky really looks like anymore. My imagination has a way of substituting things my mind can’t remember, too many things.

There is a good chance I’m not sane anymore.

The grinding sound of the outer door opening pulls my eyes open, echoing off the stone walls around us. We are the only occupants on this floor. The rest of the space is open and dark. Honestly, I have no idea why there are only two cells, but I know someone who does.

My eyes fall on the cell beside of mine. Well, more at the occupant of it. His lava colored eyes meet mine from inside of the unnatural Darkness surrounding him. Those eyes are forever burned into my memory.

When I was a child, a fresh guest here—a whole whopping 12 years old, I saw them glowing in the shadows, staring. After that, I often saw him watching me. He never spoke, never helped me. He was just there.

There was one specific time that those eyes held mine through something that…No, Iza, you’re not going down that path. You’ve gone over enough dark shit today.

Swallowing, I push the memories back to the black hole in my brain where they belong. I turn my full attention back to him.

Two

Iza

Killing the Schoth has become his hobby or at least a habit. And it’s my sole entertainment in this place.

Shamelessly, I stare at his annoyingly fascinating eyes. They’re the only part of him I can see in the Darkness. The only part that I’ve ever seen. Those eyes track the people walking towards us. People I can’t see this far away.

I can assume though, this is Schoth territory, and they all look the same to me. What most humanoid creatures seek and try to look like. I have no idea why—they aren’t all that pretty to me.

But they are in power, and power is coveted.

This group is probably made up of the Magikless guards, strutting around in their fancy, silver, and incredibly useless armor. Armor that doesn’t protect them from him. His claws of Shadow will slice through it like it’s made of marshmallow fluff.

Their deaths are part of the regular routine here. One of them is usually dumb enough to get close to him, sometimes more than one, then bada-bing, they’re dead.

I like that. I revel in it. How ruthless he is. Killing them every chance he gets. Our keepers have no one to blame but themselves.

Since waking up here I’ve seen him kill dozens of them.

Often, it’s the ‘new guy’, the one who doesn’t comprehend the special rule pertaining to Mr. Glowy eyes. He only obeys them when they have that shiny rock of theirs. The rock that glows the same color as the Magiks surrounding him, tethering him to it like a leash.

Every time, he gets a little faster, and they get a little slower. Maybe that stone isn’t working so well anymore? Spells tend to wear out over time, so theoretically, it’s possible.

Or the guards they send are getting dumber. Pretty is never synonymous with smart.

At this point, I figure they would at least put a warning system in place. A Magikal alarm that says, “Hey, Shadow guy is gonna kill someone” or “Stranger Danger”. But nope, their arrogance won’t allow that. It’s considered some type of weird weakness instead of practicality.

Idiots.

Given what he is they should know better. An apex predator hides in that Darkness. The minute I saw him…well, his eyes…all those years ago, I knew what he was, and I was just a kid. All you’ve got to do is look into them to know.

Those peepers of his are cold, so cold and ancient. It’s like gazing into the deepest, darkest hole in the most twisted, vile nightmares in existence knowing that at the bottom something is waiting there to utterly terrify you.

The damn glowing things have a tantalizing appeal to me, truth be told, something in them pulls on the Darkness inside of me.

Nope, not going there either, Iza.

Shifting my attention off that disturbing thought, I watch as the six guards walk into view, and in perfect formation, stop in front of his cell door. The ones in the front squinting into the darkness, trying to see him past the shadows that he wraps around himself like a second skin. Their golden eyes filling with contempt when it should be fear.

My upper lip curls with humor. Here comes the good part.

The soft clinking of his shackles draws my eyes back to him. I know that sound, even if I can’t see the cause of it. Iron doesn’t make that pretty tinkling noise, only silver does. A nuisance he could break if it wasn’t forbidden.

Their existence is simply to remind him of his enslavement. A token symbol of their ownership.

Jameson, the Magistrate’s healer/potion maker, told me that. He likes to talk, bless the nerd, and I like to know things. Especially about Mr. Glowy Eyes.

Jameson doesn’t know our Mr. Glowy Eyes’s actual name, though. I don’t think anyone does. Jameson did tell me that ‘Beast’ is used by everyone. The nickname I gave him is better.

Beast he may be, but he’s much more, too.

It’s not like Mr. Glowy Eyes is informative. The most I’ve managed to pry from him are grunts and the occasional growl. I get the gist of his cave man answers but no satisfaction from them.

I want something solid to sink my teeth into.

Jameson has no idea who treated my wounds either. He said by the time he was summoned I’d already been taken care of. Jameson did tell me how serious they were. He thinks if not for whoever doctored me up I’d have died.

Of course, I suspect Mr. Glowy eyes, and I asked him. No response, big shocker. But he’s the only plausible answer. I’ve seen him come and go as he pleases since I’ve been here. Walking right through the bars like they aren’t there.

The shackles clink again softly, I doubt that they hear. They have ‘okay’ hearing, better than human, but mine is...more.

A lot of my senses are sharper than theirs.

Physically, Schoth are barely above humans. Barely. Yet, Magiks run strong and deep in them; a fact that makes them arrogant in how they treat people, giving them a false sense of superiority above everyone else.

That false sense is one that he takes advantage of by choosing his moments of violence with care. So carefully that it’s a damn art form.

I’m definitely not an artist.

When the guards get bored of telling Mr. Glowy eyes what to do, they decide to poke and grope me. I always fight. I always bleed. I always lose. My only saving grace is that I can do a little damage beforehand. Of course, this last time, I look at the bandages on my arm, I didn’t even scratch one of them.

Not that the losing part stops me; it never will. I fight them when they decide to put their hands where they don’t belong, as a point of principle. I fight because I will not give in. I fight because it’s all I know. So even if I’m not fighting with my fists, I can fight with my soul. I’ll fight with everything I am.

They will not break me. I won’t let them.

On cue, they open his cell door. He doesn’t move again. A silent hunter that I can no longer hear breathing. Still as a statue, he waits for his chance…so damn patient.

See, there are times when I have a bad habit of rushing in howling like a banshee. If I can be that deliberate, that patient, I might have better luck. I need to learn to use my brain.

It’s something to consider. I haven’t survived this long without adapting.

As the Schoth slowly step through the doorway, the smell wafting through the air catches my attention. With lips parted, I taste the scent with the glands on my gums. My brain sorts through the many stored scents to determine exactly what the source is.

In this case, it’s blood. An all too familiar smell here. Considering what I am, the smell doesn’t bother me either. I’m probably closer to being a beast than Mr. Glowy eyes next door.

Because I enjoy knowing it’s Schoth blood.

Rickher, the head of the Guard and lead clown of the Goon squad, looks into the darkness of the cell cautiously. As he should. Quickly, he drops the unfortunate creature that’s slung over his shoulder to the ground.

A quick assessing look gives me all the info I need or want. Delicate build with the slight curve of breasts. Well, she must have really pissed someone off. They only bring them down here for one reason.

For Mr. Glowy Eyes to eat.

The first time I witnessed him consume someone, I was barely awake. So basically, my brain didn’t register what my eyes were seeing. There was no gore, no blood.

Instead of gnawing on their flesh one bite at a time, his eyes glow an eerie orange, and the darkness crawls up the victim’s body and devours them.

However quickly or slowly he wants it to. Both have been demonstrated, thoroughly. Sometimes they just vanish into the Darkness instantly.

I’m starting to think the slow bits are for show.

If I were a different kind of person it might bother me, seeing something like that. Quite frankly, I’ve seen worse, much worse. And even if I hadn’t, this is just a natural function for him, a body has to eat. It doesn’t strike me as him being sadistic. Mostly.

It helps that I hate the Schoth. I want him to eat every fucking one of them.

A low growl brings the hair on the back of my neck to a stand. Deep and primal, the sound gets an instant reaction. Rickher’s face pales. I get goosebumps, and the other Schoth take a step back.

He’s such a show-off.

“Your meal, filthy Beast.” Rickher spits right at Mr. Glowy Eyes. His bravery is a front, though. The sweat leeching through his skin is saturated with the acrid scent of his fear, exposing just how terrified he is. Those glowing eyes hold Rickher captive as the seconds tick by. Then, without warning, they dismiss the Schoth guards and focus on the groaning woman at his feet.

Well, there goes my fun for the day. He’s hungry. There will be no games played with the guards today. It’s disappointing but understandable.

At least he’s getting food.

I can’t help but be a little envious.

The Schoth’s departure is punctuated by the loud clang of the cell door slamming shut. For once, they’ve shown some brains by taking advantage of his disinterest. Lucky bastards; they will live to die another day.

Rickher isn’t very smart, though. He will slip up and end up on Mr. Glowy Eyes’ menu.

Three

Iza

The darkness begins to trickle out of the being holding my thoughts without effort. I sigh and lay back on the floor to stare at the ceiling. His feeding might not bother me morally, but it does make me feel peculiar staring. Something deep inside of me likes it a little too much. I push my thoughts as far away from his eating habits as I can.

But not away from the man, creature, or whatever he is.

Combined with my own observations and what little Jameson has told me, I know he’s a killing machine. Against my will, my eyes are drawn back to him.

Aren’t I a poster child for impulse control?

Globes of liquid fire meet my eyes through the bars trapping me. Like she weighs nothing, he lifts her limp body from the floor by her arm. I’m unable to look away as the darkness grows thicker in preparation of what I know is coming. His eyes are flames and I am a stupid, stupid moth.

I try to look away, I truly do. Even as screams echo around me, I can only lay there and watch. Trying in vain to stop being fascinated by it. “Try” being the keyword.

Jerk. I swear it feels like he does that shit on purpose.

Teeth clenching in determination, I pull my eyes away. Sitting up, I turn enough to be able to avoid meeting his gaze again. To avoid the temptation to look altogether. I’m a creature of the Dark, there’s no doubt about that, but I don’t want to be captivated by him. Or the way he eats.

To distract myself, I inspect the dirty hand clutching my bare, bent knee. Dirt and blood are crusted all over it, including under my fingernails. Fingernails that are now much longer and thicker and turning black at the cuticles.

Probably an early sign of malnutrition.

Further up, the bandages on my wrist are now stained and dank looking. The itchy skin underneath them is proof of how much they have healed. Plus, their sensitivity to touch is gone.

I’m so damn dirty.

Going by the condition of my arm, I can only imagine what the rest of me looks like. Mind made up, I start peeling off the bandages on my arms. It’s not like I need them anymore. As I pull them off, I’m more disgusted by my condition. I’m so glad that the Feyrie part of me stops any kind of infections from taking root. Or I wouldn’t still be alive.

Ah, what I’d give for a bath. Or even a half-assed one. It’s been so long I don’t remember what it feels like to be genuinely clean. But with only a couple of buckets of water a week, that isn’t going to happen.

The water is my lifeline. It’s better to stink than die. Although, starvation might start to become a bigger issue soon. Really soon.

Jameson has snuck in food for me before. Well, food that’s thrown out in the garbage and won’t be missed. Not that I’m complaining. My fascinating neighbor shoved some bread through the bars for me a few sleeps ago. I have no idea why, but I didn’t question it.

Food is food. I stretched that hard crust of bread for as long as possible. Now there is nothing left to stretch.

Frustrated with the inability to help myself, I throw the filthy bandages on the ground. Swiping a hand through my tangled, greasy hair, with annoyance.

Being in the Juvenile Sector wasn’t remotely easy and then the Adult one…well, I don’t want to think about it. But here, here it’s all Schoth. Is this the boogeyman sector the prisoners whispered about? The one where people are taken to and never come back from?

I’ve heard stories, prisoners gossip like old women, of torture and sadism. Of prisoners becoming playthings for the Aristos. I’m fully aware of how Schoth Aristos like to party—ugly clothes, food so raw it sometimes tries to crawl off the table, and pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

A bubble of self-pity tries to rise, but I smash it. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I knew the cost when I killed them. Mary and Paul, my fake parents, who used me for awful things that turned me into the monster I’ve become, they deserved to die. If I’d been older, bigger their deaths wouldn’t have been as fast, or clean.

But at least, not every moment here has been a fight.

There were libraries in the other sections I was in. Unwanted books or “boring” books were tossed to us like scraps. Because of being in here, I can read and speak several languages. I’ve always had a knack for picking them up. Right now, I speak one-hundred different languages. Some of which aren’t in words. That’s the only good this place has wrung out of me.

Then there was the TV and disk player they brought from the Earth Realm. Using Magiks to make it work, it played constantly in the cafeteria. There was a little bit of everything on it, the TV kept us prisoners occupied, most of the time.

I loved the old Ree-Runs—I think that’s what they were called. My favorite one was about the family with the hand that ran all over the place, and the super tall butler who only made that weird mmm noise. I used to sit in there for hours and watch it.

The humans have it lucky. No Magiks, no Schoth. And they have TV.

I take that back. Not too lucky. A few thousand years ago some of them ended up here. Magikless they gave birth to the Blood Locks by perverting Light Magiks. It shortened their lifespan significantly. Anyone who uses Blood Magiks either has to sacrifice someone or part of their own life force.

I don’t get it, why seek power that rots you from the inside-out?

The only human I’ve spent very much time with was in here. There was some fondness for him, just a little. That same human who was kind enough to teach me how to read also eventually tried to rape me. I did give him a proper ‘thank you’ before stabbing him, to death with a fork. What? He did try to rape a child. That child was me, but still. By then, I’d already learned the most valuable lesson in this place: kill or be killed.

Morals have no place here. My regrets are far and few.

The first few months in here were hell. A child tossed to the wolves. So ignorant, I tried to make friends. Yeah, that didn’t work out well. My ‘reading’ teacher is one awesome example.

As a teenager, I stupidly tried to have sex a few times. It’s a valuable commodity in this place, and when in need…well, ya know. That didn’t work out well either. I have issues breaking things. Or breaking people. Depends on how you want to look at it.

Then again, they also didn’t turn my crank. Not in the least.

Of their own accord, my eyes fall on the creature standing in the darkness staring at me. I know this because I can feel those haunting eyes of his.

There is a good chance my crank only turns for monsters.

“Why are you in here and still alive?”

I startle at his words. Goosebumps pop out all over my skin. Talking is not something I expect him to do. Ever. And that voice of his is so flipping hot it can melt rock. Carefully he pronounces each syllable like talking is a brand-new thing to him. That accent, too. I’ve never heard one like it before.

My mouth snaps shut. I sarcastically answer. ‘Luck?”

“You have no luck.”

Can’t argue there, that’s the truth. Frowning at him, I choose to not continue the conversation. It might be the truth but I don’t need him to remind me of it.

My thoughts turn darker. Maybe dying isn’t such a bad option. It will give me control of the how and the when.

God, stop being an idiot, Iza.

An eerie feeling brings me right back out of those thoughts. He is staring at me again, intently. Why is he being talkative all the sudden? I can’t help but be suspicious of it.

“What do you want me to say?” I question as neutrally as I’m capable.

Polite conversation is something I’m not well-versed in. Being locked up in a prison most of my life, with only a TV and convicts as companions, has stunted my social skills.

His too, I gather.

“The truth.”

At his words, my eyes slit. Why is he pushing?

“I murdered my supposed parents.” There. There is a fact for him.

“Self-defense isn’t murder.”

How can he possibly know that? No one, knew that, except the people who put me in here.

“As for the rest of it, you should know, creeper,” I say with a bite in my voice that’s softened by a wee bit of humor.

“You are alive because you fought to stay alive. There is no shame in admitting that.” Well, bully for him. “You carry human misconceptions.” he continues.

“Well, duh. I’m at least half.” I wave my hand down my body to give example.

“You are not human,” he counters in that same emotionless but super sexy voice.

Why is that word popping up in my brain again? Sexy. No, nope. Not. Stop it brain!

How does he know these things? Repeating the question in my head a second time makes me ask it out loud.

“I smell no human blood in you.”

The crazy bastard, all it takes is one look at me to know I’m too plain for a Feyrie.

Feyrie aren’t ethereal and golden, like Schoth. Or other creatures of the Light half of this wretched world. They’re of the Dark half, born from the Dark pool of Magiks. But Feyrie, all species of them, are just as beautiful in their own ways. Primal. Monstrous in some cases.

We, they, are the “bad guys” of the Juras realm. What’s left of them. The Schoth have done a great job at taking an ax to Feyrie family trees.

I’m lacking all that Feyrie-ness. Except for the Dark part.

“You’re nuts,” I mutter.

“No, I’m…Phobe.” For once, he’s in a sharing mood.

Weren’t you wishing for him to be more talkative, Iza? Shut up brain, I’m aware. You’re being awful snarky today inner me.

Pausing for two heartbeats, I stare at him. Then proceed to blurt out what I’m thinking. “Okay…Phobe,” I draw out his name because I’m pretty sure he’s lying about it. “What made you talk to me after all this time?”

Being a direct type of person, I just gaze at him waiting for an answer. Much like he did me.

Large clawed hands wrap themselves around the bars separating us. The shadows that have always concealed the features of his face evaporate as he moves closer. In surprise, my breath catches. Good god, his face is…just…exquisite.

Choppy black hair halos a pale, blue-skinned, sharply angled face. A short forehead topped by a small widow’s peak crowns all that otherworldly beauty. My eyes take in every detail of his face. The dark, perfectly arched brows. A regal nose that flares just slightly on either side. The whole package is wrapped up by a downright sinful mouth that is so well formed and full it’s damn near feminine.

A solid, square, completely masculine jaw is the only thing that keeps his face from being, well, too pretty.

A woman will do a lot of things for a face like that. Probably had.

Those eyes, though, they are the icing on the cake. Oval with just a slight upwards tilt to the ends of them, surrounded with long, thick black eyelashes. A startling shade of orange that pulls right at my gut. Making an exotic face look more so.

They carry so many secrets. Layers upon layers of secrets.

Completely belying the youthful appearance of his face. His voice even sounds older than his face looks. There’s no stubble, no lines around the eyes or mouth. Just a deceptive, youthful face. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, especially in here. Some were just as pretty in a different way. But none who look like him. Who feel like him.

This man is something else entirely. Something dark and enthralling and…I think I need an intervention.

Deliberately digging my nails into my palms, I curl my fingers tightly. Fighting the unacceptable urge to crawl across the floor and touch that face.

Totally unacceptable. Touching him is the last thing I want to do!

With cold precision learned from years of practice, I push and shove at these mushie gooshie feelings until I manage to lock them away.

For now.

“You cannot die here, Iza,” Frowning at his words, I wait for an explanation. “You should rest.”

The words are a breathy whisper. For a second he studies me then turns on his heel. Stepping into the shadows he disappears and although I can see in the dark I can’t find him in it.

We aren’t going to be fast friends but I don’t think we are enemies either. After struggling until my eyes hurt, I give up and let the heavy lids drift closed. Sleeping sitting up isn’t a new experience.

It isn’t until sleep already has its claws in me that I realize he knew my name without me telling him. So, who told him?

Four

Phobe

She always falls asleep quickly. Her body tensed, prepared to fight if need be. Watching her, I think back to the first day I saw her, 10 years ago. That first day, I was looking for food for myself when I saw them drag her in the main hall. A terrified, yet, defiant child covered in blood that was not hers. I was curious about her then, too.

Before laying eyes on her. I had, at no time, felt that precise emotion, curiosity. None of the creatures of this world, or any world, mattered. Merely food. Until her.

The order is for me to remain in the prison. It was never specified where in it. So, I used that loophole and followed her, watched her over the years. I use it, now, to steal water and food for her when I can, but the only way to get that well-guarded source is to kill someone. I have to be cautious or they will suspect.

I am not sure why, but something draws me to her, has always drawn me to her.

Seemingly overnight, she was grown. The years flew, and she is no longer a terrified, defiant child. She is a predator. Feared now by the ones who would once have tried to prey on her—or did prey on her.

Now they will feel her wrath if they try.

That predator watches me with fascination that she fights to control. She does not look at me with repulsion when I feed. Does not fear me when I am close to her. Which pleases me, and finding pleasure in that confuses me.

Pleasure is not something I am accustomed to, in any form. Which draws me to her further.

Giving in to the impulse to be closer to her, I sneak into her cell and stand above her, staring down in confusion. Why her? Why do I watch her? Why do I follow her?

Too many questions. Not enough answers.

Unable to deny the want to be near her anymore, I finally close the last vestiges of distance between us to study her with more than my eyes.

The Magiks still under my control tendril out and weave towards her. The response, once they reach her, changes every misconception I have about her. Surprised, I watch as it coats her in milky darkness from head to toe, undulating in caressing waves across her skin. The feeling it gives me is…incredible.

And completely unacceptable.

With pure willpower alone, I pull it back to me. It takes genuine effort. Something that I have never had to extend with a simple exploratory sensing.

My Magiks have never been able to touch her before. They have always been blocked by an unknown type of spell. Something has changed to allow me to now. Needing answers, I push forward. Now more prepared, I try again with a wisp of Magiks and find the same reaction.

What in the bloody hell is this?

A woman I should give no second thought to is what. And yet, I give many of my thoughts to her. Too many. Clenching my jaw, I squat there continuing to stare at her. A part of my mind pushes to get away from her. To simply look away and forget she exists. Kill her. Something! Anything to separate me from her.

While something else deeper, older inside me rebukes the very notion.

The feeling of hot liquid dripping on my toe draws me momentarily out of my thoughts. I flick a glance down to see a single drop of blue blood on my toe. I open my hand, unclenching it and releasing my sinking claws. A cursory glance at my palm shows a streak of blue where the wound was seconds ago.

I am not one for losing control. Ever.

I hedge forward, so close to her my bare toes touch the warmth of her skin. It feels good, touching her. Evidently, this decision is already made for me. Unable to resist it any longer I breathe in deeply through my mouth with my lips peeled back. Death lingers around her. It’s not from her death to come, although it is coming one day.

No, this is an old smell, a part of her.

My hand rises of its own accord to touch her cheek softly. A faint blue color lights her skin following the touch of my fingers.

The determination to know more pulls at me to look deeper. To look beneath the filth covering her.

With her being nude, I can clearly see that is a short, curvy thing even when half starved to death. She lacks that long-limbed grace of a pure-blood Feyrie. That alone proves she bears no more than half-blood. I doubt it is a full half. Considering what I know that “half” to be.

There is no human in her, despite how much she currently resembles one.

My senses are never wrong.

There are other ways to find out where she comes from. I let out a little more Magiks to keep her asleep, something that becomes harder to do every time I use it. She is developing a resistance to it but for now, she is still susceptible.

All creatures of Magiks hold a mark behind their ear that ties them to the pool they are born from. In this world, there are two pools of Magiks: The Dark, where the creatures called Feyrie are born from. And the Light, from which creatures like the Schoth are born from, all Light Fey.

I lift her matted hair and move her right ear to expose the pale spot behind it. There are no marks there. I check the other side, nothing.

“Hmm.” I lean over her mouth my face so close I can feel her faint breaths on my lips and breathe in her exhaled breath. Eyes closed, I disregard the myriad of smells of blood and sweat, focusing solely on the distinctive smell that belongs to her. That exclusive smell that all creatures possess that marks them from deep within. My eyes shoot open, illuminating her face in with their light.

Cinnamon and the deep spicy scent of darkness. An unusual combination.

This is the first time in a long while I dare get this close to her. Other than when I stitched her up, I avoid that intimacy. When she was unconscious I was more concerned with the fixing of her than what she is.

What secrets do you hide, Iza? Blinking I clear my eyes. Mind racing with all the possibilities, I hover in front of her, unsure of what to do next.

Annoyed with myself, I decide to check over her wounds. Some were caused by blades, some by blows. Yet, with all this damage, she managed to kill several of them. She damaged several others.

All for some human girl that, ultimately, she killed and with compassion in her eyes. I don’t understand her motivation. Or her compassion.

I don’t understand her, period.

Only a few minutes which felt like an eternity had passed when I find myself shaking my head at my own thoughts. An impossibility, this—her. Yet, she is. How very unusual. This chaotic, tornado of a person has accomplished something no other creature in existence has.

The minx drew me to her.

A feeling as solid as the walls around me settles in my stomach. Her being this close to me changes everything. It puts me in a position I am completely unfamiliar with; feeling responsible for another life.

So be it.

I go back to looking her over for other signs of her mark. So many scars—arms, hands, all covered with them. Even her face bears marks of her past. The fight in her runs deep. Pausing in my search, I study her face, looking past the dirt to the skin beneath.

A short forehead tops a small heart-shaped face haloed by dirty, blood red hair. Dark eyebrows, tinged with a spot of red, arch above almond shaped, violet faceted eyes that I know, when open, dominate her face. Her nose is small with a little upturn to it, flaring too much to either side to be considered delicate. Full lips, that although are a little too wide, are still plush and perfectly formed.

There is not any classic beauty in her small face. It is too unusual for that. Instead, it strikes me as exquisite because of its unusualness.

Minding the razor-sharp claw extending from my thumb, I touch the small cleft in her chin. Prying her mouth open with minimal pressure, I see that most of her teeth are indeed more sharp than normal. This only shores up my suspicions of where she comes from.

Of what she is.

Rolling her onto her side to stare at the tattoo covering her entire back, with the determination to solve the mystery she represents. The tattoo has changed, it is more clearly defined now. The Rune on the spider’s back…is now fully formed. The Magiks that was hiding it from me are no longer working.

Fuck.

The muscles of my back tense as I feel Jameson’s presence move down the stone stairs. The rest of my inspection will have to wait.

In two steps, I am back in my own cell, moving through the bars as incorporeal as smoke. My Shadows wrap around me to keep me from his view. Jameson pauses outside of Iza’s cell and stares at her a moment before giving one furtive glance into my own.

“Is she sleeping or dead?” It’s a rhetorical question. He is not speaking to me. I have spoken one sentence to him, ever. “She sleeps.” He mumbles to himself.

Jameson relaxes a little when he sees her chest moving. Does the man care for her? The thought makes me clench my teeth and then clench harder once I realize my own reaction.

Why should I care what Jameson feels for her? That thought doesn’t stop me from letting my shadows touch him. To see what is really in his mind.

Vague concern for Iza. Thoughts of other women. Jameson is a base creature in most of his thoughts.

“I brought her some food, could you let her know?” This is said to me. I remain silent. Without another word, Jameson tosses the bag into the cell and leaves.

My eyes fall on her back.

At least I know what I can blame now. It is all tied to that fucking tattoo. The one I did not see until the day she was brought in and dumped on the cell floor in a big heap of bloody meat.

The one I didn’t see the full Rune on until mere moments ago.

The tattoo that begins at the base of her hairline and takes up the space between her shoulder blades, the middle of her back, and ends right at her ass. A black widow spider perching on a spun web with an all too familiar Rune shining at me from its back. Red eyes look up from a body so detailed it looks as if it will breathe any second.

It is undoubtedly a Magikal tattoo. No mortal-made tattoo could be so complex. It explains, too, why she bears no normal mark behind either ear. This is her mark. An exclusive mark.

Iza will be the only one to ever bear it.

I understand the significance of Magikal tattoos in a way most others do not. Several tattoos canvas most of my body, tattoos I was made with. They are signs of my power, and that spider is a sign of hers.

I recall the memories of Jameson’s words the night she was brought in.

**                                                                                                                                                          **

“That is a representation of a Nightmare, the black widow. I only know that because of a bedtime story my father read to me as a child. As far as I know, they don’t even exist. That Rune, however, it only looks partially formed—” Jameson points at the blood red Rune that stands out vividly amongst the black body of the spider. “—I have no idea what it is. I’ll admit, though, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen it before.” Jameson’s face is thoughtful as he studies the spider. “I should tell the Magistrate,” He grumbles.

“You will not,” I hiss at him. Jameson’s eyes jerk up to meet mine, his face paling.

“I will not,” Jameson says, unintentionally saving his own life. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously as he swallows.

**                                                                                                                                                          **

The now complete Rune is very familiar. Having it on her body solidifies the suspicions that have been circling in my mind since I saw her for the very first time. It is not something I am willing to voice, though. Jameson might sometimes be friendly to her, but he is never trustworthy.

A Feyrie wanting to be a Schoth is not someone I can or will trust with anything. But for now, he can come and go as he pleases.

For now.

Five

Iza

I’ve not spent every moment of my life alone here, but having someone constantly around is a new experience. Not that modesty or being self-conscious about anything is an issue. That was taken from me a long time ago. But sharing an ever-shrinking space, even with the bars between us, with a being that’s so…him, is difficult.

Specifically, someone who hides mostly from my view, but is always watching. Because I can feel it. No matter how hard I try I can’t see the bastard in his stupid shadows.

If it were anyone else I’d think they were afraid.

And it gets better. Since he spoke for the first time several weeks ago, there is a more deepened awareness of him now. Wait, I think it’s weeks. It could be months. There is no real concept of time down here. 5 buckets of water…a bucket every few sleeps, bah. Regardless of weeks or months, I’m not sure what to make of it all.

He isn’t exactly volunteering any answers.

Daily, he manages to take the whole strong, silent type to a brand-new level. An annoying level. One that is a fuzz shy of being creepy. He is just so freaking obvious about it, and I can’t help but shake my head sometimes.

I don’t feel like he’s a threat—not to me, at least. He’s been a distant presence in my life for a long time. That alone doesn’t make me know him. Or trust him, not completely.

My instincts, though, insist that he’s so different from everything I’ve known, that I’ll never figure him out. Unless he decides to let me. Maybe then I stand a chance, maybe. I’m not holding out hope for it.

Infuriatingly, my snoopiness pushes me to interact with him. Which is weird. I’m not much for seeking anyone out. That fact makes my feelings sharper, more noticeable.

Uncomfortable.

“Why are you here?” The question pops out of my mouth before I can catch it.

Well, shit.

A slight clinking sound breaks the silence from his cell.

“Why do you care?” Well, that isn’t exactly an answer. Not really having one for him either, I shrug.

“Curiosity?” It’s the truth if nothing else.

“I am a slave.”

“Well, not to be a dick, but duh.”

A noise comes from his direction. Did he just snort?

In a blink, the entire mood changes. A blanket of tension falls heavily between us. I sigh. Right as I’m getting somewhere.

“They are coming,” he warns in that echoey-whisper-weirdo voice he can do. It’s the first time he’s foretold their arrival to me. This makes me cautious.

Still a little sore from the last beating my big mouth earned me with the guards, I climb stiffly to my feet.

My muscles begin to twitch all over my body. My feet shift around on the floor, restless. I want to run. I want to fight. This doesn’t bode well for me to have that fight or flight instinct so soon after waking up.

If I go after one of them now, though, I’ll get my ass handed to me. Running the scenario through my head gets me the same result every time. Failure.

That creepy bastard is rubbing off on me.

I weigh my feelings on the situation to be sure. I’m not afraid, so fear isn’t holding me back. Death doesn’t scare me anymore. I’m practical enough to know it’s a definite in my future, regardless of the next few minutes.

Death comes for everyone.

I prefer to see it coming. Maybe I’ve actually learned something from watching Phobe. I look over at him.

“To kill me?” Stating my suspicions out loud helps break some of the tension.

I’m not a fan of the unknown. To me, it’s easier knowing bad or good.

“No,” he answers after a slight hesitation. I relax.

“Then what’s the big deal? They are probably bringing you another juice box.” My frustration bleeds into my voice.

Why put such warning into his words if the Schoth aren’t going to do anything?

“No.”

That isn’t the answer I’m expecting. It’s been a few days, a week, or whatever since they brought someone down. To feed the…well, him. I don’t care for the name they use for him; it bothers me to call him that. Even in my head.

So freaking weird of me, right? He eats people. And it doesn’t bother me one bit. So, what does that make me?

Stupid brain.

“Then why?” I ask, to see if he knows.

“Entertainment.”

The way he says that doesn’t make me think it’s the ‘pulling a rabbit out of a hat’ kind of entertainment. Sounds more like one of us bleeding on the floor kind.

I’ve been the star of those parties. Lots of times.

Before I know it, “You know exactly what they are going to do, don’t you?” Blurts out of my mouth with a touch of accusation.

Subtlety is not one of my strong points. Twin glowing, fiery orbs light deep in the shadows that hide him. I take that as affirmation.

Annoyed with him, I don’t comment. I’ll ask him later how he knows. That’s if I can stop visualizing hitting him with the bucket. Or a metal bar. Yeah, definitely a metal bar. It will hurt more.

Why stop at the bar? I can grab a big fat brick, too. Give him four good smacks right in his smug, too pretty face.

The shadows lighten around him enough to expose his face to my view. His full top lip curls up into something that resembles a smile. My eyes follow him as he turns to stand and face the door. Irritation forgotten I watch as the thick short claws on his hands lengthen by several shiny, sharp inches.

Damn things look like daggers growing out of his fingertips.

Phobe is going to hurt someone today. I do a happy dance in my head, temporarily forgiving him for being a jerk.

The shackles binding his wrists pull tight, the metal flexing with a creak, pushed right to the breaking point without breaking. He knows exactly how much pressure to exert without disobeying the great shiny rock of power.

That level of control is rather genius. Maybe even a little sexy. Sexy? Did I really just think that? Shit, where is that damn intervention?

Goosebumps rise on my skin as his uncanny, glowing eyes meet mine over his shoulder. Sometimes it’s like the bastard reads my mind.

And these stupid goosebumps got to go. Right out the door with the word sexy.

“Well, well, you pieces of shit. The Magistrate has finally summoned you.” My gaze snaps to Rickher, an unwanted familiar face, opening the door to Phobe’s cell. Phobe moves and freezes halfway.

Rickher holds out the great shiny rock of power, a smug smile on his face. The Magiks in the rock spread out to form a purple tether, that I can clearly see, running from the stone to the darkness that perpetually surrounds Phobe. The more I see it, the more it seems familiar, but I can’t place it.

Something inside of me tells me that I need to touch that stupid rock. Staring at the tether harder, I can see where the spell is starting to fray, to wear out.

I have no idea why he’s bound to it. I just know it controls him. It took a lot of juice to bind him to the rock. A lot. I really don’t think it was an easy accomplishment.

What in the world is he?

In this place, I’ve seen a lot of different kinds of critters. He’s nothing like any of them. Do they know what they have? He doesn’t get any kind of special treatment. He’s treated as crappy as any other Feyrie. Probably worse. Hmm. There’s something suspicious going on here. I bet a million bucks there isn’t a drop of Feyrie in him.

He’s a whole lotta something else entirely.

Come to think of it, he reminds me of a character in the books I learned to read in. Detailing this gallant hero coming in to save the damsel in distress. But it wasn’t the fake ass hero that I cheered for. In my imagination, the bad guy always came to my rescue.

Phobe is every inch a bad guy. Unfortunately, he won’t be riding in to save me anytime soon. Like, well…ever. He’s a prisoner, like me.

“Kneel.” As Rickher speaks the word, Phobe begins to fight the power of the command. And he fights it hard, too. But within minutes his will is overcome. He sinks to his knees, his face an expressionless mask of calm. Those eyes, though, those eyes hold something else entirely.

Death.

“Grab her.” Rickher snaps off to his goon squad. Shit. My muscles lock as I struggle to keep myself from doing something stupid.

Two of them stomp into my cell and grab my upper arms. For a split second the urge to fight almost overrides my new-found caution. I stop it in its tracks. A lot of hard lessons were learned in this place, the most recent one is to choose my battles with more care. There is a time for a fight, and a time to just survive.

As weak as I am, I’ll be about as useless as tits on a boar in a fight. There will be another chance--I got to wait for it. Watching the methodical care Phobe takes with everything he does, is starting to finally rub off on me.

A rough push towards the door makes my poor, sore body stretch more than it’s comfortable with. I bite my tongue. With the ease of practice, I seek out that cold, dark place inside of me that lets me escape the pain.

It gives me the strength I need to stand up straight and not fall on my face right there. Drawing my shoulders back I raise my chin with as much pride as I can muster. I stand buck naked before them but I refuse to cower.

Fuck that. Fuck them.

“You two are going to a party,” Rickher says. “You should feel privileged the Magistrate invited you.” Rickher’s words shoot a jolt of apprehension through me but I keep my face blank.

One of the guards standing next to the door elbows Phobe as he walks past him. Phobe barely moves, and the man falls to the floor, dying. I smirk. I can’t help it. I knew he’d get one sooner or later.

“What have I told you about fucking with him? Only the holder of this stupid rock is safe from him, you dumb-asses?!” Rickher yells as they lead us up the long stairway, leaving the body of their companion on the floor where he fell.

I don’t miss the shadows creeping around the dying guy, shadows they haven’t seen.

A snack. Interesting.

I hope they are all dumb enough to fuck with him.

Six

Iza

All the tapestries lining the walls of the circular room, that we’re taken to—above the prison, depict the same scenes over and over. The pictures on them showing a posed Schoth, standing with a glowing sword pointed at the neck of a fallen enemy. It’s not hard to deduce who this particular Schoth is.

The Magistrate has a big head on his shoulders.

These histories are a sham. They’re not about some selfless savior battling to save his people from the ‘monsters’. It’s the documentation of the slaughter of entire Feyrie species. My eyes flick to Phobe. I suspect they didn’t die by the sword of the Magistrate either but died instead by the clawed hands of Phobe.

Phobe strikes me as the weapon of destruction. Not some fop with an over-inflated ego and a floppy sword. A small floppy sword, ha.

Phobe is their weapon, one that they don’t understand or recognize for what it is. The one that they know less about than I do, and I don’t know shit, except that he’s one scary dude. Prisoners talk. After seeing him the first time all those years ago, I listened.

Plus, I have eyes. And hormones. One of them is going to have to go soon.

A sharp jerk sideways catches me unaware. Off balance, I stumble and trip over one of the thick, ugly rugs on the floor. Throwing my hands up, I try to catch myself, but end up on my face in a very ungainly fashion. The very familiar taste of blood floods my mouth as my teeth split my lip. I curse under my breath.

Big, cool hands lift me to my feet. In surprise, I look up into the bright eyes of Phobe. Eyes that I feel as much more than see. A tingling warm feeling of awareness—and something else I can’t quite put my finger on—tickles my skin.

I snort, unable to help myself. Here I am, naked and scarred up like I fell on a chainsaw, getting all moony over a pair of eyeballs.

How is that not ridiculous?

“If we play spin the bottle, I’m not going first,” I whisper to him.

‘You think this is a game?’ That deep sensual voice in my head jerks me right out of my humor.

Subtly, I study his closed expression. Not a single flicker of…well, anything. I bet my ass this isn’t something they know he can do. It’s the type of secret people keep to themselves. Secrets are something I’m very familiar with.

‘You are not prepared.’ Always so formal and stick-in-the-mud.

Since he can obviously speak in my mind, it isn’t far-fetched to think I can talk back to him the same way. Isn’t that how telepathy works? So, I try it.

‘This isn’t game night?’

He raises an eyebrow at that.

‘Foolish girl.’ It does work!

‘Crazy is a better word,’ I think at him, truthfully.

How can I not be crazy after all this shit? Seriously.

For a moment our gazes lock, broken only by the brightening of his. It’s the only indication that something’s about to happen. The distinct sound of leather hitting his flesh follows. I frown, knowing that sound with an intimacy that comes from long hours spent with one making the same sound on me.

Violence I can handle. Way better than the weird mojo shit that passed between us moments before. My frown deepening, I realize that it bothers me that they treat him so callously. To whip someone is to belittle them, to make them feel powerless and beaten. I should know.

A man who could’ve popped out of my storybooks can’t control his fate any more than I can.

He is the one who took care of me when I couldn’t take care of myself. The epiphany struck me the night before. The stitches were so damn precise and careful…so like him. It must’ve taken him hours to sew me back together, clean the wounds, give me fluids while I lay unconscious for god knows how long.

It’s not hard to assume he’s the one responsible for my weekly bucket of water, either.

Phobe fixed me when no one ordered him to. He did it because he could, not out of some misplaced sense of guilt. Emotions don’t seem to be his forte. Phobe has done more for me since I’ve been in this place than anyone else has done for me my entire life.

I know exactly what it’s like to be mistreated, used. Abused. The humiliation that follows the punishments that the cowardly bastards inflict, the soul-deep rage that burns in your gut with no outlet. Oh yeah, I know.

With him, his captors have gone a further step. Phobe doesn’t have any kind of freedom.

This time, my sensitive ears catch the whiz of the whip lashing out, and I do something that surprises even me. I step around him and feel the sting of it biting into the bare skin of my shoulder.

Ignoring its bite, I stand like a meat shield blocking him from the blows. He saved my life, the least I can do is save him some whip marks.

‘Are you an idiot?’ His voice is soft in my mind, giving away no infliction of emotion.

I fight the urge to look over my shoulder into those burning eyes. It’s never good to show too much attention to someone in here. What I just did is bad enough.

‘Sometimes.’ I answer.

Not meaning this time. I can see no real gain for him helping me. He did it just because. No one has ever done anything genuinely just for me—this man, this creature with nothing to gain, did. Something which my instincts tell me is fact, and that alone makes this a drop in the bucket compared to that.

“Bring her closer, I want to see the face of our newest guest.” A male voice orders, ringing with authority. The Magistrate himself. “Do not move a muscle to stop them, Beast,” he orders Phobe.

This time I do look at Phobe. Phobe’s eyes flare.

‘I’ve been to this rodeo before, nothing new.’ I snark, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting as I’m jerked away from him.

“Well, she isn’t much.” The distaste in the Magistrate’s voice catches my full attention.

His golden eyes look at me like I’m the most despicable thing in the world. The feeling is completely mutual.

He’s slim and well-built, his muscles are clearly defined beneath the tight, purple, silk shirt he’s wearing. His face is classically handsome, rather round and soft. He doesn’t possess a strong jawline, it’s higher up and makes his chin end in a point. Hair as golden as the shiniest coin falls past his shoulders in little, corkscrew curls.

The magistrate is perfect like they all are. But I can see beyond the facade of brightly lit beauty. Past the false face on top. Beneath the layers of carefully constructed glamour, his chin is weak, the skin under his eyes baggy and discolored. He’s wearing lipstick, too.

Piercing glamour is a skillset of mine, I could do it since I was a child. For some reason, no one’s glamour works on me for long, if at all. And I can smell it in the air when it’s used.

Except with Big, Bad, Blue, over there.

The Magistrate has the look of a man who imbibes too often. No matter how much power he has here, he isn’t a strong-willed person. A coward with a title and probably a drug habit. Also, a fondness for lipstick and eyeliner.

“She is the one that you requested, sir. The trash that murdered your favored whore.” My head jerks up. I clench my teeth so hard they crack.

Whore? She was a fucking child! A suffering, tormented child. She couldn’t have been more than 12 freaking years old!

Tossed into the cafeteria like garbage, by some guards, her blue eye landed on me immediately. Crawling across the floor to me so slowly, my heart broke a little, so I walked to meet her.

In a choking whisper, she begged me to kill her.

Most of her face was a mess of shattered bone and raw tissue, clothes soaked red with blood and other fluids, giving hints to other injuries I couldn’t see. Sobbing, she lay her head on my lap, looking up at me with one bright blue eye. Pleading silently with me. This piece of shit broke her soul. He destroyed it.

With tears in my eyes, I kissed her cheek and I broke her neck.

This is why I’m here? He did that to her?

To keep from going nuclear and dying today, I exhale through my nose and calm my anger, letting it simmer. If I’m given the chance I’ll wring the life from the Magistrate.

After I shove his own dick down his throat.

He walks towards me and stops a few feet away, studying me like I’m an animal in a zoo. A full head taller than me, he doesn’t have a smidgen of the presence that Phobe, standing so quietly beside me, does. It’s all an act. A mask covering a spoiled, perverted, little boy.

“What say you, gentlemen?” He steps back, and I see the two “well-dressed” men standing behind him. One of them a fair-haired human, who covers his nose with a monogrammed handkerchief. An eyesore in his pink shirt and striped pants. A quiet growl slips past my lips. An Aristo human here. The type I am very much accustomed to and despise.

“I would say she looks a bit defiant, sir.” The other comments. A Schoth, who plays with his monocle nervously, as he meets my eyes. A third man, soft-bellied man, dressed in a horridly yellow shirt. Is looking forward to the pain, anyone’s pain except his own. I can smell his excitement. I note the round, almost fat face. The too done up dark hair.

Using my slightly open mouth I further my knowledge about them.

They carry a lot of smells on them. Faint traces of sex. Of fear. Multiple scents are on their clothes, their skin from others. These fellas like to get around. Quite a bit.

Carefully, I take in everything visually.

The entire lot of them are dressed like Historic Royalty, which is a complete act. The lights around the room are electric, the guns the guards carry are probably the latest models.

It’s a shame they chose the time-period they did. Vivid, multicolored, striped breeches are not flattering. They look like that candy you find in those old glass dishes at Grandma’s house. All melted and stuck together.

In fact, looking all around the room makes me feel like I’m in a badly written historical romance novel. Minus the romance, of course. There’s an entire theme going here: a stretching rack sits in the corner, covered in dust. A rusty iron maiden looms on the far wall where various types of chains hang empty but not unused. Some are even hanging from the ceiling.

Hell, all they need are a few bloody heads on sticks to complete their little house of horrors theme.

The Magistrate, in his candy pants, moves into my direct line of vision again. Posing with one hand on his hip and his nose in the air, he looks at me.

“We shall have to remedy that.” He waves a hand and a familiar weapon, cat-o-nine tails, is placed in it. Worn and well-oiled—this thing is used often.

Fuck. I should be paying more attention to him, not his freaking furniture.

“A flogging can beat the defiance out of even the stoutest spine, sir. Good choice,” says the thinner one continuing to twirl that monocle. If I shove that thing up the little man’s ass, will he think that’s a good choice, too? I cut a dirty look to the idiot who is making my bad day get worse.

The way the Magistrate swings the weapon around shows familiarity. This isn’t the first time he’s used the awful thing.

Well, hell.

“Beast, take her to the wall. We will see how defiant she is after a taste of this.” I jump when Phobe’s hands wrap around my upper arms. Lifting me up, he carries me suspended in the air, at arm’s length to the nearest wall. He steps away, leaving me there alone to face what’s coming.

Resigned to the upcoming punishment, I study the wall in front of me. It’s stained with the dark brown tint of old blood. My scent glands tell me it’s the blood of more than one type of creature.

Soon, mine will liven up the decor.

The sound of the leather strips traveling through the air warns me enough to relax. As much as possible in this situation. It’s hard not to tense up and wait for the almost forgotten fire across my skin. But relaxing is the only way to come through this with as little damage as possible.

Instead, I’m shoved roughly into the wall by Phobe’s steel hands. He doesn’t even flinch when the strips of leather connect with his skin.

‘What are you doing?!’ I demand. He’s lucky I remember to do it silently.

“See how her defiance was a sham, gentleman? Already she is weeping and it has only just begun.” The amusement in the Magistrate’s voice makes me frown. It’s not me getting hit its Phobe.

What the fuck?

His hands slide up the wall to rest on either side of my shoulders. The heat of his body leaning towards me is tempered by the cold metal of the chains brushing against my back. What is this? I regard him over my shoulder and find his eyes on the wall in front of us. Not one spark of emotion swirls in them. Not even anger.

The sound of the leather hitting flesh again makes me wince, no reaction at all from him. Not even a twitch. His indifference makes me turn my entire body around in his grasp to face him.

The hairs on my body stand up. I know then why they can’t see what is really happening. Glamour, coming from Phobe, so thick in the air I can taste it. Interesting that Phobe can still do it even though he is bound by the stone.

Another secret revealed. What else is he hiding?

We’re almost an arms-length apart, and there’s no longer Darkness between us. It’s the only time he’s been completely exposed to my gaze. Brazenly I take the chance to study him. He’s tall, not gigantically so, but a full head taller than I and then some.

Broad shouldered yet lithe. But very solid, though. The sculpted chest, eye level with me, is a testament to that. I can’t help but stare at him despite the circumstances. I’m not an ogler, I’m an opportunist.

Looking at the masterpiece of him is, without a doubt, an opportunity.

His skin is a very light blue, and in the right light, might look pale white. It covers a body that looks like it’s lovingly carved from stone. Every muscle stretching his skin tight, perfectly defined. He has the most abb’ed-out stomach I’ve seen on a man, of any species. Flat and ridged all the way down the dirty brown pants that ride low on his slim hips. I make my eyes go back up to his chest, refusing to let my eyes go any lower.

I’m going to stop looking, sadist doesn’t go well with my first name.

Mostly.

Although, I did get a peek at his bare ass feet.

At that moment, something flashes on his skin. Followed by another flash. Before my eyes, lines began to darken and glow. Whorls of runes and shapes begin to trace along his shoulders, his arms, his stomach. And although I acknowledge them, they’re not what pulls my gaze—it’s the one that comes to life on his chest that holds my complete, attention.

I know the lines of it intimately because I have a similar one on my back.

Heat fills my cheeks as my temper rises. I clench my teeth, refusing to ask him why. After all, he’s the one that cleaned me up, stitched me together. He’s seen me naked every day since. Phobe already knows there’s a twin to that Rune on my skin. For some mysterious reason, he just doesn’t think it’s important enough to share.

Pride keeps my mouth shut. Barely.

The sound of the weapon striking his skin brings me back to reality. Cringing at the sound of the leather hitting his skin my anger fades. Secrets aside, I curse him loudly in my head. Knowing he hears me, knowing he has to be in pain. I’m not surprised when he doesn’t respond. Instead, he stands as still as a statue while taking my punishment.

What have these people done to him?

I look up into the eyes intently focusing on my face, swirling with flickers of thoughts I can’t interpret. I really need to learn to read him better. Those beautiful eyes of his that draw me into crash hard.

The bottom of my stomach feels as if it’s going to fall out when something causes them to flash orange. Wow.

The spell broken, he looks at something over his shoulder with such loathing I hope the person catches on fire. Doubtful, but I can hope.

As the nine strips of leather bite into his back again, I have to ask, why is he doing it? Why help me at the risk to himself?

Maybe he’s my hero after all.

A single step and he presses himself against me fully. Everything stops. Time, the people in the room around us. All I can feel is him. Feel his strong heartbeat against my face. Slow, steady. An irresistible lure for me to move my cheek against that beat. Closer, against the softness of his skin, the smell of him surrounding me.

Warm, soft skin caresses mine from my face to my hips. Bringing every inch of me to life. The feeling of night’s embrace wrapping me in a blanket of home. My eyes drift closed, and for just a few of those heartbeats, the essence of him is all I know.

For the first time in my life, I feel safe. And blatantly…aroused?

“Now take her back to her cell, I have a dinner to attend.” My eyes jerk open at the Magistrate’s words.

Phobe steps back from me, and bending over, uses his shoulder to lift me up and over like a sack of flour. Being suddenly upside down makes me shamefully squeak in surprise. Held in his iron grasp, all I can do is watch the floor move swiftly below me.

What the hell is this thing between us? Only an idiot wouldn’t have felt his arousal.

Just as suddenly, he places me on shaking legs, and the cell door shuts with a clang. I stand there with my eyes closed, waiting for Vertigo to fade. It takes a few minutes for the main wave to pass. I refuse to open my eyes even when it does. I can still smell him on my skin. Feel him. I don’t want to leave that yet.

Reluctantly, when I do open my eyes, I find Phobe standing there—in my cell, looking at me again with one of those indecipherable looks.

He should come with a manual or something. Some way to translate the enigma that is Phobe.

“Lay on your stomach, and I’ll clean your back,” I offer, feeling that it is the least I can do.

He turns his back to me without a word. My mouth falls open in surprise. Not a single mark mars his skin. Blue streaks and tattoos are all over but no wounds. I snap my mouth shut.

Running a hand over the smooth skin of his back and through still wet blue blood, I discover there isn’t a single mark from where the cat-o-nine tails that supposedly hit him. Not even a welt. Shit, not even a red mark. What the hell?

“I heal instantly.” He answers my unasked question and points at the floor, a silent order for me to park my butt there. “You do not.”

For a moment, I have to fight my own stubbornness. He’s right...my shoulders are letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that my wounds have not insta-healed. Giving up the pointless argument forming in my brain, I do as bid and lay on the floor.

I stare at him as he stands there staring at me.

“Thank you,” I whisper the words.

Knowing he can hear me and understand they are not words I say often.

My gratitude is for more than him taking a beating meant for me. It is for everything. Something in me lessens a little, in a good way. I owe him even more now. A lot more. Something I’m not really thrilled about but accepting of.

“You won’t be saying that for long,” is all he says before sitting down on the floor beside me.

Without asking permission, he starts wiping off my shoulders with a cool wet cloth. Where does he get these things?

I stare at his lean, muscled, tattooed body, unable to bring myself to look into those eyes of his again.

Yes, I will, “be saying it for long”. I’m not stupid. Given the demonstration tonight, I know exactly what to expect in the future. This won’t be the last time one of us gets whipped—or worse.

How can he possibly think I will blame him for anything they make him do? I’m not even going to hold it against him for not telling me about his tattoos, the matching Runes. Much, anyhow. I can’t lie to myself and say I won’t hold it against him at all.

Or his damn magical heartbeats that make me want to purr like a kitten. I sigh and let my eyes drift closed.

All I can do is let him figure it out for himself.

Seven

Phobe

Iza’s sleep isn’t one of rest, unlike the near comatose state she was in while healing. This is a fitful and turbulent state. The one she is usually in. Eyes moving rapidly beneath their lids, her mouth slightly open as if to cry out.

There are no peaceful dreams for her.

Her back snags my attention. That tattoo. The damned thing seems to be everywhere I look. Surrounded by scars current, and past. It’s still as bright and perfectly formed, untouched by the mess of her skin.

I stop my hand halfway to her with the full intention of running my fingers over the Rune that glares at me.

What am I doing?

Tonight, I glamoured us both while I took the beating intended for her. Some foreign chivalrous instinct drove me to protect her with my body. I have never been chivalrous. Ever. It was completely instinctual. I was not able to stop myself.

Instincts that awakened by her own attempt to take my punishment. By her very presence.

Never have I sacrificed anything for another. Never have I cared for another. Never has there been the urge to. This…thing she—SHE arouses literally in me is…my thoughts stall. There is no description. No explanation whatsoever to make any logical sense of it. I kneel beside her, stilling when her small, cold hand touches my ankle. So fragile, yet so strong.

I have been in her mind. I know how chaos reigns in there. Seen the solid strand of strength underlying it. Part of me quite simply admires it, is drawn to it.

Clenching my teeth, I belay my own disorganized thoughts to touch her, but I find I cannot move away. When her fingertips graze my skin again, I freeze.

Touch is such an underrated thing. The slight brush of her fingers has me feeling things I have never experienced. A flare of desire among them.

How can such a thing be? How can the touch of one like her make me feel desire when the skilled touch of hundreds cannot arouse a single erotic thought?

Taken aback by the entire situation, I continue to sit there next to her, staring. With a feather touch, I give in and stroke the Rune on her back. I know that Rune better than any others.

I should, it is mine. The Rune is my name. My true name.

And she bears it. A woman who sees past the glamour that none other has been able to pierce. She sees the real me. Feels the real me.

I force my eyes elsewhere and find them falling on her face that is turned a little towards me. She looks so young, but I know she has lived many lifetimes in this single one. She has seen so much, this mysterious woman who smells like cinnamon and Darkness.

Accepting that some impulses I cannot fight, I slide my index finger slowly down her cheek. The skin is baby soft with the small, raised ridges of scars here and there. Faint, blue trails follow my finger on her skin.

Can it be?

Can I let it be? Is the better question. She sighs in her sleep, and I move away, not wanting her to wake up and catch me looking at her. Not even when I cannot define what I feel when I look at her.

A small cry of pain crosses her lips breaking the silence around us.

With a growl, I cross the room to her. As gently as possible, insinuate myself against her, maneuvering her head to rest on my chest. With a sigh, the tenseness she always possesses melts away and she relaxes completely against me.

Magikal heart beats indeed.

Eight

Iza

It’s hard to sneak looks at someone so damned good at catching me at it. Eventually, I resort to lying on my back with an arm flung over my head peeking through the bend in my elbow. The view is half-assed but it’s still a view.

For some unfathomable reason, Phobe has officially moved into my cell. His few possessions, a dirty bag full of mysterious stuff and a comb, now take up the corner opposite mine. When I woke up they were just…there.

What can I say?

It isn’t like I can ask him to pay rent. Technically though, I guess he already did. Somehow, he found a blanket, and I’m now the proud owner of it.

I don’t even mind that it smells like pee.

I guess the first question I want an answer to is, why? Why is he here in this cell with me, when he has a perfectly good cell to himself?

Too many unanswered questions. A common theme with him.

And that damn Rune. It haunts me. Once in a while, he will move a certain way, and of course, I see it. Damn thing. It stands out like a fire in the dark. Red, the fucking thing is so red. Exactly like the one on my back.

How weird is that?

Starting below his shoulder, it wraps around his nipple to end right above his waistline. Every line, every curve matching mine perfectly. An exact replica.

The impulse to ask finally won out, so I asked. He didn’t answer. My answers are grunts and often, not even that. Keeping himself separate, always.

Although, sometimes when I wake up, there’s the strangest feeling that I haven’t been laying down alone. Yet, he is in his corner away from me when I open my eyes.

On those nights, I don’t have nightmares. It’s got to be my crazy imagination. The weird feeling of sharing this very small space with him is making me imagine things. Has to be, right?

I’ve got to get the fuck out of here. Away from him and whatever it is I feel when I’m around him.

“The bandages are ready to come off.” Immediately following his words, his presence fills the area beside me, startling me right out of my reverie.

I keep my arm over my eyes to try and hide the effect he has on me. Without pause, he starts cutting the bandages off my chest and stomach.

With his claws. I sigh.

Other than the occasional tug, it doesn’t hurt at all. “Roll over.” Rolling over as directed, I roll my eyes as well. As the silence stretches, I look up at him. He’s kneeling beside me, looking at my tattoo in the oddest way. It's not disgust on his face or anger.

Intense is the best word for that look.

Struggling with the fact that there are so many unknown things concerning him. I hide my face in the crook of my arm again

“Are those ready to come off too?” I ask instead of what I truly want to ask. Like, what does it mean…to you?

“You were born with it?” A surprising question.

“Dunno. Been there as long as I can remember. So possibly,” His warm fingers tracing it make me tense.

With purpose, I relax under his touch. He isn’t going to hurt me.

“Magiks have a twisted sense of humor. So maybe I was meant to be a pain in your ass,” I say, laughing a little. Did it sound wobbly? To my shame, I’m pretty sure it does.

“Were you born with yours?” I continue.

The warm fingers disappear to be replaced by sharp claws cutting the rest of the bandages off. Silent I chew my lip—repeating questions gets me nowhere with him.

If he wants to answer he will.

“I was not born.”

The humor in me vanishes with those words. Say what?

“This Rune appeared on my skin as I became aware of a physical existence.”

The urge to ask if he knows what they mean again rises but I catch myself. Instead, I say nothing. What can I say? Never heard of such a thing. Well, other than in books. But they were fiction, Right?

All my questions manage to do are produce more questions that only he can answer. And doesn’t.

“Do you know how to defend yourself, Iza?” Well isn’t he full of surprises today? Using my name and all. I push myself up and sit crossed legged facing him.

“That depends, do you mean like, all honorable and shit or plain dirty?” I'm good at dirty. Exploiting any weakness, I can find. I’ll use a rock, shoe, or toilet plunger. Anything I can get my hands on to beat someone with.

No shame in surviving.

“Never honorable.” He grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. Running his hand along my arms he pushes them to my sides and then wraps his arm and the chains attached to it around my neck. “Now, get away.”

Normally, I would grab a handful of his boys…but not…not with him. I stomp his bare foot and wait for him to loosen his hold in reaction. Nothing happens.

“That was stupid, Iza. Try again,” he chastises.

Fine.

With sharp teeth, I bite into his arm and elbow him in the gut as hard as I can. Twisting in his grasp, I turn enough to kick him in the balls, but he’s gone.

Who the hell moves that fast?

“Duck.”

And for some reason I do. The chains whistle as they swing over my head.

“Listen. Feel, Iza. Use what you are.”

“Okay, how the hell am I supposed to defend myself against a damn invisible man?” His fist in my kidney shuts me right up and knocks me sideways.

Shit!

I take a deep breath. That’s how it is then? I roll my shoulders to loosen the muscles of my aching side and wait.

Another punch to the back. God damn it! I dodge but not fast enough. A slap to the face. A painful tug on my hair. Around and around I spin trying to avoid someone I can’t see or hear. My temper is at the point of exploding when I finally have a moment of clarity.

I can’t see or hear him but—he is right, I can feel him. Closing my eyes, my senses expand.

So, we dance. During this borderline deadly dance, he gives me curt instructions, a lot of sore spots, and more than one trip to the floor. But not every single time. Occasionally, I’m able to actually dodge or block.

I don’t know when I start to enjoy it, but at some point, I'm smiling and laughing as we fly back and forth at each other. I'm learning. He is showing me things I didn’t know I was capable of until then. Pushing me to react more with my gut instincts, to use them instead of being used by them.

Breathing heavily, I hunch over with my hands resting on my knees.

“Phobe, enough.”

He appears out of thin air in front of me.

“You are terrible. But you will be better.”

Despite the insult, I smile. I love a good fight. There is something about violence, something that makes my blood pump. Makes me feel whole and capable.

Although I’m fully aware, he’s not someone I’ll ever be able to take on. Phobe is holding back 99.9% of what he can do. Just the moves I saw are unbelievable. He moves like smoke. Vanishing into thin air to reappear in the right place to get me. Every time. With freaking shackles, for crying out loud.

I can’t help but admire it.

My bucket of water beckons me. I cross the room to get it and carefully drink. Barely enough to sate the dryness of my mouth.

“You were designed to fight.” I choke on the water. Is that a compliment? “But you suck at it,” he continues.

There it goes. I almost throw my bucket at him. Almost. It will miss and spill everywhere.

“I will teach you to suck less.” With that said, he goes back to his corner and sits.

Being taught to move the way he does is not something I’ll refuse. If he can teach me to move a little like he does, I might stand a chance. Might.

“Okay, but only as long as you let me teach you something, Phobe.” Smirking I watch his face closely for a reaction.

“What is it that you think you can possibly teach me?” So arrogant.

“How to get that stick out of your ass,” I snark.

He chuckles. Yes, chuckles. Frantically, I grab at the bucket that my numb fingers released in shock.

“Maybe you will,” he replies, as the bucket hits the floor with a wet hollow thunk.

Nine

Iza

There are moments in life when you meet someone, hate them, and you immediately want a house to fall on them. Well, with me it’s a rather familiar feeling, just not usually with this level of want. It’s an instant dislike without cause. The moment I laid eyes on Darvena, I hated her. Every gut instinct I’ve got tells me if given a chance this woman will be the death of me.

Darvena is a fake Glinda the Good Witch, and I want a house to fall on her so damn bad that I’m ready to barter a limb to any god that can make it happen.

Snow-white hair brushes against her face as she moves. Thick and lustrous, perfectly curled to fall around her shoulders in a hair work of art. Shit smells like some exotic fruit, too. Her face is perfect. Delicate, plush lips, small pert nose. Golden eyes that shine with an inner light. Shorter than me, she moves with an elegance to her small frame that I can’t duplicate if my life depends on it.

It makes me kind of want to throw up on her expensive, silk shoes.

Darvena is the Magistrate’s head consort and has a taste for pain. Well, giving it anyhow. Sadism seems to be the constant theme here.

Now that I’ve spent some time in Darvena’s “care” I know it.

At this moment, I’m shackled spread eagle to the wall in the wannabe torture room. Darvena’s idea, of course. Arick, the Magistrate, and his twit posse are taking turns zapping me with a cattle prod. Their idea, of course.

“Just the Tip”, they call this game. I thought of something else entirely when they first used the phrasing. The last time I heard that phrase a dick was getting shoved in my face.

I’m so glad to be wrong.

In fact, I prefer this one. Compared to the other kind of “Just the Tip” game, this is a picnic. Something sexually deviant, like the other, leaves marks beatings do not. Predators of that kind don’t like victims that bite hard either.

They punish you for it, too.

‘You prefer this to sex?’ Phobe questions in my head.

I suspect for a moment he's a mind reader too. Telepathy is in the same family group, so it isn’t that shocking. It explains that ‘being watched’ feeling. If someone is poking around in my head, essentially, they are watching. Well, Duh. I feel stupid for not putting the pieces together.

‘I prefer this to rape, not sex. There’s a difference.’ I snap out in my head.

‘What?’

For a moment, I’m confused about his question. It hits me. He doesn’t understand the difference.

‘Well rape is bad—' I start to explain and then pause.

Considering that my experimentation with consensual sex went wrong, on all levels, I don’t know how to correctly answer the question. There's also this thing between him and me—I grab at the thought before completing it. That part I totally don’t want him to know.

Pain yanks me right out of my mind. A string of curse words slips out of my mouth as the electricity burns the skin above my navel. It hurts that bad. I grit my teeth and squeeze the chains until my knuckles whiten. I will not scream. They’ll not get the satisfaction of that from me.

It'll heal, it always heals.

“She is rather dull, Darvena,” Arick says turning away from me, bored.

Exhaling in relief I let myself relax a little. By now, he usually moves onto something else or sends us back to our cell. The need for the latter is building as the endorphins are losing effect.

Rapidly.

“Oh, Arick my love. Come here and show our guests your collection. I’m sure they would love to hear the stories of your conquests.” I watch through sweaty hair as Darvena steers the Magistrate over to a glass top case.

Darvena has an agenda with these particular guests. People like her enjoy hurting people too much to pass on a chance to do it.

“Remove them.” At Arick’s order, I relax a little bit more.

Stumbling a bit as the guards unshackle me, I fight for my balance. If I can manage to avoid catching their attention I can get out of here. Before the chance to escape the room is lost, I head towards the door without a word. Burns hurt. They hurt in a way cutting or beating do not. I don’t want anymore.

At least they didn’t use Magiks. This time.

‘Are you going to answer me?’ Phobe asks, his voice a whisper in my brain.

I barely keep myself from looking at him. We are already halfway to our cell when I realize that tonight was rather mild compared to others.

‘Sex is supposed to be consensual, Phobe. And above all enjoyable.’ There, that sounds wise and shit.

‘Without pain?’

Sigh, he’s Mr. Talkative today. This might be one of our longest conversations ever.

‘That depends on the people having it. Pain can be pleasure.’ That is part of my problem. I’m not about to tell him that.

Shit! Too late. Damn mind reader, remember?

‘Haven’t you had sex before?’ I ask.

If he says no, I’m going to have a heart attack right here.

‘Yes.’ Good, no heart attack for me.

‘Didn’t you enjoy it?’

‘Not really. Did you?’ He fires right back.

This is such a weird conversation to be having with him. Weird timing too. But it's been distracting. Maybe that’s his goal with it.

We are already back to home, sweet home.

‘No.’ I answer after thinking about it for a few seconds.

I slide, gratefully, to the floor to lay on my blanket. Turning on my side carefully, I exhale in relief. No way am I sleeping on my stomach or back tonight.

‘Why not?’

Lying will not work with him so I settle on the truth. ‘They were more fragile than me.’

‘You broke them?’

‘Yeah, you could say that.’ Broken one’s arm, to be honest. The other one’s ribs. Not entirely on purpose. They said they liked it rough. Problem was, I was too rough and we didn’t make it to the actual sex part. They didn’t make it to the breathing part the next day, either.

Neither of them wanted to stop at “no”. So, I made them. With prejudice.

‘I have broken many as well.’ He says it all nonchalant like he’s telling me about the weather.

Many? Exactly how many…nope, not going there. Sleep is calling me. Making my eyes heavy. I yawn once, tuck my hands under my cheek and let it have me. As my eyes close the final time, I realize his cool hands were guiding me to the cell and to the blanket the entire time.

Ten

Phobe

Iza has now discovered that the true evil here is not Arick. It is Darvena. Tonight, I sit here quietly watching while the guards fondle and beat her. Darvena is then going to allow her guests, whose faces I memorize, a turn. Watching Iza climb to her feet over and over again, no matter how many times they knock her down, is admirable.

She is so much stronger than I gave her credit for. I realize that now.

Her flashing eyes meet mine and for a moment I am held prisoner. Feeling that gaze to my bones. Iza winks, breaking the seriousness of that look. I cough, barely hiding the snort that almost escaped me. Does she ever take anything seriously?

I am not sure I truly want her to. This part of her awakens a new part of me.

Jameson clears his throat from where he stands beside of the Magistrate’s chair. I refuse to call it a throne, he is no King. But that is not what pulled my attention to him, it is what is in Jameson’s mind.

That fucking idiot.

Jameson is in trouble. Darvena wants him dead but Arick still sees the use of him. That is the only reason he is still alive. Ultimately, Darvena will get her wish. She needs someone else to blame. Jameson was tasked with making a potion that cured Blood Lock sickness, temporarily. Instead, it makes their sickness worse.

To save his own ass he is about to do something that I may kill him for.

“Jameson, you have seen the interactions between this rabble, what say you of their closeness?” Darvena asks nonchalantly.

“I cannot say with honesty that there is much. But I feel he has some regard for her, he hasn’t eaten her yet.” Jameson answers her nervously, his Adam’s Apple bobbing several times.

What a bloody coward. Iza befriended him when no one else would.

If he survives, which it is not looking like he will, he is going on the menu.

My shadows creep subtlety out of me as I focus on Darvena, Jameson goes silent. Watching her watch Iza, I know now why she hates her so. Because of me. The woman’s obsession is nothing new. I do not understand it, I do not want it, but she has it nonetheless. In her eyes, Iza is impeding my want of her.

There is not a force in existence or not that can ever make me want that bloody bitch.

I desire…

My eyes fall again on Iza. Iza is smirking at Rickher who holds her up by his fist in her hair. Blood drips steadily off her chin, forming a little puddle on the floor. My stomach tightens. I want to kill him. I want to kill them all. For once it has nothing to do with me.

I want to kill them all for—her.

Eleven

Iza

The Schoth came for us again. This is the fourth sleep in a row. Unusual for it to be so often. Which makes me suspicious that it’s possibly building up to something.

Sometimes the encounters consist of no more than petty insults and a display of Arick’s ownership of Phobe and now me. Tonight though…tonight has a different vibe to it. Seeing how they are looking at me this time, runs a chill up my spine. That does make me pay attention. The very close kind.

“What is that on her back?” Darvena asks from behind me.

Darvena is up to something. One of the King’s guards, who are usually silent observers’, steps forward.

“It looks like a tattoo,” he answers. The corner of my mouth rises in a smirk. Way to go Captain Obvious! “It’s of no Magikal consequence, we had a mage go over her when we brought her in, my lady.” The man scrambles to explain. The big chicken.

They can have a billion mages go over it and it will tell them nothing. Paul, my step-father, had tried all the tricks to discover its meaning. None of them brought answers to the table.

“I’ve been told you have a soft spot for one another. Is this true, half-breed?” Darvena observes, stepping into the line of sight.

“Answer!” Captain Obvious demands.

I remain silent, remotely curious who told them such a thing, keeping a blank expression on my face. There is only one person I know, besides myself and Phobe, that could know we spend time together.

Jameson. That sonofabitch. I’m going to strangle him.

Letting my anger feed my stubbornness I blank my expression. I have a lifetime of perfecting the poker face under my belt. Nothing they do will make me admit anything. Darvena’s golden eyes flash in anger at my silence.

A mail-gloved fist to the side of my head takes me to my knees, hard. I blink, frantically trying to clear my vision as stars swim before me.

Holy meatballs that hurt!

I spit blood on the floor and attempt to stand. A booted foot to the stomach lifts me a few inches off the ground, knocking me on my side. The breath whooshes out of me returning with a wheeze.

“Answer the lady!” Captain Obvious demands again. I’m too busy using every bit of willpower I have, to not plunk over face-first. Coughing, I taste more blood in my mouth. Gently, I cradle my stomach, feeling like someone is ripping my guts open, again.

‘You are stubborn, Iza.’ Phobe’s voice whispers through my mind, distracting me from the pain.

‘Yeah. Do I need to give you the nickname Captain Obvious, too?’

Kicked again viciously, I lose the battle of trying to get off the floor.

Determined to at least hold my silence I clench my teeth so hard one chips. Tears spring to my eyes but pure stubborn will keeps them from falling. Curling up into a fetal position I wait for the overwhelming urge to puke to pass.

Seeking that calm place inside myself to give me strength. Burning up the anger of betrayal as fuel.

‘I will not help you,’ Phobe cautions.

It isn’t the first time he’s said those words. I doubt it will be the last.

‘Good thing I hadn’t expected you to, then.’ I never expect him to.

“Answer her now, whore, or I’ll stomp your face into the floor.” Captain Obvious yells, spraying his gross-ass spit all over the side of my face.

I don’t doubt he will.

I take a deep hitching breath, and my ribs scream in protest.

“You hit like a girl,” I manage to get out in between breaths. It’s not a lie. I might be knocked stupid but I've been hit harder, by a girl.

“I think perhaps he misunderstood the Beast’s helpfulness, my love. He cares not a whit about her pain,” the golden-eyed bitch comments.

Truthfully, I don’t think he really does either.

“Then tonight shall be an interesting one.” I open my eyes to look in the direction of the Magistrate’s voice.

Written all over his face is a type of glee that gives me the immediate urge to run.

Whatever is in his head does not bode well for me. My eyes go to Phobe’s face. Or him. Phobe looks down at me, his face lacking any emotion whatsoever. Which is nothing new.

The question in my mind right now is, can he read their minds, too?

“Leave us! Darvena and I are capable of controlling these two.” Arick orders.

The scuffling of departing feet breaks the silence and then the door slams shut.

A soft step next to my head brings my eyes around to Darvena again. But she isn’t looking at me. She's looking at Phobe, and it doesn’t take much imagination to figure out what she's thinking.

Darvena wants Phobe bad. That’s a look of a starving woman, and he’s her favorite candy bar.

While Phobe, finally showing something akin to emotion, looks at Darvena like her skin should melt off on the spot. That’s a homicidal look if I’ve seen one.

I rather like that look.

“I think we shall have ourselves a little experiment,” Arick remarks offhandedly from beside Darvena.

I look up at Phobe who stands deathly still, his face completely impassive once again.

It’s a lost cause if they think to use me to get to him. He’s helped me a time or two, yes, but that doesn’t mean he gives two shits about me.

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking, my love?” Arick asks, poking my boob with his boot. I look back and forth between the two megalomaniacs. What exactly are they thinking? It would be nice to have Phobe’s super mind powers.

Darvena has one of those alley cat smiles on her face, the one they get right before they eat your pet parakeet.

Uh-oh.

Yeah, kitty—cat, I know you’re the bigger psycho between the two.

“Pick her up, Beast,” Arick says, turning and walking out of my view. Phobe keeps his gaze from mine as he bends to pick me up. His body language gives nothing away as he holds me loosely against his chest.

I gotta say something.

‘You know what he’s planning.’ It isn’t a question.

I don’t expect an answer, merely hope for one. It doesn’t happen.

“Bring her to the wall.” I watch Phobe’s face as we cross the room.

I keep expecting him to trip since he isn’t looking down. Of course, he doesn’t. Might have made me feel a little better if he had. Still silent, he shackles me to the wall and steps back.

“Let us see if this rabble can melt his ice,” Arick says waving his hand towards me.

Melt his ice? What the hell does that mean?

“Yes, my love. Let us see her fail as the others before her.” This from Darvena.

I don’t know exactly what is going on but I'm starting to get an idea. I'm shackled to the wall—which is always bad for me—instead of standing in the corner like a forgotten piece of clothing.

Oh, boy.

“Beat her, unconscious—” Arick orders, taking off Phobe’s shackles. Arick hands him a flail. That's a first. "—with this."

My eyes fasten onto Phobe’s face. I know exactly what that means. My heart starts pounding in my chest. I exhale through my nose trying to calm it.

It sort of works.

Face stoic as always, he positions himself directly in front of me. Grabbing me roughly, he pulls my body flush against his. The body heat coming off him instantly warms my naked skin.

Without hesitation, he hand moves down my arm, his claws leaving welts as they scratch into my skin. While I just stand there with my mouth hanging open like an idiot.

None too gently, his touch trails down my back, sure. A shiver wracks me. Hot eyes meet mine, brightening more. Now they hold something much different than his normal nothing look.

I’m not a hundred percent sure what it is. I don't want to be sure what it is.

He hesitates a moment as if deciding something. When he begins moving his hand again, I realize that he’s made his decision. Stopping on my ass, he kneads it and pulls me even tighter against him.

Oh. Hell. Phobe is touching my ass. My bare ass.

What he’s doing is something I have only experienced once before, with him. Pulls me past the baggage I carry inside. While making me forget everything but him and the way he is making me feel right now. Yes, those things.

I shouldn’t be feeling this way, but my body has a completely different mind of its own. It likes what he’s doing, circumstances be damned.

The molten heat of his eyes meet mine again.

His light breaths tease over my suddenly sensitive lips. It’s agonizing how he hovers that sinful mouth over mine. Fire flashes brightly in his eyes.

Fucking mind reader.

At last, he ends the torture of me aching for something I can’t name. His too perfect lips touch mine. Following my instincts, I open my mouth to him. With a low growl, his completely seals ours together. Electricity jumping from his tongue to mine.

I’m lost.

Never in my life have I enjoyed anyone touching me. I hate being touched…until him. I want more. I want things I can’t think of words for.

I want it all.

Panicking at that thought, I try to jerk away but his sharp teeth on my bottom lip hold me prisoner. Once I stop moving, he sucks on it to ease the sting and his tongue finds mine again. This time he steals my very thoughts.

As suddenly as it began it ends. Sharp claws tear into the skin of my arm as he holds it in an iron grasp.

Anger shoots through me. Jerk. My eyes open and instantly I shut them again.

The first blow hits me like a truck. Right on my shoulder, tearing through my skin like butter. Jarring my entire body from the impact. Another hit shoves me back against the wall. And another. Another.

Stars swim in my vision as it connects with the side of my head. Sliding sideways I shake my head in vain to clear it. Phobe releases me and my shoulders pull painfully from my dead weight dangling from the shackles. My eyes open against my will.

Something warm and wet dribbles down the side of my face. Painting my vision red as it fills the socket of my left eye. Which actually benefits me, I don't want to see him swinging the damn thing at me. It’s not like I blame him, this isn’t his fault.

But who wants to watch a flail bash their face in?

'Stop being so fucking stubborn, Iza.'

I meet his gaze and blink the blood out of my eyes so I can see…all three of him.

'Sue me, it's a flaw.' I think back at him the minute my head stops spinning.

Having a moment of inspiration, I let my head drop, forcing the rest of myself to go limp. Let's see if this will fool the order Phobe was given.

“You’re done, Beast. I’ll deal with her.” Cold water wouldn’t have drawn me out of this pain filled haze as quickly as those words do.

Arick appears beside me, lifting my head, he smacks my face until my eyes open. Once they do he grabs my arm in a bruising grip. He turns me to look towards the bed. I realize very quickly we are positioned to face where Phobe is being pulled down between Darvena’s legs. Darvena who has stripped to nothing but a thin, see-through gown.

I struggle against Arick’s hold. I don't want to watch this. I don't want his hands on me. I don’t want her hands on Phobe.

“If you don’t stop moving, I will give you to the guards.” Arick snarls in my ear his breath heavy and smelling of something foully sweet.

I let my aching face go slack adopting a bored expression. Feel my body become numb and boneless. In my heart, I know if they give me to the guards it will break the fragile goodness of what I experienced with Phobe. It will bring all the nightmares back, and I’m not sure one good memory will survive.

A memory, I find, I truly want to survive.

The one of him having to hit me with the flail, not so much.

“Satisfy her, Beast,” Arick instructs Phobe. His voice thick with his own disgusting arousal. I can feel the truth of it against my hip.

I fight to keep my turbulent emotions under control. It takes more effort than it has before, forcing myself not to think of the woman eagerly fondling Phobe's limp penis. Darvena’s like a parasite sucking away the fire that burned moments before between Phobe and me.

The emotions attached to it, I have no right to feel. But I refuse to let them be taken from me.

Going inside myself instead of full on watching her basically raping Phobe. I think of the way his eyes lit when he kissed me. Unlike the nothing that is in them now. I relive what his kissing me felt like. The heat of his mouth, the taste of cool night air on his tongue.

So many feelings to sort through. Feelings I have absolutely no idea how to deal with…complete absorption in another being. Lost in him. Yeah, no idea at all.

Just like his heart beats in my ear.

How much of that was Phobe and how much of it was Arick’s order? Hell, how much of it was me?

“Enjoying the show? Maybe I really should let the guards have you since you’re too ugly for me to fuck,” Arick says tugging hard on my hair.

The brutality of that statement reminds me of exactly what position I am in. Reminds me of things that even the beatings did not. I’m once again at the whim of another. A toy to be abused and eventually discarded. A no one.

And they have seen one of the few memorable experiences in my life.

‘They saw nothing.’ Phobe says softly in my mind.

Strangely reassured I believe him. Gritting my teeth, I raise my chin and my resolve. I’m not even going to hold it against him for snooping in my brain.

“If you do not please her, I will give this one to the guards.” Arick tugs roughly again on my hair, his frustration with Phobe becoming apparent.

The threat has no effect. Phobe continues as if he didn’t hear anything. The glowing stone appears beside of my face. “I order you to feel pleasure with her!” Arick yells. This time there is an immediate response.

Phobe grabs a handful of Darvena’s white hair and pulls her head to the side. His mouth opens, exposing his many sharp teeth, that grow in length and deadlier in seconds. Phobe's going to bite her. Even though he doesn’t have to use his teeth to feed he’s going to. Causing her pain gives him pleasure.

Great job finding the loophole, Phobe.

I almost smile but my head hurts too much. I want him to bite Darvena, to see her die. I want to see her blood paint the room. That is something I’ll enjoy watching him do.

It's strange the Magistrate is allowing it to continue. Unless he doesn’t know how deadly Phobe’s bite is. Or the loophole that Arick gave him.

“That’s enough!” Arick shouts realizing perhaps how much danger his asshole of a girlfriend is in. Phobe moves away from Darvena in a blink. Letting her collapse in an almost naked, undignified heap on the bed.

Briefly, I shut my eyes and store away the humiliation, the hate, the need to hurt them in that place that I put all those emotions. One day I’ll open that door. Today isn’t that day.

“Come, Darvena, arouse me.” I turn my head to look at Darvena as Arick speaks. She doesn’t look happy at all but it is quickly hidden. Phobe is already moving towards me. In two steps, he is at my side, unshackling me.

‘What was that shit?’ The frustration in my words is as much at myself for asking.

‘A distraction.’

That’s what I get for asking.

“Give her 5 more strikes with the flail for being a disappointment to the Magistrate.” Phobe’s eyes harden at Darvena’s words. “Then remove yourselves from our presence.” I’m not stupid, Darvena’s pissed off Phobe didn’t bang her.

Although, she did try really, really hard to get him...hard.

When I start paying attention again, Phobe has already grabbed the cursed thing. He stands next to the door we entered in, flail in hand. Walking slowly towards him, I fight the tilting room, falling wouldn’t be wise right now. Leaning against the wall next to where he stands, I take a few deep breaths as I fight for my balance. And my stomach’s sake.

“Begin or I’ll add 5.” Darvena’s biting voice surprises me.

I want to bash the bitches face in. If I get the chance, Darvena will die. For right now, it’s good to know her “karma” is currently slobbering all over her.

Phobe takes the two steps between us and looks down at me. Without a word, he turns me to face the wall. Not a sound escapes me as the hits begin.

By the time he gets to four, I’m on the floor, sobbing. Phobe isn’t hitting nearly as hard as he can. Merely hard enough to appear like it’s much more. The problem is, you don't have to hit hard with a flail for it to hurt.

They can never know he takes it easy.

This time the unconsciousness is real, I come to being carried over his shoulder again. Without shame, I puke all over the back of his legs soaking his brown pants.

The movement of him placing me on the floor makes me puke again. Oh well, nothing to be done about it. It’s more dry heaves than anything. Not like I had much food in there. I put my face on the cold stone floor to try and get the room to stop spinning.

Blackness tickles the edge of my mind. Not really up to fighting it I let it take me into oblivion.

Twelve

Phobe

Deep breathing and the silence of her active thoughts tells me she is sound asleep. I lay on the floor, beside of her, where I situated myself after cleaning her and my pants up, again. I roll onto my side, and after a moment of holding my hand over her head, I give in and with my fingertips, stroke her hair.

I can still taste her on my tongue. A rich flavor that leaves me wanting to taste more. Needing to taste more. Fighting that need is becoming harder and harder every day. It is not something I am accustomed to, nor something I am dealing with very well.

Giving in, for the few minutes I did…now it will be so much harder to resist.

Kissing her, touching her felt so good. I had forgotten about everything in the room but her. Forgotten everything but the feel of her skin, the taste of her mouth. For the first time in ages, I tasted freedom—free enough that I was tempted to lose control.

I almost did. With the glamour hiding what was really transpiring between us from view, it was close.

That primal side of me, that she rarely sees, gave neither of us a choice about me going as far as I did. It was completely real between us. I have never been able to glamour her, she sees me for what I am. When I am not using the shadows.

What happened between us is not what Arick ordered, or what Arick and Darvena saw. That was all me. When Arick’s order forced me to stop, when I had to take the passion and turn it into pain, I almost begged.

I have never begged in my entire existence.

I know with a conviction I cannot explain, with an unbreakable surety, what and who she is now. As I kissed her I slipped fully into her mind. She has knowledge but it’s scattered. An inkling of an idea, maybe, but she does not know for sure. Does not want to know for sure.

I know.

Some instinctual part of me has known since the first time I saw her young, bloody face in the dark. It doesn’t mean I like it, doesn’t mean I want it.

She represents something so foreign to me that I have never contemplated the idea. Something that pulls on softer parts of me that didn’t exist until she came here.

The need to be as close to her as I can possibly be, and the urge to run away as fast and far as I can get. She is something so unexpected in my life. It is all up and down.

I want her, fuck I want her but she…she…fucking scares the hell out of me. Fear is not something I have felt, either. Neither is desire. All of them are her fault. I can blame this on her entirely.

Blaming her changes nothing.

I force myself to stop touching her, tucking my hand under my cheek to keep myself in control. I am the one who caused the injuries she now bears, flinching every single time I hit her. Fighting the order as much as possible. Which surprisingly, I was able to do to some degree. If I had hit Iza as hard as I can hit, she would be no more.

It feels…wrong to cause her pain.

While I wish there is a way to get her away from here, to save her—save myself—I haven’t found one possible way to do it. I am a slave.

They will continue to use her, try to break her, until Arick or Darvena tire of the games and finally execute her. Even my attempts to protect her fail. My glamour can only go so far with my powers bound. In the end, it can only lead to more abuse for her.

Protecting anyone is not something I have felt the need to do. At times, with her, I can’t help myself. There is this drive inside of me to do it.

I now know why, or am just now willing to admit it to myself. With her death, there will be this hole left inside of me.

She sighs in her sleep and my heart rate increases. My jaw clenches a few times. It seems there is no stopping it. Fate always gets her way, the old bitch.

Covering Iza’s hand with my own, I stroke my thumb across her knuckles. Marveling at the little blue lines that still follow my touch on her skin.

After a quick check that the bleeding on her head has stopped. I pull my hand away, for good this time, and roll over to stare at the ceiling. Iza is not a believer in fate. She scoffs at it often. She already knows about part of the prophecy. Clarifying she is indeed part of that grand plan is going to piss her off.

She isn’t ready yet…and really, neither am I.

Thirteen

Iza

The sting of him cleaning my shoulder pulls me from the clinging strings of sleep. Well, that happened. Last night is foggy but I remember puking on him. Ugh.

A cool cloth lightly follows the brief stings. So careful, so gentle. It’s the opposite of what I so recently expected him to be like.

Relaxing, as the cool water soothes the burning of the healing wounds, the pain won’t last too much longer. It’s really the only reason I survived to reach adulthood.

Already I can feel the itching that signifies that within a week they will be almost healed. I do a quick inventory of my now partially damp body. I feel cleaner. He bathed me without waking me up. Phobe is always as light-handed as possible. The first time, I was shocked. Now I know that it’s part of who he can be.

Instead of vomit, I can smell soap and only him now. It makes me feel better and pleases me in a gooey feely type of way.

‘I wouldn’t have stopped were it not for the order.’ Stopped? Oh. The kiss.

Sleep clears from my head in a second flat. I have mixed reactions to that statement. I’m not sure which direction to go. We are delving into an area I am completely ignorant of on so many levels, one I figure he doesn’t know either.

‘Did you stop with the…others?’ I question, curious despite myself.

‘I was not ordered to touch you in that way. I was ordered to beat you with the flail.’ Which he did, marvelously. ‘If given a chance I will do it again.’ He continues.

Well. Hell. What do I say to that?

‘This is where I ask, you don’t mean the flail do you?’

He contemplates me a moment.

‘This life is nothing new to you.’ An obvious subject change.

The temptation to push the subject of our encounter is there, but I change my mind. If I push there will be no answers.

We are similar in that way.

“It doesn’t matter.” I elect to answer out loud.

I’m not prodding him. But I have no problem making him aware that if he’s not going to answer questions, then neither am I. I yawn, wincing as the scab on my lip tears. Hot blood wells and drips down my chin. I freeze as his hot, wet, extremely long tongue licks it away.

“What the shit?” I whisper.

Seconds pass yet his face remains inscrutable.

“You need to sleep more. You head wound is still open.” He says calmly acting like he didn’t just lick my flipping face.

A wave of exhaustion hits me, killing most of the questions swirling in my mind. I realize right then that it’s him making me sleepy.

The sneaky fucker.

I don’t completely hold it against him. Mostly. Sleep means healing. With heavy eyes, I look over at him lying beside of me. Closer than he has before. He’s lying on his back, looking at the ceiling his eyes bright in the dark. Unable to cling to wakefulness any longer, my eyes drift shut and sleep once again claims me.

Fourteen

Phobe

Iza is smarter than I gave her credit for. She figured out that I keep putting her to sleep. That surprises me, to some degree. She has moments of vivid clear logic and others she seems to be muddled and lost in her own head.

I think some of it is lack of food and other parts are because of what she has experienced in this place and how she coped with it.

Today I managed to get her some food. It is not much. A half bowl of some sort of soup. But she will not decline my offer. I left it on the floor beside of her, far enough away she won’t spill it but close enough she will see it.

Sneaking around is getting harder.

I can glamour, yes, but there are wards I cannot get around. If not for those wards I would raid the kitchens and stockpile food for her.

It would simplify some things and make her stronger. The strength she needs for what is coming.

If I thought Iza would eat him, I would feed her Jameson. My gut tells me she will be very upset with me if I do such a thing. Tilting my head to the side I study her. Weighing the risks of upsetting her versus feeding her Jameson and staving off starvation.

I sigh. She will not eat him knowingly and possibly will not forgive the transgression of me tricking her.

Iza isn’t human but she has a soft heart.

I do not. And I will not allow a soft her to get her killed.

Iza even frets about the sexual moments with Darvena. Not in jealousy but righteousness, she thinks they are raping me. Rages in her head about it. Perhaps, they are. But I feel nothing but slightly dirty and frustrated that Darvena keeps trying. My body will never respond to her.

Suffering through it also has a perk. When Darvena is trying in vain to arouse me, Iza is typically left alone. Until this moment I did not realize that there is a chance I have drawn Darvena’s disgusting desires on purpose.

My eyes fall on the lock of dirty hair falling over Iza’s face.

Oh yes, it is on purpose.

Fifteen

Iza

The days run together. Time is not something I can keep a firm grasp of in here. Too many days have passed for me to try. I lost track a long time ago. Not that there's an actual point to tracking them, but a sense of timelessness isn’t good either.

I’d rather have the morbid countdown in my head.

Pacing, I fight the urge to scratch the itchy skin of my shoulder against the wall. My back is tender, and I still baby it a bit. At least it’s healing. Remarkably well, in fact. More quickly than I expected. Hell, if they keep from smacking me with something for a week or two I'll completely heal.

That will also require me to keep my mouth shut.

The only time I seem to be able to do that is when they threaten to give me to the guards. A chill skitters through me. They watch me like vultures waiting for me to die, creepy bastards, circling closer around me every day. It’s a really good motivator to zip my mouth.

Other times it’s because Phobe will try to take the punishment my mouth has gotten me into. It's a habit he’s practiced, off and on, since the ‘incident’. The one where our lips touched and then I was beaten stupid with a flail.

It isn’t very often but he somehow inserts himself into the truly awful stuff. I don’t hold it against him at all, it's really not his fault. Of their own accord, my eyes seek him out.

Phobe is currently on his one thousandth push up. He only does them after one of those ‘touchy feely’ nights with Darvena. Ones they now completely leave me out of. They brought in other women, several of them. Beautiful women that most men would do anything for.

I saw, first-hand, the difference between what Phobe actually does and what the others see. He doesn’t touch a single one of them unless Arick specifically says so. Which Arick often doesn’t. It’s more of them touching Phobe. Not that it matters.

Those nights are long and bother me more than most of the other crap they come up with to entertain themselves. He never responds to them, and still, Darvena tries. No matter what she does, nothing works.

Asking him why Darvena is so determined is also pointless. He just ignores the question and continues like I didn’t ask. He’s just weird that way. He’s a healthy male, and some of these women border on blindingly beautiful. Like Darvena.

Yet, none of them…arouse him. Not like when he kissed me.

Phobe is a genius at faking it.

His glamour is impeccable, except that I can see through it. It’s also a bit of a puzzle to me. Not the glamour itself but how he is able to manipulate it on such a large scale. I tilt my head to the side.

Exactly how much is he hiding from them? Is it why they continue in the same pattern?

It won’t surprise me too much if he hides everything. Arick has no idea what Phobe truly is. No idea of what he is capable of. Only an idiot can’t see the power packed inside of him. That spoke a lot of the Magistrate’s intelligence.

Watching the muscles on Phobe's back flexing with movement, makes me look down at myself. My body is pretty thin, but not naturally so. The lack of food is the only thing keeping me this way. Other than the occasional bits from Phobe and Jameson, I don’t eat. Plus, Phobe has me doing that Kung-Fu shit every day now.

Not that it matters in my case, right?

I will never leave this place—alive anyhow.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here or how long before I am removed from life, but eventually it will happen. Unless I escape.

Is escape at all possible?

Sitting here just waiting on death isn’t very productive, also very unusual for me. Either I have gotten smarter about choosing when to fight, or I’ve kind of given up. Giving up strikes me as just plain wrong. Although, I've been tempted by it more than once.

Soon, very soon I have to think of something. Motivate myself, or I am definitely dying. Sick of depressing, unproductive thoughts, I push them to the back of my brain.

“God, what I’d give for a donut,” I mumble, Phobe looks at me oddly.

“What kind of donut?”

I smile a little at his question. Phobe knows more than I realized about the outside world.

“Cinnamon.”

“You smell like cinnamon.” Caught off guard by the comment, I sit up.

“I do?” I sniff myself and grunt at my own silliness. “To me, I just smell funky.”

“Not funky, just sweaty.”

My eyebrow shoots up. Hesitantly, I sniff myself again, making a face. I really do smell sweaty.

“Where did you put that pail of water?”

The corners of his mouth twitch. Without another word, he stands and fetches the pail of water from the corner. A couple of pieces of cloth appear in his hand, from thin air apparently, he sits them beside me on the floor.

How very…nice of him. I am instantly suspicious. Immediately, I shake it off. What can he possibly gain from me bathing other than his nose catching a break?

Privacy doesn’t exist here. Shrugging, I stand and let the thin blanket fall to the floor. Without hesitation, I dip a cloth in the water and begin to wash. A sliver of soap appears in his hand. (Where in the world does he get all this stuff from?) He holds it out in front of me. I take it without question.

Come on, it’s soap. Soap equals clean.

For once, I’m not worried about the water. Somehow, he always gets water, and I'm pretty sure I'm not going to die of thirst anymore. Suspicious I may be, of any good fortune, but I won’t turn it down.

Not as rare as it is.

The hairs on the back of my neck rise. I jerk my eyes up, and sure enough, he is watching me. That look in his eyes is new.

Stop with the mojo, Phobe.

“Do you ever eat normal food?” I blurt out to distract myself from thinking too much about that look.

“Occasionally. It is not a biological function for me. I eat purely for pleasure.”

I shiver. The way he says that word, just wow.

“What do you like to eat?”

“Anything with cinnamon in it.” Oh, look, sarcasm.

Concentrating, I force my stiff hands to continue washing. I refuse to turn into a ninny head around him. The look on his face is so intense that it makes it hard to remember exactly why I’m not turning into a ninny head.

“They starve me.”

Starve him? What about the snacks they bring down here?

“You’ve uh…eaten since I’ve been here.” It’s so weird to say that when it involves eating people.

“They give me food that is near death. To keep me weak. It is a full life that gives me strength.” That’s interesting to know.

“Do you always need to kill when you feed?”

“No. But to absorb their memories and knowledge I must consume them fully.” I also tuck that information away for later and refocus on the weak food bit.

As the idea forms in my head, I quickly finish washing. Finally, I can do something useful, something for him. He’s done so much for me.

“Can you feed from me?” I blink and find myself pressed against the wall. God, he can move fast. Always audacious, I smile. Being trapped by his body is not something I'll ever consider scary.

He always makes sure I eat. This is the least I can do. He moves just a little, and my damp skin rubs against his. I shiver. Certain parts of me let me know it’s definitely not scary. It’s a whole different kind of something. Stubbornly, I push my hormones to the side and focus on what I'm going to do.

Sort of. My nipples aren’t cooperating. Or really any other part of me.

Without a word or one bit of fear, I bend my head to the side to give him full access to my neck. Since the very idea of those black shadows, of his, fill me with something other than fear, I'm winging it. His eyes brighten a scant inch from my own. He dips his head and plants a soft kiss on my neck.

A moment of tenderness from a monster.

My smile broadens. Without warning he pulls from me—no biting required, I might add—and there's a little bit of pain but not much. I close my eyes and feel him literally grow stronger in front of me.

Ha, I am full of life.

When he pulls away, his eyes meet mine. For seconds we stand there, skin to skin staring at each other. Then his mouth is on mine. All sharp teeth and demand. I meet his with my own. Eyes open, our mouths mesh, nip. Devour.

Just as suddenly his presence is gone, and cold air bathes my sensitive skin. On wobbly legs, I walk to my blanket and plop down as gracefully as I can. I smile, feeling his eyes on me from the shadows.

For the millionth time, I wish I can read his mind.

“Have you ever had a Twinkie?” I ask, trying to master the whirlwind of feelings inside of me.

Trying, probably in vain, to sort out what they can possibly mean. Or fight it. I’m still loopy from the kiss.

He steps from the shadows, his mouth opens as if to reply and then stops to look over his shoulder towards the door. Within a minute Jameson appears. A small part of me is relieved. Jameson’s arrival broke the tension in the small room. Now calm, I face Jameson. No one needs to see us interacting.

Especially Jameson.

For the most part, I kinda like the man. He has a wealth of knowledge and is not shy at sharing it. He’s like an encyclopedia of information to me. But he isn’t trustworthy. Jameson has already tattled once, at least. It took a day or so to keep me from wringing his neck. Fortunately for him I didn’t hold a grudge, this time. Then I also thought through the whole thing.

Does he really have much more of a choice than anyone else does?

This visit is Jameson trying to make up for things. In his own weird way.

“I thought you might like something to pass the time since you’re awake more.” The door opens with a wave of his hand and he walks hesitantly into the cell, hands full of books. Books that I will never return. For some reason, I just have the unexplainable desire to keep them. I tend to keep anything I’m given that isn’t edible.

He shies away from where Phobe stands. Jameson is always nervous around him, no matter how many times he comes to visit.

I bet my precious blanket Jameson doesn’t know he is in the same cell as Phobe.

Mentally, I shrug. If Phobe was going to hurt Jameson it would’ve already happened. Jameson is just being a scaredy cat. I take the books from him, not missing the single book that Phobe commandeers from the stack. It disappears into the darkness surrounding him.

Sneaky bastard.

“Thanks,” I mutter, realizing that it’s what Jameson is waiting on.

Jameson sits a bag on the floor, and my mouth waters as the smell of food reaches me.

“I brought some food too. It’s not much but I figured it was better than nothing.” I nod again and shuffle back to my corner.

There’s no way I’m going to show how excited I am about the food. It shows a weakness I’m not prepared for Jameson to see any more than he already has, not after what happened.

Jameson stands and fidgets nervously, looking around the room like something is going to jump out and bite him. I find myself feeling just a little sorry for him and decide he needs a rescue. To be fair, there is something in this room that might, in fact, jump out and bite him.

“So, how goes the potion making?” At my question, he perks up.

Dusting off a place on the floor, he sits facing me. Subconsciously as far away as he can get from Phobe without looking too obvious. I chew my lip to hide a smile.

“Wonderful you asked. I have discovered this little plant called Camis that seems to alleviate some of the symptoms of Magiks’ sickness. However, it has a nasty side effect of diarrhea that I can’t seem to figure out how to avoid…”

As he talks, I nod when I figure it’s appropriate and just let him keep talking. He is very animated when it comes to his research, and sometimes it’s a nice change from mister tall, dark, and gloomy.

The suddenness of the Magiks inside of me waking up startles me. Gasping, I put a hand to my chest. The point of something sharp pokes me. I look down at my hand. I have always had thick nails, but now they are completely black and have lengthened to points.

This is way new and not malnutrition related after all.

Frowning, I look up at Jameson and for the very first time see more than just another Feyrie. It’s like I am looking past everything straight to the heart of him. I can even see the Magiks of the Magistrate’s clan in the amulet around his neck that weakly ties him to the man.

The Magiks are allowing me to see the need to prove himself as a mage, the fear he has of failure. Loneliness, the potential of him to be so much more. But that isn’t what holds my attention. It’s the urge to bring it out of him, to call that darkness that’s hiding deep, to me.

The feeling that it’s mine to call.

“Embrace the Dark, Jameson,” I whisper, not realizing I have spoken out loud. His shocked face shakes me out of the strange moment. “Sorry, what were you saying?” I cover. He hesitates only a second and then smiles. Jameson doesn't wear guilt well. The confident smile he used to wear is no more.

“I brought you some clothes. They are my old ones but I figured it would be better than...uh...your current condition.”

Distracted by the thought of clothes, I jump to my feet and go to the bag and happily dig through it to get the clothing. Without a thought of anyone else in the room, I let the blanket fall to the ground and begin putting the clothes on.

“It’s not much but—" Jameson starts and abruptly cuts off.

The silence draws my gaze up from my happy little clothing reverie.

“What?” I ask, pausing with one leg in the pants.

Jameson closes his open mouth and averts his eyes, his cheeks pink in embarrassment. I smirk a little at that and finish dressing. He has seen me naked a bunch of times, why be shy now? Silly man.

His clothes are a little big on me but not by much. Jameson isn’t a big guy. I cuff the pants to keep them from dragging and roll the sleeves of the shirt up.

Being dressed feels like heaven.

“Your wounds look very good, almost healed. Quite amazing really. Do you always heal this quickly?” He asks, his cheeks still pink.

“Meh. They weren’t as bad you thought.” I go back to my spot on the floor and open a book. Deflection works best with Jameson.

“I figured you’d like that book. It’s a shame that no one is around from that time to tell us how it really was, but since you liked history so much, I chose those.” Jameson's voice echoes in the cell.

I look at Phobe. The book I hold is a story about the Primals, and for some reason, it gives me an eerie feeling that the knowledge between these pages is important.

“I do think it’s pretty cool that several of the clan’s history is very similar. You might get a kick out of that.” Jameson indicates the book in my hands. “In fact, my father named me after one of the Eldest. He thought it would make me stronger. Eson was the eldest of Earth. Imagine that, a lowly Feyrie with the name of an Eldest.” Jameson chuckles at his own words.

Partially in derision. Poor Jameson, he has no faith in himself at all.

I study him in a different light. He’s a pretty good-looking guy, with rich brown eyes and thick dark brown hair that sticks out in just the right way. A masculine face that is just a bit soft around the edges. He looks sort of like the guy that most women would be happy to call their own.

And he does absolutely nothing for me. Not even a blip on the radar. Well, crap.

After a moment Jameson perks up. “I was told I am handsome today,” he flicks his thumb towards Phobe’s empty cell. “Nothing compared to blondie over there, but I think I muddle along.”

I tilt my head at Phobe, ignoring Jameson’s fish for a compliment. Blondie? Do I see an illusion, too? Because the man I’m looking at is so far from blonde it’s not funny.

No, my gut tells me that I'm the one seeing the real man.

“I can’t really see how blonde he is. Can’t see too much of him.” I fish right back at him.

Jameson pauses for a moment.

“Really? I figured you were all gaga over his big, blue cat eyes and pretty face like all of the other women.” He laughs at his own joke, and I can’t help but laugh just a little myself.

For a totally different reason.

Cat eyes, huh? I met those ‘cat eyes’. Phobe shrugs. So, I am right. He glamours all the time.

“So, any news?” Jameson’s face sobers at my question.

“None so far. They haven’t filed for you to join general population yet. Darvena has sent out inquiries about your tattoo, which I figure is the delay. I have to admit, I can understand her curiosity. It’s a unique marking.” He pulls a little notebook out of his pocket, mumbling to himself as he flips through its pages.

He continues, “Ah, here it is. I haven’t shown them this, but I did a little research myself. Just as I thought, the spider is a representation of the Nightmares. They were the original Feyrie King’s guard. After his death, they disappeared. I doubt they really existed but the legend itself is quite fascinating. It is said they were the original Children of the Primals.” He replaces the notebook in his pocket. “Now, that Rune, I can’t shake the feeling I’ve seen it somewhere before. I’ve looked through hundreds of books and texts, and I can’t find it.”

He won’t either. But Phobe knows, he knows and won’t tell. Stubborn Dillhole.

“So, how went the date with whatshername?” Jameson smiles brightly at my question, which means he got laid.

Plus, he likes to talk. And is extremely easy to distract.

“Well, we went out to the meadow for a picnic, and I did as you suggested and discarded the poetry reading. I have to say, things went a lot better than I expected. I figured that all ladies loved poetry, but come to find out, Hilda isn’t a fan. So, I’m glad I took your advice. It really made my day much more enjoyable.”

He takes a breath and then continues. “I feel I must add that I probably won’t be taking her out for a second date. After we uh…cuddled she started talking about babies and such, and I’m just not ready for that kind of commitment.”

Who knew? Jameson is a player. This makes me chuckle in genuine amusement.

“Babies are a big commitment with the diapers and the pooping and such. I can’t say I blame you.” I add, making him laugh too.

But inside, the thought of babies makes my heart pang. Just a little. It’s not something I will ever experience. I shake it off and join back into the conversation with Jameson.

Sixteen

Phobe

Watching her has become a habit I can’t seem to break. No matter what I tell myself, still, I watch her. Just like I am watching her now and listening. Not to what she says but what she thinks.

Still tasting her on my tongue.

Jameson’s’ head is filled with mostly frivolous things. Other than the thoughts of the Rune and thoughts of Iza, I have no interest in anything else in there. The Schoth may tolerate Jameson’s presence but they don’t trust him with anything important.

Right now, I am paying more attention to Jameson’s thoughts of Iza than the ones about the Rune.

The man likes her. And as he laid with another this very afternoon, he was having thoughts of Iza that make the Mage uncomfortable. Part of me is unfazed by this, but another part is…not.

Jameson doesn’t have any harmful thoughts towards her—for the most part, they are very shallow. He is even considering propositioning her, which will not work out well for him. If Jameson finds the courage to go through with it, either Iza will kick his ass or I will eat him.

She is fully aware that he ‘tattled’—the phrase she uses, on us.

It will be much better for him if Iza does it. Or if Jameson wises up and does not do it at all. He is already on my menu. The only thing saving him is Iza.

The slight tightening of her face draws my gaze. Carefully, I slide into her thoughts. Why does the talk of babies distress her so? I grasp at the thoughts but she locks them away too quickly for me to catch them.

There’s something she doesn’t want me to know, then. A secret. Interesting. I do catch the brief one about death in her future, one I can do nothing about. That is not what made her so sad. She has already accepted that death is coming for her, with a grace I rarely see. It is probably coming sooner than she realizes but I will not tell her. I do not want to see that look on her face.

I do not want to like her either—but it is already too late for that.

Seventeen

Iza

“You’re having a nightmare.” The deep accented voice startles me right out of the nightmare, bringing me wide awake.

My eyes fly open. On pure gut reaction, I roll sideways and to my feet, back braced against the cold stone wall. Seeing Phobe’s familiar face, I slide down the wall in relief.

“Well, at least I didn’t have to stab you,” I say breaking the silence. I refuse to talk about my dreams. To anyone.

“Do you always dream of violence?”

“Stay out of my head, Phobe.”

“Your head is an interesting place to be. Chaotic.” A compliment and insult in the same sentence. Typical.

“Don’t you have nightmares?”

Going through what he has, surely he does. Regardless, I’m not going to talk about mine. If he was in my head while I slept then he knows what I dreamt. So there is no reason to discuss it.

“I don’t sleep.” Isn’t he a lucky bastard?

“So, you eat people, grumble around hiding in the darkness, and you don’t sleep? Pretty well-rounded guy, yeah?”

“How did you become so educated?” My lips quirk while I look at him and think through the question.

“This was this guy who was briefly ‘generous’, a Magiks teacher who taught me to read, write, and speak several languages. The rest I picked up from other prisoners. There were books, too. Some were fiction. Some were about school stuff or history. Once, I was even given a Magiks book.” The woman who gave it to me disappeared after a guard caught her.

But by then it was too late. I already knew about my own little drop of Magiks.

“How about you?” Then I remembered—he got it from eating people. “Well, that is much quicker than reading, right?” Thoughts turning darker I ask, “Why haven’t they sent me back to General?”

“Maybe they won’t,” he answers.

Instead of it perking me up, it fills me with dread. That means that something is either delaying it, or something else is being planned.

“You like Jameson?” That is not what I expect him to ask.

“He’s okay, but I don’t trust him after he blabbed,” I answer. Then I ask him why.

Phobe says nothing. There is a reason he asked, but not one I’ll know unless he tells me.

He studies me a moment and then settles back down on the floor, a book open in his lap. It’s the second book he silently swiped from the stacks of books Jameson brings me. He’s not someone I would peg as a reader. But he isn’t like anyone else I have ever known either. All Magikal and mysterious and... stuff.

Making myself look away I fall into my thoughts.

As a child, I wished I had been born to a normal family, even a Schoth one. Paul would’ve never touched me, never noticed me. I would’ve just been another chicken nugget to him, undeserving of notice. At least other than the ‘eat me’ kind. It is my firm belief that being killed and eaten quickly is much better than years of him and this shithole.

Of course, the Schoth aren’t exactly the coolest bunch. Because of the Clans’ rule, they have changed and not in a good way. They still have their Electronics and cars, they steal from other realms, and some of them live mostly normal lives.

But they do uphold some of their ancient customs just to keep people in check. Customs that make Feyrie, the Dark Half of the spectrum, have to fight daily for survival. The Schoth aren’t known for their democracy.

In this world, it’s safer to avoid any type of involvement with anyone. Liking something or someone makes you weak. It gives someone leverage over you. These are the rules of survival.

A shame that following my own advice is becoming an issue lately. At least in this particular situation. My eyes lift to Phobe. I’ve become a hypocrite. A crazy move, sure, but my sanity has always been questionable. The corner of my mouth turns up.

Questionable is being optimistic. Since when am I optimistic?

Then there is this weird Magiks crap going on. A half-breed Feyrie cannot handle Magiks. It’s a fact of nature. Only a full blood of any race can handle Magiks in their body. Feyrie’s, or Dark Fey as some call them, are a hodgepodge of physical mumbo jumbo, mostly because the majority are predators with very little to no Magiks.

Until recently, Magiks have been something I can only say I’ve seen evidence of once or twice in myself. The night the fake parents died, the more prominent memory. The last few weeks it’s happened several times. Little things, odd things. That weird thing with Jameson, predominant. My senses are even keener. My Magikal knowledge grows daily. It’s like another part of my brain is waking up. Another part of me, period. At that I concentrate on Phobe, sitting there reading his book.

I close my eyes.

Not too long ago I wouldn’t sense him there, hiding in his stupid shadows. But right now, I can feel every single inch of him. Can, even, with my eyes closed now see/feel the Magiks swirling around him like tentacles of an octopus made of Darkness—Magiks that are like those that touched me deep inside the last time I was beaten.

I felt it awaken in that secret dark place inside of me and come out to crawl across the skin of my back like little ants, killing the Light Magiks that is wielded so gleefully by Darvena. It didn’t heal the wounds until later, but it did stop the Light Magiks from doing more damage.

That’s never happened before. Yes, I heal quickly but never to this degree, a degree that increases daily. Something is different in never-never land.

Those very Magiks are alive within me now. Writhing inside of me but not trying to escape. Almost like it’s waiting for something. I reach out in my mind to touch it. With an imaginary finger, I caress it.

It caresses me back.

Surprised, my eyes shoot open to find Phobe’s face a breath from my own. My fist flies out and he catches it easily in one big hand. Without a word, he releases it.

He doesn’t move anything else.

His presence this close to me brings every atom of the writhing ball of Magiks inside of me awake. Against my formidable will, it pushes to the surface and towards Phobe. A smoky black tendril, almost identical to his, touches his face. His nostrils flare and his eyes light up before they close. Lips slightly parted his eyes fly back open.

Desperately, I try to rein in that part of myself that I am just getting used to existing.

A whisper of words that I hear as loudly as If he is shouting them, “Stop fighting what you are, Iza.”

“I can never stop fighting.” Or I will lose myself completely. I add silently.

“Do you know what your name means?” He asks in that same soft voice. The kind you use to coax an injured animal. Is that what I had become? I shake my head trying to clear it. “Darkness. It comes from the Fiend Language.” Eyes flicking to my mouth he moves away.

“Why would someone give me that name?” I ask, but really, I kind of know. Have always known.

“Denial, Iza, never works. You know why.”

This time I raise an eyebrow. Denial seems to work okay for him.

Stubbornly, I don’t want to go down that path. I have no idea how to deal with this type of…bullshit. Or him. But my brain travels there anyhow. That fucking prophecy. And I refuse to acknowledge it any more than that. So I do what I do best. Deflect.

“Because of my astounding wit?”

For five solid seconds, he sits there, his face a mask of emotionless granite but then a smile comes—like a soft slow rain. The first genuine smile I’ve seen him give. It isn’t a big smile but it’s real, and although it doesn’t last long, my skin feels the warmth from the truth of it.

Imagine that, me making someone like him smile. There is a first for everything. I deserve an award of some kind. Or a medal. Or a key to get me the fuck out of here.

For a moment, he just sits there considering me. Muscles tense from his scrutiny, my stomach knots. But not from fear. I’ve never feared this creature and never will. It’s purely from his closeness.

He moves a little back from me. Damn mind reader.

“You cannot hide behind it forever.” He says. “You have no memories of early childhood?”

Hating him just a little, I answer reluctantly. “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything before…Paul and that coward of a woman who claimed to be my mother.”

“Who was this Paul?” He asks all humor gone from his face. Seeing that he can read my mind, this conversation is pointless. “It is an honest question. I cannot see everything.”

Fine. Answering his question won’t hurt. Much.

“A Feyrie who dabbled in blood Magiks.” Contempt bleeds into my words. Paul is someone I will forever despise, dead or not. There is no forgiving or forgetting someone like him. But—a smile raises the corner of my mouth—Paul paid for it.

Although not nearly enough.

“He haunts your dreams.” It’s a statement, not a question. And that should be someplace he stays out of. Jerk.

“I ended him, as you saw,” I add, not really knowing why. Maybe it’s his damn Magiks again.

I wasn’t the only one Paul liked to hurt; there had been others he dragged home—some of which I will never tell anyone about. And out of them, only one left me with any semblance of regret.

“When Paul died it was the first time this…junk inside of me ever became real.”

“They stole you from someone.”

It seems like such a simple statement but there are deep undercurrents there. It also solidifies my own belief in that fact.

“I don’t think about that, thinking about that makes me regret and hope. I have better things to do with my time, Phobe.”

He watches me, but I can feel him inside my head now, boring into my thoughts. If I don’t concentrate on blocking him, he can read them like a book. I have to work on that.

“Tell me the rest,” he requests.

How odd for him to ask even though he knows. Giving in to the impulse, I oblige him.

“I was a kid when he started his ‘experiments’ Five or six. 10 or so when the other shit started. That’s a guess.” I pause, swallowing, my mouth suddenly dry, as memories surge forward. “I know he hated my tattoo. God knows he tried a bazillion different ways to remove it…the fucking thing kept coming back like herpes.”

Realizing my hands are waving around like a bird flapping in agitation, as I speak, I tuck them under my butt. Self-consciously, I look at the floor before raising my eyes again to look at Phobe. Still, he watches me, saying nothing. Taking a breath, I continue. If I stop now, I’ll never finish.

“So, after Paul and Ma were fertilizer, I watched their tv for a while and then I tried to leave. That’s when I was caught. It was all for nothing.”

“Was it?” I frown at his question.

Phobe is just full of conversation tonight. Pondering his words, I chew on my lip thoughtfully. Yes, I am back in prison. Yes, eventually I am going to die. Until that happens it sucks. It really sucks. Wait…not all of it sucks.

Holding his gaze, I’ve got to admit that things are different than before. But not so different I will bare my entire soul. Already, I have given more to him than anyone.

And because I feel the tick-tock of time moving unerringly close to the end of me, I decide to give him just a little bit more.

“I don’t think you’re a beast.” The look on his face doesn’t change. “I think you’re a monster—of vengeance, violence, Primal Darkness.” Still no change. “They chained you to that rock because it was the only way for them to win against the Feyrie…against you.” Still nothing, god he’s like a freaking brick wall. “They didn’t say how big your di—.”

“You should eat.” Finally, a reaction. One that can be taken several different ways.

I look down at the food beside me. A stale chunk of bread and a piece of cheese. And something that may have been meat once upon a time. Jameson snuck it down to me earlier in the day.

I completely forgot about it. Unusual for me. I love food. And it’s in short supply here.

Phobe stands smoothly and moves away from me. A safe subject is needed.

“How did Jameson end up helping you?” I ask.

Jameson is a curiosity to me. And a very safe subject. A creature of the dark trying so desperately to be one of the light. Something he will never succeed at. It doesn’t seem to stop Jameson from trying.

“I saved his life. A decision I now regret.” I nod at his answer. Knowing why he regrets it.

That fits what I’m thinking. It took something big for Jameson to overcome his abject fear of Phobe and come down here to help him.

“Why does he try so hard to fit in with them?” I ask.

Part of me understands on a fundamental level. But I also understand that it’s pointless.

“He made a promise to his father to carry on the family position.” Ah, so his father had been a previous Potion maker. “And he is afraid,” Phobe adds.

That I can totally see. Jameson isn’t a bad person but he isn’t a brave one either. It’s part of the reason he ran his mouth. Fear.

“Shame. He could be more,” I say, picking up the bread to tear off a piece.

I shove it in my mouth, trying to not look as desperate as I feel, for it.

“Why do you say that?” Phobe asks.

Forcing myself to chew slowly, I contemplate the answer. How can I explain that this Magiks stuff inside of me tells me so? That when I look at him I see the potential to be more, just under the surface.

Before I can answer him, he says, “I see.”

I give him an irritated look for snooping in my head.

“Why ask then?”

“You have to be asked to think of something actively; otherwise you go off in many different directions.” Did he just say I have problems concentrating?

I can’t argue it, I totally do.

“I’m learning to block you out,” I say in between bites. He grunts.

“Jameson courts death.” Well, that is cryptic. I figured since Jameson is still alive Phobe was over it.

“You mean cos of the Schoth thing?”

Jameson is lucky he has lived this long. He must serve a purpose for them. They have no long-term tolerance for Feyrie, not in anything but slavery and entertainment. I don’t wish it for him but I know there’s really nothing that can be done to save him.

“No.” Phobe answers.

Then why? Phobe turns his back to me and begins again to read his book. That makes no sense.

If not because of Jameson running his mouth, then why does Phobe want to kill him?

Eighteen

Iza

Two sleeps later, right before dawn, they came to take us to Arick. They really should reconsider that warning system. Once again, a guard is dumb enough to get close to Phobe. The man is dead before he starts to fall to the ground.

In retaliation, they make Phobe kneel before them while they pummel him with armored fists and feet.

Stomach burning with rage, I shock myself by moving before I recognize I’m doing it. Movements so fast, the men have no time to respond. Strangely calm, I pull a sword from a guard’s scabbard and run it clean through the gut of the one beating Phobe in the face.

The body hitting the floor is enough to send the other guards into a panic. The Magiks inside me wakes up, lending speed to my movements. Ducking to avoid a fist I move nimbly to the side, eluding a sword hilt swinging at my head. Distantly I know that my energy is very limited. But right now, I have the advantage of surprise and I’m going to use it.

I’m so tired of taking their shit.

‘You can’t leave with me, can you?’ I ask Phobe while dodging a mailed fist.

‘I am bound by the stone Iza. Run.’ He encourages me.

Knowing he’ll be the one sent to find me, is not why I want him to go with me. There’s another reason entirely. Turning to run up the stairs, I stop halfway.

I can’t do it. Can’t leave him. I just can’t.

Turning around I run at another guard who has his back to me. And find myself flat on my back, the air gone from my lungs. Rickher’s gloating face appears above mine. He grabs a handful of my hair and drags me to where the other men are huddled around Phobe.

With a heave, he tosses me to the floor, directly in front of Phobe. I look up into Phobe’s face. I changed my mind, lost the only chance. No, I chose not to take it. Simply because he can't go. He means more to me than freedom.

What an incredible revelation.

A booted foot to the center of my back topples me forward into Phobe’s arms. He looks down into my eyes as he calmly rips the calf muscle out of the man that kicked me. Ignoring the screams of the injured man he holds my gaze.

When did I start to care this much?

‘What a completely foolish and absolutely unselfish thing for you to do.’ His voice sounds…surprised.

‘Go big or go home right?’ It’s all I have for a response. Literally all.

Rickher digs his hand into my hair, it’s one of his favorite things to do. He smiles at Phobe and pulls me up against him. “The Magistrate might let us have her tonight.” He sneers, tugging so hard on my scalp that some of the hair rips free. He raises his other hand to strike me.

“Should be a boring night for her then.” Phobe taunts him. Out loud!

Those words have the desired effect; Rickher’s fist drops, and his attention turns to Phobe. It’s the first time Phobe has ever deliberately incited them to draw the focus from me. Hell, I think it’s the first time he has ever spoken to them. I open my mouth to say something.

‘When will you listen to me? I heal instantly, you do not. Now be still!’ He yells into my head.

My mouth snaps shut. True, it’s much easier for him to take the beatings than me, as he has reminded me repeatedly. I know this. But it doesn’t mean I feel right letting it happen.

This time he said it, yelled it with genuine emotion. So this time, I listen.

As the fists fall on him, once again, he simply watches me. The wounds inflicted lasting only seconds before healing. With my mouth tight, I give a small nod.

I’ll be quiet but I’m not happy about it.

“To your feet, slave. The Magistrate wants to see you both.” Says Rickher as he grabs me.

Not surprisingly, he punches me in the stomach. The breath leaves me in a whoosh. Rickher drags me behind him using my hair as a shackle while Phobe follows—his eyes not leaving me the entire time.

Nineteen

Phobe

What she did hits me harder than any blow ever could or will. She would’ve escaped. They didn’t expect her to fight, especially as viciously as she did, moving so beautifully that for a moment I was dumbstruck and just stared at her.

Then the stupid woman just gave up her only chance to get away—to stay with me. She will not try escaping again, not even if presented with another fucking chance. Simply because I cannot go.

Something in the area of my heart tightens. No one in creation has ever done that for me, sacrificed something so fucking bloody important.

It infuriates me. And yet…

I can see every one of her questioning glances. I choose to ignore them.

Right now, it is taking everything I possess to process that someone chose me over something as valuable as freedom. It is such a sacrifice for someone so unworthy of it. I am torn between anger and something that takes the bottom right out of my stomach…I choose anger.

It is the safe choice. The only choice.

It does not matter that they would send me for her. What matters is she would have had some freedom, some more time to live. The thought of being the one to take her life twists my stomach.

Yes, anger. That is what I am choosing to feel.

Twenty

Iza

After the guards tossed me into the “let’s make Iza Bleed Room” and leave, I have a moment to gather my scattered thoughts.

Now that I’ve worked out the jumbled mess that’s my brain I can think clearly again. Those thoughts immediately focus on Phobe. He’s so angry with me. It’s bleeding off him in waves.

Doesn’t he realize I can’t leave him here, alone, in this mess?

I’m not stupid. I can picture what would happen if I got away. Survival would’ve been very brief. Arick would send Phobe after me, more than likely, and there’s no escaping him. If I stay here, I’ll still die, just not by his hand.

Well, hopefully not. Arick is a sick bastard, so who knows for sure?

Honestly, I’m still muddled a bit from him yelling at me. Raising his voice is new. It’s that emotion—because those words absolutely held emotion—that made me accept what he said. And accept something else, too.

He has become important to me.

Somehow, despite my best attempts, he’s become an integral part of my life. My only friend, my best friend. It’s the closest description I can find for what he represents in my life.

We’re not lovers—no matter how much sexual tension there is between us at times. Okay, all the time. A feeling inside of me says, that under different circumstances, one day we might be. I push that thought away; it isn’t something that needs to be dwelt on, at least right now.

Unlike anyone before, I trust him. Something I’ve never done, and really…I want to keep that. Trust is such a rare thing in my world. Something you protect and keep close to you. A treasure.

It shouldn’t have been allowed to happen. Regardless, but here I am feeling it and nothing can change that. Emotions are something I’m not good with. I just make a mess of them and go dithering off in the wrong direction every time.

Just like right now.

Subtlety I hunch over, straighten up, testing the soreness of my body. The few remaining scabs pull but there’s only a little pain, despite fists being applied to it. For the most part, everything is healed.

The healed parts aren’t what concern me right now; the changes that I didn’t notice, until a few minutes ago, are.

My speed isn’t too big a surprise. I’ve always been faster than an average Feyrie and most creatures, truth be told. Now I’m noticeably even faster. Stronger too.

Plus, the stupid Magiks crap. What does it all mean?

Most Schoth don’t have Magiks and they’re the greatest Magikals of the creatures crawling around on our world. Maybe one out of a hundred do. The ones who don't, have jobs like the guards that escorted us to our next grand adventure.

Those same guards who just had circles danced around them by a lowly…whatever I am. Hell, I managed to stick one with his own sword, which will give me a chuckle later. They deserve to die, the entire lot of them.

So, what the hell is going on with me?

Instead of being able to figure out answers by myself, I end up with more questions. Thinking back to a conversation Phobe and I had, gives me a feeling he gave me some type of hint and I’m not picking up on it. I have a Fiend name. Fiends don’t exist. Or if they had, they don’t anymore.

A lot of things don’t exist anymore.

Stubbing my toe on a loose piece of stone brings me out of the cushion of my thoughts. I sigh and look at the door ahead of me. The Schoth around me are ignored. Phobe’s presence behind me is not. I doubt it’s even possible to ignore him. It’s not like I haven’t tried. I have, it didn’t work.

We reach the door, way too quickly for my tastes, and are shoved unceremoniously inside. It slams and locks with a resounding bang.

I take one quick look at the room before fixing my eyes on the floor. Something is in the air and I can’t put my finger on it. The not knowing makes me cautious. Cautious enough to keep my mouth shut.

As I stare at the stone floor, a trickle of anxiety settles in my stomach. Everything that I’m used to seeing has been removed. The only pieces of furniture now in the room are two thrones and two benches, their placement on either side of the thrones.

Change doesn’t mean anything good with Magistrate Jackoff. I do another quick eye-sweep of the room.

Sitting on the thrones, of course, are Arick and Darvena. The benches hold three people each, who are all wearing masks. Usually, people who hide behind masks have a reason to hide, so I take in every visible detail of the ‘guests’. One is the ever-familiar monocle man. My sixth sense demands I remember everything about them all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Beast, my pet, and the Feyrie half-breed who murdered my Favored whore.” Arick sounds more childlike than usual, and that alone sends my brain straight to survival mode.

‘Iza, remember what I said.’ It’s the only warning I receive from Phobe before Arick stands holding the stone in his hand like a weapon, pointing it right at me.

“Strip her.”

Twenty-One

Phobe

Iza is in agony.

The impact of every lash of the whip echoes in the room, beating a loud staccato in my head. Still, she holds her silence. The stupid woman interfered and ended up with this punishment. Knowing I could do nothing to help her.

She could not bear to watch them make me bleed anymore.

She will never learn!

Iza has got to stop getting herself hurt for my benefit. How can I convince her to listen to me? I heal in seconds. Pain is not something I feel anymore! Iza is feeling every single bit of pain. These wounds will take her days to heal, even at the rate she heals now. The damage is brutal, I can see flashes of white through the shredded flesh of her back.

Shuffling my feet, I looked around the room at the crowd gathered around her. I bored them. The mute who doesn’t flinch. But Iza…she fascinates them. They know she feels the pain. But other than a few hisses of her breath she has not made a sound.

I am not sure how I feel about this. Frustration is predominant. With her and the ones doing her harm.

Needing something to do, I memorize each of their faces, as I saw Iza do earlier. These ones I will remember. And because I can do nothing now, I will bide my time and perhaps one day, be able to inflict the same pain upon them.

Especially the Feyrie hidden among the sheep. The fat man is hidden well, but not well enough and I did not miss the way Iza’s eyes lingered on him. Almost as if she sensed he would end up causing her misery.

He was the one who suggested this.

My shadows crawled towards him on the floor but the amulet he wore kept them from coming into contact with him. Almost as if he knew what to expect. His companions had no such protections but they knew nothing of him and are so busy focusing on Iza—I’m getting nothing from them.

But her…Iza is begging a god who has turned his back on her for help. Begging for strength. Over and over she begs. Bartering, offering anything for him to stop the pain.

I will not have that!

‘You will not give in! You are a bigger fucking monster than any of them, Iza!’ She did not answer me but her eyes look up at me, standing so useless a few feet away. That is when I see the blood covering her chin. It is coming from her mouth. She is biting her tongue to remain silent.

God damn her stubbornness. Using every ounce of Magiks at my disposal, I push at that Darkness inside of her. Pushing until it finally stirs and sluggishly responds. Something is restraining it. Forcing my way inside of her I tear through some of the spell I can sense the fringes of mixed within her.

This, filthy muck of Magiks is the cause of so much grief.

I cannot rid her of it but I can start the process. Knowing this will hurt her I still tear at it, yanking and ripping until only the root of it remains. The spell is not broken but it is damaged enough for what I need her power to do.

‘I want you to eat them all, okay?’ It is a whisper in my mind.

She somehow knows what I did. Her eyes flash black and her head falls forward her body going limp. At her unconscious state, the crowd mutters in disappointment.

“Remove her.” Arick flicks a hand at her.

Without hesitation I go to her, not bothering to untie her I rip through the ropes with my claws. Without being obvious I gently roll her into my arms and move out of the room before Arick changes his mind.

Out in the hallway, out of sight, I break into a run. Moving fast enough that her hair plasters against her face.

God damn stubborn woman.

Twenty-Two

Phobe

Iza’s silence is loud. She has been silent since she woke up, and now she is practicing harder to keep me out. She is not able to do it for long periods of time but each time is a little longer than the time before. It is all she’s been doing since her eyes opened. I will get a thread of thought, then nothing. Over and over for hours, we sit there in silence staring at each other. Playing a game of mental peekaboo.

It’s a battle of wills that neither of us is winning.

Last night, was different. It was all about pain. Not that I feel it anymore. But she does. Shifting around uncomfortable with my thoughts I keep staring at her.

I want to ask her if she is okay, I want to...comfort her but I have no idea how.

“What are you, Phobe? I mean really?” Her question is spoken so quietly I must focus to hear the words.

It’s not an unexpected question—Arick showed off my healing abilities to his “guests”. Feyrie, no matter how strong, doesn't heal like I do. Especially, not from what I went through. Iza is the only one who picked that up.

“Will it change anything?” I ask.

“No.” She speaks the truth.

And that’s why I answer her. Partially. “Darkness.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. That is as much as I am going to give her. For now. For as long as I can keep the full truth away from her, I will.

“Like the Primal of Darkness?”

A fantastic guess. The closest anyone has gotten before.

“Funny, that. You tell me my name means Darkness, and then come to find out you are the Darkness.” She snorts. “We have matching tattoos, the same name. You sure we aren’t related?” Her swollen lips lift into a tired smile.

Her mental walls drop, and I can finally peer into her thoughts…just to be sure she is not thinking we are related.

“As gross as that would be,” she mutters. Good, she does not.

“You already know that answer.” She shakes her head at my words, thinking I completely missed the joke. Maybe I did. We are not related, not in the familial sense. She learned about the Primals in an old book she found. “What else did this…book say?” I search for those memories as she thinks.

“You’re the boogeyman. A physical manifestation of fear, darkness, death, war. A Primordial by old mythology. Destruction by another. And the list goes on, each getting larger.” She curls into a ball on her little homemade bed. “Until I met you, I always thought it was fiction. Like the Eldest.” She pauses, sighing a soft sigh that gives me this, incredibly hard to fight, urge to take her in my arms. “It also says in there that if you destroy the stone—"

“There is no way to free me, Iza.” I cut her off because there is no point in letting her dwell on that impossibility.

And so, our game of peekaboo returns, and by the time she begins to yawn, Iza turns out to be damn good at it.

And when she finally sleeps, like a dog I slink to her and hold her through the nightmares that ravage her dreams and the tears that she fights and loses to—but only in her sleep. It is something I cannot seem to stop myself from doing. From her, I have learned to speak like a man. From her, I have learned to think like one.

Sometimes, I even feel like one.

Twenty-Three

Iza

Many, many sleeps later…

“She’s rather boring tonight don’t you think, Darvena?” Arick comments, walking in a circle around me. Where I’m kneeling, carefully breathing as shallowly as possible, because it hurts so freaking much. From my position on the floor, I look defiantly up at Arick; my left eye almost swollen shut, my face a bruised bloody mess.

A mess caused by Phobe’s fists.

This time Phobe couldn’t glamour and protect me, he was ordered to beat me into the ground, so he had to make it literal, make it real. I pull on what’s left of my inner strength and climb slowly to my feet.

I’m purposely silent tonight, my thoughts quiet. It annoys Phobe. I can feel it. Even as I demanded he feed, I remained as closed to him as possible. Admittedly, he’s been in my head for so long that I miss the feeling of him digging around in there. Now it’s just empty feeling.

That feeling isn’t enough to make me let him in.

Before they came to get us, we were sitting and talking about our latest Kung-Fu moment. He complimented me on several things, and, like a ninny, I preened a little—telling me that I’m quick to pick things up, fearless, and even bloody vicious. That I trip over my own feet when I’m thinking too deeply, and yet I “move with fluidity” when I fight.

I don’t think there are any other words in existence that can make me feel higher than those words.

Boom, boom, boom, he pulls me out of my thoughts. It’s like a hammer hitting my head. Keeping him out takes genuine effort. Every time he slams into my shields it becomes a little harder to keep him out.

I can’t let him in. Not this time. For several sleeps, I’ve carefully not thought about my solution to everything. TBS, The Big Secret. Not since the idea formed and I buried the information under a bunch of other memories and thoughts.

I can feel his gaze burning into me. It’s intense being his complete focus. This is his own fault so he has no one to blame but himself. He’s the one that told me that I need to be thinking about things for him to know them. So, I just don’t think about the stuff I don’t want him snooping at. Like right now, barely able to stop myself from falling on my face, I fight to keep TBS in the back of my head.

“Arick my love, look at her eyes. The Feyrie half of her is finally showing itself. Faceted eyes. I wonder what manner of creature bred you.” Darvena comments in an almost off-hand way. Nothing she does is off-handed.

I clench my jaw to keep silent. Well hell. I had no idea what color my eyes are. Now I do. Faceted eyes fluctuate colors.

Other parts of me have been changing too, for weeks, months, I don’t know the time anymore. This is the first time Darvena has pointed them out, and the first time I’m made aware of my eyes changing.

Darvena always has a reason for things and pretty much hates me as much as I hate her.

“Did you know she was changing, Beast? You do spend all of your time with her.” Arick stops walking to peer up into Phobe’s face. “Do not lie.”

I know they let us spend all our time together because they want something to use against him—or did, anyway. When it didn’t work they stopped trying. And stopped caring.

Phobe reluctantly nods his head. Thankfully, Arick didn’t ask if Phobe knows what I am exactly. Which leaves some things secret. A secret he goes out of his way not to tell even me.

I know he knows something.

“This is what happens when you have bad breeding,” Arick says as he shakes his head and takes a step back from Phobe. Arick’s eyes are holding something in them that can only be described as delight. “Kneel before me and suck my cock.” He says directly to Phobe a smile of triumph on his face.

The shock of those words brings me to my feet. Phobe fights but it’s to no avail. Helpless, I watch as he struggles with everything he has. His knees snap and instantly heal, only to snap again. Before the shock has even worn off I watch him lean towards the now opened pants Arick is wearing.

Arick has made him do many things over the time I’ve been here but this is the first time he has resorted to something that totally demeans Phobe as a person, something that, quite possibly, will take away what pride he has left.

Fuck that.

Right before Phobe is within breathing room, I push him out of the way and spit bloody saliva right in Arick’s smug face. Arick yells in outrage, and Phobe fights so hard to get up that I can I hear bones breaking inside of him, but it doesn’t work; the Magiks hold him in its iron grip to his knees.

“Grab the bitch!” Arick orders, wiping his face with a handkerchief. His golden eyes are glowing balls of hatred at me for standing in between him and Phobe. My hands fist at my side, fury rolling through me.

‘Iza.’ Phobe chastises.

‘That was just too much Phobe, too much.’ I step back towards him. ‘They are going to kill me. I might as well get a choice in when,’ I tell him with a seriousness I don’t normally show, then shut him out again.

He climbs to his feet as slowly as he can but inevitably his hands lock onto my upper arms.

“I will deal with her, Arick.” Darvena comes to stand beside Arick, her glowing Mage Gem in hand. Arick hands her the Stone of Darkness (Jameson finally told me the name of it). Her eyes flash with her excitement.

If I only had a rusty spoon and 10 minutes alone with Darvena.

“Make her kneel,” Darvena says.

I drop to my knees before Phobe can apply any pressure. He will know why without being in my mind. He still has some mysteries as do I, but in our time together, we have gotten to know each other well.

‘It is time for it to end.’ I whisper through my mind to him. Then I slam the wall shut once again. It’s past time.

Darvena’s eyes brighten with her Magiks, and her Mage Gem lights up like a torch.

I hold on for a while before the shields between the Phobe and me fall, and only because I’m screaming in my mind, something I’ve never allowed myself to do. The Light Magiks thicken, and the pain spreads out inside of me, burning badly…so badly.

Against my will, a sound escapes me.

It’s the worst pain I’ve experienced in my life. Vaguely, I feel Phobe press his body close to mine—an oddly comforting gesture from him. It helps with what I must do next.

‘Why do you stubbornly fight for me when it’s not your fault? Not your battle? You never choose carefully, Iza. Never.’ He says softly in my mind.

For Phobe, that’s the equivalent of saying he is sorry. It’s all he can offer. He can’t stop her, Darvena holds the Stone. The Magistrate is protected as well because it was given to his bloodline. As long as that fucking rock exists, Phobe will remain a slave to these people. All because someone decided to trap his Magiks, his will, with that stupid rock.

“I’m going to break her, Beast,” Darvena whispers. She smiles her crazy smile, and the Gem gets even brighter. I scream so loudly my voice breaks.

So much pain. Can’t beak. Can’t break. I chant over and over in my mind. Please, don’t let me break in front of them! I’ve lived so many years a prisoner, a slave really, survived so much. But I’ve never broken.

I’m not so sure I won’t this time. If I do, I’ll never come back from it.

Head thrown back, I feel the blood pouring out of my nose and mouth. The bitch is cutting me into little pieces inside to outside.

“Beg for your life. Just say those sweet words and it will all be over.” Darvena says it so enticingly. I know others have given into such an offer.

No. No, I will not.

Something Dark skitters across my skin—power. I stop screaming. The pain becomes distant as my Magiks awaken. Finally. My lashes fall to hide the truth of it in my eyes. I make myself go limp in Phobe’s arms. Darvena pulls my head up by my hair and then releases it to fall. She thinks I’m unconscious.

I’ve perfected the fake pass-out.

“Release her, you will now finish the task Arick ordered you to.” Darvena sounds so pleased, so freaking smug.

Phobe lays me gently on the floor, and I feel him fighting to stay as long as he can, kneeling there beside me.

Even at the worst moments in my life, I’ve never truly wanted to die. Just like I don’t want to die now. But I’m looking forward to being able to do the one thing that makes dying a little more bearable.

At last, my Magiks have chosen to wake up, with a bang. Some because of whatever Phobe did when he was poking and prodding around inside of me. The rest is because I’m not giving it a choice anymore. Not that Magiks would’ve done any good before now. This time, at least, it’ll serve the purpose I need it for.

I peek through my lashes at Phobe’s serious face. His eyes have a strange look in them, it’s the first time I’ve seen them look that way. It pulls at my heart, that look. Hell, everything about him pulls at my heart.

I know what’s coming next, am counting on it. I’ve put a lot of thought into the events that are about to unfold. It’s why I keep my mind from him. Kept the thoughts and decisions I made as deep as possible from him. It isn’t for lack of trying on his part either; he beats against my mental shields nonstop, even when I was set on fire from the inside.

He’s doing it right now.

What Arick ordered him to do…that bastard deserves to be roasted alive or eaten. I know one day it will happen. And I’ve been given the opening to do what needs to be done to ensure it.

Because Phobe is the one person that can make it happen.

Taking a careful, shallow breath, I mentally brace myself. My heart sputters a little, barely holding on. Don’t you dare stop working, not yet. It’ll hold on long enough for what’s coming. I refuse to allow the fucking thing to stop.

Not yet.

I pool the last of my strength, pulling it from that dark place inside me. The one I always try to keep locked up. No longer. I will set one thing right before I draw my last breath. It’s the one thing that makes my entire existence worthwhile.

Darvena leans down enough to look into Phobe’s eyes. It’s her last mistake.

Before Phobe realizes I’m moving, I’m up and with Darvena’s dagger in my hand, move towards Darvena at a speed only Phobe can stop.

He doesn’t.

The razor-sharp dagger slides easily through Darvena’s throat. To anyone looking at us, it will appear I’m embracing her, instead I’m holding her up so I can feel the life leave her body.

I very calmly whisper into her ear. “He can get it up for me.”

A smile stretches my tender mouth.

Phobe stands, silent, watching from behind me. Because I can feel him there, feel his regard.

Darvena’s eyes plead silently with him to save her life, only to fill with hatred when she realizes he isn’t going to. I deliberately stabbed her through the throat, to keep her from speaking. Staring into those eyes I let the satisfaction show on my face until the life completely bleeds out of them and she’s dead weight in my arms.

Stepping back, I let Darvena’s lifeless body fall to the ground.

Arick yells her name and rushes to her, pushing me away in the process.

“What did you do? She’s dead!” A deaf man would hear the false grief in his voice.

Arick starts desperately searching for the Stone on Darvena’s corpse. Arick’s act of grief doesn’t last long once he realizes Darvena doesn’t have it.

I do.

“Looking for this, asshole?” I ask quietly, smiling through the sticky blood I can feel drying on my face.

He looks over at me, stunned that I’ve spoken and finds that I hold the Stone in my hand. Arick takes a step towards me. I smile showing all my sharp teeth, my face hot with the triumph I feel.

‘I read about this when I was a kid. The dying wish of a half-blood.’ I say to Phobe looking over at him.

His eyes are bright his mouth open in surprise.

I whisper, “Thank you for being my everything.” Then using every atom of Magiks I possess, crush the Stone in my hand. The backlash blows my hair back as the dust that is left, sifts through my fingers to the floor.

Smiling, I watch as the Magiks tying him to the stone begin to release him. The last tie binding him severs just as I fall bonelessly to the floor. My body is done, stubborn or not. Satisfaction gives me a warm feeling as his Magiks return, lifting him off the ground. Faster and faster he spins, hovering above me, growing more powerful by the second.

It’s a glorious sight and I’m glad I get to see it. Giving my life for his is so worth it.

With a roar, he lands with enough force to crack the stone floor beside of me. Magiks crackle all around him, making little pops like static electricity bursts. To say he’s magnificent is an understatement. The power is rolling around him like thunderclouds. I blink and he is suddenly beside me and lifting me off the ground.

My eyes are so heavy. So tired. I look up into his eyes and just as my sputtering heart beats its last beat— “I was right. My beautiful monster.”

Twenty-Four

Phobe

The force of my Magiks returning keeps me from doing what I really want, which is to go to Iza and see if she has indeed done what I think.

Given her life for mine.

With a roar, I land, breaking the floor beneath my feet, my Magiks writhing around me…free. After so long of being a prisoner, a single wish from her has ended my enslavement. Her. Kneeling I pick her up.

Those Magikal multi-colored eyes look up at me with wonder. “I was right, my beautiful monster,” she says. One last shaky breath and she is gone. I give her a little bit of a shake, and her head lolls. No life stirs within her. No playful banter, no sarcasm. Nothing.

For the first time in a millennium, my power is alive and in full control beneath my skin, and I do not care.

Magiks thrash furiously around me. With a growl, I turn to stare at the pale-faced Magistrate and his court. He did this, I should kill him for it. I should have my revenge on all of them. But…I turn back to her and pull her closer, feeling the complete blankness that used to be so…alive.

Inside of me something shifts.

Iza is dead. Her lips are slightly parted over her sharp teeth. Her eyes partially open, the orbs dull, empty of the Magiks that are her.

Death has taken her. An ache goes through my chest, then another. A year ago, I faced a dilemma on whether to try and save her or not.

There shall be no such dilemma this time.

Movement around me draws enough of my attention to determine who it is. Jameson.

Now he can finally serve a purpose other than potential food.

“You summoned me my lord—is she dead?” Jameson’s voice echoes loudly in the silence of the room.

All eyes turn to him except mine. As I study the still face of Iza, something solidifies inside of me. Something I never contemplated the existence of.

“Not for long,” I whisper to myself.

I have one shot at fixing this. Shifting Iza to one arm, I take two steps and grab Jameson’s arm. With my mind, I rip open a portal, the destination already glowing ahead of me in the darkness peeking through the tear in reality.

Seeing the familiar purple and black Magiks swirling in front of me really finalizes the fact that I am free. All because of her.

“You will not run away from me, you coward!” Arick screams, throwing a fireball at me. I turn partially to look at him, Darkness swirls in front of me and devours it. So hungry. I smile again, all teeth and deadly promises.

But first…Darkness lashes out of me grabbing Arick around the throat. I can feel his skin, feel his fear. Smell it, even at this distance.

Light Magiks rise in him, strong for one of his kind. Not strong enough. He disappears into those hungry shadows, giving me the energy I need to move forward with what I’m about to do.

“What in the bloody hell are you doing?” Jameson demands.

Energized, just enough, from feeding, I step into the portal and pull Jameson along behind me.

“Getting her back,” I answer him to make him stop fighting me. It is annoying.

“I don’t understand what’s going on here, but she’s dead. There is no coming back from that.”

If only the man knew.

Dark tunnel after dark tunnel extends before us as I navigate the very plain I thought to never see again–the plain of my birth, the Nether-realm.

I flick a glance at her face again, and that weird ache fills my chest. Stopping, I turn and hand her carefully to Jameson who gawks up at me like a startled bird.

“Protect her.”

“Where are you going? Where the hell are we?”

I ignore the questions and make a final tear. This one takes a lot more energy than a normal portal. I am not welcome in this place. The wailing sounds of the dead greet me from inside. Without fear, I step through the opening. With one last glance at her still form clutched in Jameson’s shaking arms, I delve deeper into the darkness.

I ignore the clusters of floating spirits and seek out a specific place—the in-between.

“This is not your place, Darkness. Return to your master,” A voice echoes around me. Ignoring it, I keep walking, trusting the faint but familiar thread pulling at me to lead me to my goal.

“Halt, I see no shackle upon you, Darkness. Who has sacrificed to free you?”

I continue walking, her soul beckoning to me.

“She is the one that freed you?” the voice asks more softly, the words thick with surprise.

My steps pause but do not stop. Why does this creature care about Iza? Out of the darkness, a male form appears in my path, stopping me in my tracks. The form is almost my height, same dark hair. Swirling, glowing eyes.

Familiar eyes.

“Leave her in peace,” he begs in a voice layered with emotion. I cock my head to the side to eye the ruler of this domain, Sergean, The Farrier of the Dead.

“You know her.” It isn’t a question. I bet Sergean more than knows her.

Sergean looks over his shoulder in the direction I want and will go. “Have you come to harm her, Darkness?”

For a moment I consider not answering, then change my mind. “No.”

“Death is final, Darkness. There is no return from it.”

“You will not keep me from her.” I will go through him and anyone or anything that stands in my path.

“Why come for her? We both know you are not a sentimental being.” I growl at Sergean’s words. Time is ticking, and I need to get to her, now.

“You care for her.” It is said with such surprise that Sergean’s mouth is slightly agape.

Looking at me hard for a moment, he shuts his mouth and steps aside. I move past him without a word. Words are a waste of time.

“I tried to free you, Darkness. But it was to no avail.” He calls after me.

I do not pause. It is something I am already aware of and one of the two reasons I did not send death to his own demise.

The other—he is Iza’s father.

Ahead of me, a dark glow bathes her bodiless soul. I watch as her soul sinks into the darkness of death. Where other souls circle like stirred liquid, in the Well of Dark Magiks. I leap the distance between us, punching the shimmering shield that stands as the last obstacle in my way.

‘Not yet Iza.’ I call to her as a crack appears in the shield. Gritting my teeth, I hit it again, harder.

Movement. A wispy arm moves and then the other.

‘Phobe?’ A ghostly whisper that encourages a hit hard enough to make the shield crack.

Sergean appears beside her and kneels. My fists, my power, continue hitting the fracturing shield, unsure of Sergean’s intentions.

“Hello, Dove,” Sergean greets. “It seems I’m not allowed to keep you.”

Sergean smiles, pulling her from the death’s grasp. Staring down at her he cradles her in his arms. The shield finally crumbles before me. He meets me halfway, a fond look on his face as he looks down at the confused eyes of Iza. Iza who is looking at me.

‘Who is this dude?’ She asks.

Reluctantly, Sergean gives her feather-light form to me.

‘Your father.’ Those beautiful eyes cloud over with more confusion and then clear as the realization hits her.

‘But I’m dead, aren’t I?’ She asks, looking over at the man whose eyes are only for Iza.

“Only for a little while longer, Dove. It seems Phobe—" He raises an eyebrow at the use of the name. “—won’t let it remain that way for long,” Sergean explains.

‘I don’t remember you.’ She speaks softly like there is a weight upon her. Death is still calling while I hold her.

“We must go, Death. Before your claim on her is complete.”

He needs to move out of my way before I move him. Father or not. Sergean softly touches her hair and moves back.

“Soon I will visit and try to explain the best I can, Dove.” He turns to me. “Go now, before I change my mind and decide to see who is the stronger,”

I say nothing at his empty threat. I already know the outcome.

Turning, I run to where Jameson now sits on the other side of the rift, holding Iza’s still body. He looks up in surprise, trying clumsily to get up which results in Iza’s body tumbling to the ground. Scrambling, he rights her turning red in the face.

“She will not remember this,” Sergean discloses, appearing beside me, invisible to Jameson, “but I would ask that you prepare her so I can pop in. I don’t want to shock her any more than I must…remember, Darkness, this is the only time you can ever stop death’s claim on her.”

I simply nod, and Sergean disappears, the portal closing with a whoosh behind him. I kneel next to Iza’s still form and look at the bright soul in my arms.

‘Why did you come for me, Phobe?’ It is a good question. Being the creature, I am, I take complete advantage of the situation. 'I cannot let you die sucking at your Kung-Fu.’ A translucent smile is her response as I gently overlay her body with her soul.

Her body jerks and her eyes open swirling purple and blue, then finally black with the power that calls to the power inside of me. Our eyes meet, communicating many things without saying a word.

She promptly collapses.

Twenty-Five

Phobe

A sliver of will and a portal opens in front of me, each to a different world. Just a mere wish. Over and over I do this; closing and opening. Enthralled with the fact that I can do it again.

I am whole. I am Darkness. I can go anywhere.

Where shall I take her? Where will the Light’s presence be the lowest? All it takes is a portal that can be opened to another world, dimension. Traversable. I am not the only one that can use them, but I am the only one that can use them so effortlessly.

Now I just need to find the right portal, the right window to traverse.

Another portal opens and I see a grassy field. Tilting my head to the side I scrutinize it more closely. It is the human realm, Earth. Humans are not Magikal creatures. While there are some creatures from this world and many others in that realm it is mostly humans. There is one specific kind there that can help Iza.

It is perfect.

Jameson walks over and stares into the portal.

“What is that place?” Instead of answering I push him into the portal. He sounds like a girl when he screams. I can see why he amuses Iza so much.

Grabbing Iza I tuck her against my chest and walk through.

Cool soil meets my bare feet. Jameson is standing with grass in his hair dusting himself off.

“Arrange transportation.” Jameson looks at me with his mouth hanging open.

“How exactly am I supposed to do that? And where would we go, anyhow?” For once, his words are logical. For once.

“Here.” I hand him the diamond I have in my pocket. Arick had it on him he used it as his Mage Gem. Now it is mine to do with as I wish. “We will use this to acquire their currency. Then we will arrange transportation.”

“That diamond is huge. Where did you get that?” My eyes narrow on him. He holds his hands up in defeat. “Alright, so once I can figure out how to barter this and arrange transportation where are we going?” More logic. Perhaps he is getting smarter? Can they do that? “I wonder if any of the women here are attractive.” he ponders.

No, they cannot.

Letting my Magiks free from me I seek out the creature that will benefit Iza. Nika, the dragon healer. And there she is. I point east. “We go that direction.”

“And you know this how?” Jameson demands and then pales when I look at him again. “Apologies, it’s the stress.” He turns around in a circle. “Which way to a road?”

“You are a Feyrie, can you not smell the humans?” He shakes his head at my question. “You have become too Schoth.” His cheeks redden. Why be upset by the truth? “We go straight on, east.” The humans just happen to lie in the direction we need to go.

I start walking leaving him to follow. Skimming his thoughts, I catch one that makes me stop. “If you run, Jameson, I will find you, I will kill you. Understood?” Jameson nods emphatically. With a grunt, I start walking again.

I will not have him get in my way. Whether Iza is fond of him or not.

Twenty-Six

Phobe

After finding a place that bought the diamond, which was much simpler than I expected it to be, we stopped to allow Jameson to eat human food. A taco, they call it.

Something I am sure Iza would like if she were awake. She would like a lot of things in this world if she were awake.

After too many stares from the humans, I glamour her and myself invisible except to Jameson. I do not understand their horror at seeing her in my arms. It makes no sense to me. She is unconscious. Not dead.

Growing impatient, I grab Jameson and drag him away from the girl who works in the vehicle they sell their tacos from. He is a walking penis. Letting his baser instincts rule when it is not the time for them.

Yet, have I not done the same thing at times with the woman in my arms?

No, my instincts tell me. It is a different thing. Mostly.

Now to find transportation. I can navigate portals to other worlds, not other places in those worlds. I must travel them just like any other creature when I am bound in physical form.

Iza freed my power, it did not free me from a physical form. I am not sure anything will. It is something I will think on at another time.

“It says here that we can take the city bus to the train station and ride from there. Do you have a specific place in mind or are we just guessing here?” I can tell by his tone that Jameson is getting far too comfortable in my company.

“I will know when we are there.” I turn slightly away from him.

A human man has been following us for a while since we left the jewelry store.

I let my Magiks touch him.

Human minds are so…shallow. Not their emotions but the ease they can be influenced or read. He has designs on robbing us. This I cannot allow. It will delay Jameson from doing what needs to be done.

Shadows wrap around the criminal man who screams in the darkness encompassing him. Then he is gone. His memories, his experiences are now mine.

This is better. Much better.

For an instant, I stand there and assimilate the memories that will be useful and push the rest aside. I do not care that he lived with his mother and was secretly poisoning her cat. Or that he peeked through his neighbor’s blinds when she bathed.

I do care about the knowledge of this world.

The criminal human is a worthless human being but he is a good source of information.

“We are going to a place called Pennsylvania.” That is as close as I can get using the information provided by my snack. Iza is a bad influence on me. That sounds like something she would say.

‘Alright, we wait here for the bus. Then take it to connect to…” Jameson’s voice drones on but I phase him out while staring down at Iza’s face.

In the light of day, a way I have not seen her before, she looks so young. So young for someone whose soul is old. Her scars stand out more too but so does the essence of what she is. Also, I find her scars…appealing.

Her skin is pale, dirty. Blood is caked and dried all over her. Matching the color of her hair.

Perhaps the blood is why the humans were staring?

I have yet to check and see the progress of the healing of her wounds. The ones on her face are already gone. It stands to reason that the others on her will be in the process of healing as well. At least on the outside.

My gaze moves on.

I can see the thick black strands woven in with her red ones. These I have not seen before on a mortal. Medusa Strands are something only an Eldest should have. It is a trait she inherited from her father. He too has the Medusa Strands.

Hers is still sleeping, just like her Magiks.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Jameson tugs on my arm as he speaks. I allow him to live, this time.

“Bus 45 to bus 67 depot, which will then take us to the train station. Is that sufficient?” Repeating it verbatim makes him frown at me. Is that not what I am expected to do?

“I don’t understand you. Or her. Or any of this.” He runs a hand through his hair. “Fine. Our bus is coming. I’m so glad I’ve been here before.” Jameson grumbles as the lumbering machine pulls up to the curb. It stinks as do a large percentage of its occupants. I genuinely do not want to get on it.

Nonetheless, I do.

Jameson mumbles under his breath the entire trip. I disregard him. He does not realize I am invisible to everyone but him. He does not see how the humans move away from him. I touch a few of their minds and almost smile.

They think him insane. The fact that this amuses me shows exactly how much Iza has corrupted me.

Looking down at her face again, I find I do not mind that so much.

Twenty-Seven

Phobe

It takes us several hours to get on the right train. They keep asking for identification called a license. Jameson works his little bits of Magiks to convince them he has some. I can kill things, put them to sleep. Terrify them. Eat them. I cannot persuade them to do things.

It is very frustrating.

He does manage to get us a suite. Letting my invisibility glamour drop, I put Iza on the bed and with the supplies they provide in the bathroom, start the process of cleaning her up.

As I cut her clothes away, Jameson clears his throat nervously and leaves the room. I do not understand his hang up with her nudity. Mortals are born nude.

After she is clean and smells of soap, I double-check her wounds. As I expected they are mostly healed. Her abilities are speeding up and its cause is our interactions. Our Magiks call to one another. Now with mine free, hers is waking up.

On the bed, she lay limp, naked, vulnerable. One arm curls across her stomach under her breasts, the other is slung out hanging slightly off the bed. Her body is completely exposed to my gaze. I sit back away, from her taking in the entire view. Now I see Jameson’s hang up. Oh god, do I see.

Hurriedly I wrap her in a blanket.

I shall never wonder again why her nudity makes Jameson nervous.

To sort myself out and get away from all the bullshit emotions entangled with her I stare out the window. Night has fallen so the trees we pass outside are now blanketed in the moonlight.

It is rather surreal.

I had no idea this world had beauty to it. I thought it was all machines and concrete and noise. It is a pleasant surprise. I like nature’s beauty.

Finally, my control at an end, I go back to her. It is disarming to be drawn to a person against your will. Well, that is only a half-truth—not completely against my will. I cannot lie to myself about that.

Part of me absolutely wants to be drawn to her.

Another part does not.

The door opens and I step away from Iza right before Jameson sees me hovering over her. I have already shown him enough weakness concerning the blasted woman.

“We have a long night ahead of us. If it’s alright I’d like to go to sleep now.” As he speaks I watch him pace back and forth in the two feet of space between the doorframe.

“What did you do?” I have him by the shirt and against the wall within a second.

Face red, he frowns.

“Well, there was this woman… and given the way she was dressed I thought perhaps, ahem, she was a working woman.” Working woman? Does he mean prostitute? “Needless to say, her husband did not take my offer well.”

“Jameson.” I get out through grit teeth.

“Her husband may or may not be on his way right now to kick my ass.” My grip on him releases and he slides down the wall. A human is not a concern. Jameson’s behavior is.

A red-faced, human male opens our door, takes one look at me, pales, and quietly shuts the door. I am assuming that was the husband.

“Stop doing stupid shit. Think with something other than your dick.” I tell Jameson annoyed with the intrusion in general. If his foolishness leads danger to us I will kill him. He needs to understand this.

“Hey, you kidnapped me, remember? I don’t have to—” With my hand around his throat, I lift him off the ground, he shuts up. Not just because he is lacking oxygen.

“If not for me you would, right now, be suffering a fate worse than death. Who do you think they would turn the blame on, foolish mortal?” Is he so determined to return to the Schoth? Arick had been planning to imprison him over a simple mistake.

“Well, then.” he chokes out. I release him to drop to the floor. Knees buckling, he falls onto his back where he remains. “I’ll just sleep down here. Good night.” Turning away from him I dismiss him completely from my mind.

I do not need sleep but it does not stop me from sitting next to Iza on the bed. Watching out the window as we pass by the still trees. Once she is settled there are things that need to be done.

She isn’t going to like them.

Twenty-Eight

Phobe

After departing the train, and catching a series of cabs, we are making definitive progress traveling. Jameson, however, has done nothing but complain because he had a restless night on the floor.

His dick’s fault. And his snoring.

Eventually, I kicked him to stop the annoying noise echoing in the small room. Iza snores but it does not sound like something trapped and dying in her throat. Hers are little squeaky ones.

My sense of otherness tingles. We are close. I can feel them. Others. All around us. We have found the Dragon community here. Carefully, I pull my powers inwards—layering them around me—I do not want to be noticed, especially because of my history with them.

I killed their White King, after all. Many, many years ago.

“A bookstore? Why are we at a bookstore?” Jameson reminds me of a child at times with his questions and constant complaining.

“Nika, the Dragon of Healing is here at this Penned in Ink establishment.” I can feel her in there. Without waiting for Jameson, I walk inside. As soon as I breach the wards I see her come out from a door behind the counter.

“What matter of guest are you?” Her words are cautious, as they should be.

“Iza needs your help.” At the mention of Iza’s name, the woman’s face bleaches white. She rushes out from behind the counter coming straight for us.

I take a step back prepared to grab her if necessary. I did not expect Nika to stop a couple of feet from me and wring her hands.

“Is it really her? How bad is she hurt? What do I need? Who are you?” Nika speaks so quickly that it takes me a moment to sort out what she is saying. I can smell her anxiety.

“Yes, it is really her,” I tell her. “She needs healing, Magikal fire caused her injuries.” It is the only reason I came here.

Although Iza’s wounds on the outside healed, the ones on the inside are not healing fast enough. Light Magiks and Iza do not mix well.

“You didn’t answer who you are.”

“Oh, he’s the former Beast of Arick the Magistrate,” Jameson says offhandedly as he strolls in the door. I am starting to believe that he is a complete idiot.

“Oh, my.” She says wringing her hands again.

“We need to go.” Now. I am sick of waiting for everyone to do simple things. My patience is at an end.

“I have a cottage—”

“No. We go somewhere neutral. Until she is stronger.” I will not take her to a place that will be heavily warded, potentially trapping her inside.

“Okay then. There is an abandoned house just outside of town.”

“That is acceptable. Jameson go to a store and buy the proper supplies.” At the look on his face, I continue. “Or I can just eat you and go get them myself?” Nika hands him a piece of paper she jotted directions on and he practically runs out of the door.

If Iza were awake she would laugh. I have jokes, too. Not that that is a joke. I really will eat him.

We stand there in silence, waiting on Jameson, Nika staring at me awkwardly the entire time. It is a relief when Jameson enters. After Jameson’s return Nika starts locking up doors.

“Let me just close things up.” I wait while she hurries through the little shop. Looking around me, I find that it is not displeasing to the eyes.

Books are everywhere. Stacks of them against the walls, crammed into the shelves. Although it all appears to be neat regardless of the appearance of the mess.

“Alright, I’m ready. Are we taking my car?” I follow her out of the shop and wait for her to lock it up before answering with a nod.

We drive for several minutes while she glances in the rear-view mirror at me, every three seconds. I decided to ride in the back seat with Iza on my lap. I did not expect Nika to gawk at me the entire time.

“So how did you two happen upon each other?” she asks.

I meet her eyes in the mirror and hold them. Nervously she looks away. The silence stretches. Something I am thankful for. I am not good at conversing. Jameson is even being quiet, which is abnormal for him.

When we pull up to the house I am out of the car before they get their doors open. I want to make sure there are no surprises inside. I cannot feel anything but some things can hide from me.

Very few. And never for long.

There is no one in the house, except for insects and vermin. Walking through the house I cannot help but notice the smells, vomit, urine, other bodily fluids. Old blood everywhere. Most of the windows are broken too with stained curtains hanging from them. The walls are covered in curse words and foul pictures.

Garbage covers large portions of the floor. A dump, but we have slept in worse.

Searching upstairs, I find a halfway decent mattress—it stinks less than the others—I will wait to lay her upon it until a barrier between it and her skin is found.

Jameson is breathing heavy when he enters the room carrying several bags.

“Did you get a blanket?” Leaning against the door frame he nods at my question and while still wheezing plods over to the bed to spread out the blanket.

I lay her down on it and step back while he covers her up. “Clothing?” He nods again and hands me one of the white plastic bags. Inside is a big shirt and short pants that I know will be too big on her.

“I had no idea what size to get her.” I catch myself right before I roll my eyes.

I really need to stop letting Iza influence me.

Pulling both blankets off her, one from the train and the new one, I hurriedly dress her. Her skin is paler than it was on the train.

“Oh god, those wounds. Here, move, let me get to her.” Nika shoves me over, I let her. She is doing what I want her to do, after all.

For the moment.

It takes Nika several hours to heal Iza. Jameson is sleeping in the corner, the cell device he bought still clasped in his hand. He fell asleep playing a game where he shoots bubbles. I found myself curious enough to watch it for a few minutes.

It looked like something a child would play. I must admit that it is something I might want to play as well.

Nika stands and stretches interrupting my reverie.

“I have done all I can do for now. There’s more that needs to be done but she won’t die. I owe her mother and once I rest I will pay the debt. I will sleep here tonight. I just need to run home to fetch a few things.” Nika informs me and then stands there shifting from foot to food.

I look at her but say nothing.

She sighs and leaves the room. A few seconds later I hear her vehicle start and drive away. With a quick glance at Jameson to make sure he is still asleep I quietly cross the room to Iza’s bed. Carefully, I crawl in beside of her and pull her to my chest. The tension I have been walking around with all day releases me at last.

No one needs to know.

Twenty-Nine

Phobe

When Jameson wakes I am already up and staring out of the broken panes of the window next to the bed. Everything around us is quiet. I have been careful to keep watch for unwanted visitors.

Nika kept her word and returned shortly after she left. I did not leave the bed when she came to check on Iza, I went invisible. Moving away from her was not an option for me. I was…comfortable.

Nika has no ill intent towards Iza at all. In fact, she would die for her. I can trust her to protect Iza. Jameson, though, is a coward—he will run before fighting, leaving her helpless and alone.

“I’m starving. The Google god says there is a grocery store close to here. Can I go get some real food, please?” Jameson asks climbing stiffly to his feet. “Plus, I want to get some camping supplies, since I’m going to be spending so much time sleeping on floors.”

“You should go with him—” Nika says looking at me expectantly.

“Phobe.” I provide the answer to her unasked question.

“—it will give me some time with her. There are things she and I need to discuss.” she finishes.

My shadows touch her and she shivers. Her intentions are innocent. She plans to return Iza’s memories. I do not like the idea of leaving Iza with her but I know she will be safe in Nika’s cares. As safe as Nika can make her.

After a moment of contemplating her, I nod.

“Oh, thank you. We have to walk, and I’m afraid I don’t know how to drive a car.” Jameson chatters as he walks from the room. I go to follow but pause in front of Nika.

“If anything happens to her in your care, there is nothing in existence that can stop me from finding you.” Nika may have good intentions but I have seen good intentions turn to shit too many times in my life.

When she nods, I walk out of the door.

Thirty

Iza

Firm but gentle hands pull me from the numbing darkness. The return of awareness brings the pain with it. A thick, suffocating blanket of pain. I want to go back down into the pitch black that keeps me unfeeling and oblivious.

It was my happy place.

I struggle against the force holding me back from dark comfort, but those same strong hands pull me closer to wakefulness. After a few minutes of fruitless struggle, I give up. There isn’t any point in hurting myself when it’s so futile.

‘Wake up, Iza.’ The familiar masculine voice whispers through my head, giving me surprising relief.

I know that voice. Phobe.

My pain has lessened as well. It’s almost as if he took some of it away. A hand drifts over my hair and then it’s gone, and I suddenly feel alone.

Wait, what?

My eyes fly open, and I look around me in the dark.

“Hello?” I call, then again, several more times. When no answer comes I realize that I’m not going to get one. Carefully I sit up, mindful of my body’s protests. And the uncomfortable fact that I got to pee.

Where the hell am I? Where is Phobe? Did it work? Is he free? Or is Arick making him do horrible things?

Panic has my heart beating so fast that I’m becoming light headed. With pure will, I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale through my mouth. Doing this several more times finally brings my panic under control and gives my fuzzy brain a few minutes to get the train back on the rails.

It isn’t completely dark. Not that the dark matters, I can see in it, after all. Light filters in through curtains that are tucked around a large square window. The curtains move gently as the wind blows, just enough for me to see that the glass panes are broken out.

Slowly I become aware of other things.

The mattress under me feels like a cloth covered board and smells like someone peed on it for two weeks straight, but the blanket on it smells new and faintly of Phobe and…Jameson?

There is another too, I’m just not familiar with…her smell.

The floor is littered with garbage and the walls are covered in various colored words, some rather dirty. An empty doorway is the only entrance to the room, and outside the doorway, I can make out a hallway.

The room holds a variety of smells, some I am familiar with, some I’m not. Some I’m glad I’m not familiar with. My eyes finally find what I’m looking for. A bright yellow bucket in the corner with a roll of toilet paper next to it.

After stumbling over and doing my business I walk back towards the bed. I have no idea where I am so—

“You haven’t changed much over the years.” The female voice surprises and I trip on a piece of cardboard on the floor. I grunt as pain shoots through me. Hunched over, I turn to the doorway to see the woman whose voice about made me face plant.

Way to be observant, Iza.

“Who are you?” I ask, watching the woman warily. As she comes closer her brows draw together in a frown. The more I look at her, the more familiar she seems. I’ve seen her somewhere before, met her maybe.

She’s beautiful, that’s for sure. Delicate looking. A Feyrie…but not. It’s odd how the brain has a way of remembering pretty people. Yet the memory I have of this woman isn’t coming forward like it should. It’s a disturbing feeling.

Somehow my brain spits out what she is. Dragon. Standing before me is a fucking dragon in human form. That’s something I never thought to see. I just wish I knew who she is.

“The night you were born, was the best night of my Lady’s life. You were such a beautiful baby, with those big dark eyes and ringlets of red hair.” The woman smiles a sort of sad smile and steps closer.

I just watch her, having one of those weird feelings that she’s saying something important.

My gut is something I do trust.

“You were there when I was born?” I ask carefully.

She closes the final bit of distance between us and stands face to face with me. God, her face looks so freaking familiar, and I can’t put my damn finger on it. The strength of that feeling of familiarity makes my skin itch.

I want to ask about Phobe, but I hold my tongue. What if this is some sort of weird trap? I size her up in a different way.

She is taller than me, a good three to four inches, very thin, belying her commanding presence, but she isn’t thin in a twiggy way; it’s different somehow, almost serpentine. Her hair is white with highlights of gold. Her eyes a bright spring green, swirling with power, eyes that appear to be looking into my soul.

Old eyes.

“Of course, I was, silly girl. I delivered you, after all.”

At those words, everything dulls, the pain, the darkness, everything but the woman standing in front of me. Remaining still as a statue when she gently touches my cheek, I fight the compulsion to turn away or lash out. The gesture itself is pure motherly. Frowning again her green eyes flare with anger.

“They’ve hurt you so much. Your mother would murder the lot of them.” Her words reach down inside of me and ease some of the old pains.

She soothes my hot forehead with a cool hand and the pain fades even more. My skin tingles as I feel something slide across it. Magiks, healing ones.

I won’t complain. These are the good kind of Magiks.

I consider her closely. This woman knows my real mother well enough to be there when I was born? It’s a distinct possibility. I was kidnapped by the woman named Mary who I had called Ma as a child. I shiver at the thought of the long-dead woman. In some ways, she was worse than Paul.

I celebrated their deaths with a six pack of root beer and a VHS movie marathon—covered in their blood. That is exactly how the authorities found me standing in the front yard. It wasn’t exactly a normal way to celebrate…murder.

Nothing in my life has ever been normal, though. I turn my attention back to the moment at hand. It isn’t good to get lost in your head when you can get stabbed in the face.

“You know my mother well then?” I ask, taking a step back to put distance between us.

“I did. She was a great woman, your mother. I can see her in you.” The woman purses her lips and nods her head. “I’m Nika, I was your mother’s lady in waiting.” A lady in what? The confusion must be showing on my face because Nika smiles. “I’ll explain it to you one day. Here, this was your mother.” I am still foggy but I catch the ‘was’. Which answers another question.

People only talk about someone in past tense when they don’t exist anymore.

Feeling like the world is caving in on my head, I look at the picture the woman, Nika, is holding in her hand. Hands shaking, I take it, holding it like it will bite me. Eyes wide, I blink and stare down at the face of the woman that supposedly birthed me.

This woman and I do indeed share some physical similarities; the same hair, the lift of our cheekbones, the same mouth. Even so, I by no means have a smidgen of the beauty she does—did.

“She always thought you had your father’s eyes, but her smile…in that I’d have to agree.”

Staring at the picture, I don’t answer right away. With a surety that surprises me, I know that Nika isn’t lying. The woman in the picture is my mother.

“I don’t…remember.” I murmur.

“She searched for you every day until her death. I imagine your father continues to search. He doesn’t strike me as the type to give up.” Doesn’t?

That isn’t past tense. Is my father still alive?

I look up and meet Nika’s green eyes.

“He will be along shortly, I bet. Don’t be too hard on him. Either of them. They love you more than anything.” Nika glides forward and puts her cool hand on my burning hot forehead.

I freeze at the touch. Held in place by Magiks.

“They hid you well, giving you that poison. Keeping you separated from the darkness. Hiding your memories behind that filthy blood Magiks.” Nika’s face softens even more.

Suddenly tears glisten in her eyes and begin to fall.

Memories rush into my mind. Memories of a face identical to the one I’m looking at right now. Unlined by sadness, smiling in happiness. And two other faces. Faces that blend into my own.

Several minutes pass as they flood my mind. The first years of my life returning to me in a rush. My heart clenches with every single one. I know they’re true, and I know this is what’s been hidden for so very long.

“Your real trials are about to begin. And you need all the help you can get. I have waited a long time to repay the debt I owe you and your mother. Since she was taken from us I have carried around something that was meant to go to you. I know that you have already seen much but there is very little time to prepare you.” Nika’s voice grows louder with each word.

The wind begins to swirl around us, creating a garbage tornado. The curtains are torn from the window, flapping loudly in the stillness of the room. In her eyes, I see a reflection of my own.

For a few seconds, I see a glimpse of my mother.

“Daughter.” The voice echoes around me. Bringing the sting of tears to my eyes. “Since I cannot be here to help you, to guide you, to love you, I will give you what is left of myself. You have considerable powers of your own but I gift you with mine. With it comes experience, memory. Awaken, Daughter. Awaken and claim your place of power.” The voice grows as the power swells in the room, becoming a writhing black shadow around Nika.

It raises its head, and for a moment, a great black dragon looks down with pure love showing in its vivid green eyes before diving into me.

My breath leaves me in a rush, and I’m frozen with my arms thrown out from me.

“Trust very few Daughter, a creature made of darkness and death is your champion and you are the monster’s heart. Welcome the nightmares of old, for they will give their life for you. Embrace your father, my heart, he needs you as you need him. Forgive me.”

The words are whispers from all around me. Rushed.

As I’m lifted off the ground in a vortex of power, the room around me begins to feel the brunt of the Magiks. The walls crack, the bed flies against the wall. All while my mother’s memories mesh with my own. New and old. Nika falls back with a sad smile on her face, disappearing in an explosion of green smoke.

I tip my head back and roar.

Thirty-One

Phobe

Jameson expressed his doubt of her survival so often that I finally growled at him to shut him up. She survived, I did not leave it to chance. Now, she is in a near comatose state in an abandoned house not too far from the store Jameson is in.

Getting food, he says.

I know he is full of shit. Jameson simply goes there to stare at the females. They gather here in ridiculous numbers, like a gaggle of geese, his dick is leading him to trouble again.

Nika asked for some time with Iza, and I came along to make sure he does not do something idiotic and gets caught, unaware. He will end up leading them directly to where Iza lies helpless.

That I cannot have.

For the time being, she is safe. Iza will be able to heal a little before we move on or at least long enough for her to get some of her strength back and for me to do what I need to do.

I feel the presence of my freed Magiks shifting under my skin. Restless. All because Iza freed them because she made the ultimate sacrifice. Unease causes it to twitch again. It feels strange to not have her near. I held her in my arms so often lately they feel empty without her.

The bond between us pulls taut, blazing to life in a brilliant wash of heat. The roar echoes through my mind, through the air around me. Iza!

Pain, I feel her pain.

My power bursts out of me, and I become something else entirely. A form I have not worn for centuries. A form that will allow me to move faster than normal. Allows me to fly. I had no idea I could change into this form still. It will serve its purpose once again. Alarms on cars and buildings blare as I rip past, so fast that no one will know what is passing them.

Not that I give a shit, regardless.

I drop through the roof of the house, with a crash of shingles and rotten wood, into the hallway outside of the room I left her in. I see her laying halfway on the floor and bed, pale, unconscious, but still alive. Her heartbeat is strong and steady.

Nika lays a few feet away from her, unconscious as well. I ignore her for now and go to Iza. Climbing on the bed, I pull her with me. Paranoid, I double check for the pulse of life within her. It’s there stronger than ever. The tightness inside of me eases.

I search my borrowed memories for the emotion that coursed through me minutes before. Anxiety is the resounding answer. Being anxious is not something I am comfortable with. I want to hate it. I want to hate her.

She makes me feel. She makes me care. She makes me want. This woman makes me too fucking soft.

‘Phobe’

My name, her name for me whispers through my mind. Giving in to the impulse I bury my face in her hair and wait. Forgetting, for now, that I do not want to want this.

Thirty-Two

Phobe

The rustle of Nika’s clothing announces her return to consciousness. “She needs to purge all of the metal.” At Nika’s words, I lay Iza on the bed and tuck a blanket around her, moving away.

Nika is a stranger no matter her intentions towards Iza.

“How did it get in her?” Jameson asks, coming into the room—or what is left of it.

“If I had to guess, they fed it to her. We need to take her to my home. It’s safer there, I have wards and she will be able to recover in peace.” Nika states while packing up our meager supplies.

This time, there is no reason to deny going to her home. Nika proved she will not harm Iza.

Hunger tightens my senses. I need to feed. My eyes narrow on Nika, the strongest of the two potential meals in the room. I can eat her. But Iza will not be pleased. Why do I care? I am getting low on energy and there is food right there in front of me. I look down at Iza’s still face. The hunger fades.

Fine. I shall eat elsewhere.

“Jameson find us transportation.” I look closely at him. Weighing his Magiks.

Will it upset her if I eat Jameson? Not that he can do more than take the edge off my hunger. Jameson doesn’t have much substance. While Nika can stave off the hunger for a few days.

Looking at Iza again I determine I will, definitely, eat elsewhere. I expect them to realize that in a situation where I need energy, they are both on the menu. Whether it displeases Iza or not.

“Right, I found something called Uber. They should be here in 15 minutes or we get five dollars off our fare. Amazing, the things they have here. I see why the Schoth are so primed to steal their technology.” Jameson muses while staring at the cell device in his hand.

15 minutes. I can keep from consuming them for 15 minutes.

Thirty-Three

Phobe

“Any change?” Jameson asks from the doorway. I wipe Iza’s forehead with the soaked cloth I hold, then toss it to the floor with the others. Iza has been steadily sweating the black sludge out since we got into the ‘Uber’.

That was an awful experience, and I would rather not repeat it. The man drove at unsafe speeds while pushing buttons on his phone. Which means he did not have his eyes on the road. I almost killed the driver because at one point, when I slid all the way across the back seat, I thought letting Jameson drive might be safer.

Thinking that made me want to kill the driver even more.

“It will be over soon. It’s almost completely out of her system.” Nika speaks from beside Jameson who startles like a girl and releases the pan of water in his hands, spilling it all over himself. Nika rolls her eyes at him and comes further into the room.

"It’s metal made with the blood used in the spell to bind her. It was probably put in her food for years. It’s much better that it comes out of her,” she continued.

I remain silent. Part of me wants to wring her neck for hurting Iza. The fact that she brought us here, helped, keeps her breathing. For now.

Also, I cannot say I am unhappy that Nika insisted we come here. It is much more comfortable than our previous residence.

Then again, anything is more comfortable than prison.

“What are you going to do if they find us here? Jameson asks. “I’m a lover, not a fighter, and Nika is too small to do anything. All they have to do with you is hold the shiny rock out and—Ow!”

Nika cuffs him in the back of the head, hard.

“How can someone so smart be so stupid?” She asks in exasperation.

My attention is all on Iza—something is changing in her. I can smell it, feel it coming from her skin. In reaction, my own skin feels as if there are a thousand invisible fingers touching me.

“The Stone was destroyed, you idiot,” Nika says. “Phobe is perfectly capable of defending her. What did they teach you in that stupid Clan of theirs? Obviously not anything useful.” Nika grumbles, coming close to Iza to check her temperature. I growl when she touches Iza. Her face pales. “He has no idea what you are?” she whispers, just loud enough for me to hear.

None of them, save one, knows. And Iza does not know everything. No one does, not even those who think they do. Ignorant mortals.

“I’m just saying, it’s something we need to worry about,” Jameson continues, moving out of range of Nika.

“God Jameson, shut up.” Iza’s voice jerks me out of my thoughts. She snuggles deeper against my leg on the bed and sighs. I freeze. She is fully awake. Snuggling me. Awake.

Should I move away from her? Is she seeking comfort? Do I give it to her? I pat her head awkwardly. How does one deal with this emotional garbage without going completely insane?

“Well, that’s interesting,” Nika says with a chuckle. Jameson huffs on about being unappreciated.

“Come on then, boy. We need to find a way to get her to the Sidhe.” With a firm grip, Nika grabs Jameson by the arm and drags him from the room.

“Don’t you dare move,” Iza whispers to me, locking me in place. This is a comfort to her? I suppose I can do this. All it requires is for me to stay in the same position.

What can it harm? She has already made me fucking soft.

Thirty-Four

Iza

Shell-shocked is a good term to describe how I’m feeling. To wake up with the formerly blank parts my life restored…fuck. It feels like I’m internally suffocating in emotions. Emotions I don’t know how to untangle myself from.

Plus, my mother’s memories. Some of these I can do without. Like my Dad naked. Ew.

Memories of my birth are a movie in my mind. Her joy at seeing me for the first time, all drippy and gucky, screaming at the top of my lungs. The strength of the emotion in that moment, the unadulterated love, are—were only slightly rivaled by her love for my father.

My mother loved me more than anything in existence.

Another memory of a small chubby child with red curls toddling through a sunlit room, my mother’s arms reaching out for that child. Feeling pride in her. My memory of that moment surfaces, obviously I was that child, I remember looking up into her face. Green eyes bright with happiness and her hair blowing around her, loose. My Mom saw me as her world. What she didn’t know was that I had just eaten a bug and was feeling awfully proud of myself too.

Strong arms embracing me, the smell of mint and earth wrapping around me.

Love my little, Dove.

I jerk to a sitting position. “My dad!”

Phobe looks at me with a raised eyebrow. He can pretend all day long that he doesn’t know what I’m talking about. He’s been eavesdropping on my internal dialogue this entire time.

“I expect he will show himself soon enough.” He answers me in that silky-smooth voice that has that makes me think about certain moments that involve lips and such. I give him a look of disgust and flop back onto the bed.

At that second, I realize something that I should’ve realized the minute I woke up. Phobe is sitting in the bed. Minutes ago, I was snuggled up to his leg clinging to it like it was my favorite teddy bear.

He patted my head and let me snuggle the teddy bear leg.

What the hell?

Phobe fished my soul out of the Well of Souls.

After a slight pause, he pats me again. Super awkwardly. Poor guy has no idea what to do.

“I remember everything,” I whisper. It’s all that needs to be said. He’ll be able to look inside and see these fresh memories floating haphazardly around in my fuzzled brain.

Feeling safe, feeling comforted, I lay there and let them sort themselves out. It needs to be done, and right now I’m in a place I can do that.

I know what my Magiks are. I know who and what I am. Holy meatballs.

I am the daughter of Nisha, Black Dragon Queen of the Horde and Sergean, Farrier of the Dead and one of the Eldest, the 2nd born of the One God.

My mom was a queen.

A mom who I will never hug again. Who will never wipe away my tears. A mother I cannot see.

I have no idea how to process this.

My Dad, at least I have him, right? When his ‘job’ allows it. That was a bone of contention between my parents when I was a child. I’m not entirely sure what to do with that knowledge. It’s not as easy as ‘poof all better’, hugs and picnics and shit.

Not that I really know him. All my memories are those of a child.

I’m not the best at…feelings. If anything, I’m overly pragmatic. In my life, I learned the hard way that I don’t think the way most people do. Some things that break others don’t phase me. Horror is a norm in my world.

I don’t have hang-ups about my looks, or whether someone likes me. I don’t even have hang-ups about most of the things that have been done to me. Those things belong to humans, I’m not human. My moral compass was broken at birth. I am a child of monsters.

I do have issues working out the heart-feely kind of feelings. And right now, they are pushing at me hard.

Unrelenting fuckers.

Against my cheek, my hair moves, distracting me, and I find myself smiling at the realization. My Medusa Strands. A gift from my father. The black, thick hairs on my head are in fact alive. With lots of little teeth and venom in their bite. Their bite can cause instant death if they so choose.

Sobering, I tilt my head to look up at Phobe.

“With the memories, how should I be? I don’t know how to deal with this kind of shit.”

His eyebrow shoots up again.

“Oh, Right. You don’t either. Well then, aren’t we screwed?”

“Things will work out,” Phobe reassures me.

“Is that optimism? Because that sounds like optimism and neither one of us are practitioners of it.”

The corner of his mouth lifts in what I dubbed his amused smile. Well, I have that going for me at least.

“It’s fact, Iza. Things will work out.”

I sigh and close my eyes, thinking about it all. Only to jerk back up to a sitting position. The Fiends! How had I forgotten about them? They were my childhood companions.

Mom told me they showed up the hour of my birth and remained with me from that point on. Fiends are in-between creatures of shadows and the NetherRealm, they are incorporeal only able to hold physical form for short periods of time. But they feed on the flesh of others, dead or alive.

I guess, they’re what humans call demons? But I didn’t see them as horrible and scary. I loved them deeply as a child. Receiving nothing but devotion and kindness from them.

Where are they?

Something tickles my awareness. Not the awareness of the room around me, the Other awareness. The awareness that is waking up inside of my brain more every second.

“They will probably pop in soon. I can feel them coming,” I say, trying to calm the excitement in my voice.

My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly. Unable to help myself I giggle.

“I will get you food from this place that Jameson calls a Diner.”

My stomach growls again in agreement.

“While you bathe.” My smile turns into a frown.

“Are you saying I stink?” I barely stop myself from doing the sniff test.

Grabbing my hand, he pulls me to my feet. I look around realizing that the house looks different. Duh, Iza, this isn’t the same house.

“Where in the hell are we?” Really on my game today. How long have I been in the bed and am just now noticing I was in a real bed that doesn’t smell like pee?

‘Nika’s home.’ Oh. Well.

“There is a bathing room through that door. Everything you need is in there,” he answers switching to out loud.

“Are you serious? Hot water?”

He nods looking at me like I grew a second head. Squealing in delight I run into the bathroom like the mature adult I am.

After uselessly swiping at the wall a few times for the light switch, I give up and chuck off the stiff dirty shirt and short things I have on. Lights are overrated when I can see in the dark anyhow. I’m too excited about the freaking water to fool with it.

Twisting and turning the fancy faucets, twenty different directions finally results in hot water pouring out. Hurriedly, I slip inside to stand directly in the spray of the steamy, gloriously hot water. Ignoring the burn of it, I sigh in happiness, content to have it melt my skin right off. It feels too good to move. The water beats against my skin in a song of pure bliss.

It’s been so fucking long since I felt hot water.

Relaxing, however, comes at a price.

Leaning my head against the wall to let the hot water run down my back I sigh this time in defeat. Everything hits me like a massive brick. My real mother is dead. My father still plays escort for a god I’m not sure I have any faith in anymore. I was kidnapped and held hostage, tortured for years…had my childhood—my life—taken away all because of some stupid prophecy that I really don’t believe, at all.

A prophecy spoke before my ancient ass parents were born.

Oh, yeah. Then prison. Can’t forget that.

Jaw clenching, I fight the burning, unshed tears in my eyes. Fight them for all that I’m worth until I lose, and they fall. As they fall and take with them all the useless anger about things that have already happened and can’t be changed. For the things, I forgot. For the things, I missed. For the things that I’ll never have because of it.

How can I believe in a god that supported that fucking prophecy, the one I was being groomed to live? My parents believed in it and it cost us all everything.

Where does this leave me?

‘Alive.’ The quiet unassuming word spoken in my mind by the man who wraps himself around me in the darkness of a shower is enough. It’s enough to allow me to grieve for my mother. Allows me to grieve for the life I could’ve had. Allows me to conquer the turbulence inside of me and just get all the shit out.

When the tide eases, and I feel better than I have in a very long time, the cool air from the open shower door kisses the skin where a warm wet body pressed against me moments before. For an instant, I ache for that heat to return.

Quickly, my brain kicks in and I grab the bottle of shampoo and began the arduous process of washing temperamental hair that hasn’t seen soap in a very long time.

Thirty-Five

Phobe

By the time I move out of the doorway where I stood staring at her, for several minutes after I got out of the shower, I’ve left a puddle of now cold water on the floor from my dripping clothing. I still don’t understand what made me go to her and hold her. Tears shouldn’t have called me. There is discomfort in seeing them but that was not why I went to her.

No, it was the pain I could only feel the echo of. The grief I could feel coming off her in waves, saturating the bond with a such a rush of feelings that I wanted them to stop.

Some of it…some was simply because I wanted to.

That is what kept me standing there, holding her. And when the tide that drew me to her eased enough, I ran away like a coward. But the feelings she incites in me, remain.

A while ago, I discovered that they do not go away, either. I accept that. Knowing this does not mean I can deal with them all at once, or even rationally. But I will deal with them as I can. For her, I will do more for than any other.

First, I must feed her.

Almost smiling, so tempted by it I bite my lip to stop it, I yank the wet shirt over my head and turn towards the door when I feel a presence moving towards me. Nika.

She makes a sound of surprise and turns her back to me when I tug the wet jeans off. Modesty is a strange thing that I will never understand. Why is it shameful to be naked? They are born that way.

“So sorry, Phobe. I just wanted to come and check on our girl.”

My girl, I correct in my head. Despite the puzzlement of the emotions entangled with her, Iza is mine. These mortals will realize it soon enough. I saved her, that made her mine.

Just like she saved me.

“I figured there might be something I could do,” Nika says. “I went ahead and made a map of the way there like you asked. I don’t understand why she can’t just ride with us—"

“Because I’m not going there.” Iza walks into the room, nude. At least she does not act weird about nudity. Although she does look at me a little longer than usual. Which oddly pleases me. Appreciation brightens her gaze making her swirling eyes flash black for a moment.

Iza is coming into herself. I thoroughly check her from head to toe. Some of it because I want to check her wounds some of it because I am a male who is apparently letting his dick lead him. I jerk my gaze off her.

“What do you mean you’re not going there? It’s fate, my dear. No matter how much we want to fight it, fate always gets her way.” Nika turns to face us and immediately turns back around.

Iza gives her a strange look. This time I do not need to read her mind to know her thoughts. She is as puzzled by the prudishness of it as I am. Nika is hundreds of years old.

Hastily, I dress in dry dark blue jeans and a plain black tee shirt, out of the corner of my eyes, watch Iza wander around the room looking at the clothing choices I had Nika provide for her. A pair of blue jeans, identical to mine and a plain black tee shirt. The smile on her face says she is happy with them. Why I care about something so trivial I am not sure. But it is, what it is.

“Please tell me that you two have clothes on,” Nika says after a few moments of silence.

The first Fiend, a black mass of shadows and glowing red eyes, possessing a slightly feminine form, pops into existence right in front of Nika’s face. With a small scream, she falls backward and almost hits the floor. “What in the hell?” Nika exclaims, putting distance between it and herself. “They still like to scare people like that?!”

I look at Iza who is staring at the Fiend circling her with joy.

“It is their job,” I answer Nika. “Leave the things I asked for and go. Lecturing her about fate and destiny isn’t going to accomplish anything.” It’s probably the most I’ve said to her at once, and the look of shock on her face reinforces that thought.

Mortals.

She looks at Iza who is now surrounded by a multitude of Fiends and nods. It is going to be interesting to watch how these people adapt to Iza. Because that is how it will happen. Not the other way around.

I am slowly learning that her presence can change the world, no matter how great or small. She changed mine. Drastically. Continues to daily.

Knowing it is going to be a little while, I go and get her a cheeseburger from the diner, something I know she will love. I have learned to glamour myself to look like a human, otherwise, people are too afraid to speak with me. While that is fine other times when I am trying to purchase food from them it is not. When I return I will start the arduous task of telling her about this realm.

She needs to know. Now. Time is growing short.

Thirty-Six

Iza

Since I woke up in this quaint little cottage of Nika’s, Phobe has been at me like a rash with facts and such about the Earth Realm.

‘Are you paying attention?’ This is the fifth time he’s asked me.

“Uh, yeah. It’s a commercial break.’ He doesn’t need to know I’m not paying attention to the TV, I’m genuinely listening to Mr. Encyclopedia give me all the ins and outs of the Earth realm.

‘What are three of the most important rules?’

‘Don’t kill anyone, in sight. Don’t steal food, pay. Don’t let anyone see what I really am unless the first rule is happening.’

‘Iza.’ He chastises.

‘What? I’m allowed to put my own spin on it so I can remember it.’

’What else?’

‘Read warning signs and labels so I don’t kill myself with something stupid.’ I roll my eyes as I repeat it. I can tie my own shoes and everything, the ass.

‘Stay off planes. You will just freak out and end up dying in a fiery crash.’

‘But it would be a blazing, glorious fiery crash, right?’

‘Are you a child?’ He sounds so irritated with me. It’s kinda funny.

‘Do you really need to ask that question, Phobe?’ So, I poke at him.

‘Fair enough.’ Inside of me, I touch the new bond with him. It was there when I woke up. A chord attaching us metaphysically together. Just to be a brat I pluck it like a guitar string. His reaction surprises me. Before I can blink he’s standing in front of me. Staring down at me all glowering like.

‘What?’ I ask him.

‘Exercise your Magiks. You cannot afford to be weak.’

‘Phobe, what’s up with you? I mean you’re an intense guy and all but you seem…more so than normal.’

‘Do you ever take anything seriously?’ I just looked at him. He knows this answer. ‘You remember about using credit cards and their paper currency, correct?’

I nod.

‘There are Others strung all over this world. Not many compared to the humans but more than you are accustomed to seeing. Let your Magiks guide you with them.’

‘How about I just avoid them? That sounds like the easiest option.’ Kneeling he grabs my chin forcing me to hold his gaze. Intense is an understatement.

‘I will not tell you that you have to obey fate and all of that bullshit, Iza. I will tell you that Magiks can and will make you do things you do not wish to do. At least at first.’ I try to turn my head away. Lectures aren’t something I feel like listening to right now. ‘Iza, you need to be strong enough to have some control over it. I know you, you are going to fight it until the bitter end. Fight it until something or someone makes you change your mind. I want you to have the strength to do this.’

Frowning I shake my head, at least as much as I can with my chin being held with steel fingers.

‘Why do you want me to be able to fight it?’ He is the only one not saying fate blah, blah, blah.

‘If you don’t fight it you won’t fully commit to it when the time comes.’

Okay, so he knows me well. Although I don’t like him thinking I’m already lined up to give in.

Right?

‘Now, grocery stores are not the same as the diner. You cannot just eat things off the shelf.’

Just that fast we’re onto something else.

‘Yes, I get it. Phobe I did listen, I’m not going to forget.’ Searching my face, he stares at me until he seems satisfied then he lets go of my chin and stands.

‘Your father asked me to tell you to prepare you for him to show up. That is something that will happen.’

Yeah, I’m aware. And I’m looking forward to it and absolutely terrified at the same time.

‘Yeah, I’ll deal with that when it happens.’ Go me, the procrastinator.

‘Iza—’

‘Yes, yes, I know, don’t eat people’s pets.’

‘That is true. But also, do not forget how strong you. Ever.’ I look over to where he is standing, was standing. He’s gone.

Well, that is rather endearing of him. And suspicious.

‘You realize you cannot avoid the Sidhe forever, I know it calls to you, Iza.’ That’s why he ran away, saying some shit like that.

Yeah, so it calls to me. Has been since I opened my eyes. That fated Sidhe where the prophecy tells me I will have a seat of power.

Fate’s a load of bullshit.

**

An hour later, right in the middle of a show about how maxi pads are made, another greasy brown bag drops onto my lap. Oh, oh, I know what’s in there this time. Cheeseburgers. Digging in the bag, I yank one out remembering to unwrap it before biting into it this time. So good. Just so good.

I smile up at Phobe, mouth full of food. His lips slightly lift, yeah, an almost smile. When his warm body settles down close to mine on the couch I make myself act like nothing is amiss. If I react, he’ll move. So, I stay relaxed and keep eating.

Happily, I keep chewing—mostly. Some of it doesn’t make it that far in the process. My stomach rumbles wanting more. The greasy bag delivers.

Now to see what a maxi pad is.

Thirty-Seven

Iza

I love this realm’s food. Seriously. Phobe brought me 2 bags full of greasy goodness yesterday with those long, fried potato things. I’m pretty sure my mouth had an orgasm.

After eating more food than I can remember having, well, since I was a kid I watched TV all night. The TV is something I am familiar with. The Schoth brought a lot of these human gadgets to our world.

The originals, here, are much better.

The couch is where I decided to hide from life. I haven’t left it—other than to use the bathroom and shower, since yesterday. With a groan, I lean my head on the back on the couch. This is real, right? I’m not going to wake up still in that shit hole being cut to pieces with Light Magiks, right? I pinch myself just to be sure.

“Ow.” Okay, so that hurt.

‘That was stupid.’ Oh well, if this is a delusion it’s good to know that Phobe is still a dick.

“Where are you?” But really, I know. I can feel him inside of me, not in a fun way.

I woke up this morning and could no longer deny that my entire world is shifted on its axis. Parents, memories, Phobe saving me, cheeseburgers.

So much to see and do.

Jameson also mentioned the Google God and I am curious what all it’ll tell me. I have lots of questions. Mostly where to get more cheeseburgers.

I smell Nika coming before she enters the room. Hell.

“Have you put any thought into going with us to the Sidhe?” Nika likes to think I’m still going to do the whole fated thing. She’s the delusional one.

“You and Jameson are going.” This was the third time we’ve had this discussion. I’m not going. Fate can suck my butthole.

“Iza, fate—” Sitting up I glare at her.

“No. You two can go. Period.” I’m done arguing about it. “Before you open your mouth to argue, again, think really hard. I’m not a child, Nika. No one tells me what to do anymore.”

Her lips purse as she regards me.

Turning the TV up louder I focus on it instead of her. I’ll end up getting angry and saying something rude.

“Please, Iza, at least, write me a list of things you’ll need and I’ll get them. Jameson and I will go ahead of you and have things ready.”

That I will take her up on, the list part. Taking the small notebook and pen she hands me I write down the things I think I’ll need, keeping it simple.

I can only fit so much in a backpack.

Handing her back the notebook I turn back to the TV but my mind isn’t on it. Why am I not making plans of Phobe being with me? Nothing I listed will serve him.

My gut says he isn’t staying.

That’s exactly what it is. Honestly, I didn’t expect to find him here when I woke up. I figured he would run off to whatever scary place he came out of. Or go on a killing spree in Schoth-ville.

Actually, I didn’t expect to wake up at all. Surprise!

Yesterday, in my head, of course, he patiently explained to me what he knew of this world to me. Preparing me, that’s what he was really doing, to survive in this world.

Really though, is it fair of me to expect him to stay? Phobe was at the whim of others for so long. Doesn’t he deserve his complete freedom?

No, it’s not fair for me to have any kind of expectation. But isn’t it okay for me to hope? No. No, it’s not. Hope means hurt. Why would a creature like him stay and hang around my dumb ass? Wandering around the world doing absolutely nothing worthwhile. Someone like him needs a task. A reason for existence, right?

Some grand bullshit thing.

I have no real clue because he hasn’t spoken to me about any of his intentions. Just made me memorize some the things I should pay attention to in this realm.

Maybe he just needs to run around and hump or eat everything in sight? My stomach clenches at the thought of him humping anything. Jealousy is stupid Iza. Stop it.

I have no right to assume anything about him. Good or bad. We shared horrible experiences. Helped each other survive. That doesn’t make us anything other than two people who know each other.

I’m silly to think otherwise. Standing, I start picking up my mess. Time to get off the couch.

Thirty-Eight

Phobe

This part of things is turning out to be harder than I imagined it to be. None of this was expected. I always believed that if I were free again, I would kill all the Light Fey. All of them. I would burn their world to the ground and then I would move onto the next. I would become what I am destined to be.

This was before Iza changed it all.

She’s the reason I must do something I am, genuinely, torn about. Because it is the only way to ensure I can do what needs to be done for her. What I will do for her.

A continuation of what started so very long ago.

The moment I became aware, existed, my darkness touched everything and was everywhere. All creatures that crawl. Every shadow, every nook, and hole. All Magiks in all the realms. Darkness, taking, giving. Feeling nothing but primal instincts. No desires, no pain. Just doing what I was designed to do.

Then one day a creature called to me. Called to me and tried to trap me. I devoured him for his arrogance and when his emotions touched mine, I was overwhelmed by his anger and his greed for power. They took me over, these emotions I never felt before.

I conquered and pillaged and destroyed. I consumed. As I consumed I learned. As I learned I changed. Soon enough, in my borrowed wisdom, I thought to bring the world to peace. To make them stop destroying themselves.

Because I believed it, it must be right. Others thought differently.

They came together—enemies became allies.

Calling on ancient Magiks, they bound me to the Stone and, for irony’s sake, the base form of that first creature I consumed. Because I went too far, so they say. They ended up almost destroying each other anyway. With me as their tool. Irony, indeed.

Unknowingly, they also made me part of something else.

I stare at the foggy bathroom mirror a moment longer and then walk out of the room. Stopping next to the bed to look down at Iza, I expect to find her in the bed after she took a 45-minute long shower. Instead, she is lying on the floor curled up into a ball, with all four of the pillows from the bed around her. Much like I’ve gotten in the habit of holding her. A habit I want to give into right now.

Instead, I am standing here watching her sleep, her mouth slightly open, a little drool coming out the corner of it.

I smile despite myself.

Squatting down I move her hair off her face and tuck it behind her ear. Sleepily it rubs me back carefully keeping their little sharp teeth to themselves. This next part isn’t going to be easy. Just necessary. Leaning forward on one knee I kiss her open mouth. Tasting her.

I will return. Standing before I allow temptation to rule me I strengthen my resolve and walk out of the room without a backward glance.

One look will be my downfall.

Thirty-Nine

Iza

As soon as my eyes open, I know he’s gone. The lack of his electrifying presence in our bond leaves a hollowness inside of me. Phobe hasn’t severed it but he is so far away I can barely feel him. It aches, so much more than I expected, but really, I understand.

Right?

I’ll keep telling myself this until I believe it.

Pushing those feelings deep down inside, concerning the entire thing I stumble into the bathroom to take another shower. I can’t stop taking them. After being dirty for so long I am obsessed with showering.

Except for this time, the aim is to take a much quicker one than the night before. Fooling with my stubborn hair takes longer than anything. It’s a writhing mass of little sharp teeth and affection. Quite adorable really.

Makes me smile a little.

Eventually, it cooperates and I start brushing my teeth while in the shower. Wow, does it feel good to brush my teeth. Grabbing a big fluffy towel, and climbing out of the steamy cubicle I walk around the bathroom, dripping wet and naked, I relish in this tooth brushing moment. I’m amazed I have any teeth left but the whole not being human thing worked out.

While toweling my hair I look up into the mirror and freeze. The toothbrush falls out of my gaping mouth into the sink.

I must know I can never be bound again.

I will return, Iza.

P

So, he didn’t leave just for the hell of it after all. He left to go make sure they can’t turn him into a slave again. But more importantly, he’s coming back.

He’s coming back.

I exhale in relief and wipe the toothpaste from my mouth. Reading the words again, annoyance flashes through me because I’m relieved. Damnit.

Knowing him, there’s a good reason he left the message this way. I swipe the towel across it. It comes right back. A wisp of my Magiks flicks out and the mirror shatters.

Now I owe Nika a mirror.

Drying off, I walk into the bedroom heading straight for my clothes. I am thankful for everything Nika has done but I’ll not be heading for the ‘fated’ place. She is already there, with Jameson. They can have fun, hang out together. Throw slumber parties, for all I care.

I’m not going there. But I am going from here. Something inside of me is making me restless. Edgy to move. So move I shall.

I survey everything that’s laid out on the bed. Some of the items I requested, some were added by someone else.

At my request, Nika bought me some comfortable clothes before she left, jeans, plain tee shirts, hoodies. Thick black socks and a pair of boots. I dress in one set of clothes and shove the rest in the black backpack next to them. A map that has Phobe’s elegant scrawl on it. The small notebook and pen also go in the bag.

The wad of money and cell phone go in my pocket, along with a bank card to get more money if I need it. The pin number I’ve already memorized. My mother was wealthy and what was hers is now mine.

To be fair, I’d rather be dirt poor and have my mother alive.

“Hello, Dove.” I don’t jump at the voice, but I just barely catch it.

“Hello, Dad,” I say without turning. My hands shake with nervousness and I don’t want him to see. I’m relatively honest about myself and how I feel about things.

I’m afraid. Afraid that when I turn around he will see the woman who lived in filth for decades and be ashamed of me. Ashamed of what I did to survive. Ashamed of who I became. Ashamed to have me as his daughter.

The memories I have of him are those of a small child. Him smiling down at me arms outstretched to pick me up. Holding me close to watch the firebugs. Taking me to see what he did for “work”. Kissing my Boo-boos. The love he shared with my mother.

“I’m proud of you. Proud of you for surviving, proud of you for coming out of all of that—” I can hear his teeth grinding together as he speaks. “—I am so sorry Dove, this is all my fault.”

I swing around to him hearing the pain in his voice that matches the pain in my heart.

Looking him in the face for the first time in so long takes my breath away. No one can ever say he isn’t my father. We even frown the same. Which strangely, makes me smile.

“Mom thought the same thing. You can’t feel responsible for what some asshole did. I know you didn’t stop looking.”

And he didn’t. I know that. Just like I don’t blame either of them. Because I know why I was taken.

I was taken by some person I can’t remember and stuck with Paul and Pretend Ma, Mary. Stuck there because of some stupid prophecy that has nothing to do with me. Absolutely impossible that it’s about me. Right?

My parents literally ripped places apart looking for me. My mother, so desperate sometimes…dragons can only have one child, ever, I’m that child. Dragon’s maternal instincts are phenomenal. And my father, my poor father.

He lost us both.

Slowly, I step forward. There is so much pain in his dark eyes. Eyes just like mine. Awkwardly, I take the final step clearing the distance between us and wrap my arms around his waist.

For two breaths he stands there, and afraid I messed up I go to pull away. He catches me and crushes me to him. I bury my face in his chest and draw in the scent of my childhood. All the love I felt for him as a child fills some of those empty places in my heart.

All the love I feel for him now.

‘I love you too, dove.’

I laugh unable to help it.

“Goddamn mind readers.”

Forty

Iza

A few hours after my Dad left I find myself standing in the middle of a sidewalk, downtown, with no idea where to go. The good thing is, it’s late, so there aren’t many people about. Not that I can call them ‘people’. This town is full of Dragons.

Dragons I want to avoid.

Pulling out the cell phone, I open The Google God. Phobe said to be careful using Ubie as a taxi service. Ubor? Oh, auto-fill is my friend, Uber. An account is required? What the hell is this? Reading quickly, I thumb through the instructions. With a few finger taps, I’ve set up an account, paid, and an Uber on its way to get me.

I want to see if this Uber is as dangerous as Phobe said.

The car arrives faster than I expect it to. Standing outside the open door, I consider the interior and my nose wrinkles. The car stinks. Seriously stinks. Hesitantly, I get into the backseat and try to avoid touching things more than necessary.

“Where to? You didn’t specify.” The driver, a thin, dark-haired man who smells faintly of cigar smoke, asks while writing something on a clipboard.

“The next town, West.” I’m fully aware that the place I don’t want to go is west, I’m totally not going there, I’m just heading in that direction because the other way is the ocean.

I don’t feel like crossing the ocean.

“Are you from here?”

I look up when he speaks but say nothing. Our conversation will just be awkward, and I’m not really in the mood. Turning up the radio he fills the silence.

That I’m okay with. As a child, I loved music. I still do. But this crap coming out of his speakers isn’t appealing. I say nothing to him about it though, just count the minutes until he stops outside of the next town.

The lights glow in the dark about a half mile ahead of us. A beacon to those that want to feel safe. Just another place to pass through for someone like me.

“That will be 50 bucks even.” Frowning I pull up the application on my phone. It says very clearly that my card will be billed for the trip. Their terms of service states they do not accept cash. Opening my mouth to argue I change my mind and close it with a snap.

Alright. I can play this game. I hand him a five-dollar bill. This ride was disappointing anyhow.

Getting out of the small car, and the stink of it, I pause beside of the back-passenger tire. Bending slightly at the knees I let the claw on my first finger grow longer and slide it against the outer edge of the tire. With a loud hiss of air, the tire starts to deflate.

There’s his tip.

Walking away with a smile on my face I ignore his angry shouts and threats to call the police. He won’t. The license on his dashboard is expired.

Forty-One

Iza

Above me, the stars are a painting of brilliant colors on a canvas of night, lit up pinpricks of reds and whites that are mere peeks into the heavens. Reaching out to me, to my soul, in a way very few things do.

The moon shines brightly above me, like a beacon calling me to come to it. Juras had two moons but this single one outshines them both.

The night sky is a dream made real and I am humbled by the privilege of seeing it.

For once I let the tears fall unhindered. Just this one time. Lying there in the park on the thick grass, I smile and dream, basking in the fact that I’m not imagining this. This is real and…my imagination completely failed at coming close to doing it justice. So, I need to make sure I memorize it better this time.

As the night deepens and morning dew settles, I remain on the ground, staring at the most beautiful thing I have seen in my life.

But as with all good things, it comes to an end.

Sleep is starting to remind me that I need it. Time to catch a few hours, if I can. Climbing to my feet, I look for a place up off the ground and spy a bench. That will work nicely.

Using my backpack as a pillow, I curl up on the bench, stealing sneak peeks at the fading stars. As my heavy eyes close, a shooting star streaks through the single mooned, sky.

Forty-Two

Iza

Morning finds me camped out on a bench in the towns small park, people watching. Joggers are already swarming the place. A surprising amount of them, for such a small town. Like a creep, I sit there and stare at them as they run by, stomach rumbling.

Right across from me is a pond. Doesn’t look like a natural one but I can smell the fish in it. Breakfast is calling. Slinging my backpack over my shoulder I dodge another headphone-wearing jogger and scope out the pond.

It’s very small, not big enough to swim in. Or bathe in. But the amount of fish in it, though, is ridiculous. They are a mix of strange colors, mostly oranges, and whites. Still, they smell like normal fish.

The way they follow me, as I walk side to side, makes me almost feel guilty for wanting to eat one. Almost. With a quick grab, I get a handful of slimy, scaly goodness. Triumphant in my catch, I take a big bite out of its stomach, chewing with a smile.

“Oh my god lady, you can’t eat the goldfish!”

Scowling I turn to the intruder of my happy moment.

A young human man is standing there staring at me indignantly, wearing some sort of pants that look like pantyhose. All his business is right there…just…there. The hooded sweatshirt he is wearing does nothing to hide it.

Why wear the sweatshirt if he’s going to wear pantyhose?

“Why not? Fish tastes good.”

“Lady, they’re for looking at, not eating. See the sign?” Oh, shit. He points at a warning sign that’s a few feet from me. In big red letters, “No fishing. Fish are not meant for consumption”.

Woops.

Well, since I already broke the law…

Staring him in the face I take another bite. The fish, still alive, flaps in my hand. “Bit too late to put it back now, right?” Talking with my mouth full is rude I know, but it’s so entertaining.

When he starts puking in the bushes, my amusement turns sour. What a pussy. Tossing the remnants of the fish back in the pond for his relatives to eat, I dig around in my bag for my wet naps. Those I found tucked in the pocket when I was digging around before I went to sleep. Someone was being thoughtful.

Wiping off my face and hands I toss it in the bin beside the trail as I walk away. It would be a great idea to vamoose before Law Enforcement gets here. I’ve got to pay more attention to those stupid signs.

And I need more breakfast.

My nose leads me to a little café with the picture of a cat on the window. A twin of that cat lounges just below it in living color. The owner really loves cats. Google says cats are popular too. Videos of them doing wonderfully funny stuff is all over the tube.

I may or may not have watched a few dozen.

The bell above the door tinkles merrily when I go inside. Mouth-watering smells pull me by my nose to the counter where a bounty of food is laid out behind glass. Bagels, muffins, pastries. This is like a wet dream to me.

“Good morning welcome to the Cat’s Cradle, what can I get for you?” The woman’s cheery greeting pulls my attention from the delectable bounty that I want to consume all of.

“Everything?”

She laughs at my answer, I’m dead serious. The look on my face must convince her because even though her smile remains, the laughter dies.

“Really?”

Emphatically I nod. Really. All of it. Every morsel must go in my stomach.

“You realize this will cost—” I pull out the wad of cash from my pocket and hold it up to stop her “cost a lot” speech.

This shop is small, and an educated guess is she won’t sell everything if I wasn’t buying it. Hopefully, she’s looking at it that way too.

“Is this for here or to go?” The look on her face says yes. Can’t hide happy.

“Here, and I would like some milk, too, please. And coffee.”

Nodding, she bustles about, pulling everything out and putting it on several trays. A cold, sweating, a glass of milk appears on the counter next. The total is ridiculous but money isn’t an obstacle for me here in this world. Tipping her generously isn’t a problem either. The food, my god, the food.

“You grab that and this tray,” she gestures, “and I’ll bring the rest and some coffee, alright?”

Nodding is my only answer—my eyes are all for my food.

At first, I eat quickly. Basically, inhaling my food, but as the food starts to settle, I slow down and enjoy the taste. Watching the people come in and out.

Most of the morning I sit there, watching, eating. Drinking coffee. Relaxing and just enjoying the atmosphere. There’s even a place for me to charge my Cell phone. How handy is that?

At some point, when the afternoon sun turns the windows into colorful flashlights, filling the room with a rainbow—Aleah, introduces herself as she sits down and commences to tell me her entire life story.

Or so it feels that way. I don’t mind, really. Some of it’s funny, other parts sad, and some of it I envy. Humans live so briefly but so vivaciously. Aleah here lives for the now. Smart of her.

“And I was like why is your boob on the table? Can you imagine that? This boob, sitting right there on the table for fifteen whole minutes! I was torn between it being funny and embarrassing.”

Smiling at her story, I stand. It’s time for me to depart.

“Thank you for the good food and the company. May luck be forever at your door.”

She holds out her hand.

Looking at it in puzzlement for second before I realize it’s for more money, which I have no problem giving her. She hands the money back.

“No, no, hon. You shake it.” Grabbing my hand, she clasps it to hers and shakes it up and down. So, that’s a literal meaning right there for you. Not really liking the touch, I allow it for a few seconds and then pull away.

I’m weird like that.

“You know, we’ve talked all afternoon and I don’t know your name.”

Smiling benignly, I pick up my backpack and head for the door. With a wave, I walk out while she is still talking.

Yes, I’m a jerk, but I need to go. I’ve already stayed here too long. And I have a feeling if I dally any longer I’ll end up sitting there another 5 hours. Aleah is just friendly that way.

Forty-Three

Iza

My first real problem arises when I try to get a hotel room for the night. A photo ID is required, says the clerk in a nasally tone that makes me want to smack him.

Where do I get one of those? Phobe did not mention one, and the power of persuasion is not something I’m gifted with. Am I destined to spend every night on a park bench when hot water and cable TV is just 100 dollars away?

How do I get around this issue? I really need, want, a shower at this point.

“If I give you an extra hundred will you let me slide this time?” This piqued his interest. Handing over the money was the easy part. He should’ve held out, I would’ve offered more.

Looking around him all sneaky like he types a few buttons on his computer and hands me a card that looks like my money card.

“Do you know how to use this?” he asks.

My cluelessness must be showing on my face. Shaking my head, I look at him for instructions.

“You stick it down into the slot on the door reader, when the light turns green you can go inside. There are instructions on the card if you need them for reference.”

Well, money makes his attitude more pleasant.

“How long will you be staying?” Good question.

“A night or two. Where is a food place?”

“There’s a gas station across the road and a fast food place further up. Anything else?” And the bad attitude is back.

Don’t smack the human. Don’t smack the human.

“Nope, thanks.”

The card in my hand has the number of my room on it. Twenty minutes later, I find it, on the third floor at the very end of the hallway.

After a few attempts, I conquer the door reader and get inside the room. Given how many people are in and out of them the smell is surprisingly clean. Checking out the big bed in the center of the room, I sling off the comforter—which does not smell clean—onto the chair at the desk I won’t use.

This will do nicely. The bathroom sparkles in its whiteness. Bleach fumes are almost overpowering. In this case, that’s okay. A small fridge sits underneath the stand that the TV is on, and a box-like machine sits beside of it.

Curious, I investigate the machine. The first thing I notice is a button that says “cook”. Oh, this is a small stove, maybe? How does it open? A larger blank button at the bottom draws my attention; I push it and the door pops open. Ta-da.

Inside is a glass plate. I’ve never seen a stove like this before. Huh. I close the door. The desire to figure it out drives me across the street to the gas station.

They, too, have small ovens on their counters.

“Are you going to sit there all day opening and closing it or use it?”

Smile dropping, I turn to the owner of the voice.

“I’ve never used a small oven before.”

The smile that appears on his face makes me kind of want to hit him. So smug. Is it that strange that I can’t work one?

“It’s a microwave. You put in the food, press the numbers for the time to cook and then hit start.” Okay, that sounds easy enough. Catchy name too.

“Any food?”

“Technically, but it's best to use one of those things in the cooler.”

Those things? Turning around I see the cooler he is pointing out.

Ah! Food! Excited to try more human food, I start grabbing it by the handfuls. By the time I fill my arms up, they’re numb from the cold. Opening the microwave’s door, I cram as much of the frozen food as I can into it.

Pushing the door shut I hit several numbers and push “start”.

Now drinks. So many choices. Shit, a month ago water was a luxury—now I can have anything I want. So, I grab everything that looks appealing. Blue bottles, red bottles. A bright pink bottle joins the pile. When I turn to take it all to the cashier I see the god of all drinks. A Slurpee machine.

Now this, I must have this. Dropping all the bottles in my arms on the counter, I almost run to it in glee. Blue drink, Smurfberry they call it. Sounds good gotta have one. Fruit punch, red. Sounds better, gotta have one of these too!

Taking a long, quick drink of the blue one, makes me immediately regret my choices. An awful pain shoots through my head. What the hell? Did they poison it? Dropping the cup, I grasp my head until the pain subsides.

Right that second, the smell of something burning grows intense. Looking behind me at the microwave, I regret even more of my choices. Oh, shit. It’s on fire. Flames are literally coming out of it.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I dump the red Slurpee on it, the fire gets bigger.

Grabbing some of the drinks and the food I didn’t cram in the microwave I run to the counter. Tossing a fifty to him I run out of there as quick as I can while still looking human.

The echo of a shrill alarm sounds behind me, I run faster.

Well, microwaves suck.

Forty-Four

Iza

Two weeks later, I find myself in the oddest place—the Mall. On a Saturday, which is apparently their busy day. Where it seems like the large, packs of teenagers trolling the center of it are going to mob and then eat you.

Clothing is the only reason I stopped at this place. The smells, the sounds, it’s all borderline overwhelming but the clothes…so many clothes. That’s an enticement that I can’t resist.

Also, I want a tablet. The Google God says that it’s a good way to read and watch TV shows. These two things have become my new hobbies. The electronic store in this hormone infested place has a sale on the model I want.

If I can get to it without getting eaten by the hyena teenagers.

First, clothing. So many stores to choose from. Aimlessly I walk around waiting for something to catch my eye. With effort, I avoid anything that is shiny and useless to me, currently. My pack is only so big.

Not a surprise, I’m part dragon. As cliché as it is, we do in fact hoard. It does explain my fascination with the blanket and books at the hell-hole.

One store has a huge archway leading to this golden counter of goodness. Okay, I’m just going to peek at stuff. Not buy it. Nothing I can do with jewelry, for the moment. Right?

Three steps from the glorious counter, my face is wetly smothered in the taste and smell of the foulest thing I’ve ever encountered. Spitting and coughing I wipe at my face to get the offensive liquid off.

What is this hell?

Opening my burning eyes, I look into the smiling face of a Barbie doll. No, not a Barbie doll. Wow. She just has so much makeup on she looks plastic. And her teeth, her hair…eerily perfect.

That’s just creepy.

“What did you spray in my face? Pee? Because that smells like pee.” I snatch the tissue she is holding out for me. Oh, how generous; she tries to kill me and then offers me a tissue.

“This is our latest scent from Paraga. All of our high-end clients wear it.” That smile is freaking me out. Her lips haven’t wavered from it, not even while she talks. Taking a step back from her I finish wiping off my face. I’ll even let the insult about high-end pass.

“It stinks. So bad.” Still smiling she picks up another spray bottle. “If you spray me with that I’ll feed it to you.”

Threatening her should scare her. A little. I’m an intimidating monster. Wet kitten monster, whatever.

The creepy smile stays and she turns to greet the next victim.

Sighing with relief I make my escape while she’s distracted. Humans in the wild are totally weird. There should be warning labels attached to them.

Distracted by all the pretty colors, I start browsing the shirts and then the jeans. Picking out three pairs of jeans I move onto the shirts. It’s spring here. Mid-May so the weather’s starting to warm up, and sweatshirts get hot. Especially black ones. Since I can’t shower frequently, which is a bother, I can’t be sweating a gallon daily.

I need to resolve the identification issue.

“What is that awful smell?” Serg—Dad says, popping in beside me.

“Compliments of the plastic human over at the golden counter.”

Putting his arm around my shoulders—he does this often—he starts giving commentary on my clothing choices.

A grown woman wearing a kid’s cartoon shirt is not acceptable. I hang it over my arm anyhow. No harm in rebelling in the little ways, right?

“What is this about an ID card? You were thinking it so hard I heard you in Deathville.”

“I can’t get into hotels or anything without one. I was able to bribe a guy once, but it’s been a no-go ever since.” I talk while I browse. Aha, Batman. This one I am getting for sure! Dad takes the cartoon one and switches it out for one with a horse on it thinking he is being sneaky about it.

Seriously, Dad?

When he turns to look at another rack I switch it back out. Horse shirts are for a 12-year-old. I’m not a fan of horses either; they eat them where I’m from.

“Don’t make that face, Dove. You’re a bit old to wear a shirt with an idiot yellow sponge on it.” Grabbing it he yanks it away from me and throws it behind him somewhere. “I can fix your ID problem, Dove. Here.” Out of nowhere, he produces a shiny card with my picture on it. How does he and Phobe do this shit? Is there like a giant invisible box somewhere with all this stuff in it?

Looking at the ID, I make a face. When he took the picture, I have no idea but one of my eyes is closed.

“How in the world did you get this?”

“Magiks, my dear! Plus, an incubus who feeds on pain works at the department of motor vehicles.” With a flourish, he bows and hands me it and a shiny black credit card. “This has no limit. Use it as you see fit. It will pay for lots of nice hotel rooms so you can get your shower fix.”

“Dad, I have plenty of money.” I do, that’s not a lie. The last balance I saw on the ATM machine was in the 8-digit category.

“I would appreciate you taking it. It is my way of helping. Nisha loved her shiny things too.” When he says her name a micro-flash of pain crosses his face. Awkwardly, I one arm hug him. I’m still learning how to do the affection thing.

For several heartbeats, we just stand here hugging. Sometimes it just feels nice. No matter how awkward I am at it.

Something tugs in the area of my chest. Frowning, I straighten away from my Dad. Feels like someone is pulling on a thread from the inside of me. What the hell?

“Dove?” Dad asks in concern but I’m too busy following that invisible string to answer.

Left turn, tug. Up the escalator, tug. Every time I try to stop it pulls harder. Until I find myself at the back of the store looking at this sad, all alone, goblin.

He is working at the packaging counter and there isn’t a soul in sight. Misery is written all over his face. A human face that’s hiding his real one under a carefully constructed glamour. He’s good.

That face blanks in surprise when he looks up and meets my eyes. Vivid red eyes light up in fear.

“Oh, no, no. It’s okay!” Holding my hands out in front of me in a placating gesture, I slowly walk towards him. My Magiks is awake and he is the reason why.

Listening to the murmur of information that my Magiks are feeding me I realize two things simultaneously. One, from a touch of my Magiks to his I know everything pertinent about him. Two, the Magiks are somewhat controlling me.

I hate when Phobe is right.

“Rubi, I won’t hurt you. You can feel me, can’t you?”

I know he can. Rubi is over 300 years old and 150% loyal to the Dark. Rubi has been treated awful, he snuck through a hole in the dimensions and has lived here since.

All because the Schoth killed his family. Poor Rubi. Magiks weave through the connection between us and embrace him. Bringing the dark mark behind his ear to life with a flash of purple light.

Well, that’s interesting.

“My la—”

“Nu-uh, no calling me that.” There won’t be any of that my lady business. Not if I can help it. Unzipping my bag, I dig through it for the pen and paper. Writing down the address, I don’t like admitting I memorized, I hand him the paper. “Tell them Iza sent you. You’ll be safe there.”

Rubi latches onto my hand, clasping with both of his. Bowing over them he softly kisses my fingertips and takes the paper. I can feel his happiness.

Poof, he vanishes right in front of me. That must be handy.

“Making friends, Dove?”

“Oh yeah, Dad. I charmed him so hard he vanished.” I roll my eyes as I answer.

“This is just the beginning.” Yeah, I get that now. Usually when things start out this way the worse is yet to come.

“So Dad…how come Mom never used a microwave?”

Part II

Forty-Five

Iza

My stomach growls loudly as the exhausted looking waitress puts the plate in front of me. A big greasy burger sits there beckoning me like a long-lost lover.

“Will there be anything else?” she asks, fatigue thickening her voice.

I pull my eyes away from my food and study her closely. The tag on her shirt says, Katie. She’s pretty, with curly blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She looks around 30 but it’s not a healthy looking 30. Something clouds around her like a bubble of sickness. Something nasty. Eyes slitting, I look closer. Letting just a trickle of my Magiks out.

Ah, there it is.

“You should dump your boyfriend. He’s killing you.” Literally.

Leeches do that. Or vampires, as humans so fondly call them. Half-breeds, really. Or half-breeds of half-breeds, it all depends. Not that they know that. They think they’re high on the food chain.

But we’re in the Earth Realm. Phobe explained it briefly to me, and I’ve read about it, too. This place doesn’t have the purebloods like our home realm.

So maybe here in this realm, the half-breeds are higher up on the food chain?

I continue to watch her, that is until the gnawing emptiness of my stomach urges me to turn back to my burger and dig in. I need food, a lot of it.

After the 4th burger, I sit back against the seat, my stomach pleasantly full. I feel better than I have in a long time. My wounds are healed, my Magiks strengthened. Feeling a little right with the world, I pat my stomach and find my eyes following the waitress around, again.

Watching Katie shuffle slowly back and forth between the kitchen and tables, I find that’s it hard to not feel sorry for her. Because I don’t experience this often, I’m not quite sure what to do with it.

And when I do, it gets me into trouble.

It’s doubtful she knows what her boyfriend is. Just as it’s doubtful she’s a consensual victim. She doesn’t have that “emo dramatic flair” that most donors have. Plus, she seems to be in auto mode—not the dreamy “I'm secretly banging a vampire” mode.

I can see the leech’s point, to some degree. A body has to eat, yeah, but there are many more deserving meals out there. But I don’t know the whole story. Maybe I’m wrong, and this Katie likes the death and allure and whatever else vampires spout out to convince humans to become a juice box.

“Mama, can I have some milk?” The little voice changes my entire train of thought.

The toe-headed little boy, no more than 3 or 4, toddles out from behind the counter and tugs very gently on his mother’s pant leg. Big brown eyes look up at her imploringly.

For the first time since I got here, Katie smiles. The dismal cloud clinging to her briefly lifts. She looks happy, her love for her son clear in her eyes.

Hell. A child changes everything.

The way she is looking at her son…there’s no way she would endanger him by hanging out with someone who can, and probably will turn him into a midnight snack. Katie runs her hand through the little boy’s hair and kneels to kiss him on the cheek.

My mind is made up right then.

“Waitress!” comes the call, and the light dims a little in Katie’s eyes as she drags to her feet.

“Hey there, buddy, want to have an ice cream with me while your mom goes and helps that ugly fella?” I dramatically whisper from my seat.

The little boy turns to me and ducks his head in shyness, giggling at my description of the fat man waving his check from a booth next to the front door. Katie turns and fixes me with a look only a mother can pull off. A heavy look that speaks of potential wrath if her child comes to harm.

My mother Nisha used a look like that many years ago. I like this human, Katie.

“I would sooner die myself than let something happen to him, Katie,” I vow to the woman solemnly, meaning every word. Something in my face must convince her because after a moment she nods and goes over to help another customer. I stand and help the little guy into the booth across from me.

“So, what’s your name?”

He smiles shyly at my question. His brown eyes full of curiosity and laughter. An innocence that makes my heart tighten a little.

“Isaac.” Shy, he tucks his chin to his chest, his dimples peeking out of his cheeks. Holy meatballs, this kid is cute.

“Well hello there, Isaac. I am Iza.”

I hold out my hand for him to shake, careful to keep my claws from scratching him. He shakes it with another giggle, a giggle that tightens my heart even more.

“Do you like magic tricks?”

He nods his head enthusiastically. Smiling I let a little of my Magiks slip out and make the silverware do a dance. He laughs merrily, clapping his chubby, little hands.

As the hours pass, Isaac tells me stories only kids can tell, while we eat ice cream. Before I know it, darkness has fallen. It’s been one of the best afternoons I’ve ever had, sharing it with this lovely child. Simple, endearing, and he wants nothing from me but attention.

I didn’t know humans could be this way. Not that I really paid attention before. Most of the ones I’ve associated with weren’t upstanding citizens.

Apparently, my soft spot for children trumps species.

I rub my stomach dramatically, purely for Isaac’s benefit.

“What do you say we sweet talk your mom into getting us some dinner, and then I’ll walk you guys home?” Through our various conversations, I learned that they don’t have a car. But “Mommy does have a scary boyfriend” who looks at Isaac “mean”.

Something I will remedy, soon.

Without much convincing, Katie brings us some dinner—roast beef and mashed potatoes. Katie encourages us to eat quickly. Someone keeps texting her, making her rush (cell phones are amazing, usually). Must be the leech. It’s just starting to get chilly but Katie thought to bring little Isaac a coat and hat. Even in the state, Katie’s in, she cares deeply for her child. I watch her bundle him up and tickle him a little. It makes me feel a wee stab of envy.

This is something I will never have. Annoyed with myself, I keep it from going any further. I refuse to let that ridiculously depressing thought keep me from enjoying this moment in time.

“He doesn’t trust many people,” Katie says to us. “I owe you so much for keeping him entertained all day. He’s really taken with you.”

I smile at her compliment, making sure my glamour is tightly woven around me. The smile itself is genuine.

“He really is something special, Katie. I promised him I’d walk you guys home so I could make sure no monsters attack. I vowed that my sword is at his disposal.” I say waving the butter knife around and inciting another batch of giggles from Isaac.

Gathering her things, Katie says, “It’s not that far from here. We used to stop and get a movie on the way home on Friday’s but—” she stops talking and frowns, shaking her head in confusion.

I force my smile to stay in place. I know exactly why they stopped getting movies on Friday. Someone is always demanding their dinner from her.

Or demanding her be dinner, depends on how you look at it.

“We can stop tonight and get a movie,” I quickly tell her. “I heard about this one with a big green ogre. Isaac was telling me all about it.” I wait for Katie to put on her own coat and follow them out into the cool night.

The bond between a mother and a child is a special bond. Irreplaceable. It’s something I’m going make sure Katie keeps.

Forty-Six

Iza

I love movies. And Isaac’s excitement to get to the movie store temporarily overpowers the leech’s pull on Katie. We linger in the store until he picks out a couple of movies and a toy dinosaur that poops out candy eggs.

I think I play with it as much as he does.

Discreetly, I pay for everything. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out money is tight for them.

As we walk, Katie is less gloomy than before. I know that between Isaac and the Magiks that I’m brushing her aura with, the pull is dimmer. Katie opens up and starts sharing a little about her life. Eventually, she gets to the boyfriend.

“I don’t know why I stay in a relationship with him. If that’s what you even call it. Every morning I make up my mind to end it with him, but after five minutes with him, I completely forget about it. It’s strange…” She shakes her head as her words trail off.

“He’s never hit me or anything… he doesn’t even say mean things. It’s just so confusing that I can’t seem to let him go.”

“Some men seem to have an allure about them. I’m looking forward to meeting him,” I reassure her.

I’m looking forward to meeting the shit. The more time I spend with these two, the more I want to kill the bastard. The more I also want to kick my own ass.

Selfish of me. So fucking selfish to so rarely care what happens to the defenseless. But I know why I always hesitate, whenever I’ve helped in the past, it backfired.

“Are you sure you want to come in and watch the movie?” Katie asks me, picking Isaac up.

“Absolutely, how can I not want to watch a big green ogre?” I smile as I say it.

With Isaac between us, we sit down with popcorn to watch the movie. A movie I decide I love after the first 10 minutes. I laugh, I cry, I yell angrily at the short man. When it ends, Isaac’s sound asleep with his little blonde head on my shoulder.

Right on time, there’s a cool draft. A man is standing there waiting in the shadows. No, not a man—the guest I’m waiting for.

Katie tenses when he makes himself known to her. She snatches Isaac up carefully and practically runs towards his bedroom. I sit there and stare at Mr. Vampy. I can see his weak pheromones trying to weave around me. He is a few decades old, this one. But his mojo won’t work on me even if he’s the strongest of his kind.

“Who are you?” he demands.

“Friend of the family. Who are you?” I counter. I don’t really care, but I don’t want to scare the shit out of Katie any more than necessary. I definitely don’t want to scare little Isaac.

“I am Katie’s partner,” he answers, looking at me intently.

My Dad taught me well as a kid; my glamour will hold against this asshole, so to him I look human.

Katie comes back into the room looking nervously at the floor. I eat some more popcorn and watching everything unfold.

“Uhm, Iza this is uh…uh…” she says, frowning at herself.

She doesn’t know his name. I noticed its lack of usage earlier but I didn’t realize it went that deep.

“Phillip.” He supplies. “Shouldn’t your friend be leaving, Katie?” I watch the push behind it. Watch it overcome the already weakened woman.

“It’s not polite to play with your food.” I verbally jab at him as I stand and move in between Katie and Phillip.

“Whatever does that mean?” he asks, playing coy.

I roll my eyes at his over-exaggerated accent and watch the tendrils of my Magiks repel the weak ones of soon-to-be-dead Phillip’s.

“She’s an innocent,” I hiss.

Now his attention really is on me.

“I’m sure she is, but what has that to do with anything?”

“You’re done using her like a milkshake. Go find some rapist to suck on.” He laughs. “What are you babbling about?” He steps closer.

His will slides against mine and is obliterated by my Magiks. His eyes widen as does his mouth, showing his two little, pointy teeth.

Two, isn’t that cute?

I smile, letting the glamour on my face drop just a little. I have 32 pointy teeth. He takes a step back.

“Shifter?” Nervous now, he takes a step back.

This time I laugh.

“No, sorry. Disappointed?”

I step closer to Katie. “Go in there with Isaac and lay down. Do not come out no matter what you hear.” I look over my shoulder just long enough to see Katie nod. She no longer has that look of a zombie on her face. “You’re single as of now, k?” Katie nods again and gives a small squeeze of my arm before beating feet into Isaacs’s room at the end of her small trailer.

“You know there are other people out there who are much more deserving of your attention than a single mom of such a cute kid,” I say quietly, walking slowly towards him.

As I walk, the shadows in the room deepen; Magiks making their presence known. In surprise, Phillip looks around him, searching for a way out. There won’t be one.

He won’t get one foot out the door.

“If I thought for one second you would make that choice, I’d let you go. But I have this…let’s say ‘feeling’ that this isn’t the first time you’ve played the single mom snack game.” Stopping right in front of him I sniff his coat.

He smells of death. Of many deaths.

“My family will have your head! They will know if you try to injure me.”

I ignore his ramblings. If they have the same dietary habits then they will meet the same fate. I’m not squeamish about killing creatures like him. I’m a monster too, after all. A monster who likes killing ones like him.

“So, for the sake of any future snacks, we’re going to put you on a diet.”

In a blink of an eye, a Fiend pops through his chest, gripping the husk that’s his heart in its mouth. You don’t need to destroy the heart to kill a vampire. My dear Fiend is just going for the effect. Already, Phillip is being consumed by the ravenous maws of them.

With indifference, I watch until he is completely gone. My buddies got to eat, too.

I pick up the wallet and watch off the ground. Digging through the wallet, I find a stash of cash and a couple credit cards. I sit those and the fancy watch on the counter. Then I write a note on a paper towel with one of Isaac’s markers: ‘You deserve these, you’re a good mother. Start wearing a cross.’

I wash my hands, turn off the TV, and put away the bowl of popcorn. I look around the room once more before heading out the door, locking it behind me. Katie and Isaac will be alright now, and hopefully, she has learned a valuable lesson.

She isn’t the only one who had learned something tonight, I did too. Not all humans are what I thought they were.

Forty-Seven

Iza

It’s partially the low thrum of bass that pulls me to this place. This place full of sweaty bodies meshed into a large gyrating mass on the dance floor. A nightclub, my Dad calls them. Personally, I don’t see much difference between them and a bar. Except maybe the music. I do like the music. I’m still in the process of figuring out which music is my favorite. Songs with good rhythm and bass tend to catch my attention the most, not all that rap hip help stuff or whatever they call it.

No, I like the stuff they are playing in the club right now in front of me. I sit down at a table, tucked away, in the corner and survey the room. That Magiks “thing” I can’t control pulled me here. So here I am. It’s happened steadily since the day I left the cottage for good.

I lean back in the chair and watch the people on the dance floor struggle for some type of euphoria they’re probably not going to reach. Doesn’t stop them from trying. The trying must be the fun part. Looks fun.

Pulling my gaze away, I process the information my senses are giving me. So many different types of creatures here. A surprising amount of variety. It’s the first time I’ve found so many purebloods in one place since I came to this Earth realm. Question is, which one or ones am I here for?

Specifically, I start sorting out the Feyrie, because it won’t be Light Fey, just the Feyrie. Or Dark Fey, as the humans called us. Humans have all kinds of weird names for us critters.

Tonight will just be routine. Same stuff, every time. The Magiks thing latches onto them and gives me everything I need to know. Are they loyal? If so, their mark will switch on, and I write down the address and off they’d go. Well, if they choose to go.

That’s up to them. The jury is out on whether I still actually believe in any of this fate shit. But the impulse to do it is not something I’ve resisted, with any success, so far. Hence, me being in this nightclub.

Occasionally, I find latent marks on the half-breeds or half-half-half breeds. I had no idea there’s so much interbreeding. Then again, I can’t work a microwave either. Something that fella at the gas station learned, too.

I break a lot of things on accident.

Absently, I tighten my glamour. Magiks are like a muscle and mine are terribly out of shape. I’m not helpless, I just don’t like leaving it with the power to control me, nor having a chance of getting spotted—I want to observe not be observed.

My eyes are drawn to a kid. Kid, because he’s not old enough to be anything more than that. Tops 16 and that’s if he has armpit hair. That’s my Dark Mark, right there. I gotta be a little closer to him to determine everything I need to know. Minus finding out about the pit hair.

Tilting my head to the side, I watch two half-breed vampires cage him against the wall. Well, that isn’t very nice. I sling my backpack over my shoulder and stand.

As I get walk closer, I’m able to sort their voices out of the others around them. They want him to steal my backpack, ha. Good luck with that.

“So, uh, why don’t you guys try to take it from me yourself?” I dramatically whisper to them.

I look at the boy, not actually caring about the leeches. My Magiks make instant contact with him, and I see his vivid blue eyes widen.

Oh, my.

His clothes are worn and dirty. He looks half starved to death. Which I’m about to remedy. Can’t let a kid go hungry, it’s not in my nature.

Without trying too hard, I reach over and break the neck of the leech on the right and grab the one on the left, dragging him out the door. The body of the other one is already gone. My Fiends are doing their specialty work.

I know the boy, Michael, will follow me. The door opens into an alley and I turn, going deeper into it. Idiot boy behind me has been starving himself because he’s afraid of morons like the one I’m dragging along.

I shove the leech up against the wall, holding him with a forearm to his throat and look at Michael.

“What the fuck are you doing, Michael? Letting this asshat thump around on you because you’re afraid?” I let the anger seep into my words. I just don’t understand what he’s thinking. Michael is a Dragnor. A pureblood from my world. They eat things like this vampire impersonator. These vampires are the diluted next of kin.

Michael’s face turns red.

“Oh no, you look at me.” He does. “You are a bad ass, mofo. You. You will not be afraid. You are too strong to be afraid. Do you understand me?” After a minute or so he nods. “Good, now eat this motherfucker so I can go get a milkshake.”

His eyes widen in surprise.

“You think I don’t know what you are?” I ask. “If you hurry I’ll buy you a milkshake, too.”

He laughs and it lifts some of my worry for him. He’s timid and in this world, any world, timid can be a death sentence.

The guy I’m holding squirms—I forgot about him. So, I stand a little to the side and wave Michael in. For a second those pretty, blue eyes hold mine and then the changes start.

I smile as his face splits into row after row of teeth. I let go of the leech and turn on my cell to work on the next level of Candy Crush. Stupid game is hard. When the sounds of him eating stop, I look back at him; he’s a mess. I dig around for the wet wipes in my bag and quickly start cleaning off the bits and pieces of leech from Michael’s face. I have a feeling he’s self-conscious about his eating habits, too.

“So what kinda milkshake do you want?”

He laughs at my question.

Forty-Eight

Iza

Somehow Michael manages to drink three milkshakes. It started out as a contest but he beat me because I bought fries too. Lots of fries. Smothered in chili and cheese and hot peppers and a bunch of other stuff I picked off the toppings menu.

I’m pretty sure the waitress thinks I’m on drugs. And a cradle robber if the dirty looks she’s giving me are any indication. She looks at Michael’s smiling face and then glares at me.

It isn’t my fault he’s all googly eyed. He ate, it made him…intoxicated. Wait, I guess it is my fault. I made him eat the sap.

But I’m not a cradle robber. That would be gross. And Michael has pit hair too, I lifted his arm and looked because I was curious about it.

“You’re not like the other shifters I’ve met,” he says blushing. Michael really needs to lose that timidity.

“I’m not a shifter. You gotta stop being so shy. You’re a fucking Dragnor. Where I come from they’re feared.” They were one of the first races the Schoth went after because they were afraid of them. Oddly enough he smiles.

“Where do you come from?” Well, shit.

“A galaxy far, far away. Do you want another milkshake?” he nods and I order him another.

Hopefully, he will stop asking questions while he drinks it.

Nope.

“Why did you help me instead of killing me?”

“You’re one of mine.” Where the fuck did that come from?

“Your what?”

“Uh…why were you hanging out with them instead of eating them?” Ha, ha there!

“Not everyone is as badass as you are, Iza. Some of us are just—different. You don’t need to be like you to survive, or be happy.” Well, I got told.

“Well, be different and badass. Or you’ll be dinner. Okay, I have to go.” Grabbing my backpack, I stand and tossed a 50 on the table. Without looking back, I walked out of the restaurant, the bell tinkling loudly as the door shut behind me.

Two seconds later I hear it tinkle again. Rolling my eyes, I keep walking. This one is going to be difficult. He isn’t going to go away. I already sense that about him. Maybe he isn’t as timid as I first thought?

I can hope.

Forty-Nine

Iza

Three weeks later, I’m walking around some town in Virginia. Following my nose because alcohol is beckoning me. The real kind. Not the ‘grown in a pot under your bed in prison’ kind. I’ve tried that kind and it’s awful. I can smell the real deal, wafting down the street. Along with some more rather unpleasant smells. Pee among them.

No matter where I go there is pee. I have a pee curse. I sigh at my own thoughts. I think I need alcohol more than I realized.

Following my nose, I find what I’m looking for. A seedy, run down dump of a bar, a perfect place for me to get rip-roaring drunk and not be noticed.

Double checking the rolled-up wad of cash in my pocket, I enter the building noting the smoke that rolls out the door. The blast of the combined smells of the occupants hits me all at once. This place caters to a little bit of everyone.

Well, everything. The occupants are mostly not human.

A quick look around and I take in everything. The duct-taped chairs, the trashed tables. The beat-up floor with sawdust all over it. The super shiny brand new looking jukebox in the center of the far wall.

Without pausing, I cross to the bar and climb onto one of the rickety bar stools. The bartender is a big hairy man, with a ratty, brown beard down to his belly button. His big brown eyes stare at me in amusement glowing with the Magiks within them.

A Feyrie. A Woodsman of some type to be more specific. The glamour that he wears tightly around himself fades as I look at him. For the most part, he looks the same, except his skin is made of bark and his beard of twisted branches.

His eyes widen in surprise when he realizes I can see him for what he is. When my Magiks brush lightly against his own, he shivers. This Feyrie is old and not used to the truth being found out. He recovers quickly.

“What’ll it be, girl?” His voice is deep and a fuzz accented.

“Fey Ale.” Slapping a 100 on the bar I pull my cell phone out of my backpack. This I sit on the bar as well. “Keep them coming until I’m doing bad Karaoke.” He chuckles at this and within seconds a frothy cold glass of ale is in front of me.

The minute it hits the bar I pick it up and chug it in a few gulps. My eyes water from the burn of the ice-cold liquid. I slam the empty glass down on the bar. It’s refilled immediately.

Six more in, I’m hitting the relaxed stage, and a slight buzz is warming my body.

“So, big guy, if I pay you extra will you stash my backpack behind the bar and promise no one will touch it or steal any of its contents?” I ask, knowing exactly the boon I’m requesting.

A promise is big in some Feyrie circles. He studies me, closely.

“Can you promise not to break any of the good furniture?”

Unable to help myself, I laugh. A belly laugh that feels good and tapers off slowly.

“Define good?” I ask, looking around at the odds-n-ends furniture in the bar.

“The jukebox and anything behind the bar.”

“Then I vow it.”

“I as well, give me the bag, girl. No harm shall come to it.”

I pass him my bag and smile all dopey.

“Now, girl, keep in mind I didn't get a vow to protect anyone dumb enough to try and harm ya.” This is said more quietly but holds a deeper meaning.

Well, trouble will be afoot. Cocking my head sideways I study him like the predator he recognizes me to be.

“The dark runs deep in you, I see it. Feel it. One day it will call me and I will answer.” With those mysterious words, he wanders off to serve other people.

Well, I won’t be giving him a note. He already knows where to go.

Chewing this over, I drink several more ales that are delivered without comment. My metabolism burns them up so fast that it’ll take a while to get the level of drunk I want.

Finally, when the drunk hits me, I smile in satisfaction.

“Music!” I whisper. And magically, the jukebox turns on. With a sideways look to the Woodsman who winks at me, I spin around on the stool and hop down. Skipping like a little kid, I head to the center of the room, the closest thing to a dance floor. Modern music is still growing on me but I like most of it. The bass of it reaches up inside of me and makes me want to dance.

Now I understand the euphoria I have seen the humans try to reach before. It could also be the alcohol assisting in that.

Not one to be nervous, I ignore the fact I’ve never actually danced in public and start swaying my hips to the beat. I spin around, and at the same time take in how many Wolf shifters and more half-half-half breeds are now inside the bar. Probably most of a pack at this point. They’re all focused on me. The darkness inside of me wakes up and weaves around me, tendrils flicking out, as if ready.

What is up with that? I giggle.

As I turn again, the eyes around me reflect in the light. Giving a toothy grin, I let my own eyes flicker. The growls are so loud they drown out the music.

Now that just isn’t any fun. Big whiner babies.

Ignoring them, I keep dancing. Not sure, or caring, of the reason for their hostility. Suddenly, the Magiks flare, giving me that weird pulling feeling in my chest. It lashes out from me and grazes the auras of everything Feyrie present.

Everything. Even those that think they are hiding in the shadows. The minute my Magiks touch some of them, their hostility ceases. Surprise clearly written on their faces they step back, away from the others.

What in the world is my weird Magiks shit doing now?

Thoughtful about it, I return to the bar for another drink.

The Woodsman puts another cold drink in front of me, leaning his elbows on the bar.

“Brought some of those puppies to heel. Been a long time since I’ve seen that.” Speaking quietly, he looks toward where they gather at several tables in the corner. “They are aggressive cos they dunno what ya be, ya make ‘em nervous.”

I contemplate him a minute. Nervous shifters are never a good thing. In my time, I’ve met a few of those. Can be a fun thing, though. Smiling, I down my fresh drink and my buzz renews itself.

It won’t last long so I need to enjoy it.

Fifty

Iza

Walking back out to the small dance floor I look over my shoulder at the jukebox. A purple, Magikal tentacle slices through the air and gently taps the machine. A song I am partial to comes on. The Woodsman has good music on his jukebox.

Feeling alive from my Magiks, from the buzz giving my skin goosebumps and the bass pulling at me, I begin to move. My dancing is different this time. Unrestrained. Not just for fun.

I stomp my foot and the empty tables and chairs in front of me slide to the wall. Twisting to the side I repeat the same movement. Now the only parts of the room left furnished are the ones the shifters occupy.

My arms climb into the air and the volume of the music goes up with them.

Again, my hips began to sway. Side to side. Sinuously. Picking up-tempo as the music does. Inside me, something is building. Growing into something that brings a smile to my lips. Happy to be free, alive, I give into the rhythm and dance with a jubilation I haven’t felt before.

As I dance, moving so fast I am a blur to the few human occupants of the bar, phantom clawed hands work their way up my body. Cradling my hips and then circling to rest on my flat stomach. It is my Magiks giving form to a drunken wish, maybe an unspoken longing, but it still comforts me.

For three seconds.

Just like that, my buzz, my feeling of euphoria is gone. The dancing stops as suddenly as I began.

Almost like it’s the catalyst, with a roar of growls they charge me. The first one to me, the Alpha, is caught in my clawed hands and thrown over my head and against the front wall.

Laughing wildly, I look up and the lights go out.

From the ceiling, I watch them in the darkness below me, fighting with each other, confused about who is who. Doggies can’t see very well in the dark.

Reaching down I grab one by the hair and gave a quick twist. A crunch and he won’t be troubling me anymore. After doing this a few more times, I grow a bit bored by it and jump down into the melee.

Soon enough the noise dies down, the lights come back on, and I am the only one standing. A few of the bodies groan, but most are unmoving and will never get up again. Picking my way through them I head straight to the Alpha, who is still alive.

Kneeling, I pull his face up to me by his hair. His baby blues open and start to lighten. I shake his head.

“Now, now. Don’t make me kill you.” The eyes go back to a bright blue at my words. “I wanted a nice night of bad singing and dancing. You ruined that for me. The Bartender is a witness. There will be no vengeance attempts on me. Or I swear to the One God, I will annihilate every single one of your pack except the children. Do you understand?” It’s a promise I will keep if he starts some stupid war.

To enforce it, I let a bit of the bad peek out. His eyes widen, he nods. “Good, now pay the nice man to repair the damage you guys caused.” Climbing to my feet I cross to the bar and sit down.

The Woodsman surprisingly has a smile on his face.

“Have another ale?”

“Na, I’ll take a cold soda though.” Taking the cell phone, I deliberately left on the bar, I start up Candy Crush.

“You have the look of a wanderer to you.”

Shrugging I take a drink of the soda and kept playing.

He keeps cleaning the drink glasses as he continues. “Up the road a bit there is this hotel, not a big one mind ya, but as I understand it, they will give a room without any kinda questions.” So nonchalantly that a reluctant smile comes to my face. A hot shower would be spectacular; it’s been a whole day.

“Which way?”

“Out the door and right, ‘bout three miles.” He studies me a moment. His ancient eyes holding knowledge that I know he’d share if I ask. I’m not ready to ask. “Do ya have a ride?”

“Legs work just fine.”

He chuckles at my answer. “I think he finally got something right,” is all I hear him mutter as he puts my backpack up on the bar.

“Last call!” he shouts, walking off from me.

Tossing five one-hundred-dollar bills on the bar, I grab my backpack and walk out the door, heading in the direction of the hotel.

About ten minutes into the walk, I look over my shoulder at the three Wolves following behind me. Stopping, I wait for them to catch up.

“What are you guys about?” I ask, prepared to fight if I need to.

My Magiks seek them out. They look at each other and then come tentatively closer.

“We just need to follow you.” They answer in unison.

God, they’re just kids.

“Why is that?” I ask. But I already know. The Magiks mumbo jumbo shit.

“To be honest, you’re better than the pack anyhow,” The braver one of them answers. Pulling my backpack around, I dig into it looking for a piece of paper and a pen. Scribbling the “I’m not going there” address on it, I hand it to them along with money to get them there.

“Go there, tell a man named Jameson that Iza sent you. You’ll be safe there.” I’ve said it at least twenty times in the last few weeks.

“But we need to go with you,” the boy insists.

“I’ll be there eventually,” I answer. It’s an inevitability; I have already realized that. Weeks ago. I’m just taking the long way there. “Go on, now, shoo. It’s late. Should be able to catch a bus from the stop there.” I point to the corner. The one good thing about my mumbo jumbo, they tend to listen when I say do something.

Watching until they get on the local transit, I turn and head up the dark road to the hotel.

Fifty-One

Iza

I glance at the map held out in front of me. I’m currently somewhere in Bell County, Kentucky. Right smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by mostly bare trees blossoming with the buds of spring and the occasional call of an animal brave enough to be out in the night.

My eyes drift back to the map and the big red X on it. That red X is a long way from where I am now.

A place I’m not ready to go but am inevitably drawn to.

I fold the map and shove it back in the backpack. Doggedly, I keep walking along the road trying to enjoy the night and telling myself over and over that I’m not heading directly towards that stupid big red X.

The goal isn’t to get there fast, at all. In fact, I prefer walking. Slower the better.

A car flies by in the darkness. A piece of paper rattles by me and I ignore it and keep going. There are plenty of critters out there in the woods but they’ll leave me alone. It’s the ones in cars that have the tendency to be stupid.

Since the Woodsman at the bar, I’ve not had any more direct contact with Feyrie. It’s mostly been, half-breeds. The last town had a few shifters but I avoided them. There was no reason to introduce myself. No, pull to. Other than being hillbillies, they were lawful ones.

I even picked up a pamphlet describing lore from the area. Looks like ‘werewolves’ are abundant in the mountains. They have first-aid directions on what to do if you’re bitten by one and everything.

This is amusing but complete fiction. Unlike human lore, shifters or furries, or werewolves as some call them, aren’t made. They’re born. It isn’t an infection passed around through a bite. Silly to think it is. They also don’t turn in the way people think, either. Instead, they take on traits. Not the actual shape.

Just like the vampire lore, it’s mostly wrong. I should write a book about it. The shifters and vampires don’t know their own lore. It could be their Paranormal for Dummies book. I smile at my own humor.

Speaking of vampires—or something that eats them, anyhow—that boy from the club, Michael, is still following me. He has been for weeks. At a distance, yes, but I can feel him back there. He is one of mine. It’s why I’ve done nothing yet and let him follow me.

I make a face at my thoughts. When did I start thinking of them as mine?

A loud car engine breaks the silence around me. It’s breaking the speed limit given the rate it’s moving closer to me. I pull the hood of my sweatshirt up over my head and slow my pace down to leisurely.

It rolls to a stop beside me. Of course, it does. It would’ve been good luck for them to keep going, I don’t have good luck. Ignoring it I keep walking. I can smell what’s in the car.

“Hey, lady!” One of the shifters call. I continue walking and the car keeps pace with me. “Do you need a ride?” I ignore that too. “Bitch! I’m asking you a question.” I keep walking. I’ve been called worse by better.

A muffled thump from the trunk catches my attention. This time I stop. Slowly, I turn to look at the occupants of the car. They reek of alcohol and shifter pheromones. But that isn’t all.

Scowling, I walk around to the back of the car. Levering my fingers under the lip of the trunk, I force it open in a screech of metal.

A girl with bright pink hair and a busted lip looks up at me. Her brown eyes pleading with me silently. A shifter in the trunk of a car full of shifters? What the hell is this?

A now familiar feeling tightens my stomach. My Magiks come out on their own accord and connect with the girl.

“What are you doing?!” the driver shouts, coming to the back of the car.

He tries to grab my arm to pull me away but I sidestep away from him, my eyes staying on the tears coursing down the girl’s face.

“Why do you have her in your trunk?” I ask quietly, anger burning in my gut.

He tries to shut the trunk but I hold it open with my hand. I turn to look at him, reluctantly pulling my gaze from the fear-filled one of the girl. He’s probably in his late 20s. He’s tall and broad-shouldered. Probably thinks he’s the leader of the pack, too. His companions climb out of the car and surround me.

Oh, so scared.

“She is none of your business,” he answers.

But it’s the wrong answer. The Dark Mark on the girl that calls to me makes that abundantly clear.

“Okay then.” My decision was made the minute I looked at the girl.

The trunk lock bends easily in my grip; I don’t want them closing it on the terrified girl again.

Moving with preternatural speed, I grab the fingers on his hand, that keeps trying to grab me, and bend them back until they tear out of joint. Dropping to his knees, he yells in pain.

Applying more pressure to his dislocated fingers, I push with my body weight, making him knee crawl backward. Eyes wide, he stares down at his wounds.

“Why is she in your trunk?”

When he doesn’t answer my question immediately, I bend his fingers further back. Tears stream down his face as he begs me to stop.

“He gave her to us for his debt!” he relents right as I go to bend his fingers more.

Possibly right off his hand.

“Who?” I bite out.

“Her father.” Getting the answer, I release his hand and pan my gaze around to look at the other three who take a step back from me.

The Dragnor, Michael, appears behind one of the guys, meeting my gaze expectantly. He’s young but stronger than the shifters around us.

“Get her out of the trunk. These boys and I need to have a talk.” I speak directly to Michael.

With a nod, he goes straight to the girl. Dragging the blonde with me, I lead the other three further away. I can smell the change close on them. Smell the Light marks on them. Smell the intent they had for the girl.

Times like this I love/hate my sense of smell.

“Normally, I’d just let you go. But—” I punch the blonde in the face, while I talk, and he falls unconscious to the ground. “—I know what you planned to do with her.”

They leap as one.

Pack mentality got screwy when it transferred to two-legged creatures. Real wolves dodge and weave one or two at a time, nipping and wearing the prey down.

Not these idiots.

Shifters they may be, but in this case, they are the prey. I smile and grab one of them midair, throwing him across the road. Ignoring the claws that scrape my shoulder, I elbow the next one in the face. With an animal cry, he falls to the pavement writhing in agony. I break his nose with prejudice. The third stops mid-air, caught in the grasp of darkness.

The Fiends have made their presence known. Being corporeal isn’t something they can do often, but it always counts.

“Snack time!” I yell and he disappears with a scream. I hit the ground hard, turning my head, to look over my shoulder into the angry face above me. His eyes have gone a full shifter amber. His fist hitting the side of my head brings tears to my eyes.

It also makes me laugh. Which I continue to do as I hit the pavement face-first. Spitting out the blood, I climb to my feet. Already my body is healing. He lunges at me again. Using a move Phobe taught me—I do that a lot—I use his momentum and my new flexibility to catch my leg on his hip and fall with him. The move ensures I end up on top of him.

Claws dig at my belly. Bored with it I grab his head and give a sharp jerk.

His struggling ceases. Climbing to my feet, I watch the darkness engulf him. The Fiends are eating well tonight.

It’s strange how much they remind me of Tall, Dark, and Absent. They even eat like him.

I sidestep to avoid another attack from the back. He hits the car full throttle, hard enough to dent it. Clawed hands swing around him, aiming at me over and over as I dodge side to side. Exasperated and flat out annoyed with playing ‘dodge the wolf-man’ game, I punch him in the face. He falls backward, silent.

I feel nothing when I stomp his face in.

I head for the unconscious one; this one will give me the info I need. Lifting him by the shirt, I drag him behind me as I walk to the car. I open the back door and throw him in. Closing it, I turn to the two kids staring at me with their mouths hanging open.

“What?” I ask, looking at the ruined mess of my clothing.

Thankfully, I have a couple spare changes in my bag and can buy more if needed.

“You just took out four shifters in like 5 minutes,” Michael says.

Is this a strange thing? I shrug.

“Are you okay?” I ask the girl, feeling my Magiks slither out to touch her. She nods and wraps her arms around herself. She isn’t, but I won’t call her out for it. “So, what’s your name?”

“Ruthie.” It’s barely above a whisper, and I have no idea why I asked—I already know her name.

It stems from me being a creature of habit, and one of my habits is keeping things to myself. Plus, I’m still learning this Magiks crap.

“Two things.” I dig a blanket out of the trunk and hand it to Ruthie to wrap around herself. It doesn’t stink, and it surprisingly doesn’t smell like wolves.

I turn to Michael.

“One; Michael, why are you following me?” He shuffles his feet. “Because I remember specifically giving you an address to go to.”

“I don’t know.”

Well, that isn’t a good answer, but a truthful one. I turn to Ruthie.

“Two, why were you in the trunk of their car?”

After a moment of holding my gaze, she answers. “My step-dad owed the pack money, so he gave me to them to settle his debt.”

Hum. That’s a dick move to trade an innocent for money. Not uncommon in our world, I know, but definitely unfair. I dislike these types of unfair.

Children are not currency to be bartered for and traded like cattle.

“Where is your mom?” Obviously, there’s got to be one somewhere that can help her, unless her mom’s a shit-bag too.

“She’d dead.” Her eyes fill with pain.

Well, there goes that idea.

“How?” I gotta work on my people skills.

Fat tears fall from her eyes. Grief tears. I know the answer without asking more. Someone killed her mom. In the world of creatures like us, we don’t die of old age.

“So, do either one of you know how to drive?”

Ruthie nods, swiping tears off her face that I pretend not to see.

It’s good someone else can drive because I have no idea how to go about it. We will just end up in a ditch or over a cliff somewhere.

“Where are we going?” She asks.

I look at Ruthie, who’s got that weepy-red-nose look going.

There are bruises on her face and arms. Old bruises. Also, the ones from the shifters that took her. I smelled their intentions as if reading their minds. If they acted that way, there is a good chance the rest will too.

I chew my lip thoughtfully. I should just walk away, but I know that I won’t. My gut tightens again as the pull to help this girl becomes heavier.

Fine. I’ll help her. I grumble to that inner part pushing me to act. Decision made, I climb in the backseat of the car, none too gently scooting the blonde shifter over.

“We are paying your stepdad a visit, and then we’re taking junior here home. His pack and I need to have a talk.” I say out the window and wait.

Seconds later the two kids scramble to climb inside.

Ruthie’s driving is slow, careful. I bet the girl just recently learned to drive. It’s a fair guess; her foot barely leaves the brake pedal. I’m being escorted by Grandma.

While we—slowly—drive, Ruthie keeps looking at me in the rear-view mirror. The tears are past and now she just looks curious and worried more than anything. I can’t blame her. Most shifters don’t realize when they meet an actual Feyrie because they don’t have natural Magiks— the half-breeds of this world can’t pierce glamour. We’re stories to them. Like they’re stories to humans.

This world has a very low population of Others compared to billions of humans with shifters and vampires mixed in. In their world, they are the bads of this world. They are ignorant of the Feyrie.

“What are you?” Michael asks, getting his courage up first. I smirk a little and meet his eyes over the back of the seat.

“What do you think I am?” I counter.

He shrugs not ready to voice his opinion that I see in his eyes.

“Where are your kin?” I ask. Funny, he’s asking me what I am when he’s technically the purer one.

“Dead.”

Well, that explains some of it.

“Why?” I question.

He kind of hunkers down in himself, sadness filling his eyes. “They were assassinated for their position of Sect Leaders.”

So, political. I hate politics. It doesn’t explain how he ended up on the street playing bitch for leeches.

“You two can stay with me if you want after this is over.” No idea why that pops out of my mouth. But it does and I’m not one to back out on my word. Taking them with me feels right.

Stupid Magiks.

“Really?” Ruthie about wrecks the car because she’s looking at me over her shoulder, talking.

“Pay attention!” I scold, turning somewhat serious yet hiding a smile behind my hand.

What is done is done. My instincts say these two belong with me, not far away in the Sidhe. Besides, I have a soft spot for kids. And these two kids need someone.

And maybe, just maybe. I need someone, too.

Fifty-Two

Iza

To say the house is a dump is putting it mildly. This place is an absolute redneck palace. Complete with an old toilet in the front yard and possibly something that had once been a couch.

The big dog watching me from said couch whines as I look at him and scrambles off, tail tucked between his legs. That’s a shitty security system. With a final check of sleeping beauty beside me on the seat, I climb out of the car.

I’ll be damned if all this prophecy crap isn’t starting to make a morbid kind of sense.

Why else am I doing all this weird helping stuff, instead of just keeping my head down and moving on like I should be?

Of course, there are perks too. I do get to kill the bad guys.

Ruthie sits frozen in the front seat. She’s right at that confusing stage between a child and an adult that makes it hard to gauge anything about her.

Giving her a lollipop or making silverware dance probably won’t make her feel better. Not sure exactly what to do to help her with the emotional bits of what she’s going through, I pat her awkwardly on the shoulder and close the door. I’m totally channeling Phobe right now.

At least I can make sure he doesn’t hurt her anymore. Maybe bring her a souvenir?

“How did you scare Roscoe off? I have a hard time getting in and out of the house because of him.” I choose not to answer Ruthie’s questions.

The true answer is simple: I’m scarier than he is.

“What does he look like, Ruthie?” I question instead, standing outside the driver’s door.

“Big guy, bald, always wears a dirty white shirt. His name is Roger.”

I study her a moment. The girl is terrified, but somehow holding it together. I admire strength and Ruthie is showing a good bit of it. But I won’t bring her a souvenir. I don’t think she’ll appreciate a severed finger or bit of ear.

“Do not get out of the car for anything. If I’m not back in ten minutes, throw this fleabag out and leave. There’s money in the bag and an address on the map of somewhere safe you can go. Understood?” Both their eyes widen because I let a little dark out with the command. It’s instinctual on my part.

I’m an instinctual character.

Opening the back door, I do one final check on the shifter. Seeing he’s still out, I slam the car door shut, knowing it hit his head. For a second, I consider hitting him with it again.

Just because.

A Fiend slides under my outstretched hand. My lips quirk. They’re reminding me of their presence. This one will be exhausted for hours from going corporeal, but the point is proven. Their help, no matter how restricted, is invaluable.

The most important fact? They don’t have to be fully corporeal to eat.

“Like I would ever forget about you guys,” I say out loud. “Guard them, please.” Assured the kids will be safe, I make my way to the house.

It’ll take a lot to get through the Fiends but their power is limited against too many. Holding physical form takes a lot out of them. But it will be enough to let the kids escape.

The lights are all on inside the house. Multiple shifter scents circulate through the air as I walk in the front door. I’m not known for subtlety.

The party is in the backyard. I stop and look around the filthy house. Ruthie suffered here. I can feel the layer of sadness, of sickness, shadowing every inch of the house. Atrocities were done to that girl here. This fuels my anger. Anger that will soon have an outlet.

I’m no longer a victim, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow Ruthie to continue being one.

Walking out onto the back porch, I pause to stare at the partygoers. Seven in total. One pulls my attention. He sits a little away from the others, watching them with a look of boredom and a little disgust. He’s the one who startles and looks directly at me, sensing me when the others don’t. I tilt my head to the side to study him.

His Dark mark calls to me in that weird way they always do. Automatically, the connection opens, and I sort through what I can see. Interesting. A Beta named Ryan. A Beta who hates his own pack. It doesn’t take much to piece things together. I’m familiar with their formalities.

Ryan is the one who came to get the money with the idiot in the car. He stayed, per custom, to celebrate a good deal.

They have so many ways of doing things. A list of formalities and customs a mile long. One of them should be to treat their kin kindly. But it never works that way.

His vivid blue eyes widen when I smile at him. It isn’t a nice smile, really. I’m not here selling Avon.

“I’m looking for Roger.” All heads turn to me at once. Their eyes a mix of colors.

“What do you want with Roger?” The male, who I already know to be Roger, asks, standing up. His beer gut hangs over his too tight pants like bread that was put out to rise for too long. His wife beater is stained with sweat and ketchup.

Isn’t he a peach? I walk towards him, slowly.

“A few miles back I ran into this car full of puppies. They had a girl in their trunk. After some negotiations, they gave her to me.” That is sort of the truth. “So, I figured I would come and collect her things.”

Now all of them are on their feet. All except Ryan who’s still sitting there staring at me.

“She was fair payment for my debt.” Roger smiles and exposes yellowed teeth that probably haven’t had contact with a toothbrush, ever.

What kind of person was Ruthie’s mom to marry this man? I picture Ruthie sitting in the car. A reflection of that mother. Not a love match, then.

“She’s mine now. You’ll have to pay them off another way.” Not that I have any intentions of allowing him to continue to draw breath.

I’m just a playful type of gal.

“You can’t do that, they’ll kill me!” Roger yells, taking several steps towards me, his beer can still in his hand. I shrug to show the depth of my not giving a fuck.

“Such a loss to the gene pool.”

Blue Eyes snorts in amusement. Roger turns to him.

“Do you know her?” he demands of Ryan.

“No, but I will.” Ryan, aka Blue Eyes, answers haughtily.

This time I snort. He’s a decent looking guy in a human way, but I prefer men with bigger teeth. Lots of bigger teeth.

“So, you ready?” I ask, breaking the silent staring contest between the two men.

“For what?” Roger asks turning back to me.

“To die?” Then I move.

I’ve discovered a lot about myself in the last few months. Including some of the new tricks, I can do. Phobe would like one of them. Moving so fast it looks like I teleport, I come up behind Roger. Climbing him like a tree, I hook my legs together around his waist.

Roger smells of the pain he’s caused. He smells of the tears of the child sitting in the car. He’s done more than just beat her.

My teeth lengthen in anger. With satisfaction, I bite through his ear and pull, taking most of it off. I spit it out and laugh, holding onto him as he dances around trying to dislodge me.

It’s a lot like that carnival ride, the tilt-a-whirl, I saw on The Google God.

I put my mouth next to his attached ear, my hands squeezing just below his jaw. “Tell my Dad hi for me when you see him. He’ll like you.”

I wrench his head off. Blood spurts up and splatters my face. As he falls forward, I land on my feet beside his twitching body.

Well, that’s done.

Long claws slice through the air where I was standing seconds before. Without hesitation, I turn and punch the owner of those claws so hard in the chest it concaves. He falls to the ground screaming. I duck to avoid the next set of claws and then knives appear in my hands.

Well, shit. I didn’t know I could do that. Twirling them around in admiration, I turn back to the shifters. This next part is going to be fun. Twisting at the waist, I feel the knives sink into flesh and easily cut clear. Surgically sharp and one hundred percent Dark.

Oh, this is so awesome.

The smell of their shift only makes me laugh out loud in joy. A sidestep and I avoid another clawed hand, and then he’s dead too. A knife to the neck will do that to them.

In the end, it’s over rather quickly. I expected more but discovered that these shifters in this world aren’t fighters. No skills at all, I can recognize someone without them now. They rely on their strength and above-human speed to protect them. From humans, it will.

I’m not human. God, it feels good to know that.

I straighten, covered in shifter blood, and meet the green eyes of Ryan the Beta. He hasn’t moved from where he was standing before I killed his buddies.

“Why didn’t you help them, Ryan?” I’m curious enough to ask and see if he tells me the truth.

“I have no idea. But my wolf denied me.”

I know. Known from the moment I saw him. There is no getting away from this Dark Magiks shit sometimes.

“Did your Alpha accept the payment of the girl?”

He nods at my question.

“Did you agree with it?”

“There is no agreeing or disagreeing with the Alpha. I am Beta, I do as I’m told.” His answer sounds like a well-rehearsed speech.

One he uses to convince himself.

“Even if you know it’s wrong?”

“I have no choice. I am bound to the Alpha.”

Well, I can have a peek at that. A tendril of my power wraps around the link connecting him to his Alpha and scrutinizes it. A blood bond. I can’t break it without likely killing him.

“Come on, you’re coming with me.” I wave towards the house.

He can listen or he can die. It’s that simple.

“But I have to let my pack know what has happened,” he says.

His back stiffens and he raises his chin in self-importance.

As if I will let him do any such thing.

My eyes pin him to the spot. “You will be able to do that soon enough.” It comes out more a growl than a sentence, but it has the correct effect.

He scampers in behind me.

As we walk through the house, I look around for Ruthie’s room. Some part of me knows the girl probably has something here she will want. I find it in the basement. A small room that faintly resembles the cell I previously lived in.

A dirty worn out bed with clean sheets on it takes up the corner. Made neatly. In fact, everything is neat. What there is of it. Ruthie doesn’t have a lot. Grabbing a bag off the floor, I look for things in places girls will hide them.

I start in between the mattresses.

In the dresser, I find pictures of a woman, I assume Ruthie’s mother, and I shove those in the bag. What clothes I find go in there, too. Pretty much everything Ruthie owns goes into the bag.

Well, I can fix that. I like to shop, it’s the dragon in me.

“Out there you looked different. Now you just look human. I’ve never seen a shifter do that before.”

Oh, I forgot about him.

I remain silent.

“Did you guys clean up my mess outside?” I ask the Fiends around me. I feel their answer, sending my silent thank you.

“Who are you talking to?” Ryan is a talkative fella.

It’s annoying.

I continue to ignore him and walk up the stairs two at a time. Once outside, I stop right before we get to the car and turn to him.

“I have a fragile girl in that car. If you make one move that scares her, I will make you into a rug, is that clear?” He nods then his eyes drop to the ground.

Submission looks good on him.

Fifty-Three

Iza

“Where are we going?” Ryan’s hand catches my arm at his question.

I look down at it. I don’t like being touched. There are times it isn’t bad, with kids or my Fiends, my Dad or—Phobe, but any other time and I’m not keen on it. Corn-fed in the car learned that the hard way.

If Ryan isn’t careful, he’s going to learn the hard way, too.

I stare at his hand until he removes it and answer, “To your Alpha. He and I need to have a talk.”

A serious talk. With one of us bleeding from somewhere, kind of talk.

“She. The Alpha is a she.” I shake my head at his correction.

Feyrie Women, even half-breeds, should be strong. They should be fighters. They should be caretakers and protectors too. Instead, most of the ones I’ve met are flat out rabid bitches that need put down. They should be like my mother Nisha. A warrior who did everything she could to protect her child.

A pang somewhere in my chest causes me to pause. I press my hand to it briefly and continue.

Ruthie jumps out of the car, her fear stark in her eyes when she sees Ryan.

“He won’t hurt you, Ruthie. I promise,” I reassure her, lifting the bag into her view.

Ruthie drags her eyes from him and meets mine. “You’re covered in blood.”

I smile at her observation and show Ruthie all my sharp teeth. “It isn’t mine.” I get the reaction I want and am slightly surprised by.

Ruthie smiles.

I hand her the bag. Ruthie might not be the type to bring a souvenir to but she’s still of the Dark.

“I wasn’t sure what you wanted, so I brought it all,” I half joke, trying to give a reassuring smile.

Those sad eyes brim with tears. I find myself hugged before I can move. For two heartbeats, I just stand there stunned and slowly I hug Ruthie back. It feels good, it feels right.

Different, but right.

“Okay let’s go,” I say, easing back from Ruthie. I wave a hand towards the back seat and Ryan opens the door and freezes. “What?” I ask, looking at the shifter inside to make sure he’s still out.

“That’s the Alphas son, Marcus.” Ryan sounds so scared about it.

I don’t really care.

“So?” The bastard had Ruthie in the trunk of his car. His identity isn’t important. A dirtbag is a dirtbag.

“They’ll kill you for that.”

This time, I show him with my middle finger how concerned I am about them killing me.

A chill runs down my spine. The good kind. Sergean is here. Wait, Dad…yes, Dad. I have no idea why I still get nervous and sputter all over about what to call him.

“Doubtful.” The male voice startles them all, except me, I wave at him.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Dove.” He smiles at me, his happiness shining in his black eyes. I know that I’ve got a goofy grin to match on my face.

I love my Dad.

He crosses to me and runs a finger down the blood on my face and his smile broadens. “I got your presents. I figured a visit was in order.”

Their afterlife won’t be a picnic that’s for sure.

He kisses my forehead, despite the blood on me, and tucks me under his arm, turning to face the others. It makes me feel special. This is a good feeling to have.

“I see why you want to keep those two.” I smile ruefully at his words. He would see, damn mind reader. His smile turns into a chuckle. His face loses its smile and he turns a serious gaze onto the Beta, Ryan. “Now why is he still breathing?” I look up at the face of my father so like my own and let him hear what I think about that.

Ryan has shit to make up for.

Dad looks back down at me. “Makes sense.” he muses.

“Need a ride?” he asks, turning to show me the black Humvee parked behind him.

Lots more room in that than the beat-up car we have, with a trunk that is flopping open.

I don’t ask how he got it here.

“Grab blondie, beta boy, we’re going on a road trip,” I say, turning to my father. “You coming to play, too?”

He winks down at me. “I can drive you to the party, how about that?”

Laughing, I climb in the front of the truck.

A quick trip through the drive-through replaces the calories I need. And feeds two hungry teenagers—well for the most part. Magiks always have a cost. In my case, it comes from my body.

For Ryan, I get nothing. He hasn’t earned that yet.

Ryan provides us directions, reluctantly, and we drive directly to the small town that’s completely inhabited by shifters.

As we drive through downtown, what there is of it, shifters step out of the beat-up buildings onto the sidewalks. Their eyes on the vehicle.

They don’t get visitors here that often. They don’t like them, either. Boy, am I going to make them dislike them more. I’d be a liar if I say I’m not looking forward to kicking someone’s ass again.

I thrive in carnage—it’s something I admitted to myself a long time ago. I am what I am.

Oddly enough, the mix of Dark and Light marks isn’t even. Children are few but there are some. Strangely, those few children are dormant Darks. That’s unusual. When the parents are from the Light side of the gene pool, the children are Light Marked.

Something’s wrong here

“Almost like the fates are trying to tell you something, eh Dove?”

I glance over at Dad and sigh.

“How will they feel about what I’m about to do?”

I don’t want to hurt these children in any way, and there is a chance I will be killing some of their parents tonight. Which, in turn, might hurt them.

“I don’t think they will mind. Look around you, really look.” So, I do. And what I see makes the temperature in the car drop several degrees.

The children are all in the same spot, all except one. All afraid. All of them disconnected from the adult shifters around them.

“These aren’t their children, are they?” I turn to Ryan as I ask. He has the decency to look ashamed.

“They can’t seem to breed. So, they take over other packs. Most of the adults are killed fairly quickly, the children kept for…other things.”

Other things? Is he saying what I think he is?

“And you participated in this?” Knowing the answer even as I ask the question. I want to hear him admit it, see the answer on his face.

“I was one of those children. What else am I supposed to do?” His eyes fill with anger as he answers.

I stare at him a moment, really stare at him. I can understand surviving, I can.

But I won’t forget how he chose to. And neither will he.

“When they hit a certain age, she uses a blood bond to bind them to her. She has some wizard she keeps here to perform the bindings.” That is more information than I expected but that’s my Magiks at work. I might not be able to influence a human or a Light Fey. But the Dark is all mine.

The alpha has a pocket Schoth. A prisoner or a conspirator? Either way, it doesn’t matter I’m still going to do what I came here to do.

Now with a lot more pleasure.

“You like her?” I ask him nonchalantly.

“Like who?” He knows exactly who I’m asking about.

“The Alpha.”

His lips thin and he stares out the window. Watching him, seeing the answers in the expression he is trying so hard to school, I shake my head.

“You loved her. That was stupid, wasn’t it?” Sarcasm drips in my voice. I’m not trying to sound anything but.

“I don’t need some stranger reminding me of my shortcomings, thanks,” he bites out.

I consider smacking him upside the head but at the last-minute, change my mind. It won’t hurt nearly as much as the guilt swirling around inside of him. I really do understand the need to survive. But I bet some of the things he did wasn’t to survive at all. They were done for the ‘love’ he had for that Alpha bitch.

Which I can’t help but hold against him, Dark Mark or not.

“It will take a long time to make up for it. A lifetime, really. You’re stupid to have let a vagina convince you to go against your very nature. How did that turn out for you?” I snark.

When the ‘love of his life’ replaced him. Because she did, I bet money on it.

With a growl of rage, he lashes out at me. I twist in my seat and catch his fist, pushing back. Leaning just far enough between the seats to put my face close to his.

“We all have to face our mistakes, Ryan. It’s time for you to face yours.” I let go, and he sits back, shoulders slumping.

“What could you know about anything I went through, you pampered twit? I survived. That’s what should matter.”

The Humvee comes to a tire-screeching halt. Dad turns slightly in his seat to look at the shifter. I watch from beside him, not sure of what is coming.

But incredibly curious about it.

“She managed to survive things that would make you piss your pants, you watered down dog. And she did it with only costs to herself. Do not think to judge her. Ever. Or I will send you to the land of Death myself and make you suffer everything that happened to her. You live at her wish only.” How Dad manages to sound so menacing without raising his voice, I will never know. Speaking like he’s talking about the weather instead of telling Ryan he can kill him at any second.

I know another who can do that. An ache goes through my stomach. I shove it down. Now is not the time to think about blue skin and sharp teeth.

Ryan’s words don’t offend me at all; he doesn’t know me, probably never will. But my father is offended on my behalf. I can’t help but smile. Dad turns part way towards me and meets my gaze.

“You protect them too much. They do not see you as you are, so they do not act accordingly,” he states and then clears his throat. He starts driving again, his dark eyes on the road.

“I love you too, Dad,” I whisper for his ears alone.

“What the hell are you two?” Ryan demands, fear bleeding through his words.

A Fiend appears directly in front of Ryan. Its red eyes meet his as it lets out an eerie howl displaying two rows of razor-sharp teeth. It disappears as quickly as it appeared. His face pales, and he turns to stare back out the window. I wink at Ruthie and Michael, whose mouths are both hanging open.

As we park, I look once more at Ryan in the back seat. Knowing, without a shred of doubt, I’m gonna want his head on a stick before the evening is over. Taking in a bracing breath, I open the door and hop out of the truck.

Dad comes over to my side and hugs me tightly. “Be careful in there, Dove. Duty calls.” It always does.

I try not to feel bitter about it. Really hard. I succeed, sometimes.

A sad look at me, and he’s gone.

Cracking my knuckles, I grab the unconscious shifter out of the backseat and drag him behind me while walking towards the door to what was once a movie theater. It’s time to start the party.

Fifty-Four

Iza

Almost struck blind by the color vomit of the room, I look around at the gaudy, eye-watering colors, a little sick to my stomach. It’s like walking into a 70’s horror flick. Bright gauzy fabric hangs all about the room. A four-poster bed with the same fabric takes up a corner and most of the shifters are lying around on the various pieces of ugly furniture spread throughout the room.

That’s a good way to maintain the theme.

They’re also wearing pleather. Pleather. Not the cool leather type but the shiny one that you use Vaseline to slide into. My lip curls in distaste. I’m not much for fashion but, god, do they have to be so cliché?

“Who in the hell are you?” The demand comes from a gilded, golden chair sitting in the middle of it all.

Seriously, a throne? I turn to look at the owner of the voice and right away can only see one thing. Boobs. Just out in the open. Big fake boobs.

Huge boobs.

“Boobs” I mutter. Michael snorts and looks away from me to hide his smile.

“Ryan, why have you brought meat to my parlor?” I ignore her once I can tear my gaze away from the sight that can’t be unseen.

I toss the unconscious shifter at Ryan’s feet. Let him deal with it. I’m looking for something. Or someone, really. The Schoth that I can smell but can’t see, yet.

Ah, there he is.

With just a little effort I pierce through his illusions to the man underneath. He dresses as gaudily as everyone else here. Well, now I know where the Alpha gets her fashion sense. Schoth have none. Arick is, was, a prime testament to that.

Lifting my hand, I wiggle my fingers in greeting to him. The look on his face is almost enough to make me laugh out loud. The Schoth has Light Magiks, but they aren’t strong enough to be a threat.

Not this time.

“Why is my son unconscious?” The way the Alpha asks is just so…casual. So, motherly instincts aren’t the Boobs’ strong suit.

“My liege, this is-” Ryan clears his throat. He has no idea what to call me and so he looks for rescue. I shrug. “-Honestly, I don’t know who she is but she insisted on meeting you,” he gives in and answers.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” I comment, wandering to my right to pick up a pair of pink fuzzy handcuffs. I eye them, a little grossed out at their purpose, and toss them at one of the shifters staring at me from the velvet chair I lifted them from.

Subconsciously, my feet shuffle to the right. Well, this is interesting. Something is tugging at me.

“So, I’ve come for the children. If you give them to me, I’ll make the damage minimal.” If one calls ‘all dead’ minimal.

The Alpha laughs, more like cackles, and looks to the Schoth who steps forward, pale-faced. He and I both know I shouldn’t be able to see him. And the fact that I can, makes him nervous.

“Who are you to threaten me at all, meat? I am the Alpha here. My word is-”

“Blah. Blah. Blah. I don’t care. Your pet can’t stop me, and he knows it.”

The alpha turns again to the Schoth.

“My lady, she is not what she seems. You must be cautious.” The alpha laughs at the Schoth’s words. She really isn’t that smart, is she?

“She is in a room full of my brethren and a mage. What can she possibly do?” I hear her words but at a distance.

The Magiks inside of me twitch. Something pulls me harder towards one of the couches. I step around platters of food, pieces of strewn clothing, and the bodies of shifters sitting on the ground.

The couch is in the dark but my gaze can see its occupant clearly. A boy no more than ten lays upon it, completely nude. Bruises mar his flesh. Scars, some of them old, are all over him. Shackles tether him at the wrists to the velvet prison of the chaise.

His green eyes lift and he looks at me. My breath catches at the emptiness in them. They’ve broken this child.

Hesitantly, I approach him. I don’t want to scare him. I grasp the end of the chain and pull it easily from its connection. Kneeling, I carefully break the manacles on his bony, bloody wrists.

For the first time, I deliberately seek a connection with a Dark Mark. Through layers of trauma, through layers of Light Magiks—that I tear through with menace. I find it. I find him.

It nearly breaks my heart.

“Knox,” I whisper, slowly he focuses those beautiful green eyes. He blinks, and the brightest hope I have ever seen lights them.

So, he’s not completely broken. My hand shakes. I cup his cheek, using my thumb to wipe away the single tear that trickles out of his eye.

“You came.” It’s a whisper of words, so soft. Filled with so much emotion.

“Oh, Knox—I am so sorry it took me so long but I am here now. Are you ready to go home?” I’ve no idea where the words come from but they feel right.

A small fragile hand lifts and covers mine. His fingers are even bruised. Oh, this poor child. I know what he’s endured. Know this is why I am here now.

To save him.

“Michael?” My voice is soft but he hears me.

He is at my side in an instant. I feel a rage so profound it makes me shake. But I hold it in check. I must. It will scare the kids. That’s something I absolutely don’t want to do.

Especially, to the delicate child in front of me.

“It’s okay, Knox. This is my friend, and he has some lunch cakes in the car, chocolate ones—your favorite. Isn’t that cool?” Those bright mossy eyes turn back to me, and after a moment he nods.

“Ruthie.” At the summons, she is at my side as well. “I’m going to send you outside with them, ‘cos it’s going to get really messy in here. But,” I say to Knox, “we have this cool ride outside full of buttons. You can play with them all until I get out there, okay?” I rub his cheek with my thumb again and drop my hand to grab a blanket off the floor. I wrap it around him.

“Take him to the car. No one will bother you.” I pick him up and for a moment just hold him close to me. I kiss the top of his head and hand him to Ruthie who gives me such a sad look that it almost makes me lose my composure.

So much suffering. I will see more suffering. I’m sure of it. As I watch Ruthie and Michael make their way outside, escorted by a darkness that keeps the shifters back, my eyes slit in anger.

I will see more, yes, and I will make the guilty pay for it.

“Ryan, you keep your fucking ass standing right there, in that spot.” I feel the Darkness seething out of me. Feel the temperature around me drop. Feel the monster I revel in, rising.

I am my Father’s daughter. But this time, I am all my Mom.

“Let’s see if those boobs are real or not, shall we?” I smile, teeth sharp. I let my glamour completely fall, let my Magiks push out as my eyes meet those of the Alpha bitch.

Finally, I can let my rage free.

“Oh, gods. Run!”

But the Schoth’s warning comes too late. I am already moving.

Fifty-Five

Iza

I look for sympathy inside myself, for making Ryan stand there and watch it all. There is none. For the entire fight, his wolf kept him rooted to the spot. He couldn’t even look away. The minute I killed his Alpha he became tied completely to me.

Something his wolf recognized in the beginning.

“There is a bus over there. Load all the kids into it and take them to this address. The wards will let you in. You have a lot to make up for and this is the first step.” I hand him the address while I tell him what I want him to do.

“As you wish. I will get the boy and be on my way.”

Like I said, submission looks good on him.

“No!” Grabbing my composure, I try again. “He can stay with me. Take the money the pack had stashed, use it. And Ryan…” He turns to look at me. “If a single hair on any of their heads is harmed I will take it out of your skin, literally.” He nods again.

Without a word of protest, he goes to do as bid.

“He looks terrified,” Ruthie comments out the window. Good.

When I get into the back seat of the Humvee, the weight of Knox crawling on my lap surprises me. He doesn’t seem to care about the gore covering me. So, I don’t care either. I wrap my arm around him and hold him close to my heart.

I don’t know why I decide to keep him with me. But I’m going to.

“You both need clothing and food,” Ruthie says after a few miles.

Look at her playing mommy! I nod and give her a small smile. She smiles back and keeps driving.

“I get what you said now, Dad,” I whisper, staring out at the road ahead of them. I don’t want my supposed fate but it’s leading me to things that I do want.

Like helping Ruthie, Michael, and Knox.

“Others will not be as easy as this watered-down lot.” His voice coming from beside me in the backseat should’ve surprised me but it doesn’t. I turn to him.

“I know.” And I do. Things will only get harder from here. I have no idea how I’m going to do this, or if I’m strong enough to.

“You two were close in that hell hole, weren’t you?” I know who he’s asking about. My heart rate speeds up like some doofy teen. Thinking of him always does that.

Stupid hormones.

“He saved me, Dad.”

He opens his mouth to say more and then closes it, changing his mind. I decide to let it drop. I don’t really want to talk about Phobe either. Not right now.

“I guess I’m not getting my leisurely stroll through the country?” I ask.

Dad chuckles softly at my half-assed attempt at a joke.

“You knew that when you started.”

I did but I didn’t really acknowledge it until now. Fate has ahold of me, and I can’t deny it anymore. I look down at the dark hair just inches from my nose.

Not when those like Knox are waiting for me.

Fifty-Six

Iza

Knox needs clothing. There aren’t a lot of stores open at one am, but we manage to find a Wally-World. Knox waits in the car with Michael while Ruthie and I head in.

The store is exactly like I want every store to be. Empty. Other than a guy pushing around a loud machine with a spinning flat wheel on the front and people stocking the shelves, there really isn’t anyone.

Which suits me just fine.

Knox is sleeping and safe, so we have a little time to shop. Ruthie and Michael both need clothes as well. And I want to get that Tablet I forgot to get at the Mall.

Grabbing a cart, Ruthie follows me closely as we weave through the aisles. When I see something, I want or we need, it goes in the cart. Batman pajamas for Knox. I turn Ruthie loose in the young women’s clothes, and I round up a bunch for the boys, including shoes for Knox.

I can take him another day to get a better pair. Ruthie already got his shoe size so at least I don’t have to guess that. Was funny how she did it. She held her shoe up against his foot and using a marker, drew a line where his foot ended on her sole.

Clever.

Socks, underwear. Michael will just have to make do with the size; I’m totally guessing. Skinny is the option I choose. I need another bra. Mine is soaked in blood, which is all tacky and gross now.

I’m so glad I can glamour.

With the clothes shopping out the way, I head back to electronics. I almost forgot the damn tablet again. I also got little odds and ends, more toothpaste, soap etc. Lots of toothbrushes. I’m not sure which kind Knox will like so I got one of each. Even a fancy one that spins and plays music.

A video game system for the kids that I have to pay for in the back, along with a tablet for each kid and a laptop computer. Plus, headphones. I watch TV, I know how teens are. I don’t tease Ruthie about the box of maxi-pads she sneaks into the cart, either.

Thanks to the science channel, I know what those are too. Shifters have menses very like humans. Right now, I’m sitting happy; I only have mine when I have a heat cycle. Once every few years.

Grabbing some medical supplies, I feel like we’ve bought all we need to at this point. Now to pay and get out of here.

Knox is still asleep when we get back to the car. Sleeping like he has never slept a full night. More than likely he hasn’t in a long time, poor thing. Tucking the blanket up around his chin, I slip a seatbelt around him and load our purchases quietly into the back.

“Where are we going, Iza?” Ruthie asks from beside of me.

“Where ever. We’ll end up in the place I don’t want to go, regardless,” I say, turning to look at her. “For now, we keep looking for…more people. The lost.” While I slowly make my way there.

“Okay, you just tell me which direction and I’ll go.” As she spoke she put her hand on my arm, reassuring me.

Ruthie is reassuring me.

“First, food and a hotel. A nice one with fancy rooms, alright?” I suggest. Ruthie smiles.

Kids are so easy to please, sometimes. I love that about them.

Ruthie doesn’t let me down either. She finds the Gilden. Not like the one you can find on the side of most highways. Nope, she finds one of the rich people ones.

This will be fun.

The inside is just as posh as I expected it to be. Their potted plants are real too. I know this because I accidentally tear the branch off one of the trees as I walk past.

In my defense, they are normally plastic.

Looking around, I throw the branch in the elevator when it opens. Hoping the startled woman inside will forget my face until I have a room key in my hand.

As I take the final steps up to the counter, my anxiety grows a bit. The way the clerk is eyeing me is not promising. But it does kinda piss me off. I swing my backpack around and dig out my ID and the black credit card. I have The Google God; I know what black credit cards with no logos on them mean.

Smirking, I put them both on the counter. The counter made from real marble. This place really is fancy.

“Can I—” The male clerk starts to greet me. Rudely. It’s all about the tone.

“Madam, welcome to the Gilden. George that will be all.” The heavy-set man with the very nice hair steps around…George. His eyes are all for the black credit card.

This fella has dealt with rich people who don’t look rich, before.

“I am Harvard, how may I be of assistance this evening?” his greeting is pleasant. Not one bit of contempt bleeds through his voice or face. He’s good.

“Hi, Harvard. I need one of your largest suites, please. For the week.” I smile as I speak. Might as well treat the kids. “And we will need room service. Steaks, rare, lots of them. Wait, just bring up 4 of everything.” Nodding as I speak he starts to check me in. Two swipes and both cards are returned to me.

“We also have a variety of stores that carry any item you will need. If they do not, we can make arrangements for you.” His smile is genuine as he hints that I might need clothes, without sounding insulting. Now, this is service.

Oh, Harvard where have you been my whole life?

An idea strikes me. Snagging the fancy pen off the counter, I sign my receipt and write an address on it. “Can you please have business cards printed with this address on it? Simple ones.”

“Of course. When do you need them completed by?”

“As soon as possible. Also, do you have pay-per-view? The kids like movies.” I do, too, but I don’t need to admit that.

“Yes, Miss Black. Are you by chance related to Ms. Nisha Black? You have the look of her.” The bottom of my stomach falls out at his question.

“Yes, she was my mother.” His jaw ticks when he realizes what I’m saying without saying. The smile softens with sympathy. But Harvard is smart enough to not give me pity.

“I will make sure your accommodations match hers. She was a welcome, frequent guest here. Would you also like to have a pool prepared in the morning? I know she liked to take early morning swims.” Harvard offers, somehow knowing I will appreciate the offer. Simply because she used to do it.

“I’m more of a night person but we will love trying out the pool tomorrow evening. Also—” I write an amount down on the credit card slip in the tip section. Five figures. Harvard deserved it. “—This should tide you over until I check out.” The only sign of emotion was a slight widening of his eyes.

“If you need, anything else, Miss Black, please, don’t hesitate to ask. We will be at your service.” I can hear the amusement in his voice as he hands me my room key card.

It’s so nice to be treated decently for once. Go, go, black credit card.

Casting a wave over my shoulder, I go outside to get the kids. A very nice valet opens the door for Ruthie and patiently waits for me to unload the heathens and our stuff. Of course, I tip him.

A bellhop meets us at the door with a cart. Loading everything on it, he follows up with a friendly smile. Thankfully, I remembered to glamour myself and Knox.

I’m pretty sure the dried bits of gore all over both of us might raise a few eyebrows.

Fifty-Seven

Iza

Our room, holy meatballs. My mom had good taste. There are three bedrooms, at least, a large sunken living room with a large fully equipped kitchen. The bathrooms…yes, plural, tickled my inner dragon.

“Holy shit,” Michael exclaimed, helping the bellhop unload our bags. I tipped him and shut the door behind me.

“Right? This room is fantastic. Look at the size of the TV.” says Ruthie skipping to the living room to flop onto the sectional sofa. It’s curved and almost as large as the room. I laugh as she sinks into it with a contented sigh.

“I’m going to get sleepyhead into a shower and some pajamas. You two, go wash up.” Ruthie groans at my instructions but gets up to do as bid. I hear her “Whoa!” in her bedroom’s bath.

The bedroom is huge but I ignore it, focusing instead on getting Knox and myself clean. “Hey noodle, you ready to get all clean?” Knox is standing there with the blanket wrapped around him like armor.

“I get to take a bath in that?” His voice is barely above a whisper but I have really good hearing.

“Oh yeah. The swimming pool tub is all you, bud. Do you need any help?”

He chews on his fingernail as he contemplates me. Nodding, he turns to look at all the soaps and such they have laying out.

There is a big, fluffy, black robe wrapped in plastic hanging on the wall next to the stand-in shower. Hm. I pick up the phone—why there is one in the bathroom, I have no idea—and call the front desk.

I recognize George’s voice. ‘Hello George, this is Iza Black in the Elegant Suite—” They didn’t have room numbers on this floor.

“—what do you want?” Wow, that is not what I am expecting.

“George, who is on the phone?” I hear Harvard, muffled, but close.

“Miss Black, she wants us to fetch her something else ridiculous, I’m sure.” Does he not realize I can hear him?

“You have no idea who she is, do you? You moron. That is the owner’s daughter!” Harvard whispers fiercely. I’m sure he thinks I can’t hear him either. “Give me the damn phone.”

You get him, Harvard.

And whoa, Dad own’s this place? How coincidental is that?

“My apologies, Miss Black. George needs to go on his break. How may I be of service?” Now his voice sounds as polite as ever.

Smiling, I watch as Knox fiddles with the facets and jets of the tub. I smile even more when he dumps the entire bottle of bubble bath in. That might make a mess.

“I really am sorry to bother you. I was just going to ask for some robes for the kids. I need one for an eight-year-old boy and 2 teens, if possible…and, Harvard? I may have to buy a new bathroom tomorrow.”

Harvard laughs at me, then clears his throat, getting back to Mr. Professional again. “Miss Iza Black, you can burn the entire building down, and if you wish it, I’ll lend you my lighter.”

If Harvard was 25 years younger and a monster I’d totally do him.

“Na, I don’t think we need to burn anything down…yet. By the way, are you the manager of the entire hotel, Harvard?”

“No Madam. That would be Mrs.—” I cut him off I don’t care about her name.

“Is she a bitch?”

Harvard laughs again. This time longer.

“Yes. If I am, to be honest.”

“Good, you have her job now. Double the pay she makes now. You can verify it with my Dad. I’m sure he won’t say a word.”

‘Dad, when did you come here?’ Sensing he is either close or listening, I call out to him.

‘We searched every realm for you, Iza, including here. Your mother loved this place.’

That explains why he bought it.

‘You are a brat for firing the manager.’ Dad’s voice echoes in my head with affection.

Apparently, he’s been paying attention longer than I realized.

‘Eavesdropping is a sin, Dad.’

‘So is how you were made.’ I choke on my own spit.

“Miss Black, are you well?” Harvard asks in concern.

I clear my throat.

“Yes, I’m fine. There was a big, fat fly buzzing around my head.”

“Oh, we can get an exterminator up there immediately!” The concern in Harvard’s voice strikes me as funny.

“You’re just adorable, Mr. Harvard the Hotel Manager.”

“Miss Black, I have worked here for 30 years, and you are by far my favorite client.”

“You say that now.”

He chuckles. “There is a tablet on the desk in the office, you can email me anything you require to save yourself the hassle of a phone call.”

“Maybe I like hearing your voice, Harvard.”

He chuckles again. I hear someone talking to him in the background.

“Room service will be arriving soon. It will take multiple trips, is this acceptable?”

“Yeah. You’re awesome. Talk to you tomorrow.”

Saying good-bye, Harvard disconnects the call. I’m sure he has a lot to do being the new manager.

“Look, Iza! Bubbles!” Knox says excitedly. I look up and immediately laugh. The bubbles are higher than he is tall and he’s standing in the bathtub.

Well, if it makes him happy.

For twenty minutes we play around, and I help him wash a bit at a time. Leaving his important parts for him to wash, I start washing his hair, it’s so soft and fine. Like silk thread.

Now it smells good too.

A knock on the door, I go into the living room to answer.

It’s the friendly bellhop again, with the three robes on hangers neatly lain over his arm. He smiles as he hands them to me. I go to tip him again but he shakes his head and walks away.

I’ll make sure to tell Harvard to give the guy a tip from me tomorrow.

Taking the robe to Knox, I leave him with a big fluffy towel on the toilet and go find my own clean clothes for my shower. Well, a bra and some panties. I plan on wearing that fluffy-ass robe.

We can all sit around in our robes and stuff our faces and watch movies.

I think it’s a great plan.

Fifty-Eight

Iza

All of us, clean and scrubbed, are piled onto the massive sofa. Earlier, we found slippers just inside the door. Compliments of Harvard, I’m sure.

So, there we sit; three pairs of feet on the fancy glass coffee table and one smaller pair on my knees. Knox tried to reach but he ended up hanging most of the way off the cushion.

Turning the massive TV on—I bet the sucker is 100 inches—I scroll through the pay-per-view menu for something all of us can watch.

“That one!” Knox exclaims, pointing at the TV.

“You want to watch a movie about the Matrix guy killing people?” Nodding at my words, he settles in beside of me, grasping my upper arm between his small warm hands.

No way can I tell him no.

It’s not like I’ve got to worry about him sticking to PG content. Besides, he’s a shifter. He eats raw meat. A knock at the door brings me to my feet. Food is here!

After two steaks, two bowls of ice-cream, and half of the movie, Knox falls back asleep. As carefully as I can, I carry him into my room and tuck him into the bed. That soft-ass hair beckons and I can’t help but rub a hand over it. It slides through my fingers like silk.

God, this kid pulls at my heart. All three of them do.

Drawn to the lights coming in from the balcony door, I cross the room on silent feet and quietly slide the door open. The air is slightly chilly but I can smell summer in the night air. Shutting the door behind me I lean on the balcony railing and stare up at the stars that are surprisingly brilliant.

The street lights aren’t bright this high up.

The first hot tear landing on my hand surprises me, the rest of them don’t. These tears aren’t for me. They’re for the child sleeping in my room. For the other two playfully arguing over the last piece of cheesecake in the living room.

For the children, I won’t make it to in time. For the ones…I’ve already missed.

“Listen here, you asshole in the sky…this is just as much your fault as mine. You stuck me in that place, you’re the reason I am who I am. You’re the reason I’m going to fuck this all up.” I choke on the words and feel a warm presence behind me. The smell of my Dad wraps me in the same feeling as when I was a child, crying with a boo-boo.

He doesn’t touch me, and right now I don’t want him to. But I do want his presence. It’s enough.

“You know I helped entrap…Phobe.” He muses in the darkness. My shoulders tense. What? “He was crazy with power and trying to save the world, so he said. I was young, foolish. I listened to others that I shouldn’t have. By then, it was too late to free him, but it didn’t stop me from trying.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I’m not angry at him, disappointed maybe, but then again, Phobe was not the Phobe I know back then. Right?

“When the stone was given to the Schoth, All-Father sent me a dream. In that dream, he told me that one day that creature of nightmares would save the most important thing in the world to me. Then he gave me the edited version of the prophecy.” Oh.

“I believed him initially, I worshipped the ground he walked on. I was even teaching you how to use your Magiks with the fucking thing in mind. Then you were taken, and Nisha was murdered—I felt like He failed me completely, too.” Clearing his throat, he steps a little closer. “I hated—no, I hate the All-Father.”

I can hear emotion choking his voice. Smell the salt of his tears joining mine. My Dad is crying with me.

“I am going to fuck this up, Dad. I am going to fuck this up so bad that I’m afraid what will happen to the kids…like the adorable fuckers I have in there.” I point at the door.

I sniffle, my nose thick with tear goop. A tissue appears in Dad’s hand next to my face. Blowing my nose loudly, I hand the tissue back to him. The look on his face makes me laugh out loud.

Holding it by the very edge he tosses it in the garbage can next to the door. The look of disgust on his face is replaced by one of concern.

“You’re going to fuck up, Iza. I’m not going to lie to you. But you will do a lot more right than you will fuck up, do you understand?” He grabs my shoulders and shakes me gently as he speaks.

“You are definitely not a pep talker.”

He laughs and pulls me in for a quick hug. How did he know I am ready for one of those? Goddamn mind readers.

Fifty-Nine

Iza

Sitting with my legs dangling between the bars of the walkway, facing the empty parking lot, I look at the night sky. We’ve been driving—sometimes in circles, so sue me—for almost 2 weeks and are almost at our destination.

Jittery inside, I swing my legs faster. I’m nervous. Afraid that this place will reject me and discover that everyone who believes in me—even me, to some degree—is wrong.

That I’m still a no one. But…it’s not about me. It’s about them. The children. The innocent people suffering because of the Magiks side they were born from.

Knox is slowly starting to open up, as much as a child who has experienced what he has can. He’ll heal. And maybe he can still find some of that childhood left. I will, at least, try to give that to him.

That first night, I let him pour enough bubbles in his bath to coat the entire bathroom, helped him dress in a brand-new fancy black robe, and slept with him on the most glorious hotel bed in existence. Well, he slept. I laid there rubbing his baby soft hair and tried to figure out how the hell I was going to pull this off. That’s after I stood out on the balcony and cried all over the place. Really, truly, cried for how many children I haven’t saved, or won’t be able to save.

But I’ve got to try.

When this shit all started I didn’t want it. Part of me still doesn’t. Yet, I know in my heart— what’s left of it—that someone’s gotta do it. And for some reason, fate threw me in that position. I’m starting to wonder about Fate’s intelligence. Maybe she’s so old, she’s senile?

I’m not a people person, for so freaking long it was only about me. Then Phobe. Letting myself care about another person, opened a doorway that I can’t, and don’t, want to close anymore. I no longer believe it’s a weakness to care. In fact, it appears to make me stronger. Better. A believer. That is the biggest surprise of all. Belief. Something I haven’t felt since I was a child, before being taken.

Saving one at a time is better than saving none.

A giggle draws my gaze through the open hotel door. Knox is sitting on the bed with Ruthie and Michael on either side of him, playing a video game. It’s Knox that giggled.

My eyes burn as I look away. Smiling, I look back up into the night sky. I can’t really see the stars but I know they’re there. Which for now is enough.

Maybe this fate thing won’t be so bad, after all.

Butterflies fill my stomach. Every night when I look up into the sky I wonder where Phobe is. Looking for him in the darkness, hoping he’s coming. That feeling—the hope—makes me edgy. Things are different now. We’re no longer locked in a cage together.

What will happen if we stand face to face again?

“Who do you look for?” The quiet voice pulls me out of my thoughts.

A smile automatically appears on my face as I turn to Knox.

“What makes you think I’m looking for someone?”

He sits down close beside me, looping his arm through mine.

“I dunno. Just feels that way.” Perceptive kid. I chuckle.

“A friend.”

Knox smiles and leans his head against my shoulder, his soft hair tickling my jaw.

“He’s your boyfriend.”

I laugh in surprise at this observation. “Why in the world do you think that?”

Knox giggles at my reaction. A sound that always lifts my heart.

“Your eyes get all mooshie.”

I kiss the top of his head. Maybe they do.

“Would he fight the bad guys?” Knox would ask a question like that.

Slipping my arm around his waist I pull him closer. Leaning down close to whisper conspiratorially.

“Totally. He’s like that Ninja you like on your video game so much,” I whisper loudly.

“Really? That’s freaking cool. You think he will teach me some Kung-Fu?”

He sounds so excited about it, I really hope I can find him someone to teach him Kung-Fu.

“He taught me some wax on-wax off, I bet he would teach you, too.”

Sorry, Phobe, totally volunteering you.

“Can he use a sword? And make throwing stars flame and go invisible?” Knox’s questions shoot out one after the other.

The smile broadens on my face. Seeing him animated about something is nice. Really nice.

“He’s so strong he can throw cars. And his eyes catch on fire. Does that count?”

Knox giggles again. I’m on a roll today.

“Eyes can’t catch on fire, silly,” he manages to get out between giggles. “That’s only in the movies.”

Won’t Knox be shocked if he sees it happen because I’ll totally talk Phobe into showing him; that and the throwing the cars part. Who doesn’t like seeing someone throw cars?

“Come on, let’s get you some food, knucklehead.” I climb to my feet and pull Knox to his feet. I really have to fatten this kid up, air weighs more than he does.

“I get dibs on the TV next!” Knox calls, out running into the room.

A shiver racks through me, and I pause in the doorway, turning slowly to look over my shoulder at the empty parking lot. I see nothing out of the ordinary. But there is something I can’t quite put my finger on.

The Fiends around me see nothing either. Deciding it’s me being paranoid, I go into the room and shut the door.

Sixty

Phobe

I release the neck of the Schoth I am holding off the ground by several inches. He falls into the darkness gathering on the ground below him. Quickly, it crawls across the man’s skin, devouring him.

This is not my Magiks. Not this time.

Iza freeing me freed everything connected to me, including the bigger versions of the Fiends that guard Iza so rabidly; Fiends that did not come from her Father’s realm like she believes. The day she was born, the females separated from the males, my Fiends, to journey to her. To guard her.

Like me, they are all ravenous.

I turn to the Schoth’s companion. A Blood Lock who cowers on the ground at my feet, her red, murky eyes looking up from the weak Magiks lighting them. They can hurt Iza if enough are loosed on her.

If. I squat in front of her.

“How many more are there?” As I ask, my shadows force their way into the Lock’s mind. By the time I get my answers there is nothing left inside of it but meat. They burnt her mind to a crisp.

As Iza would so eloquently say, woops.

There are three others stationed around the hotel Iza is holed up in with her trio of children. Children she will die to protect. Something I am not going to allow. Iza is strong and getting stronger every day. Physically, she can take all of them on and more. But her weakness is Light and the unnatural Blood Magiks. This many of them can succeed and get the bounty they seek her out for.

That is if I wasn’t here.

I touch a claw to the comatose Lock’s skin and pull on the life force that still resides inside. Pulling until the darkness gorges on every drop. I stand and look back to the closed door of her room.

Feeling her so close I can almost touch her.

When I first found her here I stood and watched her. Watched her smile at the child she held close to her. It, quite simply, made me ache. I want to go to her, to touch her and make sure she is real. To bury my face in her hair and breathe in the cinnamon smell that…brings me comfort.

Shame holds me back.

I have only been gone for months of her time, but years passed where I traveled. Decades. Iza was in my thoughts every single minute of them. I should not have left her. I did not expect to feel her absence so keenly.

Being gone from her for so long has given me a new appreciation of the tangle of feelings she rouses me. Not clarification, just appreciation.

My eyes want to see her again.

Even at the distance between us, I heard their earlier conversation. I am like a Ninja? Lucky for her that I know what a ninja is. Also, throwing cars and fiery eyes are easy things to accomplish.

Shaking myself from frivolous thoughts, knowing that soon I will stand face to face with her again, I disappear into the darkness to seek out the other Schoth.

I am famished.

Acknowledgements

I want to thank so many people, so in no particular order:

Jason, my Love Muffin (Yeah, you hate that term, eh?) for putting up with late nights, incoherent babble and tears of frustration. I waited my whole life for you and finally, you were unlucky enough to run into me, lol.

My children, all of you. I love you, I think about you every day! Keep reaching for those dreams, keep working hard. And no matter what life throws at you, look up at the stars. Once, someone dreamed of going there and did. So, don’t let anything stop you! You are very loved.

Vicky, you are one of my biggest supporters. Always giving me words of encouragement and telling me when something sucked, lol. You are fantastic! And I want you to keep being passionate and funny and love life! Love you my grown baby!

Zachy Doodle, you’re my good little egg. Keep that imagination going bud. Keep dreaming. And we can still make up stories at bed time about tigers. Alright?

Felicia, babe you favor me the most when it comes to books. Don’t lose that. Be safe, be happy. Love you.

Isaac, Katie, Jacob you are always in my thoughts. I love you.

Christina, Melissa, Ashley, Weez (Anne-Louise), Nikki, Nicole, Ruthie, Rae, Aleah, Soobee, Jenifer. Too many to name all of you at PENNED IN INK! My super Beta readers too, but your names are already up there!

B.L! Anita! Cece! Auryn! You ladies were indispensable, thank you for the support and the guidance. You all rock!

Katie, you started this, lol. Save me some of that wine!

Sarah, you didn’t think I’d forget you, did you? Sarah, you’ve been there for 12 years. Thank you for putting up with all the crap that is the whirlwind of me, lol. Love you. You too, the other wonder twin, Megan! Love you!

Devin W, you taught me very young that I could be stronger. It was watching you go through one of the hardest moments of your life that made me want to be a better person. Thank you for being so strong, it was life-changing for me. You are one of the biggest reasons I became something more than what I was. I will never forget.

You crazy Canucks, too many of you to name! lol Dev, Kirk, I’ll point out you two! Thanks for being there!

My sister Patty—you used to read the stories I wrote, lol. Have you read this one yet? It’s a lot different than Fred the Talking Frog. Find that dream again, kiddo. Stay happy, love you.

Jon, keep having those adventures! Always be true to yourself.

Mom…we didn’t see eye to eye on well, anything. Know, when I look up at the sky, some nights, I think of you because in my mind—that’s where you are.

About Zoe Parker

Writing has always been a dream and a curse of mine. It seems I've spent more time living in my head than sky-diving or climbing mountains. But really, I was, and am, happier writing stories of saving Dragons in Distress and defeating the Evil Knights bent on killing them. With a toilet plunger as my sword and a pot lid as my shield! The Monsters in my world are the Heroes, won’t you come dream them with me?

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