Tempests fury, p.13
Tempest's Fury, page 13
She lifted a hand to his face, rough with a few days’ worth of stubble, and smile.
“You’re cute when you try to tell me what to do.”
He didn’t get a chance to respond. A snowy white Fox came hurtling out of the underbrush toward them, teeth bared and claws ready. She spun toward it, extended her hands and allowing her power to propel a large chunk of earth toward the creature. It hit the beast in the middle, throwing it against a tree and knocking it unconscious.
Throwing her cloak off, she opened her arms wide and called on the full force of her power. A large, two-legged sentinel rose up beneath her, carrying her several feet off the ground. It sprouted legs and waited for her command.
On the ground, Eli shifted to four legs and circled her, growling at the surrounding trees. The world went silent for the space of a few seconds before the woods unleashed hell. Three of the Werewolves broke through, charging Eli all at once. He leapt and collided with one of them, teeth snapping and claws shredding.
Jocylene commanded the sentinel to follow her movements. It balled its fists and brought them down to the earth, causing it to crack and split. It opened beneath the second Werewolf, swallowing it whole. She closed the seam, burying the animal alive.
The third charged toward the sentinel, trying to snap at its legs. She gave it a swift kick, rewarded with the crunch and snap of bones when it went tumbling through the snow. Eli closed his jaw around the neck of the Werewolf that had attacked him, causing it to go limp, its blood spilling and rapidly staining the white ground.
With a hiss and snap of his jaws, he pounded the ground with one massive paw and challenged the rest of them to come forward.
Two more of them—one Werewolf and a Fox—answered his challenge, each coming at him from opposite directions. One bit down on his leg, and as they rolled in the snow, the second leapt on his back, tearing into the skin between his shoulders.
Jocylene made the earth roll in a wave, sending all three of them flying and tumbling. It dislodged the Fox latched onto his leg, but the one on his back held on for dear life. Before she could help him, the other two appeared. One took a running leap and collided with her sentinel, sending it sprawling backward. She jumped from her perch and braced herself for impact. The hard, icy ground knocked the wind from her but there wasn’t time to recover. A second Werewolf landed on her, paws braced on her shoulders and pinning her to the ground.
Gritting her teeth, she used her mind to pull a jagged spike of icy earth from the ground, sending it flying toward the Wolf. It impaled the beast, going through its back and coming out through its chest. The point stopped just short of Jocylene’s forehead, dripping blood. She grunted and heaved the heavy body off before struggling to her feet.
A set of sharp teeth clamped onto her arm and she bellowed in pain, falling to her knees. The first Werewolf that had knocked her sentinel over had recovered, and seemed to be trying to tear her arm from the socket. Tears filled her eyes and the scent of her own blood filled her nostrils.
Eli!
Her scream of pain couldn’t have come from her mouth—the pain was too intense, and she could barely breathe, let alone speak. For the short moment, when she thought of her mate, a sharp pain stabbed through the side of her head before fading, replaced with a cooling sensation, like someone had flooded her skull with aloe.
A black blur came toward her, knocking the Werewolf away and loosening its hold on her arm. She fell back in the snow, holding her injured arm close to her body and writhing in agony.
Even through the haze of her pain, she could hear Eli’s voice as clear as a bell.
Jocylene! By the gods, if she is killed, I do not know how I will survive!
She gasped, her eyes widening when she realized he crouched several yards away, ripping the Werewolf to shreds. Aside from the sounds of carnage, there was nothing else. No voices.
She’d heard him. In his animal form. Inside her head.
Jocylene smiled and closed her eyes. I’m okay, Eli. I may have to skip the strapless gowns for a while, but I’ll live.
Silence.
Then, Eli’s human face appeared in her field of vision. He had knelt at her side and gingerly slid one arm beneath her shoulders, and another under her knees to lift her.
You can hear me?
She nodded, aware that her blood dripped steadily on to the cold, hard ground. And you can hear me.
Tears filled his eyes and he nodded, his lips parting in a dazzling smile. Thank the gods you’re alive. I thought …
She reached up with her good arm and pulled his head down to hers. She trembled from the cold and grew weak from pain, but she kissed him thoroughly, using what remained of her strength.
“I’d never leave you if I could help it,” she said once she’d pulled away.
Eli didn’t answer. He trotted back toward the cabin, where those inside were oblivious to what had occurred just outside their doors.
“Help me!” he thundered, kicking the door open. “Joss is hurt!”
Malachi and Jake were on their feet in an instant. Her father’s face went white as a sheet.
“What happened?”
“Shifter attack,” he replied. “There were eight of them. No doubt sent by Kalodan after Desdemona. We fought them off.”
Jocylene could see her sister, standing near the fire, her eyes wide with horror. One hand came up over her mouth. She wondered if Desdemona understood now just how far the enemy was willing to go to see them all destroyed. Her vision blurred, but she blinked and fought to keep her sister’s face in focus.
“It’s okay, Des,” she slurred. “I’m going to be okay. Then, we’re going to go kick that guy’s ass together.”
Desdemona didn’t answer, but she did cross the room to Malachi’s side.
“Let’s get her to bed.”
“What do you need?” he asked, turning to her. “Tell me and I’ll do it.”
“Hot water,” she replied, reaching for an apron hanging on a nail in the wall. “Cloth for bandages. A needle and thread, and snow thistle.”
“Snow thistle,” Malachi murmured. “The weed?”
She nodded. “It slows the progression of poison, and aids healing. It’ll help keep the wound from festering until we reach Goldun. She needs a Fae healer. Bring the other items first, then go find the weed. Quickly.”
The floorboards rattled under his heavy tread as he crossed the room to do as she’d instructed.
Jocylene felt the room spin and turn on its side as Eli followed Desdemona, carrying her to the bed. He laid her down gingerly, then sat on the edge of the mattress beside her.
“Poison,” he said, his voice shaking. His hands trembled as he took one of hers between them. “I’d forgotten. Werewolf bites are deadly to non-Shifters.”
“Only if the poison is allowed to course through her bloodstream,” Desdemona said, accepting the requested items from Malachi. “I can slow the poison, but you must get her back to Goldun as fast as you can. Only the Fae can heal her completely.”
Eli nodded. His Adam’s apple bobbed rhythmically as he swallowed. He gazed at her, then back to Desdemona.
“What can I do to help you?” he asked.
“Talk to her,” she replied, soaking a cloth in hot water. “Distract her. My poking and prodding will not feel good.”
“What happened out there?” he asked as Desdemona busied herself cutting the cloth Malachi provided into strips. “How did you do it?”
Jocylene fought to keep her eyes open, focusing on her mate’s face. She fumbled for his hand with her good one, and found it. He clasped her fingers and held on for dear life.
“When that wolf bit me, there was a split second where I thought I might die,” she murmured. “And all I could think of was how it would affect you. I faced death, and in that moment, you were the only person I could think about.”
Eli sniffed and wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He pressed her palm to his lips. That touch was the last thing she felt before the world went dark.
Gretchen paused on her way to the kitchen, arrested by the sight of Arrian frowning at himself in the bathroom mirror. She had to choke back a laugh at the sight of him, his expression so at odds with his attire. He wore skinny jeans, which actually flattered his slender flame, a pair of Vans sneakers, and a T-shirt that said ‘Feel my shirt, it’s boyfriend material’ across the chest. His hair had been shaved on the sides and in the back, the long top of it pulled up into a loose knot that she immediately dubbed a ‘man-bun’.
He looked ridiculous. He looked like a teenage boy.
One of his pointed ears twitched.
“I can hear you, you know.”
Her breath caught in her throat on a gasp. “I didn’t make a sound!”
He shrugged, turning to face her, arms crossed over his chest. “You didn’t have to. I could hear you breathing.”
“I’m not that fat.”
He frowned. “Who said anything about your weight? I can hear that cricket crawling across the floor in the living room. I can also hear the couple upstairs fighting over breakfast.”
“So the ears aren’t just for show,” she remarked. “You look like a douchebag.”
Frown lines appeared between his eyebrows. “I am sorry, I’m not quite certain what this bag of douche is that you refer to.”
Gretchen tried not to laugh at him, but he wasn’t making it easy. She told him what the word meant between snorts of laughter, then laughed even harder at his horrified expression.
“Based on what I have learned from Phaedra, and the more I hear from you, I begin to think the people of Earth have the foulest mouths in the universe.”
She shrugged. “True story. Anyway, it’s good you look like that. It means you’ll fit in.”
He glanced down at his narrow waist. “I am quite certain I can fit, though I am quite tall.”
God, he was adorable.
“No, silly, I meant you’ll make friends easily. People will be nice to you. That is, if you plan on doing something about your ears.”
“Rothatin will disguise me using a trick of illusion,” he replied. “Why would you think I’d concern myself with what the people at your place of education think of me?”
“You shouldn’t, but if people think you’re cool, high school will be so much easier for you.”
She lowered her eyes, a bit disturbed by the piercing blue gaze of the Elf. It was even worse than looking Rothatin in the eye. He was too perceptive by half.
“Are you not well-liked by your peers, Gretchen?” he asked, his voice lowering a bit.
She heard compassion in his voice, and maybe even a bit of understanding. What did he know? He was freakin’ beautiful!
“Whatever,” she scoffed, clenching her jaw. “It’s not like I want to be. I’m fat, not that good looking, I don’t drink, do drugs, or have rich parents. So, no, I’m not very well-liked. But I’m okay with it.”
A long beat of silence passed between them, during which Arrian stared at her as if trying to decipher a Rubik’s cube.
“May I tell you something about myself?” he asked. “Something very personal.”
She forced her gaze up to meet his. What he didn’t say hung on the air between them. His story was painful. What kind of pain could someone like him have ever experienced? In her world, a guy who looked like him would have everything.
“Sure,” she replied.
“I used to be one of those bag people you mentioned. Arrogant, pompous, and cruel. I hurt people, broke hearts, and scorned those who I thought to be beneath me.”
“So, you were a bully,” she said.
He shrugged. “If you want to call it that. I thought I was untouchable, that nothing could bring me down from my pedestal.”
She snorted. “Sounds like some people I know.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“Well, eventually I … what is it your people say? I ‘got mine’. Did I use it right?”
She snickered. “You nailed it. Dude, what happened to you?”
“I was cursed. For over a century, lived as a hideous monster, robbed of my beauty.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “A monster? What kind of monster?”
“A green one,” he said with a shudder of revulsion. “Covered in scales and patches of … well, I don’t know what it was, but it was ugly. I was ugly.”
“I find that very hard to believe,” she said, studying his face. “You’re pretty perfect.”
“No one is perfect,” he corrected. “Least of all me. I was cursed to remain that way until …” He snapped his mouth shut on the words, his jaw ticking spasmodically. His eyes lowered. “Well, that is not important. The curse is broken now, and I am myself again.”
“But maybe a bit humbler?” she prodded. “You’ve been nothing but nice to me since we met.”
He smiled, but Gretchen could tell it was forced. This was obviously a touchy subject for him.
“I try to be,” he replied. “And yes, spending one hundred years being shunned and whispered about by one’s peers can humble a person drastically. Life is a gift, Gretchen. The people who take it for granted are cursed, whether they realize it or not.”
She thought his words over for a moment, wondering if it could be as simple as all that. She’d always thought her weight and lack of beauty, grace, and whatever else made a person likeable were her curses, but maybe not. Perhaps being the way she was had given her a gift for seeing life in a different way. Sure, maybe it meant she suffered a bit of bullying and felt a little out of place sometimes. Yet, in the end, she wondered if her differences wouldn’t eventually give her the same surety in herself that Arrian seemed to have. While everyone else attempted to ‘find themselves’, she might have already discovered just who she was. Now, if only she could learn to like herself.
“And, Gretchen?”
She glanced up at him, shaking herself out of her wandering thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“Those people who shun you will get theirs. It is the same in my world as it is in yours … making it a certainty.”
She smiled up at him. “Thanks. I think you’re right.”
“Now, please excuse me. I must meet with your brother before breakfast. He has promised me a course in crashing so I am prepared to blend in at your school. He is the one who loaned me the clothes”
She smirked. “I knew I recognized that shirt. Have fun with your crash course.”
He nodded. “Ah, yes, that is what he called it. Thank you.”
“Oh, and Arrian?”
He paused on his way down the hall.
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what happened between you and Phaedra, but … well, she’s nuts if she can’t see what a babe you are.”
His brow wrinkled. “A babe? Yes well, thank you … I think.”
She shook her head, laughing as she found her way to the kitchen. Her smile faded when she encountered her sister, who stood in front of a griddle holding a spatula.
“Good morning!” she said, smiling cheerfully. “I hope you like French toast.”
Gretchen stared at the stunning redhead, and marveled yet again over the fact that they were related by blood. It seemed just like fate—or whatever force determined these sorts of things—to give her older sister all the cool stuff, like hair that wasn’t the color of a carrot, and leave Gretchen with the leftovers.
“Don’t I look like I like French toast?”
She bit her tongue as soon as the words came out.
Do you have to be such a bitch?
She wasn’t trying to be. Her own insecurity fed her defensiveness, giving her an extra dose of snark. Maybe, it had something to do with the fact that even pregnant, Selena looked gorgeous—heart-shaped face, wide brown eyes, vibrant auburn hair. She had to be the cutest pregnant person Gretchen had ever seen.
Selena turned to her and laughed, rubbing her round belly. “I know I do. This little guy makes me ravenous.”
Wow. And she was gracious, too—enough to ignore Gretchen’s sarcasm. She didn’t know if that made her like her sister more, or hate her. Cheerful people annoyed her.
“Um … how far along are you?” she asked, searching for something to say to this girl who was supposed to be her sister.
As far as Gretchen could tell they had nothing in common.
“Oh, only five months,” she answered, turning back to the griddle. It sizzled when she placed sausage links on it in a neat row. “I wish it were further. I’m already sick of being pregnant.”
“Yeah, seems like a drag.”
What else could she say to that?
They were silent for a while, Selena content to flip slices of French toast while Gretchen stared at the back of her head. Of course, staring at her sister’s head got her to thinking about hair, and how insanely jealous she was that Selena had been blessed with the good stuff.
“Is that your natural color?” she blurted.
Selena paused. “I’m sorry?”
“Your hair,” she clarified. “Is that your natural shade of red, or do you dye it?”
“Oh, no, this is all natural,” she replied with a smirk. “Is yours red, too?”
“More like orange,” she grumbled. “You’re lucky.”
Selena shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess its okay. You know what they say, everyone wants what they don’t have. My hair is super straight. I always envy people like Phaedra who have those bouncy curls.”
She paused, taking four finished slices of toast from the griddle and piling them on a plate.
“I love what you’ve done with yours, though. I’ve never been bold enough to try dye, especially not something as drastic as black.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Pretend you like my hair, or think I’m interesting, or that you want to talk to me.” Gretchen stood. “I don’t exactly fit the criteria for the pretty princess club, so if this is your idea of an initiation, you can save it.”
Those perfect, pouty lips of hers quivered and her eyes widened.
“Oh, I … I’m sorry, I … I just thought …” She snapped her jaw shut and turned, her only reply a sharp inhale.
