The 13th hour 2010, p.2
A Bloodline of Secrets: The Unification (Original Sin Book 2), page 2
“Nothing.” I had only seen his wolf a handful of times, and even when we had talked about it, he never said much. None of the Wolves did.
“It was different,” he murmurs under his breath as if trying to protect a secret from being exposed.
My mind drifts back to what Quentin said when Guy Emerged and to when I witnessed his shift in the woodlands. It was different. His Wolf was white as the winter snow and larger than the rest. His eyes, though, were the same. His emerald eyes, so different from the rest. Even in his humanoid form, he was not like the other Wolves. There was always something pure and kind inside him. He wore his Wolf with grace, not brutality. He had honour. He had heart.
Tugging the blanket tighter around me, I reply apprehensively, “Yes, it was.”
“Paege?” Quentin drawls. “You saw your Wolf, right? You merged with her.”
Like Zephyra’s winds, flashes of my Wolf rush me. White fur, green eyes, her size, her beauty. She was familiar. She felt like home when I touched her, when she merged with me. Suddenly, images of Guy’s wolf appear next to her. They are alike. Eerily so. But it can’t be. My mind is deceiving me. I’ve had so much trauma these past few months, my brain must have finally cracked. It’s broken. I’m out of my mind, coo-coo fucking crazy.
Or. . .is everything finally making sense?
I force myself to push through all the anguish just to see him, Guy, in his humanoid form. His emerald-green eyes and brown hair. His softer features and higher cheekbones, even the single dimple when he laughs. His ability to calm me in the most insane situations. He always felt familiar.
But surely not. Not this.
Something in my chest twists as I grab hold of one particular memory. A hand to his heart, with a promise he made. There is only one other person, besides me, who does that. Mum.
A tear bursts from its well as I force myself to remember his last moment, his last words. I never understood our love, our connection, until now. I wish I got to love you longer.
Quentin paces the room as my life, I suppose, our lives, continually explode with blow after blow.
“It can’t be. It can’t be possible,” I cry out.
“Why not?”
“Because it can’t be!” I screech. The reality, though, is that it very well could be possible, but every time I think about it, I feel sick. The visions when the book released my memories from the cage they had been kept in, and now this. It means my mum lied to me my entire life. She lied to Amerax, too.
“Think about it, Paege. Guy lost his mum when he was young, and you lost your dad. You both look so similar, Gods.” He runs his hands through his hair. “I can’t believe I never noticed it before.” He stops pacing the room and turns to me. “And your Wolves are identical. Not similar. Identical.” He over-enunciates every syllable. “They could be the same damn Wolf,” he exhales.
“I need to see my mum,” I weep as I fumble to my feet. “She knows something. She has answers, and I need to know.”
“I agree. We can leave today. I can get us passes through the Portals.”
“No,” I snap. “I need to see her alone. I have so much to tell her, and you have—” I pause, shaking my hand in the air, gesturing to the rooms beyond. “There’s still the matter with the Wolves,” my voice cracks, and I swallow hard, knowing that we still have three dead Scorpion Wolves, including one of their alphas, to exchange for three of ours, including Guy, my. . .
No. I can’t say it yet.
“Paege, I understand, I do.” His eyes dart to the floor for the briefest moment, and he swallows thickly before returning my gaze. “But I’m not letting you do this alone. No one should have to do this alone. I promise I’ll stay far away while you talk, but I am coming with you. The pack can deal with the exchanges. It will take a few days anyway, and then by the time we get back, we can give them their cremation.”
“Quentin?”
“Paege, this is non-negotiable. I am joining you, alright?” he says firmly as he stands tall and holds his ground.
“This isn’t some mission from your father?” The second the words escape from my lips, I regret them. Quentin’s eyes sharpen, but his shoulders round. Regret and remorse build on his defences, and I want to take it back, but I can’t.
Silence.
“It’s alright. Paege, I’m—”
I cut him off, shaking my head before he says what I think he’s going to say. “Don’t. Later.”
He nods.
I don’t have space to deal with Quentin’s betrayal when my mother’s is rising to the surface. Even if he did apologise, it doesn’t change what he did. It doesn’t change that he lied to me and deceived me, and that his actions may very well have led us to where we are right now. What I can’t figure out is if he’s sorry about me or if he’s only sorry about Guy.
The battle between my heart and my head has never been more indiscernible, and I have no idea which one is going to win this round. I take a deep breath and say the first thing that comes to my mind. “Alright, we leave at noon.”
Chapter 3
We exit the portal—me landing on my ass again—and Quentin and I silently walk the dusty roads to where I grew up. He hasn’t spoken much since we left. Neither of us has. The uncomfortableness of the situation scratches at me from under my skin, irritating and nauseating. Guy’s death. Taking a life. Quentin’s betrayal. My mother’s secrets. I’m surprised I’m even able to put one foot in front of the other right now.
The lush green paddock that surrounds our property is overgrown but still neat. A herd of horses grazes the long grass, and the fresh, brisk air, perfumed by the wildflowers in my mother’s garden, quells the storm brewing inside me. A white horse at the end of the paddock slowly lifts his head, a vision of grace. His mane glistens in the sun like a waterfall of snowy silk, and he turns to face us.
I whistle loudly and call, “Whisky!” He pins his ears back and flicks his tail before trotting over to us, tall and proud. My loyal stallion. My best friend growing up. My Camarillo.
“You have a horse?”
“Yes.” I breathe in the sight of him as he approaches with steady beats of his hooves across the luscious field.
A smile ghosts across his face. “I didn’t know.”
It wasn’t just a statement; it had the hint of a question he didn’t want to ask: “Why haven’t you ever mentioned it to me?” And why haven’t I? My relationship with Quentin has never been about sharing.
“Why would you?” I respond quietly without taking my eyes off the giant snowy beast. He is pure muscle, and each one ripples in the winter sun, glistening him with its rays.
Whisky whinnies a greeting, whipping his tail around as he pushes his head between my hands and toward my face.
“I missed you, too, boy,” I say, running my hands through his long, silken mane. He whinnies again and dances his front hooves in excitement. “Quentin, this is Whisky. Whisky, this is Quentin.” I jokingly introduce them, wondering if Quentin has ever ridden a horse or if he has ever spent time with them. He doesn’t strike me as the horse type. Do Wolves even ride horses?
Whisky eyes Quentin with a judgmental glare and turns back to me and brays as he digs his head into my chest again. “Alright, boy, I’ll come back shortly for a ride, alright?” I kiss him on his nose and run my hands down his glossy neck, his muscles flinching beneath my touch. With one final neigh, he turns and trots proudly back to the old oak tree in the paddock.
Nostalgia wraps around me like a comfortable blanket as Quentin and I stroll toward the house. “I was always the weird kid when growing up here, you know. The half-Human Fae,” I blurt out. Alright, it appears I am now sharing. Quentin doesn’t answer. He meanders silently beside me, keeping his steps in rhythm with mine, not missing a beat. “I didn’t fit in anywhere, and I didn’t have many friends. So, I lived my life in books, reading about history, adventures, other species, other realms, and Humans.” I take a long, deliberate breath. “I used to read stories about princesses riding white horses on wild adventures, and I always admired their beauty and elegance. I even named my favourite stuffed animal, Whitey, after the horse I hoped to have someday.”
A burst of fresh fruitiness envelopes me as an emotion I haven’t felt in some time infiltrates my senses, and I cock my head towards Quentin. He lets a chuckle escape his lips. “Whitey?” he teases.
“I was five.” My cheeks tug higher. “So, when Amerax brought Whisky home after he was rescued on a mission, I was in awe of him. We fell in love and became best friends.” Hundreds of calming memories of me with Whisky flood my mind, and I giggle like a child, transported through time. “I even tried to sneak him into the house a few times.”
“Sounds like you have a bond,” he says flatly, and the amusement is abruptly masked by something else I can’t quite place. It’s murky, dark, and it wraps heavily around my heart. Guy.
“We do,” I say in a foolish attempt to push the memories of Guy from my mind, shielding myself from Quentin’s emotions as they whip around in a frenzy. Because suddenly, it’s all real. The reason I have come home. The reason we are here. “Gods, I miss him. He’s probably the only thing I miss about home.”
“That can’t be true, Books,” Quentin probes with an arched brow.
“No, I suppose it’s not,” I sigh. It wasn’t, but here I stand, my world, my home, an unfamiliar place I once thought was my pillar of strength, my centre of truth. Not anymore.
We reach the old stone house. The twin gargoyles guarding the home stare at me with a judgmental glare. Unease skitters down my spine, and my hand lingers in the air just above the handle. As if Quentin feels the truth of my hesitation, he asks, “Do you want me to come in, or should I wait out here?”
My eyes squeeze together for a moment, thinking about his question, my heart and head once more battling it out. Do I want him to come in? I don’t know if I can trust him at all, especially with whatever I am going to find out and what he would do with that truth. My jaw tightens at the thought. Anxiety fuels the beating of my heart as it becomes heavier, harder, louder. What comes next will change my very existence, and I don’t know if I can do it alone. I don’t know if I want Quentin by my side either. Opening my eyes, a brief smile sweeps across his lips, but it quickly dissipates as I shake my head in a silent no and walk into my childhood home alone.
I don’t know for sure, but I swear she knew I was coming. The air is thick with an uncomfortable silence when I first enter the kitchen. Mum doesn’t flinch when I tell her Quentin is outside, but her large, caramel eyes thin with judgment as I sit at the table. Floral scents fill the room as the tea brewing on the stove starts to whistle.
This should be easy, shouldn’t it? But as time stretches on and on, and the longer we sit in a bubble that’s about to burst, I realise that this isn’t just about me. I have to tell her about Guy. His death. Suddenly, it is all much harder to speak.
It’s not until I take a sip of tea that Mum says with worried eyes, “Paegence, what is it you’re not telling me?”
“Well, Mum,” I rebuff, trying to keep my emotions in check, “I could ask you the same question.”
The events of the past evening come spewing out of my lips in an explosion.
The Scorpions looking for Guy and me.
Guy dying.
Me killing a Wolf.
Me emerging as a Wolf.
How Guy’s Wolf and mine are different from the other Wolves, but the same as each other.
Then there is the curse and her memories. I don’t even think I have the energy to bring that up, because quite frankly, this is enough. I know I will eventually. Just not tonight.
With the truth stretching dangerously taut between us, her face shifts from the graceful, elegant Fae with no worries, bar a couple of troublemaking twins at the academy, to one who bears pain and guilt. Her emotions are shielded, but I don’t need to feel them. Her face shows every single one, as it twists with secrets she has long buried.
She gracefully stands, flips her snowy blonde braid over her shoulder, removes a bottle of CrystalFyre from the chiller, and pours us two generous drinks. She proffers me one glass as she takes a sip of hers before sitting again. I immediately accept the drink and gulp back two large mouthfuls before blurting out the question that’s been burning on my tongue for the past few hours.
“Who’s my father?”
Chapter 4
“Ithink you know the answer to that question, but for you to understand, I need to take you back to the beginning.”
I lean back in the chair, nursing my glass and waiting for the truth of who I am.
“Before you were born, I was an artist. Many, many years ago, I was commissioned by the royal family, Tiergan Braxtion specifically, to create some artwork, family portraits, stills, and landscapes to fill the palace with life. It was an opportunity of a lifetime. My first day at the palace, I met this dashing young male. His name was Ruh, and we became friends. He was the son of the king’s advisor, and I was just a lowly artist employed by the Braxtions, but we spent many afternoons walking the grounds, talking, laughing, and getting to know each other. He was charming, funny, rebellious.” Her eyes dart to the door. “Much like your friend out there.”
A gasp fills the room as I realise Ruh is Ruhaul, Quentin’s father, the King of Elyndria. I grab the CrystalFyre and fill another glass. My mother was friends with Quentin’s father. I pour the liquid down my throat, trying to loosen the knot in my stomach.
“One afternoon, Ruh invited me to an event, not as his date, though. We were never anything more than friends. It was not yet taboo for Wolves and Fae to be close, but it was still unusual. I understood going to an event with Wolves could be dangerous, but Ruh was going to be there, and I knew him as kind and protective. So, I agreed.” She leans in on her elbow, and I think she is leaning into the past, too.
“It was miserable, and I should have known before I even stepped through those doors. The Wolves were loud and unruly. Ruh was drunk and selfish, too busy trying to bed the plethora of female Wolves to even notice when a very large, very drunk Wolf tried to accost me. And my Fae powers, being passive like yours, were no good to me.”
Mum struggles through a story that has clearly left its mark, but it still doesn’t give me the answers I am looking for, that I need. “This is all fascinating, Mum, but it’s not what I need to know.”
Mum places a hand over mine as if to shush me. A smile graces her face, but it’s not the warm, loving smile that I’ve turned to for comfort on many nights. It’s one of someone trying to remember something good in an ocean of sadness.
“It was then that I met him. Vharkus.”
Her eyes caramel glisten, the sadness of this story still clear as a sunny day, but the smile, the smile is different. The pain of whatever she was feeling a moment ago seems to have vanished just by saying his name.
“Of course, we had formally met in the palace. I had painted his portrait, but I never met him.” She takes another sip of her drink, her throat bobbing hard as if swallowing down the emotions she has kept buried for so long before continuing. “I won’t bore you with the details, but he helped me that night, and we became friends.”
“Ruh became cold and distant after that night, but Vharkus and I spent almost every day together. He was smart, friendly, and misunderstood. He wasn’t like the other Wolves I had met. He was kinder and gentler. We read books under the large oak trees, he taught me about Wolf things, and I taught him about Fae. We hiked waterfalls, travelled to other territories, had picnics by the sea, and watched many sunsets—and just as many sunrises. Our friendship lasted many years. Long after I had finished my work at the palace.”
“Were you—” I cut myself off. What was I even going to ask? Were you lovers? Did you date? My mother, the wife of a Star-Borne, was a Fae who lived by rules and thrived in control.
“Not at first, Paegence. No. But I remember the night it changed like it was yesterday. Vharkus and I were always a little flirtatious with each other, but we knew better. I was Fae, and he was Wolf. We could never be anything more than friends. I was dating a dashing Fae by the name of Alistair, and I had been spending less time with Vharkus. We had a terrible argument one winter’s eve. A bad storm was coming in, and Alistair wanted me to travel to the Neopolis from Orphelious to see him. Vharkus warned me that it was too dangerous. He wanted me to stay at the palace with him while the storm passed. It was as if Zephyra herself was trying to destroy the lands.
“I was stubborn and independent, and while I wasn’t sure if I loved Alistair, my heart and intuition told me to go to Vharkus. I ignored everything and left for the Neopolis.” She takes a slow sip of her drink as if cherishing the story, the memories.
“It was dangerous and stupid. The weather was wild that night. To this day, I’ve never seen anything like the tornadoes that raced across the kingdom in a wild frenzy that night. I hadn’t made it out of Orphelious before I became trapped in a family of tornadoes with nowhere to go. Luckily for me, Vharkus was as stubborn as I was and had me followed by a unit of Israykiel Guards. When they saw me trapped and in trouble, they got me safely back to Vharkus. I knew then that I loved him.” A small chuckle escapes her lips.
“Of course, Vharkus was punished for using the Guards for such frivolous work, but to me, he was a hero. It was difficult enough to hide our relationship when he was just the king’s son, but when Tiergan died and Vharkus became king, it was much harder. It strained our relationship. We fought, we cried, and our time together was sparse, but we loved each other. Neither of us wanted to give the other one up. Until. . .”
“Until you fell pregnant?” I ask shakily.
“We thought it was impossible. A Fae and a Wolf? There had to be a mistake. But it wasn’t. When I gave birth to you both, it was like all my dreams had been answered.”
I drop my glass and gasp in shock. “Twins?” I ask.
