Chapter Two

Several hours later, once I’ve taken care of our stables, rubbed down the horses, fed Leisel lunch, gone over her lessons, and gone for a relatively bountiful hunt, we make our way into town.

I ride on the back of my gleaming-black stallion, Shadow, with a cart pulling behind us that contains fruits, vegetables, grains, and meats—rabbit and buck primarily—all separated in brown sacks. Leisel rides beside me on Duchess, a beautiful mare with a rich dark brown coat, who adores Leisel as much as Leisel adores her.

Chip is happily munching on a hazelnut, perched contentedly on Leisel’s shoulder, enjoying the afternoon sun. Leisel refuses to go anywhere without him, so he’s used to our regular visits into the village.

Aesara, as always, is bustling with trade. A market is set up in the large town square, with dozens of wooden vendor stalls for selling a variety of items lined up in rows. Bright clothes are on display along with other textiles, as well as knickknacks, tools, and foods of just about every kind. The smell of grilling meat wafts around, mixed with aromatic spices. Chatter fills the entire space as sellers and buyers negotiate, bargain, and haggle their way through sales.

As always, my first stop is the butcher’s shop—a stone establishment on the very edge of the market. I dismount my stallion, help Leisel off her mare, and tie the reins of both horses to a post within reach of water buckets. Then, grabbing the quarry I’ve collected over the last few days, I lug the sack into the bright interior of the shop. Leisel hovers near our horses outside, since she doesn’t much like the smell or energy of the shop. As a natural-born healer, I doubt she’ll ever be capable of inflicting any harm, even when hunting is necessary for our survival.

The butcher, a seasoned man I’ve known since birth who was close friends with my parents, smiles as I walk in. He’s a giant of a man with nut-brown skin and warm chocolate-colored eyes.

“Afternoon, Sierra,” he greets, setting down his gleaming sharp knife and washing his hands in a small sink. “What do you have for me today?”

“Hello, Parker,” I approach the display cabinet that separates us and hand him my sack. “The usual. Rabbit and buck, both skinned and partially cut up.”

The plump man nods contentedly, unloading my haul onto a clean wooden board and sorting through the cuts of meat. “Excellent haul,” he comments. “You know, you’re getting quite handy with cutting up your catches. I could use an extra set of hands around here.”

I laugh. Parker’s been trying to get me to work for him for years—and I would if I didn’t have a small farm to run on my own and a child to raise on top of it. Some days I’m truly shocked that I manage everything, and thank the gods for giving me a strong, healthy, and capable body. Without it, Leisel and I would’ve starved long ago.

“I already bring you meat several times a week, Parker. I’m afraid that’s all I can manage with Leisel and the farm.”

He glances up, brown eyes meeting mine. “Your parents would’ve been very proud of you.”

I swallow around the clog of emotion that forms in my throat and blink a few times before looking away. I miss my parents every single day, pray to the gods for their souls each night, and despise mythics for being the reason for their downfall.

Papa’s illness could’ve gotten treatment if hospitals and medications were still available to humans, and Mom wouldn’t have bled out on her birthing table, leaving a frantic fourteen-year-old me to take care of an infant.

After a moment, when I know my voice won’t crack, I murmur, “Thank you.” Then, to lighten the subject, “I heard Wesley turned fifteen last week.”

Parker nods. “Yep, and my boy’s strong as an ox. He helps out here on occasion, but not nearly as much as I wish he did. He’s out in the woods hunting now, otherwise he’d be around to entertain Leisel.” Done sorting through what I’ve brought him, he says, “This’ll fetch you a hundred silver coins. Sound fair?”

I nod. “Sure does.”

One of the greatest reasons I value Parker is that he gives fair prices for my hauls, and never tries to swindle me. Money is in relatively scarce supply for humans these days, and I work overtime to ensure Leisel and I have enough to stay afloat—and some extra to save in case things ever go wrong.

“I’ll throw in half a pound of beef, assuming Leisel will be wantin’ your ma’s famous stew?”

That brings a smile to my lips. After years of trading, not to mention having been friends with our parents and acquainted with Leisel and me since birth, Parker has come to know us quite well. “That’d be much appreciated, thanks.”

He puts together a package of beef for me while we chat a little more about menial things, then hands me the brown package wrapped with a string and a small bag of coins for my haul. “My wife should already have your order ready at the bakery. You take care, now.”

Leisel accompanies me as we walk around the market, selling our produce and grains to a vendor I’m familiar with, before buying groceries. I pick up a few new pencils and notebooks for her schooling and a mixture of herbs for myself that nobody would ever assume have magical uses. Then, impulsively, I buy a few new paints as well. It’s markedly rare for me to have spare time during the day to paint—but I can normally squeeze in an hour once Leisel’s gone to sleep.

My mother taught me to paint—it was her favorite thing to do, and she was a truly incredible artist. I’m nowhere near as good as she was, but painting always both relaxes and invigorates me. On occasion, I sell my paintings to the market in town. Despite the difficult times we live in, humans haven’t yet stopped appreciating the beauty of art.

Our last stop, and Leisel’s favorite, is the bakery. The owner is a grandmotherly woman married to Parker, with graying hair always up in a bun and a caretaker disposition. Mariketa hurries from around her counter to Leisel and me as soon as we step in, sweeping Leisel into a hug that nearly crushes poor Chip. She gives me a friendly pat on the back before looking me up and down and exclaiming, “By gods, girl, you’re skin and bones! Come, let’s get you sorted.”

I’m at her shop three times a week, always requesting the same order, so she already has a basket prepared for me. Leisel’s eyes brighten when Mariketa slips a few of her famous cookies into the basket, before taking only half the money I extend to her.

When I open my mouth to protest, she says, “Hush, child. I know runnin’ a farm ain’t cheap.” Then, to Leisel, “Share those cookies with your sister, you hear? A strong gust of wind could blow both of you over.”

Leisel giggles and thanks Mariketa, who then offers Chip a small chunk of bread which the little chipmunk happily accepts and immediately tucks away into the pouch of his cheek.

“Oh, before you go, make sure to lock your doors tight tonight. Word has it the Rockwell Pack will be passin’ through to sniff out mates,” she warns us.

The Rockwell Pack is the most powerful pack of shifters—and they reign over all other shifters on Earth, as well as most mythics. It’s because of their imposed laws and cultures that humans were forced to live under such tumultuous conditions.

Many humans do, indeed, have reason to be worried—few have any interest in joining with those who upended our entire world. I’ve never batted an eye at packs passing through, however. From all the material I’ve read—and I have read plenty on mythics, everything I could get my hands on—those monsters are always either soulmates to one of their own species or humans. Leisel and I don’t fall under either category—although our magic is Earth-bound, it makes us a slightly different species than humans. Therefore, we’re nice and safe from the horrors that await humans when they’re soulmates to a mythic.

Those horrors are vast. If you’re a mate to a mythic, you’re forced in close proximity to them. Forced to allow them to ravage your neck with a mark, forced to have sex with the beasts, and in the cases of females, forced to carry their offspring.

By my estimations, that’s a fate worse than death. Its my deepest hope and wish that a plague targeting mythics alone sweeps through Earth, forcing them back to the realms they invaded from to leave humans in peace.

“Like they already do every year?” I question, raising an eyebrow.

Mariketa wrinkles her nose. “Not quite, child. The Alpha’s family will be comin’ through these parts too. Apparently, the Alpha and Beta are gettin’ antsy about wantin’ to find the other half of their souls.” She shakes her head. “If Prometheus has any favor left for humans, those wretched men will both die alone.

“They deserve nothing less,” I respond, my voice hardening. “Unfortunately, it seems the patron god of humans turned his back on us long ago, so I doubt we’ll get any protection from him. We’re on our own.”

“Only thing worse that a shifter rogue is a shifter on the hunt for a mate, especially wolves,” Mariketa says solemnly,

“At least you know what to expect from rogues: bloodlust and insanity. Shifters looking for mates, however, are completely unpredictable and have a habit of breaking down doors during their searches. I’ll be sure to close mine extra tight.”

Leisel takes my hand, giving it a tentative squeeze, and offers me a smile. I shake my head slightly, clearing the darkness of my thoughts, and smile back, before taking her home.