Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8

The inside of the tent is as sparse as I expected. There's a bedroll off to one side, a decently sized rucksack settled on some canvas and leathers at its foot. It's clearly a traveler's tent, designed for packing light and moving fast.

"Sit." Evander crouches over the pack and begins to rummage through it.

I oblige him, sitting off to the side by the entrance. I can see, through the flaps, Aurora and Bardulf exchanging some tense words, but I can't make out what those are from here. The way they're speaking, though, has my hair standing on end. There's something about that man that I just don't trust. Even more so than Evander. I suspect the reason is because Aurora always speaks to Evander with annoyance, agitation, disheartenment…but never with true animosity or hostility. Not with fear. Bardulf is a different story.

"Here." Evander retrieves a small bottle, following some rummaging around in his bag. He pulls out the stopper and hands it to me. "Drink this."

"What is it?" I sniff, trying to discern the ingredients in the tonic.

"Not poison. I'm not going to kill you when you have Aurora's magic within you." He's back to rummaging.

"The paragon of kindness, aren't you? Saving me, healing me, only so that your wolf king can do as he likes with me and Aurora once you deliver us to him." I give the liquid a swirl, peering into the bottle. It doesn't seem out of the ordinary, so far as I can tell. "I am nothing more than a prisoner to you."

"I could show you how we lykin treat our prisoners, if you'd like. Though I will assure you, it is far more unkind than the decency humans usually give." He shoots me a glare. "At least, this way, you will be of sound mind and body to beg for the wolf king's mercy."

"I do not beg."

"That's what they all say before they are under his claws." Evander's gaze drifts back to the bag, though his hands don't move. His shoulders hunch slightly and I see the top edges of his scars over one shoulder. Were they given to him by the wolf king himself? The way Evander speaks has me suspecting it.

"What will he do to me when we get to him?" I dare to ask, my voice little more than a soft whisper as I take a small, tentative sip of the concoction he gave me. The medicinal herbs—and possibly anything unsavory—are buried underneath a strong minty taste. Overall, not unpleasant, but I wish I could pick out the individual ingredients. It'd certainly make me feel more reassured.

But my throat doesn't burn, I don't grow dizzy. It seems he's spoken the truth, and I take another drink, deeper this time, and allow a warming sensation to seep into my bones. I feel stronger by the second—a powerful brew, indeed.

Evander settles away from his pack, sitting on his bedroll. A small, wooden canister rests within his slack grasp, yet his focus is elsewhere—on me. In the dimly lit tent, his eyes pierce the shadows that cling to him. They burn with countless, unsaid emotions, too complex for me to decipher.

It has been years since a man—since any soul—has regarded me so intently. Such fervor. Even though it ignites discomfort within me to feel so bored into, I cannot tear my gaze away. There's an unspoken invitation, a silent plea for understanding. It's as if he's waiting, or perhaps anticipating my next move…or waiting for me to come to my own conclusion about my question. I find I can think of little beyond how thick my breath feels.

"A witch of your age should know what the moon spirit means to the lykin," he says, finally.

"The moon spirit gives the lykin powers, enhancing them, allowing lykin to take their shapes at any point in her cycle, so long as her light is in the sky. That is to say, save for the new moon." It strikes me that these men, and their wolfish forms that I've seen, are currently at their weakest. What will they be capable of when the full moon comes?

"That and more." Evander bends his legs, his black trousers stretching as he tucks his knees against his elbows. Even though the stance has him pulling in his legs, he somehow seems to take up more space. There's an ominous aura that surrounds him, filling the tent. "Long ago, our ancestors made a blood pact with the great wolf spirit of the sacred woods of Den. With this power flowing through our veins, we could take on the shapes of his kin. But the transformation was hard on our bodies and could only be done when the moon was full and our magics were at their strongest.

"The alpha of a pack—a man who came to be known to all lykin as Bewulf the Uniter—decided to solve this problem for all our brethren. He went on a great journey and sought out the spirit of the moon to make a pact with her. That was all he'd intended." Evander's voice softens and his eyes drift to the narrow slit between the flaps of the tent's opening. Aurora and Bardulf are both gone—retreated into their individual abodes, I hope. Evander's attention focuses on the middle tent of the three, barely visible from where he sits. "Aurora and Bewulf fell in love. Aurora gave everything to be with the man who had won her heart. To live as close to a mortal life as she could with him. She asked the old gods for this boon and they granted it by way of splitting her power, rendering her mortal—more or less. The rest of her power was placed in a ring, one that she presented to her lover. So deep were her affections that she put her life in his hands."

I stare into the narrow opening of the bottle I still hold, peering into the depths of the reddish liquid within. It's a small amount of tonic…but it feels deep enough to swallow me whole. To drown in. I hear Aurora's story, but the visions in my mind's eye are not of her.

They're of me, years ago …

I'm sixteen and in my loft. I gather a stretch of red thread I carefully dyed myself, a white and red candle, a few other ritual items. Heart fluttering with excitement and anticipation. Tonight is the night I'm supposed to swear myself to another before the old gods. My feet don't make a sound, as silent as the door behind me. I am a night lark that soars across the grasses and into the forest, to the great redwood tree.

I had been ready to give myself wholly that night. Everything I had. Everything I would be…for a child's love. Nothing real, in the grand scheme of things. Probably for the best it didn't work out. I can see that now. Yet, the pain is real. The pain I felt then and have tried to ignore ever since.

Liam never showing that night is the hardest blessing that I was ever given.

"Aurora lived with the first wolf king until the end of his mortal days," Evander continues, oblivious to my pain. "After he died, she was going to take the ring and make the journey to return to the old gods that live among the primordial waters of the siren. She'd ask them to restore her power, granting her freedom from her human body to return to her place as a spirit. But she was not allowed to leave."

"Your people trapped her." Even though I knew this truth already, it is no easier to hear. Especially given the scale of time of which Evander is speaking. The first wolf king would've been thousands of years ago…

Evander nods. His expression is hard and grim. He seems to gain no pleasure from these dark truths of his people's history. Perhaps he has more of a heart than I first suspected.

"The next alpha decreed that Aurora would never set foot anywhere beyond the Lykin Plains on Midscape so that she ‘could not abandon her oath to our people.' As long as she is on our land, she is bound to the vows she made to Bewulf. She tried to run for our borders, many times, but there have always been too many patrols for her to make it out of the wolf king's magical reach and to the siren," he continues.

So she came to the Natural World, instead , I realize. She fled to the one place that they probably did not have patrols. The one place that a magical spirit would never be expected to go: a land void of inherent magic.

"All this began a push and pull of power among the lykin. Aurora has been traded from king to king with a ring for thousands of years. Sometimes willingly, sometimes not. To have the ring of the moon spirit is to be considered ordained as our natural leader. To hold the ring is to hold the power."

"She is not something to be traded and used," I object, louder than I intended, but my emotions are running hot on her behalf. I clutch the little bottle with white knuckles. "She's a noble spirit, one of the most ancient to walk among us."

"Are we to let her go and give up the power she offers our kind? Even now, without the ring in the possession of a lykin, our powers are beginning to wane to what they once were."

"That is your natural state!"

"Is it? For our ability to take our wolf forms only came about when we swore a blood bond to the ancient wolf spirit." He arches his brows. "Or should we revoke that, too? Truly return to what is ‘natural?'"

"That depends, are you holding that wolf spirit captive for the sake of your transformations?"

"It is free to come and go," he reluctantly admits.

"As it should be." There is nothing but bitterness in my words. "The brutality you show spirits is truly breathtaking."

"I—" Evander stops his objection with a shake of his head. When he returns his attention to me, a thin, crescent smile arcs across his lips. His words are pure malice and the jar quivers in his hands from his grip. "You're right. We are a brutal people. Aurora's suffering is but one page in a long tome of my kind's viciousness. Alphas of packs have unflinchingly killed boys and girls that might have been a challenge to them. Our grasses are watered with the blood of those who lost age-old battles for supremacy. Entire packs were wiped out by men and women in search of one thing—the only thing that will give you the respect and authority over every lykin that breathes: Aurora's bond."

I look out to her tent, too disgusted to settle my eyes upon Evander for a moment longer. I was convinced well before this that I had to do all I could for Aurora. But that dedication has been hammered upon my heart.

"Well, there is no ring anymore. So your kind will have to figure out what to do without it."

He chuckles so deeply his voice cracks slightly. His words are gravel when he says, "There is no ring, but her power still lives."

"I don't know how to give it up, and even if I did, I wouldn't."

"What makes you think you're going to have a choice?" He arches his brows. "All King Conri wants is to control Aurora's power and have her at his side to show off his legitimacy to any who would doubt him. He won't care about you, just the power within you."

Warmth had just been returning to my body when a fresh chill runs through my veins. I look back to Evander's shadowed face. He's dipped his chin slightly, his hair falling into his eyes.

"What is he going to do to me?" I return to my earlier question with new understanding.

"I cannot say. The alpha of the great pack can be an…unpredictable man." Evander contradicts his words by glancing away. It's only a flick of his eyes to the corner of the tent and back. But it's a tell I've seen in others before. He's lying.

"Guess what he'll do."

"You'll be able to ask him yourself, tomorrow." Evander hands me the cannister of salve. "Rub this on your wounds."

"What?" I take the small jar numbly. I hardly register the instruction.

"He waits for our return in a town not far from here. Pray that he is in a decent mood."

I stare at the jar, not moving. Tomorrow . Aurora and I must leave tonight if we want to have any chance of escaping. How do I get to her?

"My wounds are on my thighs," I say. "I would have to disrobe to apply this salve. I'm going to Aurora's tent to—" I've barely moved to leave when Evander catches my wrist.

"You think I'm going to let you go so you can try to escape with her?" He arches his brows. He's seen right through me. Not that my plan was particularly unpredictable. But I'd hoped…

"I wouldn't."

"Spare me." He rolls his eyes and pulls me toward him. I am between his knees. His legs are like a cage on either side of me. Evander's breath is hot on my neck as he growls. "You and Aurora are two pieces to the puzzle. She can't leave without you…nor you without her. If you were to try, he would hunt you down, relentlessly. And I can't return to the wolf king without you both in hand if I want to keep my flesh on my bones."

My hands quiver, betraying my inner turmoil. Evander's fingers glide over mine, rough and warm. Finding comfort in their steadiness feels like a betrayal. His fingertips are thick with calluses, rough, and as much a testament to a harsh life as the scars on his back.

This close, I'm drawn to the binding encircling his wrist. The ornament captivates me. Strips of black leather have been wrapped around an under band. Intricate black stitching is nearly lost amid all the shadows. The pattern, though hardly perceptible in the dim light, almost looks like the stitching of a weaver witch.

"Now, Faelyn, you will apply the salve"—his hands move mine, pulling off the wooden lid to the jar—"and then we will go to sleep."

Evander gently relinquishes my hands, only to find placement on either side of my ribs. I cannot help a soft yelp of surprise. With tender care I didn't suspect him to possess, he maneuvers me toward the back of the tent and then moves behind me, turning to face the entrance.

He's offering me privacy , I realize with surprise. I'd been expecting that his hands would follow mine as they slipped under the waistband of my trousers, then beneath my shirt. Seeking to exploit the movements. To show me just how vulnerable I was to him in my current predicament.

But he refrained. While I'm grateful for it, I'm not about to laud him for exhibiting the bare minimum of decency. Especially not when doing so has helped keep his groin from being crushed under my elbow or heel. If he thinks I won't fight through fear then he's in for a rude awakening.

Even with our backs to each other, my heart races, pounding against my ribs as I place my satchels in the corner and slowly undo the ties at the top of my trousers. Evander remains as still as a statue. Yet, without looking, without him moving, I can feel him there. The only other time I have been so acutely aware of a man's breathing was moments before Liam's lips first met mine.

I scoop the salve and slip my hand under the band of my trousers, reaching for the torn flesh of my thighs. There must have been something in the tonic to numb the pain, because pressing the salve into the ravaged skin isn't nearly as agonizing as it should have been. I finish one thigh, then move on to the next.

"I'm not going to hurt you." Evander says it so softly that I think I imagine it.

"What?" I ask, hoping I did.

"I can hear how fast your heart is beating… Faelyn, I won't hurt you."

"What makes you think I will ever be able to trust you?" My hands move to the wounds on my shoulders, exposing my stomach and lower chest in the process.

"Nothing." He chuckles softly. The sound lacks all joy; it's fueled by bitterness. "Nor should you."

"Contradicting yourself isn't exactly inspiring confidence." I finish up, wiping the remaining salve on my trousers before lacing them back up. "I'm done."

"It isn't?" Evander turns at the same time as I do, our eyes meeting once more. "Are you certain? Because your heart slowed."

"It slowed because my pants were done up again. Don't flatter yourself."

"Are you saying taking off your pants around me makes your heart race?" There's the bare minimum of a smirk.

I hand him the salve with a slight narrowing of my eyes, not dignifying that with a response. "I should rest."

"You should." He returns the jar to his pack and then moves to the side of the tent without the bedroll at the same time as me. We nearly bump into each other. "Take the bedroll," he says as I glare up at him. We're so close that the wavy strands of his hair nearly brush against my forehead.

"I'm going to sleep with Aurora."

"What part of ‘I'm not letting you out of my sight' did you not understand?" Evander tilts his head to the side. His hair does touch me with the motion and it's so brief that I fight a shiver.

"You can't honestly expect me to sleep here."

"Take the bedroll," he repeats. "I'll take the ground."

"How kind," I sneer.

"I try, just for you." He mocks me with a smile.

I roll my eyes and shift to the bedroll. I do need to keep my strength, and arguing isn't going to get us anywhere.

"You're not going to lull me into a false sense of security," I caution. "You told me what your people are capable of."

"Good that you remember. It'd be even more dangerous if you forgot. Your caution might be the only thing that keeps you alive here in Midscape." He settles on the ground next to the bedroll. I hope it's full of spiky shells and rocks. I hope the sand chafes and grinds and gets in his ears. "Other than me."

"You're keeping me alive?" I snort softly in disbelief as I lay down. The moment I'm horizontal, exhaustion hits me all at once. My lids are immediately heavy.

"Yes, Faelyn, I am," he insists softly.

"For your king." As I tuck farther into the bedroll, I'm enveloped by his scent—a blend of salt, musk, and windswept meadows that is somehow both achingly familiar and, yet, like nothing I have ever smelled before.

Evander whispers something else, but I don't hear it. Sleep is already too heavy upon me. The edges of dreams of a dark wolf bounding gracefully through open fields, unbridled and free, begin to fill my mind. The vivid image stirs within me a vague sense of longing for something long, long gone. Despite myself, I can't help but wonder what to make of the man who is both captor and, if he is to be believed, an unlikely ally.