4. Nolan

Chapter 4

Nolan

I t turns out, I not only know nothing about wards, but I had absolutely no clue what Coral meant by that.

The next day, she asks me to meet her at the cottage. After that, she and I walk to the edge of Oakwood pack land, at the northernmost corner of our domain. It’s probably a three-hour hike, but it’s the only part of our pack territory that isn’t drivable, as it has a pretty steep mountain that runs along the north end. I could shift, which would be a much more effective way to travel, but that seems… rude.

The whole walk, I’m just… watching Coral. The way she moves is so different than a shifter. She kind of drifts over the forest floor, her bare feet padding softly against it. I’m constantly worried that she’s going to step on something that’s going to punch a hole in her delicate, fine-boned feet, but she never does. Hence why it seems like she’s drifting.

She doesn’t even really leave footprints. I checked. Instead, the plants and leaves underneath her feet kind of sweep aside any indent that she makes, and if I wasn’t right here looking at her, I’d literally never be able to track her. It’s fascinating.

The way plants respond to her is also fascinating. Everywhere we go, trees stretch their leaves out. Flowers turn to her. Vines writhe, looking for an excuse to touch her.

I never thought of plants as being alive like this. I know that’s stupid, especially because I’m committed to eco-friendly buildings and I make an effort to make sure that’s in all of my construction, but this… is incredible.

It gives me a whole new perspective on the world.

Today, Coral is wearing overalls, but they’re the color of the very first blush of the sunrise. They’re gauzy and ethereal, and they swoop around her body, tenderly caressing what I think is a really nice ass. She’s wearing a tank top that could just be white cotton, but when I get close, it looks thinner and softer. She must notice, because at some point, she pauses.

“It’s linen. Woven from flax plants,” she explains, tugging at the white edge of the fabric.

I flush and look away. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to be just… really weird, staring at you and all that.”

“It’s totally fine. All of my clothes are made from plants, or from insects.” She smiles. “I can’t really tolerate synthetic fabrics. They make me break out in hives, and I can’t use my magic if I’m wrapped up in polyester.”

I blink. “Insects?”

“Spiders often donate their silk to me. It’s very kind of them, but they appreciate when I help them find homes in the plants.”

“Spiders donate silk to you,” I repeat.

Coral nods, looking around at the ground like she’s searching for something. “Some are better than others, of course. I’ll accept the orb weaver webs to make a dress with, but a black widow just simply doesn’t spin as well, bless her heart.”

“Bless the black widow’s heart,” I echo again.

Coral looks up at me. She bites her lip, and I see a small green blush on her fingertips.

Shit. She thinks I’m making fun of her.

“I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just saying, there are very few beings out in the world that are going to say, ‘bless her’ about a black widow spider.”

“Why not? Even though her bite is toxic to humans, she’s not out here trying to hunt anything other than flies. If you were a fly, I’d expect you to have beef with a black widow. But a human? Or a shifter who would recover from a spider bite without the antidote?” Coral waves her hand. “Get real. You’re the one who holds all the power, and she’s just a spider.”

“One who doesn’t make a very good web,” I say with a little smile.

Coral sighs. “It’s very good at catching flies. Not as good to weave into a dress.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever need a superior fly-catcher.”

“Yes! That’s precisely when you’d want to contact a black widow!”

I was kidding. She clearly is not.

I find that I like this about her. She could seem childlike, but she isn’t childlike in the slightest. The way she talks about the world is just… different. Not bad. But different.

It forces me to see the space around us in a totally new way. And I definitely like what I see. Including the faerie woman in front of me.

When we get to the northernmost point in the territory, Coral stops. It’s like she knows instinctively, where the edge of the boundary is. She looks around, murmuring.

“Do you need something?”

“I’m looking for aspen… Ah. There you are.”

The stand of aspen trees seems to shake in response.

She glances back at me, a tiny, delicate smile playing on her lips.

“I might be a minute. Please don’t disturb me,” Coral murmurs. Then she plops down, shuts her eyes, and digs her fingers into the soil.

For a minute, all I can hear are the sounds that are normal to hear in the woods. Birds, the creaking of trees, the echoes of wind through the pines.

Then, I’m aware of something else entirely. It reminds me of the sound of lumber being cut down, but there’s no crack, and no thud of the tree falling onto the floor of the forest. There’s just that creaking, rustling sound of something that should not be moved but is definitely moving anyway.

Aspen trees always shake. It’s kind of their thing. They are literally called ‘quaking aspens’ if you go to buy them at the hardware store. But this is more than just the wind fluttering through the leaves. They’re… moving.

My mouth drops open, and my first instinct is to shift so that I can jump forward and keep Coral from being trampled by… trees. Remembering, however, that plants definitely don’t seem to hurt her in general, and that they attempt to comfort her when she’s feeling sad, I decide not to turn into a wolf and drag her by her skimpy spider-lace overalls away from the trees in front of us.

But I step closer to her so that I can grab her. Just in case.

I’m not going crazy. The trees are, in fact, moving. They’re rearranging, the entire massive gave that flows for probably a mile down the hillside, until they stretch for at least three times that in either direction. Right along the boundary that marks the edge of Oakwood pack territory.

The whole process takes forever. It’s not just an easily done thing. Literally, I’m watching the trees reshuffle themselves and move, one tree at a time, into a line. Hours go by.

I’m actually about to fall asleep on my feet when I finally hear the sound of…

Silence.

My eyes snap open, and I look around.

“Shit,” I say out loud. “Shit, that’s amazing.”

Coral doesn’t respond.

I blink. Then, I move.

She’s lying on the ground. Her fingers are still dug into the dirt, but she’s not actively doing anything, I don’t think, because they’re kind of arched up. Almost like they’re in pain. More importantly, though, her face looks awful. Her skin is a pale, deathly looking color, and the spaces under her eyes look dark and hollow.

Normally, she looks petite and perfect. Like a butterfly. Right now, she looks like she’s about to fall apart.

Gently, I pull her up into my arms. She’s so small. When she tucks herself into my shoulder, she takes a huge, deep breath. When she settles, her face shifts. The drawn tension in it fades—into a small, beautiful smile.

Without any other plans, I take her back to her cottage.

I don’t know what else I’m supposed to do. She’s passed out, and she isn’t moving in the direction of waking anytime soon.

When we get to the cottage door, in fact, she’s snoring. Literally.

It’s probably the most adorable noise that I’ve heard in my entire life, but she’s still… snoring. Clearly, she needs the rest.

I hesitate on the cottage doorstep. I can’t just go into her house. That feels invasive.

I mean, I guess I’m carrying her and everything, which is potentially more invasive, and I did see her, like… rearrange a large amount of foliage to create some kind of a boundary. But I’m not really sure if that’s invasive or not.

Without a clear plan on what to do, I just stand. At her door. Until finally, she stirs.

Coral blinks, looking up at me. “What time is it?”

“Not really sure. When you moved the trees around, it took a couple of hours, and then we walked back, and now I think the sun might be pretty close to going down, so… maybe like five or six?”

“Wow. Wait. Nolan?”

“Yes,” I say. I give her a small reassuring smile as well, just in case she doesn’t remember.

“What happened?”

“Well, you moved all the trees?—”

“Oh, the ward. Right.” She nods like that makes total sense.

“Yeah. The ward. You made a ward, and then you passed out.”

She sighs. “Oh. Well. That’s new.”

“New?”

Coral shuts her eyes and tucks herself into my arms again. I’m not really sure if she knows what she’s doing. But in the event that she doesn’t, I’m not going to embarrass her and point out that I’m still carrying her around.

“Yeah, normally, I have enough energy to make at least two wards before I get tired, but that aspen was a real bitch, and…” She yawns so hard her jaw cracks.

“Bitch of a tree,” I prompt.

“Yeah. Real bitch of a tree. We need to do each point. The north, south, east, and west,” Coral yawns again.

“Listen. I don’t know how you do it?—”

“Technically, I don’t. I just tell the trees to watch out for me. But that aspen was…”

“A real bitch of a tree,” I finish.

Coral peeks up at me through her lashes. “Yup. And you know what?”

“What, Coral?”

“I don’t think I can finish today.”

I laugh. “No. I don’t think we should do that. Do you want me to put you in your bed?”

She gives the sleepiest, smallest, tiniest nod.

I open her house, but really, I don’t want to put her down. If I could just keep her in my arms while sitting on the bed, I would. But that would be weird. I think.