4. Lorin

Chapter four

Lorin

H e was slumped back on the sofa, his head spinning with what had happened earlier. Every now and again, shivers would run through his entire body, making his teeth rattle and his muscles spasm.

He didn't dare look at the other corner of the sofa. He didn't even want to entertain the thought of it.

The shock of white he could spot out of the corner of his eye wasn't his to entertain. He didn't care. He couldn't care. He had been so close to being given the answers, so close to getting help with something that had weighed on his shoulders for so long. He couldn't lose sight of that now.

"It's pretty cute." His grandmother broke the silence and Lorin startled, his head whipping to the right involuntarily.

His eyes landed on a mass of white fur, paws sticking up into the air, a tongue lolled to one side, and a tail flicked over one of the colorful throw cushions. Sjena was giving him a curious look, beady black eyes focused and head tilted to the side.

It looked like a feather-stuffed pillow had exploded all over the sofa, and Lorin did not think it was cute. Not for a single second.

He also didn't want to acknowledge the warmth settling into the pit of his stomach, fighting against the dread already there, pushing it out and trying to win it over.

He wouldn't let it.

This wasn't what he wanted.

"You said the chances were slim," he said to his grandma, eyes still glued to the mess of white.

"I never said there were none, though." She stood up and walked toward the sofa, crouching as best she could in front of the little fox and staring at it.

She extended one finger, the dark symbols on her skin, runic in shape and jagged around the edges, stark against the white fur she ruffled.

Lorin felt something ugly rear its head inside his chest. He didn't want the fox touched by her. Protectiveness and possessiveness curled together in an eruption that wanted to spill forward. The hook in his chest, newly cemented and incredibly tender, yanked again.

He shook the feelings off, ignoring the pain and clenching his fists against his thighs to stop himself from reaching out and pulling the fox into his own arms.

"It wasn't among the potentials," his grandmother said, still looking at the fox, unaware of the tempest Lorin was trying to leash. "We'll have to take it to be looked over. See if it's healthy or if it needs something other than what we already gave it."

Her words registered in Lorin's head, but he just couldn't wrap his head around them. They sounded final. Like it was a done deal that the fox was staying with him. He hadn't agreed to that.

The fox's paws twitched in the air once before it continued to sleep on, seemingly dead to the world.

"But it seems to be doing okay. Food, water, and warmth will help with most things. Poor little thing must have been out in the cold for a while."

"It's built for the cold," Lorin said, just to be contrary. His grandma scowled and Sjena cawed.

"That doesn't mean it deserves to suffer."

Lorin felt guilt gnaw at the edges of his conscience. She was right. The little fox had nothing to do with the fact that Lorin was so against being a witch. It was following instinct. Doing what it was made to do. Lorin had no right to put the blame for his predicament on it.

And yet, he did his very best to. Because someone needed to be blamed and he didn't have a lot of options.

"Trust you to just trudge over all protocol." She huffed, and while it sounded every bit like the criticism she was so quick to dish out, there was also a glint in her eye that spoke of concealed amusement.

"I didn't trudge over anything," he said petulantly.

"Well, not on purpose this time," she said, walking over and picking up a hefty leather-bound book from the table. "But trudge you did."

She hoisted the book over and slapped it onto his knees, tapping on it with her fingernails. It made Lorin's hair stand on end.

"I'm not signing it." He crossed his arms.

She shook her head, turning her gaze up to the ceiling.

"Blessed be the moon for giving you to me, but you are difficult, child," she said, opening the book and shoving it in front of him again.

"It doesn't mean—" he started, but she cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"You have found your familiar."

She handed him a pen she had tucked somewhere in her messy gray hair and he took it reluctantly, staring at the page in front of him with his vision swimming with what he was about to do.

"Signing the bonding ledger changes nothing, Lorin. It's already happened. It couldn't be more real than it is. This is just the bureaucracy around it, so you might as well."

She nudged the book closer and he folded again, signing his name under countless others with shaky fingers and noise thundering in his head.

"Excellent," she said, slamming the book closed and tucking it under her arm. "I'll leave you to it then."

"Wait, you're leaving?" He stared between her and the still-sleeping fox, whose tail was now dangerously close to touching him.

"I do have a mess to clean up after you," she said. "The other elders are already calling around asking about a missing fox potential, so I'm going to give them a hand."

"But—"

"You have a familiar to get…familiar with." She winked, and with an annoying cackle and the flap of Sjena's wings following after her, she was gone.

Lorin glanced to the side, his heart in his throat as he was left to confront the harsh reality of his own life.

There was a war going on inside him. One side had taken up arms, demanding he pull the fox into his embrace. The other was holding the line firm, refusing to even consider it.

In the end, Lorin couldn't stand the fight. He retreated, getting up from the sofa on shaky legs and heading to the back door.

He stumbled out into the cold and wet in his socks, the damp earth and grass soaking them immediately. He paid it no mind, simply trying to draw breaths that didn't want to be found.

He ended up finding his way to the large alder tree that overhung his grandma's pond at the end of the garden, slightly crooked but sturdy. An aged wooden swing hung at the water's edge, held up by fraying ropes.

Lorin shivered as he made his way toward it, the chill winter air biting harshly at his thin shirt and finding a way through to his skin. He collapsed into the puddle on the seat of the swing, hearing the groans the tree and swing both gave at being used after so many years.

Lorin didn't think anyone had sat in it since he'd last left. There'd always been an unspoken understanding that this was Lorin's space. His haven. His grandma always stood at the edges to call for him, but never intruded. It looked like she'd simply left it as Lorin had left it, waiting for his return. The tree too seemed to welcome him back, its leaves swaying.

He stared unseeingly at the layer of algae on top of the pond, the green surface so thick it looked like it could be stood on. He knew there was all manner of life beneath it though. Calm on the surface but teeming underneath. Lorin felt the same, but he didn't know how to express any of it outwardly, so he simply sat, stone still as he rioted inside. Crawled and writhed and squirmed.

His life was no longer his own. He could feel the irrevocable change. The tie that bound cinching tighter, squeezing him until he couldn't bear it.

A single tear slipped free.

He was terrified.

It was his every fear come to life. It was sitting here as a teenager on this very swing, heartbroken and wishing on every magic he knew that he would never find his familiar. That he would never have to endure the same fate as his parents.

A rising sense of panic began to fill his chest and he clutched it, feeling his heart begin to beat so hard and erratically he thought he'd keel over. Human hearts didn't beat this quickly.

And then a soft snout was pushing at his other hand where it clutched the seat.

Lorin glanced down and saw the fox staring up at him with bright amber eyes, almost accusingly. Its small ears were tipped back, tail curled in what looked like a question mark. It was a gorgeous creature. It was Lorin's worst nightmare come to life.

"What?" Lorin choked. "What do you want?"

He wanted the thing to disappear. To never have existed. At the same time he couldn't imagine it going anywhere and felt horror at the idea of being parted.

Another tear fell.

The fox tracked its descent, tilting its head. Its short ears flicked back and forth and its bushy tail swished once before it bounded up on the seat next to him.

Lorin moved all the way to the other side through more gathered puddles of water, his head bumping against the rope and knocking the wreath on his head askew. He hadn't even realized he was still wearing it.

He reached up and ripped it off, holding it between his hands and squeezing. It creaked and folded under the pressure, the foxtails mocking him.

He cast it as far away from himself as he could, and it landed with a thump in a pile of wildflowers, battered but intact.

Lorin glared at it, panting.

A white paw landed on his thigh, and he tensed even as his shoulders relaxed. The opposing reactions made him angrier.

He looked at the fox with tears still clinging to his lash line in fat droplets waiting to fall. Looking into its face, he realized he couldn't blame it after all. He wanted to so badly, but that was the worst thing about it—Lorin had no one to blame but himself. He'd agreed to the ceremony. He'd chased the fox and the connection in his mind. Chased the path. Chased warmth. Chased light. Like a blanket and a lantern.

He hated that secret part of him that was so lonely. That had been so lonely all his life. Searching and searching for something he couldn't name.

He turned his face away and leaned against the rope, exhausted. He didn't fight it when the fox curled up next to him, burying its face in its tail as if sensing he needed to be still and quiet for now.

Lorin felt it breathing next to him, a single warm spot against his leg, and he let himself cry a little more.

Kit

Waking up and finding himself no closer to being able to shift than before mating and bonding had been disappointing to say the least. Kit had pinned all his hopes and placed all his bets on it being the solution.

He didn't want to let himself get stuck in a rut, however. Lying down belly up wasn't in his nature. Unless it was for pets.

Lorin might not have fixed him, but he was a witch. Maybe, somehow, if Kit could get the message through to him, he'd still be able to help.

For now, Kit was adjusting to life with a mate and the weird feeling of being a familiar. There was a connection in his chest alongside the mating bond that was bright and effervescent. It glowed when he pressed into it. There was a new power brimming within him too. Untapped. Growing strong. Kit knew he couldn't reach it himself. It was there for Lorin.

There wasn't a lot of time to explore it though, since Lorin seemed intent on going somewhere after only a couple of days.

Lorin was pacing the small bedroom, grabbing things here and there and tossing them into his travel bag. Kit trotted over to sniff at the various things, just to get himself familiarized with his human's things and habits a bit more.

He already liked him a lot.

Despite all the pain surrounding him.

Kit hadn't really had an image of his mate in his mind. He'd never thought about it much because all that mattered was finding them, making sure they had each other. Who they were, or what they were like, beyond being a nice person, had never played a part in it.

But then Lorin had come around, and Kit had realized that a deep part of him had obviously had some idea of what he wanted.

Because Lorin was exactly it.

He seemed sharp-tongued, kind of taciturn and withdrawn, which Kit found to be interesting. He seemed to love books, always reaching for one or having them in arm's reach. He was also very pretty—even in fox form, Kit recognized that. He was tall and lanky, and Kit imagined Lorin would tower over his human shape easily. He shivered at the thought of just hiding his nose against Lorin's neck.

He had wispy, ink-black hair that tickled at his chin, pale skin, and eyes as dark as night. They looked like he'd be able to hide anything behind them easily, and yet Kit felt like he could see right through Lorin somehow. He had a sharp, angular face and thin, beautifully bowed lips Kit ached to see stretched in a smile.

He didn't know how something so small could matter so much, but Lorin smelled nice and the whiff of sadness wrapped around that lovely scent was upsetting to Kit. He wanted to know what it smelled like when he was laughing and happy.

And he wanted to be the one to make it happen.

So Kit was happy with who he was bonded with, except for one tiny detail. Well, not tiny, exactly.

Lorin didn't seem to feel the same way about him. He didn't seem to care about having Kit around. Or at least, he didn't want to care. Tried his best not to.

They'd sat outside on the old swing for what had seemed like hours, and while for Kit, it had been comforting and soothing, Lorin had seemed to be fighting so many demons at once. Kit couldn't even begin to wrap his head around it, so he'd just curled as close as he could, hoping his presence would settle Lorin just like Lorin's did for him. And he'd kept still, as hard as it was, sharing warmth and just existing together in silence.

Lorin's hand had eventually drifted to his back, and Kit had had to suppress a flinch of surprise. Kit remembered the feeling of those long fingers burying themselves in his soft fluff, unconsciously running down his spine and tail, making him squirm with how nice it felt.

The small movement had been enough to alert Lorin's brain to his actions though, and he'd snatched his hand away like he'd been burned, trying to scoot farther away on the wooden seat even though there was nowhere to go.

Kit had huffed, lifting his head and pressing them together more firmly.

Lorin needed to see and know that Kit would follow. Every time. He refused to be away from his mate now that he had finally found him. He didn't want to waste a single second of their time together when it felt so good being close.

He was sure Lorin would soon see it too.

Kit was made for him. He was put on earth to be with him. To bond with him. To help him be everything he was destined to be. And while Lorin was maybe a bit reluctant about it, Kit was excited beyond words.

He'd help Lorin find himself, and then, hopefully, Lorin would do the same for Kit.

Pushing the memories aside, Kit dove back into the bag filled with packed things and dug around until he found a little ball of fabric tucked into a corner.

He pawed at it until it rolled out of the bag and across the worn wooden floor. Kit followed the ball with his eyes, his nose twitching before excitement took over and he dove for the thing as quickly as he could.

Packing, apparently, could be pretty fun. Even if you had zero clue where you were going.