Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Heath

I leave with Anders for a quick meeting with a mutual acquaintance at The Jolly Sailor. A ship is due in, full of fresh slaves, but it is acting oddly, anchoring offshore south of the city. Anders' acquaintance thinks there might have been a mutiny on board as boats were spotted rowing to shore outside of the city.

Those in the rebellion are tasked to keep a lookout for any escaped prisoners seeking shelter. It is fucking freezing at this time of year, and the former prisoners are likely to sneak into barns and outhouses for warmth. Better if our people spot them, than the poor souls end up back in the Blighten's hands.

Then there is another ship, The Minstrel , anchored offshore to the north and with ties to the Imperium kingdom across the Lumen Sea. No one knows what the fuck this ship is about, but they are apparently taking on supplies and are said to be preparing to leave swiftly.

Pondering this news, I return. Noticing the workshop is still locked up, I head over to The Green Man to check if there is anything I can help with after last night. I expect Callum must be taking a bit of time with his lass. His possessive instincts will doubtless be roused after Gray stepped in to save her last night.

Only, I do not find Callum or Ada at the tavern. In fact, no one is fucking there. No Betsy, no Tim: even Gareth and a couple of the barmen are also missing.

"Ada and Betsy left for the markets this morning," the cook tells me. From what I can see, she and her assistant are the only people here. "Then Tim called through to us in the kitchen saying as he needed to go out urgently. He left with Gareth and the other barmen in a rush."

"We heard as a ship was sighted offshore," her young kitchen helper adds. "And that prisoners might have escaped. Do you think it has aught to do with that?"

"More likely it is," I say. It is a wonder how quickly gossip spreads in this city.

I return to my workshop, but I find myself frowning as I take my key from my pocket to undo the lock.

Even before I step inside, I feel the prickling of unease and a premonition that something is wrong.

Absent. It is quiet. Too quiet.

I tell myself that Callum has probably followed Ada and Betsy and gone looking for them in the market. Ada is a sweet lass, and, though my son is still young, I know he has found his one and is subject to an undeniable pull, just like the one I experienced with his mother.

It has been seven years since she was taken from me by illness, and I still think of her often. Time has a way of softening the pain without ever taking it away. I tell myself I'm not ready for someone else and never will be, and yet Betsy is surely a Goddess-sent test to my resolve.

The lass is too young for me, too bold, too stubborn, and, further, clearly needs a firm hand applied to her ass just to keep her in line.

A man has a type that is not necessarily measured by how a woman looks.

I like women with spirit who rise above life's hardships and tests, who are indomitable, even as they make me want to try to master them for nothing more than the hell of it.

In this quiet moment, as I stand in the middle of my workshop, I am honest with myself; I admit that the blonde tavern lass with her freckles and her saucy smile has taken a starring role in my recent filthy dreams. Worse, I know Callum's mother would have liked her and encouraged her mischief.

Shifters are a different breed in every way.

As I walk out the other side of the workshop, through into our house that lies behind, I find the kitchen neat and tidy. My eyes skim over it, searching for the elusive sign that proves or negates the prickling at the back of my neck.

His cloak has gone from the hook by the door, but that is to be expected. It is cold and miserable outside as Bleakness lumbers into the depths of winter.

My eyes alight on a note sitting on the mantle over the fire. A cold sensation settles in the pit of my stomach as I stride over and take the note.

The bastard has taken her. I don't know what the fuck he intends to do. But I am getting my woman back.

Callum

P.S. I took your sword.

My slow smile is followed by a low chuckle that soon turns into a deeper guffaw.

My dear son never forgot about that damn sword, even though finding it was one of the rare occasions that I took the strap to his behind.

I carefully lay the note down on the table.

And then I sit.

A grin spreads across my face. I scratch at my brow as I let this settle in.

I am certain Gray is the bastard Callum refers to, and equally certain that the big shifter means Ada no harm.

Callum will prevail, but perhaps not in the way he expects.

A part of me is devastated that my son has gone; in my heart, I already know he will not be coming back. Yet, another part of me senses destiny is at play, and no man may interfere with that.

I should have had that talk with him. But this and that happened, and there was never any fucking time. Today, I sense the Goddess at work, forcing matters to a head.

There has been a pull between the three of them since the beginning: Gray, Ada, and Callum.

A chuckle escapes me. How my late mate would be proud.

When Callum was born, his mother hid her disappointment when he did not shift. She loved him as purely as any mother could love her son, yet there was no mistaking the wistfulness I caught in her expression from time to time. He bore her green eyes, the ones that signified him as royalty in the shifter world… and her red hair.

Gods, I loved her hair, how long and luscious it was, the way I would wrap my fingers around as I plowed—no, I will not linger on that memory today, for she has been gone seven years. One day, when the Goddess is willing, we might be reunited again.

Until then, there is a lot of life before me.

Only, my son is gone. I already feel how fate guides his path, just as I feel it acting upon me.

My thoughts center on my homeland and the place I have recalled with increasing frequency in my dreams. Callum was still a babe when we left, yet it is where his roots are, too. Eastern Hydornia: where the mountains climb toward the sky, and the forests are lush and thick. There is a village there where I grew up, apprenticing to the local blacksmith—my father—and where a pretty shifter lass used to sneak to when she wanted to get away from the harsh politics and dangers in her life.

I didn't know that the shifter girl carried royal blood. She was just a lass with an eye for mischief. It was many years later when I learned about her status, but then we were both maturing, and I was fucking gone for her and only her.

Where human betas tend to form simpler pairings, shifters know no such bounds. Callum's mother was a sensual creature and had many lovers before her taunting finally broke me; that's what drove me, a beta, to claim her.

Some shifters continue such ways even after taking a mate, though many don't… unless they are claiming another mate, which happens as frequently as not.

Callum's mother and I never needed more, yet I understand shifters can be tenacious and unwavering when their inner wolf latches.

I had hoped Gray might move on, yet, deep down, I sensed his obsession and recognized the signs of imprinting, a point Anders confirmed privately to me once Callum had left.

I know my son as well as any man can know another, be they blood or not. I always suspected he had a wolf lurking underneath his gentle beta exterior.

My smile is broad. I foresee some clashes ahead that will be spectacular in nature.

As I carefully close the note, it feels like I am closing more than a piece of paper.

"It is time I moved on," I say to myself. It will take a while to get my affairs in order, to find a buyer willing to take on the shop, although a few have approached me over the years, and I will put the word out.

I feel light, like a weight I have carried for too long has been lifted from my shoulders.

I feel free.

Bleakness is changing—the Blighten's grip is slipping—and while my work here might never be done, I believe it is time.

A village is calling to me. A village where I grew up. Far away. A place I only now recognize as home. It will have changed. There will be different people there. Some of those I once knew will have passed over to the Goddess' side. There will be new people, too, who I will meet and learn about.

My heart lifts as I consider the road ahead—the long journey—and the only sorrow at leaving Bleakness is related to the hold a certain lass has over me.

I don't know what may come next. Only that a path is opening before me which cannot be denied.

Now that those last deadlines have been met, the workload has tapered off, and I can complete what is on my books in a week at the most.

I had planned to do a bit more in the workshop today, but on a whim, I now decide to finish early.

While I have not yet gone, my mind is already disconnecting, and so it is a sense of nostalgia that calls me to a familiar tavern—The Green Man.

I rise, lock up, and head out the back toward a familiar place. Although the weather is grim, with snow blanketing the ground, The Green Man is always cheery. The fire is always well stocked, the food always tasty, and I already anticipate Tim's booming hail as I push the door open, for it never fails to put a smile on my face. I want to store it up as a reminder, when I am gone, that I have friends here.

Except, today, as I open the door, Gareth is barreling out and nearly knocks me off my feet.

"Heath!" he says. "Was coming to look for you!"

Inside, the fire is blazing with the usual cheery glow, but that is where the scene diverges from my expectations. There are no customers gathered in the taproom. Rather, the only ones before me are Anders, Tim, and a weeping Betsy.

Gareth shuts the door behind me and slams the bolt across.

Before I can say a word, Betsy is in my arms, crying her heart out. I soothe her hair back from her tear-ravaged cheeks, feeling that telltale softening in the center of my chest. "Hush, lass. It is going to be okay. I know what this is about."

"They are gone," she sobs.

"Aye, I know." With her still clinging within the circle of my arms, I explain what I know. These people here are part of my inner circle, and I have trusted them the whole time I have lived in Bleakness. Now, it is time to trust them with my deepest secret.

So I do, leaving out no part, for they will need to know everything if I am to ease their concerns.

As I come to the end, Anders shakes his head. Betsy is now tucked at my side, no longer weeping but giving no indication that she plans to let go.

"Eh, this is a tall story, and I would not believe it were it anyone but you," Tim says, his worry lines softening a little. "You mean to go back to your homelands, then?"

"I do," I say.

"Well, the rebellion will miss you and Callum for sure," Anders says, coming over to clasp hands with me. "I better be going. I've got a ship full of former captives to track down afore they fall into the wrong hands again. And, Tim, if I might be bold enough, I suggest you open up, lest it draw more attention. It's quiet at this time of day, but your regulars will be arriving soon. The fewer tongues wagging, the better."

As he strides away, Tim gives Gareth the nod to unbar the front door. "Gods, I'm going to miss that young lass and your Callum," he says, with a sad smile. "Won't be the same around here, for sure. And it'll be worse still, when you go. Betsy, get Heath what he wants: on the house tonight."

"I will, Pa," she says. "Just going to wash my face, and I'll be right back."

I must admit, I miss her as she slips from my arms. She rubs her damp cheeks with the back of her hand, and plasters on a weak smile before she hastens off.

The door swings open, bringing a blast of cold air, and three dockworkers hasten in, rubbing hands to ward off the chill as they hang cloaks on the hooks beside the door.

"Cold ‘un tonight, Tim!" one calls. "We'll have three pints of Pilkington and a serve each of steak and kidney pie, please!"

"Coming right up," Tim calls.

I take my favored place at the table to the right of the fire.

The door opens again.

"You are early today," Tim says, with a good-natured smile as he addresses the carpenter and his apprentice, who join him at the bar.

Gods, I want to soak up the moment and the way easy conversation picks up around me.

By the time Betsy returns, the door has opened three more times, and a dozen patrons are sitting at tables or chatting with Tim at the bar.

I watch her approach, noting that tears still glisten in her eyes. It dawns upon me that I have been unintentionally careless with the precious gift of a young lass's heart, by announcing I am leaving, right off the back of telling her that her dear friend has gone and will never be coming back.

As I look at her now, her presence hits me in a way I have forced myself not to acknowledge before. My thoughts shift to that moment of weakness I felt, when I caught her and Ada sneaking beneath the fighting pit.

She is too young, but, fuck it. I admit I am as charmed by her ways as I am by her pretty face and smile… and her tits, and her ass, and her mouth when it is stretched around… Somewhere far above, another lass with forest green eyes and shifter blood is smirking with approval at Betsy's boldness.

"Have a seat, lass," I say, liberating her of the pint and indicating the chair opposite mine. "You are not so busy, and happen an old man has made a hash of matters."

"You are not so old," she says. Her pert chin lifts, and her eyes lose some of their sorrow, flashing with a little of that fire I love so well.

I set the pint of Pilkington out of the way and take her small hands in mine. It's fair to say my life has taken plenty of unexpected turns. And I'm hopeful that if the lass before me is congenial, those plans I just made are about to change once again.