“Her mama didn’t have no magic,” she replied as though she’d unequivocally proved her case. “That gene is always passed down. They said her mama went to all sorts of alphas—one that got her with child, if you can believe that. Couldn’t find no magic. Shame on her mother, but then alphas do have their wiles…”
Her eyebrow arched, a harsh judgment on me.
My stare bowed her spine. Her gaze snapped downward.
Magiclessness was rarely passed down. That was fear talking. Judgment. Superstition.
To have a person like this as a neighbor, constantly judging, always looking down on you?
The sentiment was still true. What amiserablefucking life.
“Thank you for your time,” I told the older woman, my tone as harsh as my stare. “I am not here to use her in a similar... field of... employ. I’m here to escort her to her judgment. Her practices are unlawful. It’s time she pays the price. Speaking of, is there anyone else that should stand in judgment for their part in all of this?”
The short answer was mostly no, except for Mr. Poet and a few of the lackluster gardeners. The “dud” was basically a one-woman show.
As she spoke, I realized the people here didn’t have much choice in their lives. If they left the territory—if anyone left the territory—they’d need permission and to be escorted. At least one child would have to stay behind. Granny was holding hostages, using the children as leverage to ensure no one spoke about their tasks or their locations. It’s how she was able to keep her secret so airtight.
Smart . . . and utterly disgusting. She deserved death.
“This woman,” I finally said, pointing at the house in front of me, stopping the woman’s rant about someone named Girdy and her light fingers at the weekly market. “What is her name?”
“Aurelia.”
The name bloomed within my mind, so beautiful, so perfectly matching her essence. It was like a favorite song whose tune I remembered from my youth, but whose words I’d forgotten until just now.
“Thank you for your time.” I offered the woman a slight bow this time.
“‘Bout time justice was done.” The woman sniffed and went into her house.
What a strange reception for an intruder who meant part of the community harm.
What a horrible village.
I reached the front door. It wasn’t locked.
The smell accosted me first, a wave of a perfume so divine my knees about lost their strength. I sat in a single rocking chair facing the hearth, no other furniture in her sitting room. She clearly didn’t entertain.
A pot hung over ashes and I looked inside. Confused, looking back at the kitchen, I realized they didn’t have any sort of appliances for keeping things cold. Granny had all the modern amenities in her estate near the castle, but she was clearly keeping these people in the olden times, before a strange alliancebetween clever faeries and demons had learned how to leach energy from the human realm beyond the veil.
Why was Granny keeping this village locked in a time warp? To control them?
Figuring the woman, Aurelia, would’ve gotten rid of the contents if they weren’t fit to be eaten, I hunted through the small kitchen and found a spoon. Reaching in, I scooped up a bit out of curiosity and studied what I’d found. Stew, it looked like. Carrots, potatoes, meat...
Hesitantly, I sampled the concoction... and then moaned, closing my eyes as the tastes exploded on my tongue. I’d had a million stews made by all manner of people, from those working for royalty to the mates of my pack treating me to a homecooked meal. Nothing—nothing—had ever tasted this good. It wasn’t the ingredients, which were pretty standard fare, but the additions of... herbs, I guessed. Certain unusual spices? I couldn’t say, only that it tasted fucking divine.
Before I knew it, I’d finished the rest of the (somewhat meager) pot and looked for more. Finding none, I once again returned to the kitchen, looking in drawers and marveling at how immaculate everything was. She’d gone out earlier not knowing an invasion would occur. I’d warned her, yes, but clearly she hadn’t taken that to heart. She also hadn’t told anyone about our... meeting the night before. The gods only knew how she’d rationalized it, likely not recognizing our true mate bond or maybe even knowing what that was. Those without access to their animals didn’t usually get much coaching about shifter life or, like with true mate bonds in general, far-fetched possibilities. She’d left her cottage thinking she’d return home at some point.
My heart thumped against my chest painfully.
I’m ripping her away from her home. A place she clearly loves and looks after.
Breathing heavily against guilt I couldn’t control, I glanced at the books stacked on a side table. Gardening mostly, but with a couple action-adventure titles randomly stuck in.
I ran my finger over the lettering on the spine. Action-adventure was a genre I gravitated toward, liking it above all others. Add in a little murder mystery and I was in heaven. I didn’t recognize these titles.
I’d look them up when I got back to the castle. I didn’t need to know her reading habits for this duty but fuck it, I wanted to. I wanted to know what made her tick. Who she was. Why we were destined for each other.
Honestly, I wanted to conclude that the whole “true mates” business was nothing but random, primal bad luck. That it had nothing to do with me personally. It would make my duty that much more bearable.
