Whoever this stranger was, Leif sensed no weapon, and the magic inherent in all fae was so varied that trying to predict what offensive capabilities someone of fae ancestry had was nearly fruitless. Instinct told him the young fae was no threat, and he hadn’t lived as long as he had by ignoring his instincts.
He stepped out from the deepest shadows, and a hint of silvery light from the sliver of moon breaking the horizon was enough to illuminate him for the fae. The way those gray eyes went wide, and the freeze response in that lean form, told him the fae saw him well enough despite the limited light.
The youngling was beautiful, but it was the wary, pained, and yet somehow resigned strength in those lovely eyes that lured Leif from his long-standing resolve to remain apart from the world. He saw himself reflected in those eyes, not as he was now—but as he could be, should be, had a witch not destroyed his life and pack over a thousand years ago, Leif literally cursed to be alone. The fae gazed at him in admiration, some awe, and the appreciation had him lifting his head higher, legs straightening to his full height.
The moon rose enough in that moment that the silver light gilded the young man and the tree he leaned on, and Leif struggled not to show the impact it had on him. Soul-deep and as inevitable as the travels of the celestial bodieshigh above in the ink-black sky, Leif succumbed to Fate’s whimsy and capricious cruelty—a soulmate, centuries past his decision to stop hoping, and one curse too late for love.
Chapter 2
Alec
Alec tried not to show fear, but the towering werewolf peering down at him tested his resolve.
Werewolves were born, not bitten, and the varying ancestries and individual ranks of each werewolf determined whether or not they could take the legendary bipedal Wolfman-esque form, the terrifying monster seen in old folktales and in a century of horror films. This werewolf, though, was in the more common form, the true wolf, though the magical nature of the werewolf possessed only a passing resemblance to non-magical and non-sapient wolf species.
Bulky with deep muscles, a dense triple coat with shiny guard hairs that turned silver when they caught stray beams of moonlight, and a muzzle full of fangs far longer and sharper than evolution gave their wild counterparts, this werewolf was huge, dark in an array of hues hard to make out in the night. The wolf was a looming threat that made his nerves twitch, but the non-threatening stance and the huge, intelligent, and calmly amused eyes eased the urge to flee once theirgazes met.
The wolf was an alpha—the aura around alphas was nearly a living thing itself, pulsing with a subtle but tangible field of power and strength. Even Alec felt the faint urge to bow his head to the being standing far closer than Alec had assumed the observer in the shadows to be—this alpha was adept at using the environment to his advantage, and that spoke of age. Werewolves were not immortal; they lived hundreds of years, but most werewolves in the United States were under the two-century mark. The truly ancient wolves usually remained in the Old World in ancestral territories while the younger wolves left to find new lands to claim as their own.
Rare to see an old wolf alone, as most had packs, especially alphas. A lone alpha was incredibly rare. Perhaps he was out for a nightly run, and there was a pack nearby, yet Alec could not sense the energies in the natural world that were indicative of multiple werewolves and their interconnected magics.
“Forgive the trespass, alpha,” Alec said, squinting against the gritty sweat that ran down his temples and into his eyes despite the chill night air. He was worn to nothing and needed rest. Weeks of captivity might be over, but he was no ancient and powerful fae to recover so quickly, and his magic was still chaotic from the mortal spells used to control him. He needed food and sleep. “If you’ll perhaps lift a paw in the direction I need to go to leave your territory, I’ll be on my way shortly.”
Manners taught to him in his childhood served him well, and he saw the amusement in the alpha’s expressive eyes at the attempted courtesy. He was presumably trespassing, as wolves kept to their territories out of habit and respected boundaries of the lands belonging to other species and packs.
When the alpha approached, Alec trembled, helpless to control the instinctive response to the huge predator looming over him. A massive head lowered, jaws big enough to swallow Alec’s entire head, shoulders, and then snap him in half—but the soft snuffles and the billowing hot breath of the wolf, smelling faintly of blood and a hint of metallic…something…was pleasant and not at all monstrous. Alec couldn’t stop the delighted smile that broke free, and he itched to run his fingers through the wild coat of the wolf. The alpha huffed, amused, and nudged his massive head against Alec’s shoulder.
Arms came up and without thinking he wrapped them around the huge head, delighting in the soft, thick fur under his palms, and the great ears that flickered at his touch, responsive to the slightest pressure. Alec pressed his forehead to the thick fur and the body heat from the alpha was staggering. A wave of warmth swept through Alec’s body, momentarily easing aches and pains, a blissful reprieve from the damp and cold night air.
“Come with me, little fae,” a gravelly, whispered command sounded, seemingly from the wolf, and Alec was more startled by the voice coming from everywhere, and yet nowhere, than the words the alpha spoke. “Climb up my shoulder.”
“I…what…” Alec stammered, but the alpha bowed down and Alec stumbled to his feet. He found himself half climbing, half tossed by a powerful head under his rear onto the great wolf’s back. He sank into the dense fur, and the alpha slowly stood, peering at him over his tall shoulders with one big eye.
“Hold tight,” came that disembodied voice again, like gravel skipping down a mountainside, yet precise and not at all harsh on the ears. This alpha was very, very old. Andpowerful. The ability to speak aloud when in their wolf shape was almost a legend, and Alec had never heard a werewolf use it before; those he met in his day-to-day life were all young, the majority under a century, and no more skilled in the historically lauded werewolf magics than a puppy.
The fur between his fingers was dark brown and gray, a riot of colors that matched the colors of the forest, especially in the night, and if it weren’t for the heat coming from the wolf and the thrumming of immense power that surrounded him, he would have thought he was hallucinating. The alpha turned carefully, and Alec didn’t trust himself not to fall, so he lay down as best he could and gently gripped the heavy ridge of fur that covered the wolf’s shoulders in an impressive mantle.
The werewolf took off at a fast walk, but his gait was so smooth that Alec barely noticed they were moving, the breeze changing from cold and cutting to soothing, drying the sweat that plagued him, thanks to the heat emanating from the werewolf. Huge, wide paws made no sound on the forest floor, not a twig snapping nor the faint rustle of dried leaves, and Alec sank into the heavy coat, feeling like he could fall asleep and be quite content, certain that if he had any pursuers, they wouldn’t have much luck tracking the wolf through these woods.
He hadn’t felt safe in a long time. Not since he was a kid, when his mom was still alive and healthy.
Leif
“Don’t fall off,”Leif warned as he dipped around the twisted trunk of an ancient oak and his paws found the hidden path that wove amongst granite boulders as tall as a house, steadily climbing up the switchback trail to his home. The cliff-face was the result of a long-ago collapse of a rock shelf, probably millions of years ago, and the steep incline was covered in boulders, ridges of granite and quartz, and interspersed with lethal drop-offs and dense clusters of bushes and berry brambles. Only a few intrepid old-growth oaks and maples remained, spared by the miners when they gave up searching for treasures.
Fingers gripped even tighter in the thick coat over his shoulders, and Leif wondered idly what it would feel like for those slim fingers to scratch along his back, hunting for hard to reach itchy spots, but he banished the foolish thoughts, focusing on not toppling his charge as he navigated the difficult path. It was muscle memory at this point, but he was carrying another person and any inattention might leave his guest worse off than he was currently. Not fancying digging a grave, Leif was mindful of each paw placement and avoided going too fast as the trail twisted upon itself and dipped under and over boulders, and through blackberry brambles hollowed out over the years by his passage.
A muffled curse from above told him he wasn’t as careful as he hoped, thorns from the brambles catching at his guest, and he made sure to duck a bit more to avoid the rest of the brambles near the top of the path.
It took him easily three times as long to reach the top of the path and the small clearing in front of the cabin, but it was probably far faster than any mortal could manage on two feet. A few more strides brought him alongside the stoop and he carefully maneuvered himself so the youngman could slide from his back to the top step without toppling several feet to the ground.
“Watch your step,” Leif warned, looking over his shoulder to watch the young man get off his back. “The night air makes the wood slick sometimes.”
With a few muffled curses and some moans of pain, the young man managed to get to his feet on the wooden stoop of the cabin, and a tiny squeak escaped when his legs failed to hold him up and he fell into the door, the latch giving way at impact.
Leif winced when he heard the thump of the young man hitting the floor and the subsequent groan. Sighing, Leif shook out his coat before starting to Change.
Alec
