Chapter 30
Evan
The persistent rain that had plagued us for days finally eased, but the sky remained oppressive. In our wake, the mass of black clouds that had chased us the whole trip lingered; a shadow creeping from the valley we’d left.
I’d arrived in this world during a downpour, and I’d nearly died by the lake. Storms here were less like weather and more like a harbinger of death.
Gregory slowed Thunder to a walk. In the distance, the walled town of Oakgon materialized, a smudge of stone on the horizon. The road gave way to a drier, flatter land, though the ground was a dangerous, muddy mess, and the tang of brine cut through the breeze. The coast wasn’t far off.
I tugged my thin cloak a little closer. Like Gregory’s and Harren’s capes, it blocked the wind without holding in much warmth. My thighs and backside were a universe of aches, a dull throb that had become my constant companion in the saddle.
What should have been a two-day ride had stretched into four, and the trip had been miserable. At least Harren’s pheromones were no longer an overwhelming cloud of anxiety affecting me. We kept to ourselves, but the silence was more about giving him space to process.
I knew the feeling of enduring a bond I never asked for and dealing with instincts I didn’t understand.
Harren was still young, and his entire world had shattered.
He was a mess, and the whole situation had me walking a tightrope, acutely aware that a likely dangerous wolf was out there stalking his mate.
Gregory’s deep vibration resonated against my back as he spoke over my shoulder. “Harren, we dismount here. We’ll walk the rest of the way to the gate.”
Harren halted his horse at once and swung down from his saddle with an efficiency that made my aching muscles jealous. Gregory followed, moving with an effortless grace that defied his size.
The ground was an impossible distance away, and every muscle protested at the thought of dismounting. I would have collapsed if I’d tried it alone.
Gregory rested his large hands on my waist. “Swing your leg over. I’ve got you.”
I did as he instructed, wincing as stiff joints strained.
I slid down Thunder’s side, and for a moment, Gregory suspended me with his strength.
He lowered me with care until my boots at last met the earth.
I struggled to keep my knees from buckling after the strain of the ride, but his hands stayed at my waist, holding me steady until I found my balance.
I peeked at Harren, who made a point of ignoring both of us. “So, where did our werewolf bodyguard go?” I asked, scanning the nearby trees.
Gregory huffed a short laugh. “The runt is off making himself decent, I imagine. Can you walk?”
“Yes.” I rotated my shoulders. “It’s better if I stretch my legs anyway.”
Gregory shifted his gaze from the town walls back to me. “Keep the mantle on, hood up.”
I dipped my chin in agreement. Gregory let go of my waist, took Thunder’s reins, and led the way.
Harren grabbed his own horse’s reins, the harness giving a muted jingle as he walked a few yards away, keeping his distance.
I moved up next to Gregory and, on impulse, slipped my hand into his, our fingers lacing together.
He lowered his eyes to our joined hands, his brow furrowing in confusion. A flush of heat rushed into my cheeks. “It’s… normal,” I stammered, focusing on the path ahead. “In my world. It’s what couples do when they walk together in public, not just in private.”
My blush deepened, a stupid heat crawling up my neck. I tried to free my hand, but Gregory tightened his grip, his large, calloused fingers capturing mine. “I like it.”
We kept walking, the rhythmic clopping of the horses’ hooves matching our steps. With every yard, Oakgon’s walls dominated the view. They were huge, made of old gray stones, towering above us and shrinking me down to the size of an ant near a skyscraper.
Arrow slits lined the upper walls like dark, watchful eyes. Flags with strange crests flapped in the salty wind from the coast.
As we neared the massive, iron-banded wooden gates, they groaned open enough for two guards to step out, blocking our path. They were burly men, their faces lined and sun-beaten, their suspicion clear under simple steel helms.
Chainmail showed beneath steel breastplates emblazoned with the sunburst symbol I recognized from Harren’s armor. The first guard rested a hand on the hilt of his sword, his posture tense and unfriendly.
“Halt,” he commanded, his voice gruff. “State your names and your business in Oakgon and provide identification.”
Harren stepped forward without hesitation, reaching into a pouch at his belt. He retrieved a folded piece of parchment bearing a wax seal and handed it to the guard. The man broke the seal, unfolded the letter, and ran his thumb over its contents.
His whole body tensed, his gaze snapping up from the parchment to openly assess Harren, then Gregory, and then me, before his gaze dropped back to the letter. He flicked the parchment closed and fell into a bow, addressing Gregory. “Forgive us, Lord. We did not recognize your presence.”
Gregory gave a curt nod, and the guard straightened, his demeanor transformed into complete respect. He let out a sharp whistle, and a moment later, two teenagers ran up from inside the gate. “Take the Lord’s horses to the stables,” he ordered.
Gregory squeezed my fingers once, before he untangled our hands to pass Thunder’s reins to the nearest boy. They both nodded in unison, wide-eyed as they took the leather straps.
I stared at the guard under my hoodie, stunned.
I was as starstruck as the teenagers. I could not pretend he was just the man who held me through the night.
Moments like this served as a jarring reminder that I was walking in a world that wasn’t my own.
But along with the shock, a fierce sense of pride bloomed in my chest.
My heart stuttered a beat at the sight of them bowing to him.
It was a feeling that kept piling up, layer by layer.
Even here, where magic was rooted in the very earth, Gregory was something more.
He was powerful. He was an alpha. My alpha.
He could talk about being a failed Dragon Lord all he wanted, but looking at the respect in the guard’s eyes, I knew he was so much more than that.
The lead guard motioned us forward. “Escort them to Master Lovell’s residence at once,” he told his companion.
The other man touched a fist to his chest, keeping his chin down as he gestured toward the gate. “Please, follow me.”
Our escort led us through the now open gates, and Oakgon unfolded before us, a city that climbed straight up to the sky.
Forget Mossfen’s gentle slopes; this place was all steep stairs climbing between buildings crammed together.
The houses were built on frames with plaster infill, squeezed between heavier stone structures, all rising toward even higher walls.
Banners flapped between buildings, but the streets were far from crowded. It lacked the bustle of Mossfen. Only our steps clattering on the stone and the cry of gulls from the nearby coast broke the silence.
A prick of unease ran up my spine as the guard bypassed the main streets, turning instead onto a narrow staircase that dropped into shadow between two buildings leaning toward each other.
The air became damp and cool, smelling of mildew and stale water.
The passage twisted downward, growing darker and tighter.
At the bottom, it opened into a small, unassuming square dominated by one large house. Gloom shrouded the square, the house radiating decay.
I leaned closer to Gregory and whispered, “Are you sure about this? This place, I don’t like it.” Harren trailed behind us, while the guard stood waiting near the house’s entrance.
Gregory tightened his hand on mine for a brief moment before letting go. “Nothing will happen while I’m here,” he whispered back, his gaze fixed on the house. His confidence was a wall, but the unsettling atmosphere seeped into me, a cold sensation I couldn’t shake.
The guard stopped before the door. Rust crusted the iron hinges, and thick cobwebs stretched across the frame, undisturbed. He raised a fist and knocked, the thud muffled in the enclosed space. “Master Lovell?” he called out, lacking conviction.
No response came.
He knocked again, louder this time, rocking on his feet as the moment dragged on.
He was clearly nervous as he avoided meeting Gregory’s gaze.
After another long moment with no answer, the guard bowed his head a fraction toward Gregory.
“Apologies, Lord. He… He is no doubt within. He… takes his time.”
Gregory dismissed him with a faint tip of his chin. “You may return to your duties. We can take it from here.”
The guard didn’t hesitate, and relief washed over his face as if he’d been granted a pardon from an execution. “Thank you, Lord.” He turned and beat a hasty retreat up the dark passage, fleeing the stillness before the door could open.
I tightened my cloak. “What did the letter say?” I gestured to the retreating guard. “They all but tripped over themselves bowing once they read it.”
Gregory heaved a sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Knowing William? I can only imagine what that preening bastard wrote.”
I hummed, and my gaze returned to the ominous house.
A bead of sweat trickled down my temple despite the cool, damp air.
I swiped it away with the back of my hand, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Gregory leaned in and brushed his nose against my cheek, possessively breathing me in until a wave of his calming sandalwood washed over me.
“I’ll knock,” he murmured.
I gathered the thin fabric of my cloak close to my chest. Behind that old door could be the answers I needed: how I ended up here, whether I could find Mom, and if this second chance was real or just borrowed time before I disappeared again.
He strode to the threshold, leaving me beside Harren, who yet hadn’t moved.
Gregory raised his fist and hammered on the door, the boom reverberating with unnatural volume in the square.
He waited a beat, then recited, “The jester sees the truth the crown hides. The trickster’s coin buys passage where gold fails. ”
A small panel in the door slid open at eye level, and Gregory held up a coin. After a pause, the panel slammed shut. Then came a series of loud metallic clicks and scrapes from inside as several locks and deadbolts opened one after another.
At last, the door creaked inward, revealing an entryway swallowed by shadows. I wasn’t sure what kind of mage specialized in “binding,” but given the coin and Gregory’s cryptic rhyme about jesters and tricksters, I half-expected someone in motley with bells on his shoes.
The person who emerged from the gloom was the exact opposite. He was small, reaching Gregory’s mid-chest. His messy brown hair stuck out at odd angles, framing a face dominated by the darkest, deepest circles I’d ever seen under his eyes. They were like bruises, stark against pale skin.
Round glasses teetered near the tip of his nose. He resembled a scruffy teenager who hadn’t slept in a week and desperately needed the six daily cups of coffee I used to survive on, maybe even more.
He performed an odd, fluid, exaggerated bow, sweeping low with one hand extended, his chin tucked to his chest as if finishing a trick.
He offered a flat, monotone response to Gregory’s earlier recitation, “And the house always wins.” Remaining in his low position, he asked, “To whom do I owe the pleasure of repaying this debt?”
He rose with sluggish movements, pushed his glasses higher on his nose, and tilted his head, his gaze sliding past Gregory to me, then snapping back to Gregory’s towering frame.
“Mother Goddess teeth!” he screamed. The deadpan tone vanished, and horror replaced it. “No. Absolutely not.” He lunged back, trying to slam the door shut.
But Gregory was faster. He shot his arm out, catching the edge of the door and holding it fast. A deep, menacing heat began to radiate from his palm, and the air shimmered around his skin, which began to flare a dull, molten red.
Where his fingers pressed against the dark wood, thin tendrils of smoke curled upwards, the surface blackening and charring as if touched by a red-hot poker.
“I invoke the debt in the name of Adam Blanke, former Knight-Commander of the Asterian Order,” Gregory said.
The binder mage gave up, and the door swung fully open, though the wood around Gregory’s handprint smoldered, sending up wisps of smoke. Lovell stepped aside, propping it open with his shoulder while giving a vague gesture toward the dark interior in resignation.
Gregory offered me his hand, the usual warmth of his skin a contrast with the heat rolling off the palm that had just scorched wood. He gave me a comforting squeeze and led me inside. Harren moved to follow us through the doorway.
But Lovell blocked Harren’s path with surprising quickness. He wrinkled his nose, sniffing toward him. “Too much noise,” Lovell stated, eyeing Harren. “The debt covers the specific request of the coin bearer. Not his entourage. The boy waits outside.”
Harren bit his lip as he assessed Gregory and the bleak house.
“Wait out here. Nicolai won’t cause trouble,” Gregory reassured him.
With a frustrated breath, Harren squared his shoulders and stepped back from the doorway, taking up a vigilant stance facing the passage entrance.
Gregory looked back down at me. “Ready?”
“Yes.” I stepped forward, past the threshold into the gloom, and glanced back at the small, weary mage. “Thanks for receiving us, Lovell.”