25. Tálstrom
Pain.
Loss.
Misery.
My psyche is pummeled with overwhelming emotions as I slowly swim to the surface of consciousness. Liquid fire burns through my veins and my entire body throbs as a single pulse of agony with every beat of my heart. While it’s not difficult for me to breathe, each inhale only exacerbates the unending torrent of suffering that is my existence.
The keening moan that emerges from my maw is a mournful sound, one full of anguish and sorrow. The blood bonds that once tied me to my chosen family are barely perceptible and quiet, the one I’m most desperate to feel again silent and dull. The hollow cavern where my bonds formerly thrived now echoes with my despairing cries. The joy I felt when they flickered back to life as I escaped Vieux Sang has descended into melancholy, with little improvement to their battered and damaged states to date.
I don’t want to awaken. I have no desire to exist in a world devoid of my family and friends, and Simon’s grief is nigh insurmountable. But the promise we made to our brother prevents us from surrendering to the darkness. As the world once more encroaches on my pitiful state, I steel my spine to carry our burden until Simon can once more endure.
Life rushes in, the sights, smells, and flavors of my surroundings overwhelming as I try to make sense of it all. I’m lying on a firm surface, but one with some give to it. My body feels weighed down and heavy, a strange lethargy lingering in my muscles, preventing me from doing anything more strenuous than lifting my head. Even that proves to be an almost Herculean task.
The smell of cold, wet concrete mixes with the acrid burn of bleach in my nostrils, all of which is tainted by the scent of old blood and infection. A sudden breeze wafts the unmistakable stench of swampland and riverbeds combined with an amalgamation of wild animals, raw meat, exhaust, and the lightest note of citrus. It’s the last one that lingers, the flavors blooming in my nose and on my tongue, soft and alluring. The tart freshness swells, invading my senses, growing stronger with every inhale. I hold my breath, wanting to keep it locked away inside as it soothes the clawing bite of grief and loss consuming my soul. My heart thuds and echoes in my concrete cave, and it takes me a moment to realize that I’m actually hearing footsteps approaching. I exhale on a whoosh, circulating the air around me, but it doesn’t erase that teasing smell.
No. It only gets stronger.
Old hinges grate and squeal as the door to my cell opens, the sound piercing the quiet surrounding me as light pours in through the open doorway. I can only make out the silhouette of the person standing there, but their aroma wraps around me in a comforting embrace.
Grapefruit, cypress, rosemary, and sea salt. Clean and fresh with a hint of wildness, with earthy and sweet undertones, and an after-note of petrichor. Whoever this person is, their scent both settles and invigorates me, and I blink slowly as they step forward, no longer existing in the shadows.
She’s tiny.
Tiny, but fierce.
The top of her fiery-hued head would barely reach Simon’s shoulders, although the wild curls bundled in a messy top-knot gives her some added height. Her hazel-green eyes are clear and burn with determination, and her pale skin is generously littered with freckles. She’s curvy, but it’s the pronounced swell of her fecund belly that catches my gaze.
She’s with cub.
Another spindled dart of sorrow pierces through me as understanding shatters through my daze.
Petrichor.
I know who she is.
I wonder, was Quin aware his mate carried his cub when he was captured? Did he go to his doom knowing that his line would endure, that he had left his legacy swelling in the belly of his mate? Or did he travel that dark path alone and unsuspecting, not realizing the treasure he’d be leaving behind?
A rumble of masculine voices echoes into my chamber and distracts the one I’m here for. She steps back through the open door, and I take the opportunity to move my head so I can examine my surrounds.
The room is fairly large with a concrete floor and walls stretching up to a reinforced ceiling. The wet floor is mostly bare and slopes gently toward a small, circular grille set in the center of the room, and a trickle of water gurgles its way down the narrow channel as it drains away. The room is devoid of windows, but there are two discernible exits—one being the doorway Quin’s mate is blocking, which leads to an interior hallway, the other set on what I can only presume is an exterior wall and is closed off by a steel hatch.
I’m tucked away in a corner of the room away from the interior door, lying on a wooden platform elevated above the slowly drying floor. The platform is covered with a thick layer of straw, most likely to help keep me warm than for comfort. Bolted to the bare wall between the two exits is a water trough filled with clean water, and a little distance away from the trough but close to the interior door is a winch and pulley system attached to the exterior hatch.
“Iz, you ain’t walkin’ in that room without one of us standing guard. Don’t make me call Da and have him cuss you out, you know he’s just itchin’ for an excuse to bundle you up and move you back home with him and Mama.”
The owner of the low, smooth drawl emerges from the shadowed depths of the hallway, and I tense as he enters the room. He’s large, on par with Simon’s height and bulk, and absolutely reeks of earth, sap, and fur. But it’s not the animal inside him that has me wary; no, it’s the rather large shotgun cradled in his arms. The stench of oil and gunpowder only proves that the weapon is well-cared for and loaded for immediate use, and as fast as I might be on a good day, I’m in no state to outrun a bullet. Especially at this close range.
“Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Dillon. Between you, Dane, and Paw Paw, you’d have me smothered in bubble wrap and locked in a tower like Rapunzel if I so much as caught a splinter! I might be smaller and younger than y’all, but you forget that I’ve been doing this all my life. I’m not about to put me and my baby at risk by being stupid. That lion might be awake, but I’ve got him so doped up that he’s gonna be slower than a sloth for the foreseeable future. Plus, I’ve got a tranquilizer gun strapped to my hip, and I won’t hesitate to dart that sucker in his butt if he so much as looks at me cross-eyed.”
She steps back into the room, the hulking behemoth hot on her heels as he hisses an angry “IZ!” at her, but I can’t find the energy to care about his presence. She’s all I can see.
“Hey there, big guy. You still look a little bleary-eyed. How you doing?” Her voice is soft and soothing, the sweet, dulcet tones lulling me into a state of relaxation.
“Now, I’m gonna need to take a look at you, but it’s probably gonna hurt. So I’m gonna have to dart you and send you back off to sleep so that I can make sure you’re on the mend without putting me or my baby in any danger, okay? It’s gonna sting a little, but I promise everything will start to feel better soon.”
I ignore the device she pulls from a holster on her belt, closing my eyes so that I don’t have to watch as she squeezes the trigger. I don’t even flinch as the dart pierces my thick skin, instead relaxing and drifting back to sleep on the waves of sedation.
I trust her.
***
I have no idea how much time has lapsed since Quin’s mate paid me a visit, but my cell is flooded with light coming through the exterior hatch, and I can taste the bloody tang of raw meat on the air. My body is no longer weighed down by drugs, and although there is pain, it is bearable.
I move slowly, careful of the tugging of sutures holding my hide together, and rise to stand on all four paws. Hunger shreds at my belly, merciless in its ravenous need, and I follow the scent of fresh meat. I step through the hatch and into sunlight, the weak beams too strong against eyes that have grown accustomed to darkness. I blink, then blink again, willing my sight to adjust, and suck in deep breaths as I wait.
The same smells as before—the pungent tang of swampland and the silt of riverbeds—are fresh on the air, and a cool breeze sweeps a blend of mammalian scents into the mix. Canids and felids are the strongest, which isn’t unusual seeing as this is a wildlife rescue and rehabilitation sanctuary. They overpower the more naturally occurring odors of rodents and larger vermin, but over them all floats the tantalizing aromas of grapefruit, rosemary, cypress, and sea salt.
And petrichor.
The area is saturated with Quin’s scent, even after so many months of his absence. It was what drew me to this place, a lure so perfect to my determined soul that I couldn’t resist following it to the end.
A sense of peace and belonging floods through me, smoothing over the jagged shards of my broken bonds, giving me focus and direction.
Simon considered Quin a brother. Therefore, Quin is family.
From her scent, the woman—Iz—is Quin’s mate. She bears his cub.
This “Iz” and her cub are family.
Quin is not here to safeguard them.
They are mine to protect.
So, protect them, I shall.