5 FRANCOIS
They abandoned me.
I guess I’m not surprised. Why should they do anything different?
They got what they wanted—out.
And what have I been left with?
A body that is barely functioning, and a wet limestone tomb.
And my chest aches, a strange tugging sensation I don’t understand.
If I could shift, I could replenish my energy, but I’m too depleted to do anything but lay here.
Merde.
The wolf and the imbecile have clearly claimed Aurora, but that can only be temporary. As soon as I’m strong enough, I’ll find them. Hunt them down. A sour, bitter flare of anger fills my bones.
At Taliesin.
At the British man.
And also at Aurora. She didn’t give me a chance.
I look at the dark, weeping walls of the cave, the scent of bat-guano coating my tongue, and curse my foolishness. Why did I agree to bring others out with us?
Because I wanted to win her gratitude.
Foolish. Love, it seems, makes an idiot out of every class of mind—even mine.
I’m a fool. It seems every step I’ve taken has been flawed. But, putain de merde, I didn’t know.
I’ve never been accomplished at establishing relationships, and since the snake became part of me, it’s one hundred times worse. My King Predator thinks he rules the world and everyone should fall in line. Fine, if we are dealing with beasts, but dealing with people that we wish to win over?
Dealing with someone I want to love me?
Je suis perdu.
I’m lost.
And at this moment, quite literally.
No doubt the search parties will find me soon, then what? Before, I was free to leave Quo whenever I desired. That was the arrangement.
But now I am also a criminal. I doubt very much my father will desire to glad-hand a judge on my behalf, seeing as I took his treasure away.
A faint, rhythmic vibration ripples through the limestone floor.
Footsteps. Heavy, uneven, and rapidly approaching.
I stiffen my shoulders, forcing my spine flat against the cold stone. The patrol has arrived. Drawing a shallow, painful breath, I try to summon even a fraction of my powers—once I could collapse the cavern ceiling upon their heads— but my magic remains spent.
I will have to settle for the weapon of my voice. I shall treat these custodians with the absolute disdain they deserve. Demand they obey me. That might buy me a few minutes to make a more accomplished plan.
The thick brush at the mouth of the cave is violently shoved aside but the scent that bleeds into the cavern isn’t the sour tang of suppression darts.
It’s the unmistakable crisp, fresh aroma of her. How she always brings the clean mountain air with her is a mystery, but I adore it.
A massive wolf slides through the narrow opening, Bevan, with Aurora on his back. She slides off, landing with a soft huff as her feet hit the dirt. A clatter of hooves follow and I see a half-man, half…goat?
London is a satyr? Bon sang!
“Shane!” he exclaims, directing the moniker at me, even though that is not my name. “We’re back! Did you miss us? Check out my horns.” The satyr strokes the protrusions pushing through his matted hair.
I don't spare him a second more attention. Instead my gaze narrows in on Aurora. Her pale golden hair is plastered to her skull, she’s covered in mud, leaves and wolf dander and utterly disheveled.
She has never looked more beautiful.
I think I utter the word out loud.
Her cheeks flush a bright pink and she drops to her knees, right beside me on the rocky ground. Within a beat, her hands, trembling slightly, are on my face, fingertips pressing against my jawline.
“Francois,” she whispers, her ice-blue eyes wide as they search my face through the gloom.
Her hand slides upward to my forehead, as if checking for a fever. “You look terrible. Your skin is completely gray.”
I cannot answer. A sensation behind my ribs is intensifying. It’s almost as though the muscle of my heart is being plucked in three separate directions.
My mouth goes dry. I want to lean into the touch, to close my eyes and let the simple warmth of her thaw the ice in my bones, but the wolf is watching from the shadows, his amber eyes burning with a silent warning.
With an effort of sheer, agonizing will, I gently detach her fingers from my face, masking my weakness behind a slow, supercilious smirk.
“Please, Aurora. Your hands are like icicles,” I drawl, though my voice is a fraction more gravelly than I intended. “I am perfectly intact. The slight challenge of Null-Wards would hardly make me expire.”
My coolness doesn’t make Aurora pull away. Instead her gaze drops to my hands.
“Your palms,” she says, her voice losing its breathy panic and sharpening into something practical. “There’s black fluid coming out of the skin.”
Ah yes, that.
“A minor side effect of the molecular transmutation,” I answer dismissively, curling my fingers into fists to hide the raw, decaying flesh from her sight. “The iron in the prison wall was remarkably stubborn. It required an… aggressive dosage to dissolve it into dust.”
She lets out a short, sharp breath. “And you did that for us. For Sky. Thank you.”
“I did it for you, chérie, so you could find your sparrow.” I do not let my mask slip for the briefest heartbeat.
No one can see the unpalatable truth—that I have a microscopic drop of care for the others too.
“The rest of this party is merely baggage you insisted on bringing along.”
The wolf grumbles, then shuffles his paws against the gravel as his form begins to shift back. It’s fascinating to watch his bones click and snap until the Digger stands once more human. I continue to be thankful that clothing rematerializes after the shift.
“The RRT passed the ridge,” he grunts, ignoring me entirely to address Aurora. “But it looks like they’re setting up a search grid at the base of the valley. We should stay here until daylight, Princess.”
Aurora stands up, stepping back, though her eyes linger on my face for one more assessing second. “Agreed. And Francois needs time to recover anyway.” She cocks her head on one side. “But not long. I know it doesn’t need saying, but Sky is still our priority.”
“Naturellement,” I murmur in return, leaning my head back against the weeping stone wall.
Bevan moves closer to the cave-mouth, fully alert. That is good. Someone has to be on watch, and it cannot be me.
So currently, I need him.
A heavy silence settles over the four of us. Even the goat is quiet, eyes closed as his arms encircle Aurora.
As I begin to sink into sleep, one thought keeps circling around my head.
They came back for me.
Even though my current value is nil, to these people—it doesn’t seem to factor.
I don’t understand it.
I know I’m not wanted. Not as a friend, not as a lover, and certainly not as family.
Yet still, here they are.
Perhaps…
Perhaps there is hope.
???
I do not sleep long, but when the snake shifts, stretching its scales beneath my skin, I know it’s ample. Once more, I am connected with my beast.
My hands itch. The raw, peeling edges of my flesh are already knitting back together, leaving a stiff crust of the dried dark fluid over my palms. I curl my fingers, testing the tension.
Better.
Thank Gods.
I knew the weakness was merely temporary.
Looking around, I see the goat is still completely entangled with Aurora. His russet-furred legs are tucked beneath his body, one cloven hoof resting centimeters from her sneaker, while his human arms are wrapped tightly around her middle. Her head nestles into the crook of his chest.
The intimacy of the pose makes my chest burn, but I do not interfere.
Aurora is peaceful. Let her rest.
Across the cavern, the Digger senses my movement. His amber-gold eyes pivot towards me, narrowing into two sharp slits of suspicion. “Stop staring at her,” he grunts.
“I shall look at whatever pleases me, Bevan.” For a moment there is only the drip, drip, drip of water to be heard, but then I get to my feet—enjoying having my body returned to its superior structure.
“If you have a problem, talk to the goat. He appears to have no concept of personal boundaries. I would have thought that also bothered you.”
From the tangled heap of two bodies, a sigh sounds.
Aurora peels open one eye, then pushes herself up, stretching her spine until her joints pop. “Neither of you have the right to be bothered about who I sleep with.” She flushes slightly as she realizes the double-meaning. “And London is like an electric blanket, so quit it.”
I smooth the front of my damp twill jumpsuit with my crusty, peeling palms, and center myself. I will not bicker in front of her. “Good morning, chérie.”
Taliesin steps into the center of the cave, his face hard. “Enough talking, we need to move. There’s a freshwater spring right next to the cave entrance, so drink your fill, then we get going.”
“And where, exactly, are we headed?” I ask, looking outside, the daylight making my eyes water. “I presume your orienteering expertise extends beyond dark holes in the dirt?”
“Francois, give it a break,” Aurora groans, yawning widely.
Taliesin puts out a hand and pulls her to her feet. “We’re heading to the coast, Rory. There are only two islands which we are likely to find Sky on. So we’ll find a boat, then sail.”
London raises himself onto his elbows. “And eat? I could really do with a full-jobbie right about now.”
I’m not sure what this ‘full-jobbie’ he speaks of is, but I too am hungry.
Though that must wait.
I meet eyes with Bevan. “Five minutes then we leave.”
The forest doesn't end gradually; it simply runs out of dirt.
We hit the tree-line just as the winter sun breaks through the low clouds for a moment. It casts a feeble light over a miserable landscape—an endless, sprawling labyrinth of blackened bricks, rusted corrugated steel, and towering skeletons that once held the powerlines high.
A true industrial wasteland.
The air is hideous; thick with acrid sulfur, burning rubber and decay.
“Do you think we can find somewhere that sells pork pies?” London nudges me with his pointy furred elbow.
“You ever had pork pie and beans, Shaney? It’s like your pie is the castle, then you have a whole moat of beans.
You can even take a bit of the pasty and make a drawbridge.
Of course all the meat in the middle is the people. ”
Pork pie? Beans? What a hideous thought.
“I thought goats ate weeds,” I murmur dismissively.
“I am not a goat,” he replies, sounding slightly indignant. “I’m a faun, but maybe we eat weeds too…”
He stoops, plucks up some kind of spiky grass and shoves it into his mouth—and immediately regrets it. “Ooh, ouch, no, no, no. Great-turkey-giblets, that hurt.”
“Quiet” Bevan thankfully hisses.
His next words make us all freeze.
“I can hear vehicles.”