Chapter 25 Carwynn
CARWYNN
No, not darkness. Literally cloaked in…a cloak.
Huh?
I looked up, stunned. The towering figure loomed, keeping me entirely hidden behind the garment and his broad body.
One hand braced against the wall behind me, semi-boxing me in.
Close enough to put me on edge, yet he wasn’t touching me at all.
My height barely reached his chin. I angled my eyes upward and stilled.
Unusual neon eyes stared back it me. They almost looked like molten metal.
His face was sharp, tanned, and possibly handsome—if not for the menacing glare. A scar slashed from the bridge of his nose down to the left side of his chin. A deep enough mark that carried a story.
Long hair fell over a shoulder in intricate braids, but his ears—woah. I’d never seen anything like them. Definitely not like the dainty, pointed ones the Si had, these were more elongated, almost animalistic.
“How do you see me?” The words rolled off in a deep, rough accent I didn’t recognize.
I blinked.
“I—I have no idea. Am I not supposed to?” My voice wavered between curious and confused.
Heavy footsteps drew our attention. Lochlainn’s dogs barked out orders, their voices leaden with frustration. Seems they were the hounds, and I was the hunted fox.
Panic flooded my system, I stiffened. They were about to pass the alley.
Shit, shit, shit!
I was definitely about to be caught.
Three men stormed into view, boots stomping like toddlers in a traveling tantrum. Two of them glanced right down the alley. Right at us.
My breathing hitched.
But they didn’t stop. Just kept moving past, too focused on the chase to question what they hadn’t seen.
What the hell was going on? How did they not—? I turned back to the man in front of me. His face was still serious, bordering on apathetic. Somehow, he’d literally cloaked us in invisibility. Maybe it was some form of Craft, or a completely insane—yet admittedly impressive—ability.
He slowly leaned in, invading my personal space. Then audibly sniffed my head.
Um. Ew.
I squirmed, pressing back against the building wall. Not out of fear, though I really should’ve been afraid of him, but because the thought of being scented was revolting.
“Stop that!” I snapped.
A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest as his eyes widened.
“What are you?” he asked.
Ohhhhh. Okay, so the sniff-happy, tree of a man must be a creature of some kind.
The Ossory wolves had that whole scent thing going on too.
So maybe he was something like that. Hopefully.
Otherwise, this was red-flag behavior. Though I had a poor track record in the past for being color blind towards flags.
I shook my head, too thrown off to form words at the moment.
His gaze narrowed.
Slowly, he lifted a hand with two fingers extended, reaching toward my throat. I flinched as he pressed them just under my chin, trailing downward to rest against the side of my neck. Large fingers gently brushed my choker, right over my vein.
The motion wasn’t choking or threatening, it was as if he were checking my pulse.
He pressed his eyes shut, and his brows knitted together in concentration.
Um . . . what’s happening?
I was clearly fine. No open wounds, no need of medical assistance. Was he seriously checking my vitals right now? This was so bizarre. Speaking of bizarre, why wasn’t I pushing him away?
My body was a statue. All I could hear, all I could feel, was the throbbing rhythm of my heartbeat getting louder.
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
It was speaking in a language I didn’t understand. But he did. As if it were telling him my story.
Something electrified in the air between us. A crackling energy I couldn’t explain.
His brows shot up, lifting unbelievably high. When his eyes snapped open, they pinned me in place. The serious lines of his features transformed to shock. Then, amusement.
“Fascinating,” he breathed.
The corner of his lip ticked up into a dark, sideways grin. A deep chuckle followed.
“Oh, how unexpected this is. Not who I was looking for, but—” He tilted his head. “This definitely changes things.”
He said it more to himself than me. Like he forgot I was a conscious being standing right in front of him, hearing everything he was saying. Not that I’d understood any of it anyways.
What was he on about?
Disheveled and now officially annoyed, I slapped his lingering hand away. It was all I could do to not scold myself for not doing it sooner. Sure, he’d concealed me, clearly having no interest in hurting me. At least not yet . . . but still.
What was it about this tree-man that had my defenses slipping like butter on a hot pan? He radiated an energy I couldn’t place.
Interesting, indeed . . .
It was my turn to narrow my eyes.
“And what are you?” I demanded.
“You can call me Alvar.” His cheeks lifted, seemingly entertained. “But I sense a name wasn’t what you were seeking. In my homeland, the ability is called a Seidr. Here you’d know it best as a Seer,” he said thoughtfully.
The way he spoke was strange, like a calm and composed storyteller. But I could sense something wild burning beneath.
“All life is connected by invisible cords—tethers. The fates, Polaris, allow me small glances into those threads. Glances into what could come to pass.” His eyes flared for a moment. “They gifted me with a small glimpse into yours.”
He paused.
“As for the hiding—” He nodded toward the sidewalk where the Luckmen hadn’t detected us.
“That comes from this cloak. A gift.” He brushed his hand along the edge of the fabric.
“Woven with magic to help me travel unseen. To protect the one I serve, unseen.” Eyes found mine, as if he weren’t just looking, but recognizing.
“Only he can see me while cloaked. And yet, it seems you are an exception.”
His words came out smooth. Too smooth to match the roughness of a lie, a surprising bead of honesty. Out of all the odd things about him, that might’ve been the strangest.
I’d never met a Seer. Or . . . Seidr.
Say-durrr, the voice inside my head mimicked his accent.
Had he seen who I really was? Where I was born? My parents? My abilities, the prophecy? Why could I see the cloak? Was there something wrong with me? What vision had he found so amusing?
My mind whirled.
And his homeland . . . the ears . . .
Holy shit.
“You’re from Vinterland!” I screeched.
It was meant to be a question, but apparently my subconscious didn’t get the memo.
Vinterland was a fortress in itself—walled away from the eyes of other lands—or at least it had been. Stories about it were rare. Practically myth. David once told me he’d met a few Vinterlanders back in his younger days, but that was hundreds of years ago.
In human Christmas tales, they spoke of an isolated land far, far away, The North Pole, hidden by arctic barriers, full of cute little elves who built toys all day for human children.
And some jolly old man named Santa Claus decided which children were nice enough to earn them.
Perhaps the humans got the isolated part right.
But the elves’ size and appearance? Jesus fucking Christ. They were way off.
“Yes,” he said simply, a mysterious smile curling up his lips. “Very soon, you and I will be good friends.”
He sounded so confident and certain. Like the future had already been written out.
Had it been?
“I will teach you to fight like us. You will no longer have to run from these”—He waved a hand toward the city—“tiny, pestering beasts.”
Instantly, an image of Lochlainn and his wolfy men flashed through my mind—them gathered around the pub, throwing angry drunken tantrums, tables flipping, fists flying—all because someone called them exactly that. Tiny, pestering, beasts.
That comment alone made me his newest fan. I made a mental note to write Alvar #1 on one of my night shirts.
Maybe the prediction of us becoming besties wasn’t too far-fetched after all.
“Oddly enough,” I said, a comforting warmth swelling in my chest, “I think I’d enjoy that.”
A hearty, unexpected laugh slipped out of my throat before I realized it.
What a strange turn of events. If someone had told me this morning, “Hey, you’re gonna cozy on up to an Ossory werewolf after class, piss off the Luckland Kingpin by breaking through his magically sealed vault, and meet your future bestie from Vinterland all before midday.
” I’d have asked what they were smoking and if they had extra.
“So the fates have spoken, huh?” I drawled. “You’re destined to be my bestie, my biffer, my bosom companion? The second pea in my pod?” I rolled my eyes extra dramatically. “I suppose that’s why my inkling is detecting you as friend and not foe.”
Something stirred inside me. But it wasn’t a warning. It was recognition.
In the market, my inkling had revealed him to me, but not as a threat. The tug felt lighter, quicker, almost like it was buzzing with giddy anticipation. Meeting an old friend for the first time.
Hmm . . . perhaps a soul connection?
“Inkling?” he repeated, shifting backwards to give me more space.
“That’s what I call my sixth sense,” I shrugged. “You know—gut feeling that never lies.”
“Hmm . . .” He gave a pensive nod.
Then a wicked smile splayed across his face. “I like the sound of bosom companions.”
An undignified snort escaped me.
Hearing the enormous man say bosom companions in that rough, heavy accent—boooo-sum—nearly sent me.
“Wait, so what exactly are you looking for in Luckland?”
Without answering, he adjusted his thick leather belt and reached deep into his pants. Like, really deep.
My stomach dropped.
Oh no. Maybe I’d read this whole situation wrong. Was he seriously about to do what I thought he was about to do?
“Ay, ay! None of that—” I flailed both hands in front of me, as if warding off an oncoming serpent. “Put it back! Whatever it is. I don’t need to see it!” I shifted my gaze away, refusing to look at the candy cane he had hiding in his pocket.