6. CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 6
Noa
“No-ee!” Effa squeaked, exuberant as she launched herself through the door and toward the bed. Caerwen flashed behind Effa, her amethyst dress fluttering like tree shadows. The nymphs tripped and lost balance, each trying to reach me first.
“Lady.” The bed rocked as Caerwen slammed into the mattress, reaching for my hand. She held tightly as waves of warmth eased the tension knotted beneath my skin. “We came as soon as we could.”
“As soon as we were big enough,” Effa added, her curls bobbing. She was the size of a young child, not the meadow nymph I recalled. “Aine wouldn’t let us come until it was safe.”
“The Carmag isn’t normal,” Caerwen said, huffing from her collision with the plush blankets. She was still nearly insubstantial, but who understood nymph anatomy, anyway?
Effa finished for her, saying, “There’s something here that makes us shrink like faeries. Even Fee’s magic gets wonky, and if we stay too long, we—”
“Could disappear.” Caerwen shuddered.
Effa plopped on the foot of the bed. Her dress poofed up like she was wearing yards and yards of tulle, edged in white daisies. Her brown skin gleamed in the pale sunlight sliding through the windows. Earlier, I’d drawn back the heavy drapes because I loved the view of a winter garden, half asleep, with forlorn, leafless trees and the evergreens, the tall pines standing around the perimeter.
Caerwen patted my hand with her long nymph fingers. “You’re awake.”
“Yes.” My smile widened as I adjusted my weight against the pillows. “Yesterday. I missed seeing your face.”
Her cheeks bloomed with embarrassment. Pleasure, and… fondness. “I was so worried.”
I tightened my fingers around hers. “I’m glad you were here while I was unconscious. Watching over me.”
“I made him go away,” she said, the confession darkening her eyes. “Your dread lord. I was so angry at first, thinking he did that to you.”
Grayson.
“He didn’t,” I protested. “I did it to myself.”
“You wouldn’t wake and… I was afraid his energy was hurting you.” Her thumb traced over the ruined wolf sigil. “I feared you wouldn’t come back—couldn’t—if he was here.” She scowled. “I blamed him, and I’m sorry.”
“I thought I was dreaming,” I admitted, staring at our clasped hands, the movement of her thumb. “On the edge of reality. I was lost in a dark mist with no control.”
I’d been floating with nothing but my beating heart for company.
Lost like the many failles Caerwen had tended over the centuries. Tried to help. I’d never be angry because she was worried.
The nymph straightened with a brave face. “Well, you’re back now, no worse for wear, and we can work with the ruined sigil. How do you feel?”
“Like I need one of your massages.”
“Of course you do. Fate can be such a… well,” she huffed, “if Fate was a woman, I’d call her a bitch for doing this to you.”
My eyes stung. “Some say Fate is a female, that there might be three of them, busy conspiring together.”
“Well—” Steely resolve flashed in Caerwen’s eyes. She was the ancient nymph, protecting her grotto for centuries, the many pilgrims or soldiers or crusaders who would have crossed her path. “Fate never met someone like you.”
I laughed and said, “My mother warned me not to believe in fate.”
“You’d give Fate too much power if you believed.” Caerwen fluffed, flitted like the seeds from a dandelion’s stalk after the petals have curled away. She added, “Too much power in one person never had a good outcome.”
“Put it right here.” Effa bounced on the bed again, patting the mattress, while a Carmag orderly carried in a wicker picnic basket, the old-fashioned kind with two locked flaps that closed in the middle—a lid to keep the bugs out. But in this case, the lid struggled to keep something in .
Each side flipped, jolted as the orderly set the basket on the bed, held up both hands and stepped back.
Effa reached out and rapped hard against the wicker lid. The basket hopped before it quieted. The nymph waited, then opened the double lid to reveal the contents—and the rush of puppy magic was a slobbering heat across my face. I found everything the magic had given me in Aine’s pocket: a carafe of what I hoped was coffee, with the perfect mix of cream. Fruit. Cubes of yellow cheese. Fresh croissants.
My smile hurt my face. “Effa…” The croissants were the culprits behind all that jumping. Like little creatures, they were trying to get out.
“Stupid little thing.” She smacked the croissant that jumped on top of the others. “Incorrigible.” She glared, and I swore the croissant seemed to glare back, braced on its non-existent legs, vibrating slightly. “Magic insisted on sending them, but it’s the Carmag. Messing things up.”
“They’re like puppies,” I said. “And who eats puppies?”
“Don’t let them fool you,” Caerwen scolded. “They’re like jumping beans. It’s really a worm larvae inside them.”
“Ugh. Worms?”
“Not physical worms,” she clarified. Folded the lids together on the basket and set it aside. The basket thumped against the table once, twice, then settled down. “Magic misfiring. Shooting off randomly. We’ll let them go in the garden. See if they can hide from the birds.”
“No one can figure it out,” Effa said. “Aine tries, but even she can’t fix the magic. It’s the Carmag, causing the chaos. Anson Salas will tell you it’s Fee, going senile. But it’s been that way for centuries.”
She paused and stared at the various corners of the Alpha Suite, around the doors, windows, the nooks and crannies.
“What are you looking for?”
“Cameras…” She mouthed the word, then pointed with one finger. A small camera, mounted at the edge of the bookcase, was nearly invisible against the ceiling. Effa circled her finger—she was a meadow nymph, after all—and a green tendril sprouted from the wall. Leaves followed as the vine grew, twisting, twining, covering the camera until the blinking red light disappeared beneath the greenery.
Moments later, an orderly wearing blue scrubs stalked into the room. He glared at Effa’s innocent expression, and then at her hands, folded harmlessly in her lap.
“What have I told you?” he growled.
“An invasive species,” she murmured. “It keeps growing back.”
With an audible huff, the man opened a storage closet and dragged out a ladder. Excitement vibrated through the nymphs when he thumped the ladder open, settled the legs, then climbed to the camera, dragging and ripping the vines away until nothing vegetative remained.
With a silence worthy of a scolding parent, he collapsed the ladder, returned it to the closet. Scooped up the vine trimmings and pushed them into a trash bag. With a last glare toward Effa, he walked out, while the nymphs collapsed on the bed with a severe case of the giggles.
I glanced from Caerwen to Effa, back to Caerwen, and asked, “That happens often?”
“We don’t like spies, and they have cameras everywhere in the medical wing.”
“We’re here because Anson Salas offered sanctuary,” I pointed out.
Caerwen shrugged. “That doesn’t mean his dogs get to watch and listen to everything we say.”
Effa nudged Caerwen with a small elbow, and whispered, “We shouldn’t call them dogs while we’re still small enough to eat.” Then she hopped onto the upholstered chair. The seat dwarfed her, with her feet barely touching the floor.
“Is it safe for you to be here?”
“Absolutely,” they both said, nodding emphatically.
“And we’re only—” Effa gestured, making a half circle. “Here. In the compound. We’re not allowed to leave—”
“Not everyone in the Carmag likes nymphs,” Caerwen sniffed. “So we don’t go into Westvale proper. We have the garden, the medical wing. And the archive, where Laura stays, but it’s stuffy and smells of old books.”
“It’s a precaution,” the meadow nymph added, plucking at the daisies on her skirt while her cork-screw hair bobbed. “An edict, actually. The alpha insisted. Ever since that one incident, and it wasn’t even our fault.”
I studied their suspicious faces. “What incident was that?”
“Oh, it happened a long time ago. A few fire nymphs got frisky and, um, started chasing the males around.”
“A century ago,” Caerwen added sagely. “Ancient history, lady.”
“Ancient.” I fought my smile. “Who burned what?”
“The fire nymphs.” Effa pouted with her arms crossed. “Half the town, what was here back then, which wasn’t that much. But everyone said it was worse than burning San Francisco—which wasn’t even us, or the fire nymphs. San Francisco was a natural disaster and you can’t stop...”
Her eyes widened because… I burned things.
“Oh, No-ee ,” she squeaked. “I didn’t mean you were—”
“An unnatural disaster?”
“No!” Fizzy confusion had her bouncing around, a fluff in her princess dress.
“What happened a century ago was just an accident?” I teased.
“Yes.” Effa agreed, embarrassment punching up her mouth while her hands battled the petals. “But wolves don’t forget. They get squid-spittled. Fish-eyed. Never trust a fire nymph.”
I took pity on her, even if she was infesting Anson’s beautiful Alpha Suite with vines—they seemed to grow in response to her frustration, popping out of corners. Creeping over the books on the shelves.
“Must have been the wonkiness in the Carmag,” I said, while both nymphs nodded gravely in agreement. And yet, a joyful undercurrent warmed my heart. Seeing Caerwen, not so burdened with helping failles . And Effa, revealing a juicy humor. Perhaps they were less constrained when they were away from Aine.
“I worry about you guys, too,” I said. “Harming yourselves by staying too long.”
“We’re not fracky,” Effa said, blowing out a puff of exasperated air. “We’ll go back and forth when we need it. Now that you’re awake.”
They’d been afraid to leave in case…
I bent my head, said “thank you” so softly I wasn’t sure they heard.
Caerwen patted my hand. “Your poor runes… I dislike vampires immensely. Always have. Ruin things because nobody stops them.”
“You know what?” Pushing back the sheet, I swung my legs over the edge of the plush bed. “I’m tired of lying around. It’s time to get dressed, go out into that garden, and set those croissant prisoners free. Who’s with me?”
Both nymphs squealed.
Two days later, Anson called a meeting. I had to attend, but Effa and Caerwen remained in the Alpha Suite—a decision having more to do with the vine infestations than with nymphs having no say in Carmag decisions.
The meeting room was what I expected from a pack known to love music and close companionship but waved a war flag with two fighting wolves on a red field. Whose alpha did nothing when his healer tied me to a bed and poured ice over me. Who’d set his wards against Grayson while agreeing to shelter Sentinel Falls refugees, then claimed we weren’t hostages.
Fallon waited at the polished table. Three chairs away and opposite from her, a muscular man studied the folder in front of him. Elijah Stone, Anson’s military advisor. Similar to Mace in responsibility, but not as alpha-dominant. Just an aggressive wolf.
Anson sat, flanked by empty chairs, but still the obvious alpha in the room. What I sensed from him was a mix of strength and wild. What was his wolf like? Did Anson crave solitude the way Grayson did? Or did his pleasure come from his ability to lead?
He’d be a strong leader, fair, perhaps rigid when his pride was involved. I glanced at Fallon. She was also strong and wild. They might have made a powerful pair if circumstances had turned another way. If we weren’t facing an enemy, and if competing interests didn’t feel so magnified.
And if Mace had not been in the way.
At the far end of the table, a woman sat with her legs crossed, back stiff. I guessed she was a wolf shifter, but she was not from the Carmag. An eyepatch covered her left eye. She wore fighting leathers with empty loops where weapons should be. Her brown hair was ordinary and pulled back, worn the way Fallon wore hers. The way I wore mine because loose hair, especially long loose hair, was a liability in battle.
Not that anyone expected a battle during this meeting unless it was with opposing opinions.
With no windows, the isolation was eased by the mounted monitors lining the utilitarian walls. An array of electronic devices covered the table. Overhead lights were daylight-blue. Stark. Empty chairs set in rows said the room would accommodate two dozen men if needed. I imagined the threat in clomping boots and rough, muffled voices, but perhaps that was faille energy I was picking up. Images from the past.
“Alpha.” I offered Anson the courtesy of his title, threw in a chin dip as insurance. He waved toward a chair, and I slid into place next to Fallon. Her leg cast was off; she’d propped a cane against the empty chair beside her, half hidden by the table edge.
The smile she threw me was welcoming and cautionary. I understood the caution. I’d never fully apologized to the Alpha of Carmag for my earlier animosity—when Sentinel Falls depended on his charity. But instinct warned me Fallon’s caution had more to do with the one-eyed woman at the table’s end.
I folded my hands in my lap and waited.
“You’ll want to see this,” Anson said.
A wall monitor flashed on, revealing a white screen before the video footage jerked into motion.
It could have been a news report after a tornado. Or an earthquake disaster in some distant land.
In silence, we watched the camera panning across the destroyed buildings. Men worked to clear the debris. Others used chainsaws on fallen trees. A man’s voice droned on, addressing the Alpha of Carmag—he was giving a report of some kind. But not one sent in real time.
A time stamp in the upper right corner raced through the seconds, minutes. From two weeks ago.
“Why the delay?” Fallon asked tightly.
Anson regarded her with a bored expression, as if her question wasn’t worth answering. The male narrator talked about losses being less than expected, and part of me was cold and curious. Another part was thick with denial. In the background, wafting smoke billowed from a burning building, and what might have been a funeral raft, bright with flames and floating in the center of Azul’s lake.
My throat tightened, but I was grateful for the video—the validation of what I’d seen through Amal’s eyes when she destroyed Azul.
In that memory, I envisioned Amal by the café… then walking up the steps to the archive… pausing before she crushed those steps into pieces. Shattered the glass. Charred the wood.
Fallon’s hand fisted on the table. She was the Alpha—one of three—but the pack members living in Azul were as much her responsibility as they were Grayson’s. Mace’s. Her job was to protect them. Make sure disasters like Amal never happened.
Worse, Anson had kept information—like this video—from her until now. Wolf arrogance? Animosity from the Carmag? Or because she’d needed to heal before Anson entangled her in the disaster?
“We swept the area again yesterday,” Elijah said. “This is an updated list.”
He pushed several sheets of paper toward Fallon. She picked them up, glanced at the names. Those lost in the fighting, the wounded who had since died. Too many, although the three pages of known survivors were more encouraging. The refugees in Westvale. The men and women who opted for Sentinel Falls, or had family in the other settlements.
Not every Sentinel Falls wolf fit in with the Carmag. Maybe there was a reason.
Elijah gestured toward the video images. “The burning raft—creatures. Nothing left for you to do.”
The funeral rite had been more respectful, he added. Grayson and Mace had arrived to officiate before leaving again. The cost of war. He shrugged. I wasn’t sure if he meant the casualties, or the lack of time to grieve properly.
I jerked my gaze back to Anson. “Let me go to Azul.” Because if I was sure of one thing, it was that my weapons were in Azul. Made by Mace, hidden in the armory, and I’d need them if I was going to fight.
“No.” Anson was full-on alpha with that tone.
It took effort not to flare at him. “Why?”
“You are—”
“The catalyst?”
“No.” He leaned back so hard his chair creaked. “The target. You’re safe here.”
“And under your protection.”
“Noa.” Fallon shook her head, but I ignored her.
“I can stop them—but I can’t fight if I’m locked up here.”
“It’s too fecking dangerous!”
Anson glared, and I wondered if we both weren’t too stubborn. We had a common enemy but nurtured an animosity because I’d wanted to rescue a faille and Grayson had wanted to keep the mission secret. And now Anson was bearing the brunt of the refugees because Amal had come after me—or after the book that I had.
“You’re still recovering,” Fallon cautioned.
My gaze lingered on her cane, leaning against the table, before I said, “So are you, but you’re not sitting on the sidelines.”
She flashed enough canine to tell me she wasn’t in her big sister role. Pure alpha warning crossed her face. I slouched back into my chair and stared down at my tangled hands. The knuckles were whitening.
I wondered if my faille energy was flashing like a strobe light because that’s what it felt like in my head. I forced my fingers to relax. Willed my heartbeat to slow. Elijah Stone was watching with a calm that had Fallon snapping her gaze toward him. Anson’s posture relaxed. His black shirt emphasized physical strength with a somber decorum, and I shook my head, nervous now, somewhat ashamed of my outburst.
“I’m sorry.” The words were genuine, but too casual; the Alpha of Carmag took no offense. “It’s not in me to sit around and do nothing,” I added.
“No, you’d rather burn things down,” Elijah sneered.
Anson ignored his advisor’s rudeness, choosing instead to flick his finger against a report open on the table. “New details have come to light.”
He glanced toward the far end of the table. The woman sitting there hadn’t said a word. Her silence was unnerving.
“Vampires came to the Refuge,” he said. “Asked for a meeting. They weren’t happy about losing their people during your escape.”
“Neither am I.” A list of their crimes would take too long. Anson was surely aware of the horrors at High Citadel, the dungeon, the torture, and the chase through the passage. Levi would have reported the details to Grayson when he had the chance. And since Laura was now in Westvale, Anson—or Elijah—would have questioned her about the experience.
Anson sighed, and said, “Ago is no longer pinned to the wall.”
Ago. The oily, repulsive vampire with the gold chains. He’d been determined to turn me until I had him by the throat.
I’d never experienced pure hatred like what I’d syphoned from Ago. Then the relief, when his sire, Daegal, offered to punish Ago for me.
No longer on the wall, Noa.
The words were a white noise. Nothing registered as I stared at the repeating loop on the video monitor. The camera panned along a ruined street, and Anson droned on about something completely unrelated. The one-eyed woman—Angel—was a mercenary. A witness to a meeting between Grayson and Set. Wolves, gathered in a frost-encrusted field, surrounded by vampires.
That much registered over the sweat gathering on my skin. Angel answered each question Anson asked while the video looped to the beginning. While the white screen turned into the first shaky image and the camera panned.
Ago’s sire was working with Barend.
I let it sink in while a building burned once again. Red flames launched through the same window, charring the wood, licking up toward the roofline.
Daegal only stepped in to keep me from killing Barend’s enforcer. Not to help me.
Black smoke roiled.
Ago was now hunting me with a team of Barend’s vampires. His hybrids.
A wall collapsed, starting on the left, falling like dominos into the same rubble.
Amal was most likely hunting, too. Using vampires and hybrids.
Ten birds circled upward in the same swirl.
Grayson was hunting hybrids because it was his job, his obligation, his heightened ability as alpha or dread lord… the words blended. The droning was the same noise as the man, gripping his microphone. Silently, I counted the three steps the man took when he moved to the side. Then the three trees, passing as the camera panned toward the lake and the burning raft, focusing in on the same orange shimmer across the water.
Fallon asked a question as the loop began a third time, and I jolted at Angel’s answer.
“Brin’s level of destruction—imagine that magnified by someone like Noa, if Amal finds her.”
“She won’t break through my wards.” Pure alpha arrogance from Anson, but I understood the substance beneath that threat.
“Amal has more allies than you expect,” Angel pointed out.
Anson’s tone sharpened. “Like you?”
Angel held his gaze without flinching as she said, “I save lives. I go into the Cariboo, the Alpen, and I bring those lost souls out when they have no one else to help them. What do you do, Alpha? Can you prove you’re not allied with Amal?”
Anson’s military advisor bristled at the insult. “You bring in wretches—a female who risked two pups with one on the way—and we’re supposed to be impressed?”
Angel’s one-eyed stare shifted to Elijah. “I don’t give three fucks about impressing you.”
What rumbled in the merc’s voice iced through my veins. Elijah stiffened.
Anson took control. “What else did Set say?”
“When vampires burn, the smoke is blood red.”
Shock spread, then boomeranged back until only my thudding heart registered. The images were of smoke and fire and destruction… the satisfaction on Brin’s face… and what I thought was Julien, my friend…
“When that thing burned,” I whispered. “It was black smoke. Set wouldn’t have said that if she didn’t think Julien was alive.”
“No,” Fallon said, her hand moving gently to cover mine. “Grief does that, Noa. Gives us pointless hope.”
I almost wrinkled my lip, wished I had the wolf canines fate denied me. “You don’t know.”
“We do.”
I hated the regret in Anson’s tone.
“After Set sent her vampires, Grayson sent men to the battlefield. Carmag rangers were with the team. They found nothing.”
“Because he got away,” I hissed. “He teleported or something.”
“Noa, I know it hurts.”
“It wasn’t him.” Tears smeared my vision when I looked at Fallon. “It wasn’t…”
“We’re done here today,” she said, reaching for the cane and rising uneasily to her feet. Her attention swiveled to me. “Go back to your room and change. We’re going out.”