Where Wild Things Roam

Compromised

Jack    

I hate alliance negotiations.

But compared to Mom’s daily freak-outs over my mates’ ceremony at T minus three days and counting, they look like child’s play.

Let me say this in her defense: she did not lie to me.

Not in the least.

I remember distinctly her warning at the Luna’s induction into Candlewood, that she would make my triumvir mate’s ceremony twice as large as she had for Darby, and she has lived up to that times two.

Because that’s really the problem, right? I have two mates.

And this triumvir mate ceremony has gone from being a downright shitshow to being a legendary downright shitshow.

“We can’t change the date, Mom,” Ian says for at least the hundred and thirty-seventh time in the last seventeen minutes.

“But Ian, it’s just twenty-four hours. That’s all.”

“No, Mom. Anna’s family have their own traditions that are part of this and are dependent on the ceremony happening on Saturday. This Saturday, in fact. They’re already on their way.”

“We can do theirs. We can do it first,” she offers hopefully, slumping when Ian reiterates what he just said.

When it looks like Mom is entering the initial stages of a nervous breakdown, Dad peels himself out of the corner where he’s watched the entire drama with his usual stoic expressionlessness and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “Ellie, it’s going to be fine. Everything will be beautiful. Listen, we have ten minutes to get to the florist. Do you want me to reschedule?”

It’s a masterstroke of manipulation, something I’ve watched him do with her for years.

And he passed it on to Ian, so I could watch it some more. You know, if Darby’s freak-outs didn’t resemble something along the lines of Devourer Of The Universe And End Of All Existence packaged up in that tiny, squeezed-sausage faery body of hers.

“No, Michael. We have to go.” Scooping up her belongings, Mom makes a fluttery visit to kiss Ian on the forehead, then swoops over and hugs me tightly. “Now don’t you worry, Jack. I’ll get everything taken care of. This will be the triumvir mate ceremony people will talk about for years.” She’s muttering to herself as she rushes to the door. “Oh my sweet baby boy, poor thing. Michael!” she snaps, “get the lead out of your tail. I have work to do.”

A second after he walks out the door with Ellie, Michael leans back, just his head visible in the door frame. You’re welcome, he mouths, then disappears, following our mother. It’s no wonder Ian and I are such d***s—we come by it honestly.

A second later, Sean walks in and takes a seat in the chair next to me in front of Ian’s desk. “Did I miss all the fun?”

“If by fun you mean Jack trying to give my mother an aneurysm, then no, probably not. That’ll be going on until he succeeds.”

My head flops against the seatback and I stare at the ceiling. “Why is she so on about this, Ian? It’s a five-minute ceremony. What’s she going to do when she finds out they’re pregnant?”

“What?” Ian sounds incredulous. “Both of them? When did that happen?”

I groan, still staring at the ceiling. “Oh, I don’t know. About fourteen minutes after I gave them were catalyst. Thank the goddess it was the weekend when I did it. They were s*x-crazed the minute their transitions were over.”

In the chair next to me, Sean is trying so hard not to laugh, he sounds like Mutley. “They were s*x-crazed in the first place. Seems like you’re not up to snuff—makes me question their choice of you.”

“Shut it, Sean.” I look across the desk to Ian for support, only to find he looks like a category thirteen hurricane barreling down on the unsuspecting and wholly unprepared Florida peninsula.

I actually can’t stop my mouth falling open, and I realize suddenly that if the goddess gives you a mate perfect for you, then the perfect mate for Darby, Devourer Of The Universe And End Of All Existence, is this Ian, High Lord Emperor Of Darkness And Destruction, right here in front of me.

“Holy s**t, Ian. What the hell is the matter?” Sean looks as traumatized as I feel.

“Nothing. Any progress on the witch and vampire hunt?” Ian’s not looking at either of us anymore, but his mood is as massive and black as his wolf. It feels like it’s sitting on my chest, which more and more lately is becoming his new normal. Maybe he’s not getting laid as much as I thought he was—

“No. The task force can’t get any leads with them one pinging us in random places all over the territory.” I shake my head at the frustration this has become. “I don’t get it. The ambush the day Ivan got hit, there were hundreds of them. We didn’t kill them all. What’re they waiting for?”

“I don’t know,” Ian practically snarls. “Sean? Any insight?”

“Nope. I asked Silas to lean on some of the stoolies in his territory to see if we can connect some dots. It’s too clean around here.”

“Speaking of unclean, we could summon Mattie,” I suggest, knowing the answer before I finish the sentence.

The “no” comes in stereo.

All business now, Ian spits out the next item on his to-do list. “Sean, what about the status on the packhouse construction?”

“On schedule. I do have some contract revisions for the development in Ciudad d’Arena you’ll need to review and approve. I’ll drop those by in a bit.”

“Anything else, either of you?”

“I did make some small progress on the research you asked me about.”

I look from one to the other. “Wait… which? Ian asked you for something too?” The two of them have locked eyes over the desk. They’re not talking through the link, but there’s a whole lot of communication happening anyway. “Oh, come on! I’m part of this pack too!”

“No tantrums. I’ve had enough from Mom for today, Jack. I didn’t talk to you about it because I didn’t think you’d want to hear. Besides, it involved books. Go ahead, Sean.”

“There was only one resource with anything of significance talking about fae. It’s about eight hundred years old and actually belongs to a small pack in remote Ireland. It took some time to get even an electronic copy.”

Sean opens a manilla folder on his lap and removes printed images of the book’s scanned pages. “It says here: ‘Pure or half-fae, also sometimes known as sylphidae, are born masters of elemental magic and as such are very powerful. All fae can be capricious and are prone to fits of extreme temper’—.”

I snort. “I could have told you that.”

Sean looks at me. “Are you done?”

“What? Just agreeing, as the only experienced target of elemental faery magic. So go on already.”

“—'though sometimes they are generous with blessings, often the exchanges required for such gifts mask a hidden agenda and are complicated by unexpected consequences as a product of the imprecise nature of elemental magic. They’re harmed by iron. Specifically, it binds their magic, preventing them from manifesting it. Physical contact results in essentially a poisoning, the first signs of which are blistering burns on their skin. With continued contact of the metal, their skin dulls, their wings become powdery, brittle and break and finally, they die.’”

“f**k. Certainly explains why Darby wanted all of it gone.” I feel bad now for not being more sympathetic.

“’Fae can bear young with any pairing—fae with fae, fae with human, fae with shifters—only fae with fae pairings maintain the strength of elemental magic. All other pairings result in offspring with magical dilution.’”

“That’s dilution?” I exclaim. “Ian, what could she do if she was full fae?”

Ian shakes his head, then looks back at Sean. “Go on.”

“’Fae with shifter offspring are possible only if the faery half is disabled. The same is true for shifter conversion. It’s only possible in half fae, and only if the faery half of them is disabled. In any other circumstance, the fae portion heals out the shifter catalyst, preventing conversion.”

“Disabled? What does that mean?” Ian asks.

“You knock her fae half out of commission so the human half can be converted to a were or conceive and carry your child,” Sean says. “I think this implies you’d have to bind her with iron.”

Ian shudders like someone’s raking their fingernails on a blackboard. “Not doing it.”

“Is that what this is about? You can’t convert her? Or you and Darby are having problems getting pregnant?”

“Both.”

I cast a furious glance at Sean, then back at Ian. “I’m your brother, Ian! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think it was problem until your little revelation a few minutes ago. I just wanted more information. Not that this helps me any. I’m not hurting her for the duration of a human pregnancy. That’s nine months.

“Ehhh,” Sean whines, wishy-washy. “It wouldn’t be a human pregnancy—it’d be a were pregnancy. Twelve weeks. And it wouldn’t have to be even that. Conversion would be a lot faster—maybe only few hours like in humans.”

Ian’s eyes narrow, peering first at Sean, then at me. “And everyone in this town thinks I’m the heartless one.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “You said that’s the only book you’ve found. There’s essentially nothing about how a fae to were conversion would go. Even if you bound her with iron, it might be days of agony. I could never do that to her. Not even if she asks me to. I gave her my Vow. With courage and honor, I will aid and sustain her. To bind her with iron would not be aiding or sustaining.”

“Okay, okay. This is the only thing I could find. The rest is anecdotal.” Sean stops the conversation with a raised hand and glances at the door.

“Knock, knock.” Darby peeks her head around the corner. “Shall I wait?” she asks, pointing towards the hallway behind her with one of those spindly fingers of hers.

Ian shakes his head, extending a hand to her and drawing her over to sit on his lap. Tessa follows her in, flopping near my chair after nuzzling my pocket for the cookie she knows I keep there for her.

When Ian has Darby cuddled close protectively, he nods his chin at Sean. “Go on.”

“The last were documented half-fae encounter was in Ireland. Both were alive at the time the book was written.” Sean skims the page, his eyes following his finger along the lines of words. “Says the fae was a poet, injured during a war between human kings and lost a hand. Name was Finn Thu.”

From Ian’s lap, Darby suddenly perks up. “I remember him! He’s quite a bit younger than me. Very sweet, but a bit awkward. He had a blodeuedd birthmark on his temple and people teased him terribly.”

“Uh-huh. A what?” I ask.

“Blodeuedd. Blah-day-wed.”

“Yeah, no. Sorry. It doesn’t help just because you say it slower, Darby.”

Darby looks at Ian, and while he looks contrite, he shakes his head too. We wait as she scrounges up a piece of paper and pencil from Ian’s desk with a disappointed sigh. A moment later she holds up a triskelia looking design. “A blodeuedd. It’s the symbol for flower. People called him flower face.”

“Um. Ian.” Sean puts his hand on the loose pages in his lap and lifts them, turning them around so we can all see. There’s a sketched image of a young man with birthmark on his temple, exactly like what Darby’s drawn.

“Yes! That’s him!” Darby points to the image. “That’s quite a good likeness actually. Who did the rendering?”

“Baby, that was drawn by a were. Eight hundred years ago.”

“Ah. His guardian then.”

“Wait—did you just say that weres protected fae?” Sean and I look at one another, then back at her.

“Usually children.” She turns, caressing Ian’s cheek and staring into his eyes. “You weres are remarkably devoted, especially to children,” she says softly.

Breaking eye contact as if she just remembered we’re present, she looks back at Sean and me. “But sometimes the injured or someone with a particular value. Unlike Teutonic weres who were viewed as monsters because they don’t finish the transition to full wolf like you do, Irish weres weren’t persecuted at all. And were guardians were highly prized. Sometimes they were even recruited by human kings at great expense during times of war.”

Darby faces Ian again. “Why were you looking up Finn?”

“We weren’t specifically. Just trying to learn more about your kind, baby. To make you more comfortable here.”

“Oh. It’s a shame we don’t have access to my valley. I’m sure you’d find more of what you’re looking for in my library.” Darby runs her fingers into Ian’s hair staring into his eyes, but hers look distant. “I miss my valley.”

“Maybe next weekend we’ll take a trip there.”

I shake my head. “Uh-uh. Nope. No can do, kemosahbee. We still don’t know who’s crashing Darby’s little parties or when. You two stay where I can keep control of the security.”

Though she says nothing, Darby’s obviously disappointed. I can’t imagine what the rush to get back to that boring valley of hers could be.

Lifting her chin, Ian plants a tender kiss on her lips. “Don’t pout, baby.” He taps her on the thigh, urging her to get up. “Give me a few to finish up here then we’ll take Tessa out to the homestead. How’s that sound?”

“What else did we have today, boss?” Sean asks when Darby disappears around the corner, Tessa trotting at her heels.

“I need a boulder. A big one.”

“A boulder.”

“Yeah. Like the size of a car. If you can find something local to this area, great. The sooner you can get it here, the better.”

**

Sean    

Nuisance of finding Ian his boulder aside, that meeting proved educational.

Through the surveillance and intelligence software I’ve set up with Jack’s department, it’s a matter of minutes for me to hack the Candlewood hospital information system and review recent records. There’s nothing for Darby—apparently, she’s never been treated—but the most recent for Ian involves a physical exam, general labs, and fertility screening—none of which were abnormal. He’s healthy as a – well, were.

Except maybe his ego.

I would never have expected Ian to be insecure, nor to be the kind worried about children. Then again, he’s the one with the faery Luna that vampires are after.

It occurs to me suddenly I’ve never asked myself why.

I assumed the first attack, the one that led to Ivan being cursed, must have been some kind of turf conflict between vampires and the Candlewood weres. That’s usually what happens when these particular apex predators run afoul of one another—vampires kill off the human mate or child of a were or do harm against the extended human family and it degenerates into a tit-for-tat war.

But the one-off ports into the Candlewood territory aren’t aimed at Ian or Jack, even though they’re still here. And there’s nothing happening in Desert territory, even though Ivan’s there, nor any other Candlewood allied territory.  

The only conclusion is intelligence gathering. Unless they lay eyes on Darby and think they can make a snatch and grab. So what’s so special about faery blood that they’d risk a war with Candlewood’s weres and their allies?

It’s not adding up and I can’t see where my math’s off. I need help. As I reach for my phone to call Silas again, the one on my desk rings.

“Hello?”

“Sean.” It’s Silas, and he sounds excited. “I’ve got an address for you.”

**

Ian    

I watch, invisible, from a shadowy corner as Sean and Jack finish securing our reeking houseguest in a sealed holding cell built especially for vampires in the basement of the security building. We were able to pick this one up before his rising hour, so he’s half-laying, half-sitting chained against the wall, limp and lifeless even yet.

“Wakey, wakey, little vampy.” Jack flicks the vampire’s ear a few times, hard. “Moon’s already up, lazy bones.”

The vampire, a mid-thirties, otherwise nice looking man, with straight, overly-long, lanky brown hair, over-large blue eyes and a strong cleft in his chin gives a loud groan, his head lolling to the side before the rattling chains holding him to the wall alert him that he’s in a whoop and a group of trouble. “What the f**k? Who are you people?”

Jack shrugs with a sardonic grin. “Eh. Just people with our fingers on the switch for that UV room sanitizer over your head. And judging by that dump we found you in, you could use a scrubbing.”

The vampire looks up. Seeing the long bluish-purple fluorescent bulbs overhead, he cringes. He raises long, bony-fingered hands in surrender. “Look, I got no beef with you people. Never seen any of you before, and I won’t have seen you after this either. Let’s just get along peacefully. What do you need? Drugs? Weapons? I’ve got contacts that take care of whatever ails you.”

“I take it by that answer, this isn’t your first rodeo.” Sean’s barely hiding his snarl. “I’ll assume you know the drill. You talk, we listen. Give us what we want, you probably live. Screw with us, you definitely die. Painfully. Got it?”

“Sure. Sure. Suppose we can do this without the chains?”

“No.” Jack shakes his head, leaning casually against the cell wall, pointing to the overhead UV sanitizer lamps again. “Makes it easier to vacuum up the cremains.”

“Don’t be a tool, Gyllenhaal. Couple big strong pretty boy weres like yourselves can just break my neck if you don’t mind—never wanted this vampire gig anyway,” the vampire grumbles resentfully. “So how about you just name your poison and let’s get this over with.”

“Information.” Sean leans against the cell bars. “What do vampires want with faeries?”

The vampire lets out a frustrated sigh. “Look, I already told the last bunch that hunted me up, if Cordelion doesn’t like the lines I suggested, he can go through the ancestral records and find his own.”

“We’ll come back to Cordelion. What do vampires want with faeries?” Sean repeats the question in the same monotone as before.

The vampire peers first at Jack then at Sean like they’re both stupid. “The high. Fae blood is like a drug. Let’s ‘em pass for human while it’s in the system. The stronger the blood, the longer the high.”

“Pass for human. You mean they can day walk?”

“You deaf, Prince Dastan? What I said was pass for human. Look like they did before they were made. Smell like a human. Day walk. Feel pleasure and pain like a human. If the fae blood is strong enough, they can even eat human food without it hurting them.”

“And that’s what Cordelion wants? To pass for human?”

“No. Cordelion has his own captive blood line. An old one. Strong faery blood. But he’s looking for others.”

“Why?”

The vampire’s face pulls into a grimace. “I don’t know what you want me to tell you. He’s f****d in the head? There’s some old legend. Something about talismans given to human-fae halflings.”

“Go on.”

“Cordelion’s convinced it’s real. That if he can find the right fae, he’ll get his hands on the talismans. Then he can open their realm and have all the high he wants.”

“Is Cordelion the one who attacked the Candlewood pack a few months ago?”

“Not sure, but probably. He’s the big wig from the Mississippi west in this country. Thousands of vampires in his coven. If it involves vampires, it usually involves him. Very few independent contractors like myself still around. He’s like Walmart. He either absorbs us, or he drives us under.”

“Why did he attack?”

The vampire yawns, and both Jack and Sean flinch at the smell of his breath.

Jack fixes him with an annoyed glare. “Do you mind not doing that?”

It earns him a lopsided smirk. “Sorry. I’d cover my mouth, but—,” he wiggles his cuffed arms, rattling the chains, “—I’m a little tied up.”

“Answer the question!” Sean snaps, slapping his hand over the switch for the UV lamps.

“Hold up there, Magic Mike. No need to get trigger happy.” The vampire’s eyes are wide, and again he raises his hands in surrender. “Cordelion’s been looking for these fae for a long time and gotten nowhere. Rumor has it he picked himself up a witch—a diviner. That attack wasn’t aimed at the pack. They were trying to capture the alpha.”

So Darby was right. I curse myself and, in my head, my wolf half tells me I’m an i***t. Three months ago she suspected, just by removing the cursed arrow. I wonder now if she didn’t have her suspicions about someone trying to get to her through me too. And I thought she was the naïve one.

“Why?”

“Because the witch prophesied he’d find a faery with one of the talismans.”

Shit.

 Jack’s question isn’t anything I’m not thinking already.

Sean prompts for guidance through the link.

“Where can we find this witch?”

“Probably wherever Cordelion is holed up—right now, she’s pretty valuable—especially since the Candlewood alpha brought home a faery after the attack. But nobody knows where Cordelion keeps shop. He meets his contacts in random places. Ports in, ports out.”

“No, don’t mind me. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Come on, are we done, boys?”

We all ignore the vampire.

As if he hears Jack’s thought, the vampire interjects again, snapping his fingers to get our attention. “Pretty boys! Pri-tee boys!”

“What?!” Jack and Sean snap in stereo.

“I can already tell you Candlewood weres and me are gonna get chummy. I’m open-source—anybody dodging Cordelion, human or vamp, comes to me. They talk, I listen. So how about we make a deal?”

Sean fixes the vampire with a vicious glare. “What is it you want?”

“Rumor has it Candlewood’s fae Luna created a magical flower. Only grows in there. Since there’s no getting in and definitely no getting out for vamps, the flowers, even dead, are a lucrative commodity.”

Jack shakes his head as if clearing it. “The f**k? Why?”

The vampire snickers. “It’s like Impossible burger. They cut it into the diets of their feeders. Makes ‘em taste like fae.”

There’s a long silence while Jack and Sean stare at the vampire, trying to process what he’s just said. Twice Jack draws breath to reply and reconsiders. Finally, he shakes his head. “I got nothing.”

 Sean insists. out when the blood wears off>