Guardians of the Gateways

Country Roads

Warm light filters in through the aged curtains, casting a muted gold glow over sun-bronzed skin. A pair of pale green eyes flutter open, reluctant to greet the new day. The hesitation comes from too many beers and shots of whiskey the night before. But then again… what a night it had been.

Had the owner of these sea-green orbs been human, he’d be worshiping the porcelain god and swearin’ he’d never drink again. Fortunately for him—or maybe just his liver—he was not. Lycans tend to have a high tolerance for adult beverages.

So the poor choices of the night before would be gone before noon, leavin’ only hazy memories and the stale sting of a subpar IPA behind. Still… he couldn’t complain. That had been one hell of a night.

The wolf sighs—a low, rumbling sound that hums through the room—and stretches out stiff limbs. He takes a moment after his morning ritual to admire his slumbering bed partner.

Damn… Jasper Blackstone thinks, a crooked, private grin tugging at his mouth. You did alright, boy.

His gaze drifts over long, pale curves of skin. A Wizkin coven sigil marks the back of her neck. He exhales slowly. Witches and him… never exactly clean history. But damn if they weren’t something else entirely in bed. Magic, charms, potions—all of it turning sensation into somethin’ almost unfair. Like seeing color for the first time… and not really knowing what to do with it.

Jasper shifts, studying her a moment longer. He inhales—warm, dark scent with cloves and pottulli—and it pulls the memory back in sharp and messy.

Heat. Teeth at his shoulder. Skin slick with sweat. Her voice, low and teasing:

“Who’s a good boy?”

He should’ve taken offense.

Instead, he grinned.

Because Jasper Blackstone wasn’t just some boy out here playin’ at life. He was a wolf. Alpha-blooded. Grandson of a pack leader—respected, technically.

Well… respected might’ve been doin’ a lot of heavy lifting there.

Still, he made his point. Judging by the pink marks still faint on her hips, she understood him just fine.

A night she’d remember.

Jasper settles back into the pillows—Then stills.

A sound. Faint. Wrong.

Not from the bed.

From down the hall.

And here’s the problem…

Jasper lived alone.

He slides out of bed slow, eyes shifting silver-white. “Ain’t no way…” he mutters under his breath.

What was her name again? Doesn’t matter. Whatever was in his house right now sure as hell wasn’t part of last night’s fun.

He sniffs the air.

Mistake.

Everything smells like her.

Booze. s*x. Witchcraft.

Great. Just great.

He pads down the hallway, grabbing a decorative boat oar off the wall like it’s the most reasonable weapon in the world. Could’ve used claws. Could’ve shifted. Could’ve gone full wolf.

But that meant paperwork.

And Jasper hated paperwork worse than hangovers.

“Back in the good ol’ days,” he mutters, “a man could disembowel somethin’ and just get a slap on the wrist from the Bureau.”

Now? Investigations. Reports. Interviews.

Red tape thicker than swamp mud.

“Ain’t worth it,” he decides. “Boat oar it is.”

He raises it toward the bathroom door—

Then pauses.

Shower turns on.

“…Why in the hell would an intruder be showerin’?”

He pushes the door open.

And freezes.

Not an intruder.

Twins.

Witches.

Both of them.

Jasper’s grin spreads slow and wide.

“Well now…” he drawls, leaning on the doorframe. “Ain’t this just my lucky mornin’.”

Twins. You old dog, you.

As it turns out, their names are Crystal and Sage, and they are very accommodating—cookin’ breakfast, makin’ coffee, and calmly explainin’ things to Jasper’s still foggy brain.

Apparently, after darts and karaoke, he’d been “delightfully charming.”

He snorts into his coffee. “Well hell. That sounds like me. Bon Jovi’s got a way of bringin’ out my best self.”

Even so, they won’t be stayin’.

They’re passin’ through toward the northwestern gateway, stickin’ close to border routes. Neither of them like humans much.

Jasper leans back in his chair. “Can’t say I get that,” he says casually. “Wizkin pass just fine if you do it right. Age a little slow, sure, but nothin’ a good plan can’t fix.”

He shrugs.

“Then again… history’s a stubborn thing. Witch trials didn’t do y’all no favors.”

That earns a quiet look, but he doesn’t press it.

He knows better than most that “monsters” don’t get fair history books.

Werewolves, vampires, witches, demons—Big Four, as folks like to say. Like they’re somethin’ out of a bedtime story instead of survivors.

So he just tips his coffee.

“Y’all travel safe now. And if you ever wander back this way…” his grin returns, slow and easy, “don’t be strangers.”

The twins leave soon after.

Jasper watches from the porch, interest sharpening.

Wizkin magic never stops impressing him.

Crystal pulls a daisy-shaped pin from her hair—it shifts, blooms, and becomes a golden oak wand carved with floral etchings.

Sage tugs her earring loose—a dagger shape—and it becomes ash-gray wood, smooth and balanced.

“Show-offs,” Jasper mutters fondly.

They draw sigils on the ground. Light blooms. A pillar rises.

Then they’re gone.

“Every time…” he murmurs. “Still feels like cheatin’.”

A beat later, an old beat-up pickup rattles up the drive.

Perfect timing.

The door opens and LJ Greenfield steps out, all long limbs and tired judgment.

He leans on the truck window, watching where the witches disappeared.

“Witches… really, Jas?” LJ calls. “You ever learn, or is that just not in your nature?”

Jasper sips his coffee. “Now hold on. I treat every lady like a Southern gentleman ought to.”

LJ snorts. “Yeah? That why you got hexed into pink hair last spring?”

Jasper points lazily. “That was one time. And it was more rose gold, thank you kindly.”

LJ slams the door. “Uh-huh.”

They walk inside together.

“You are a menace,” LJ adds.

“I prefer ‘enthusiastic,’” Jasper replies.

“Same thing where I come from.”

Jasper drops onto the couch. “Pour me a beer, would ya? And tell me why you’re here this early.”

LJ pulls two bottles from the fridge. “Last Monday of the month.”

Jasper groans. “Lord help me… clan visits.”

“Cheers,” LJ says.

“Cheers to survivin’ it,” Jasper mutters.

The day had only just begun.

And if Jasper Blackstone knew anything…

It was that days like this never stayed simple for long.