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  “Because you don’t belong here. You are an útlenda, a waerganga. A stranger.”

  “And you’re a xenophobe,” said Gwynne. “My mother is from around here, you know.”

  “Maybe so,” said Bree, turning to continue her march. “But you were not. And you are not one of our pack, nor will you ever be, ritual or no.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Gwynne. “But for the record, I didn’t ask for this. It was thrust upon me.”

  “You could have refused.”

  “Oh? And would you have refused, had you been in my position? An opportunity to help to save people, to change the world?” Gwynne thought it in poor taste to mention the opportunity to have sex nightly with two excruciatingly attractive men.

  “Of course not.” Bree’s voice softened for the first time, and Gwynne knew that she understood at least a little bit.

  “Well, for what it’s worth, I would like it if we could be friends. And if not that, at least get along a little.”

  “I will try, my lady.”

  A few minutes later Bree said, “Here we are,” and pointed ahead to a small clearing in the trees. Gwynne could hear the distant sound of water flowing, and as she approached she was met with the idyllic sight of a waterfall whose landing point was in a small, crystal clear pond large enough for a nice swim.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “This is gorgeous.”

  She walked ahead, leaving Bree standing alone. Gwynne began to remove her tunic, anticipating the feeling of the cold water on her flesh.

  “When I was a child I came here.”

  The voice startled Gwynne, who didn’t expect anything so candid from the shifter. She turned back to look at Bree.

  “With my brothers. We used to play out here, both in human and wolf forms, as pups chasing one another, leaping in the water.” Bree was making her way to the pond’s edge, staring at it as though transported.

  “And where are they now? Your brothers?” asked Gwynne, too stunned to continue removing her clothing.

  “One was killed two years ago, by flyers.”

  “I’m so sorry, Bree.”

  “One lives at the castle and works as a guard. He’s a quiet man, younger than me.”

  “You must hate the flyers for this,” said Gwynne. “For killing your brother.”

  Bree turned to face her now. “I do. Of course I do. But it is the way of life for shifters. We’re always at war, it seems.”

  “It shouldn’t be that way. In my time…”

  “In your time, from what I hear, there is no talk of shifters. Which may mean that we’ve died off.”

  “Or it may mean that you’re living peacefully.”

  “I suppose so. But I simply can’t imagine it.”

  Bree seemed to relax, sitting on a log by the water’s edge, so Gwynne continued to peel off layers of clothing before walking into the water. It was as cold as she’d imagined, but the day was unseasonably warm and she felt herself adjust almost immediately to the temperature.

  “Do you want to come in?” she asked.

  “No, my lady. I’ll stay here and keep watch.”

  Gwynne swam a little, dunking her head under the water and feeling the heavy weight of her wet hair on her back as she stood. She made her way over to the waterfall which cascaded down a series of large rocks above, as though a painter had designed it for a landscape.

  “So this is paradise,” she muttered to herself before dipping under the water again. She swam towards the falls, curious to know if there was anything behind them.

  Indeed there was. A small cavern, lit by the sun’s rays piercing the falling water. It was large enough to lie in and as Gwynne’s eyes adjusted to the light she fantasized about spending a ritual night in this place.

  She pulled herself up onto the flat rock which made up the cavern’s floor and walked around. A sort of natural table of stone sat in the centre of the chamber, and Gwynne ran her hand over its smooth surface until it made contact with something. Looking down, she saw a bow and a quiver of arrows.

  Clearly she wasn’t the only one who’d been interested in this spot.

  But bows around this area generally only served one purpose: to defend against flyers. No doubt it was an ally who kept the small arsenal in this place.

  She left the weapons and let herself back down into the water. By this point Bree might be wondering what had become of her.

  As she swam out from under the wet torrent, at first Gwynne couldn’t see Bree. It took a moment to realize that she was standing at the tree line, concealed. Her eyes were fixed on the sky.

  Gwynne remained mostly submerged, turning her own head upwards. High above them was the silhouette of a large bird, circling as though to let them know of its presence. But for the moment, at least, it was staying put.

  She considered collecting the bow and arrows from inside the cave, but she didn’t know how to use them. Besides, Bree was a wolf shifter; she would know how to defend them. Wouldn’t she?

  Gwynne swam to the pond’s edge and climbed out, grabbing her clothing quickly and making a dash for the place where her escort stood. As she pulled on her clothes she whispered, “Do you think he sees us?”

  “I have no doubt that he does,” Bree replied, a grimace on her face. “We should go.”

  “Fine by me,” said Gwynne, relieved at the thought of being safely ensconced in the castle.

  She finished dressing and Bree began to walk quickly back the way they’d come, with Gwynne following close behind. The large shifter’s eyes moved frequently to the sky and Gwynne could see that the bird was keeping careful track of their whereabouts.

  It was when they were deep into the cover of the forest that a noise echoed through the wood; a sort of loud tapping sound like a bough hitting a tree.

  “Keep moving,” growled Bree. “We don’t want to stop.”

  Gwynne could tell that she was worried; that it was more than simply the bird in the air who was setting her nerves on edge.

  The sound seemed to grow closer, the taps echoing off of other tree trunks, making their way all around them so that their origin was difficult to place.

  “What is that?” Gwynne whispered.

  “Someone who wants to toy with us,” said Bree. “And he’s getting closer.”

  She sniffed the air and let out another low growl. For the first time, Gwynne was genuinely frightened. Helplessness wasn’t her strong suit.

  “So what do we do?” she hissed.

  “We run.”

  With that, Bree began a dash through the woods. Gwynne was grateful that the shifter had stayed in her human form so that at least she had a chance to keep up.

  As they neared the clearing that stood between the forest and the castle, she allowed herself a brief sigh of relief. It turned out to be premature, however.

  A figure dashed in front of them just as they were about to head into the open, where they could be seen from the castle.

  Gwynne knew his face immediately.

  “Kapral,” she gasped.

  Bree growled and shifted, her clothing tearing away from her body. Her back arched, hair standing on end as she stood in protective stance between the man and Gwynne.

  “Gwendolyn,” the repulsive man said. “How nice to see you.”

  “What do you want?” she asked. Anger was taking over from her fear.

  “You know what I want.” Kapral examined his fingernails as though he were having the most casual of conversations. “And this would all be so much easier if you’d simply come with me and leave your bitch behind.”

  “I’m not sure she likes it when you call her that,” said Gwynne. “And I know I don’t.”

  The man’s icy eyes fixed on her. “I’m so sorry to offend,” he hissed, his voice sibilant and snake-like. “But you must admit that she is, quite literally, a bitch.”

  “As are you.”

  Kapral laughed. “You simply don’t know me. You’d adore me if you did, I have no doubt.�
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  “Your opinion of my taste in men is a strange one,” said Gwynne. “My palate is more suited to the ones with genitals.”

  “What a woman you are.” Kapral’s voice almost sounded admiring. “It’s rather too bad that I’ll be killing you.”

  With that, Bree began to pace in front of him, moving in his direction like a sheepdog might do when herding, trying to get him to back away from the life she was protecting.

  “There, there, dog,” he said. “I believe you have more important business to attend than me.”

  With that, he thrust an arm up and signalled to an unseen ally.

  The bird who’d remained high in the sky above began to swoop down. At first Gwynne thought that he was headed for them, but as he drew closer she realized that his goal was the castle itself.

  “My man there is about to take out the guards at your front gate,” he said. “The two who are currently deep in conversation.”

  Gwynne looked over. He was right; they weren’t paying attention.

  “That is, if you can stop them, bitch.” Kapral laughed again.

  Bree was torn, Gwynne knew. To stay and protect her or to look to the guards. If the bird took them out, the doors could be vulnerable, and therefore the entire castle. There could be many more flyers hiding in the area, waiting for that moment.

  “Go,” yelled Gwynne. “Quickly. Take him out.”

  Bree’s wolf dashed across the clearing, sprinting faster than any creature Gwynne had ever seen. Just as the eagle’s talons were about to make contact with one of the guards, she lunged at it, grabbing a mouthful of feathers before it pulled away, then came crashing at them again.

  “He’s a good man,” said Kapral. “Follows commands impeccably.”

  “So now you’re free to kill me,” said Gwynne. “Well played.” Her rage was bubbling to the surface now. The arrogance of this bastard of a man was infuriating beyond words, and she wished she’d had the foresight to bring a knife with her so that at least she could make the bastard bleed.

  “Pity,” Kapral replied. He advanced towards her and put his cold fingers on her face, pinching her chin. “Such a lovely thing, you are. It’s too bad you went to the dark side.”

  “Dark side, is it? Have you been watching Star Wars on your medieval DVD player, asshole?” Gwynne almost wanted to laugh at his ridiculous delusions of grandeur. She recalled seeing Lachlan throw him off that cliff on the day when they met. So much had happened since then. And yet maybe it was all for nothing, because now she was alone with him, vulnerable.

  Kapral twisted her head brutally, spiralling her entire body around so that now he held her from the back, his fingers at her throat. Gwynne felt claws emerge from them, digging into her neck.

  “I’ll enjoy watching you die,” he said. “I missed it the last time, but this one I’ll savour eternally.”

  Gwynne’s hands shot to his and her instinct told her to pull them away, but he was strong, and only grasped her harder.

  As he squeezed she flashed back to that moment when he’d choked the air out of her once before; her helplessness and the sudden flurry of a wolf attacking her assailant. This time the wolf was occupied. This time it was up to her.

  * * *

  Rituals 10

  Something in Gwynne seemed to be rising up; a strength that she hadn’t known before she’d met Lachlan, before she’d come to this time. Before the ritual.

  As Kapral’s hands put pressure on her throat, Gwynne felt herself harden against his touch, as though her body itself were rejecting him, saying, “No. Not today.”

  She could feel him tighten his grip; she even heard the words, “Why? What’s this?” before her own fingers peeled his away as though they were nothing more than bits of leaf stuck to her skin.

  Holding both of his hands in hers, she turned to him, twisting his arms so that she could hear their bones strain and snap, then she let them go. Kapral cried out in pain as he stared at her, his eyes wide with fear.

  “You’re…” he began.

  But Gwynne’s rage was taking over from a desire to communicate. This man seemed to run the show; to lead her alphas’ enemies. He was the worst of them, and she was going to kill him. Herself. With her bare hands.

  She reached out and took him by the neck as he’d done to her, her arm easily lifting him off the ground. For a moment she revelled in the sight, in her own strength.

  “He said this would happen,” he was hissing through gasping breaths.

  “Who said?” she asked before squeezing harder.

  “Your father,” he said, before his eyes went blank.

  “You knew my father?” Gwynne shook him, attempting to restore the life that she’d stolen from his body. But Kapral sagged limply in her hands.

  It was only when she calmed down, her eyes moving to the outstretched arms which were holding her victim that she began to understand.

  They were no longer her arms.

  And they were no longer human.

  In the distance someone called her name, his faint voice frantic. Gwynne sank to the ground as a series of rapid images engulfed her, her head spinning out of control. She reached otherworldly limbs out to grasp at something—anything—as she slid through time and space.

  * * *

  To be continued…

  Trial By Fire

  Dundurn Castle, 1348

  The grey dire wolf leapt forward, gigantic paws striking the earth with panicked energy as he shot towards the gates of Dundurn Castle, his breath coming in coarse huffs.

  His queen was gone.

  His mate.

  Moments earlier she had disappeared before his eyes, vanished into another time, another place. And he’d been helpless to stop her, too far away to reach out, to keep her with him. A powerless alpha, watching his lover grow powerful beyond her own control.

  The thought of her alone and frightened was an awful one, and the thought that it was his fault ate at his very soul.

  He leapt at full speed down the wide hallways, racing by members of his clan as they watched with puzzled expressions. When at last he reached his destination he shifted into his human form before thrusting the thick wooden door open.

  “She’s gone,” he said as he burst into Rauth’s chamber.

  “Gone? What are you talking about, Lachlan?” The room’s occupant, dressed only in pants and a long robe, stood to greet his cousin, extending supportive arms to hold him up. “You look like you’re about to faint. Get hold of yourself, man. You’re a disaster.”

  Lachlan glared at his co-alpha. Of late, Rauth had seemed to grow too big for his britches, barking orders at everyone including him without giving thought to the fact that they were equals in rank. Many of the men regarded Lachlan, in fact, as the superior of the two: level-headed, sensible, empathetic, whereas they saw Rauth as impulsive and unpredictable. The only way in which he outranked his cousin was in a military capacity; no one could organize battles and strategize as he could. He rarely lost a member of his clan, and for that he was respected. But he didn’t know how to deal graciously with others; how to show affection, tenderness.

  Except, of course, for the occasions when he was with Gwynne. But then Lachlan, for one, failed to see how anyone could fail to show her affection. She was the most desirable woman he’d ever met.

  “She disappeared, Rauth,” he said as he caught his breath, struggling to contain his building fury. “Right before my eyes. She time-traveled, alone, without the aid of a portal. She leapt. I’ve never seen anything like it, not in person. She shot away from us, from here.”

  “Well, this is news. Leapt, you say? Few have ever managed such a feat.” Rauth’s face expressed surprise, even amusement, which only served to annoy the other alpha further.

  But Lachlan continued, his teeth set in a frustrated clench. “It seems that her abilities are greater than we expected. But she won’t have control over them yet. She’s most likely terrified and alone. This is our fault. We should have war
ned her.”

  “Well, you need to find her and explain, Lachlan. It’s simple, really. Isn’t it?”

  “Perhaps, if anything in life is simple. I’m going to head through our portal to the ruins, to her time. Most likely that’s where I’ll find her. But Rauth, I came to tell you first, because there’s something else that you should know.”

  “Well, what is it?”

  Something in his voice had brought out a rare show of alarm in Rauth’s features; an expression that Lachlan wasn’t accustomed to seeing on the other alpha’s face. He preferred this to the usual smug confidence that his cousin exhibited, temporary though it was. Rauth’s face would soon return to its normal, unreadable state, his emotions concealed again.

  “She transformed. Parts of her did, anyhow, into her déor,” said Lachlan. “I saw her hands change.”

  “So it’s happening at last. The ritual was effective.” Rauth scratched the stubble on his chin, his eyes moving to the window as he immersed himself in thought.

  “Yes, it was effective, if you must put it that way. I have to tell you that I’m not feeling as excited about the results as I would have done had she consented to all of this. Her entire body has now altered into something it was not a few days ago. It will be difficult for her to understand what’s happened, to say the very least.”

  “Don’t be silly. She’s an improved version of herself, Lachlan. She’ll be delighted.”

  Lachlan reached into a wardrobe by Rauth’s bed, rapidly pulling out items of clothing and dressing himself. It wasn’t at all uncommon for the men to trade garments after shifting, and often robes and pants were hung about the castle for these occasions.

  “Improved,” he said as he pulled on a long tunic, “is one word for it. I feel as though we’ve inflicted something on her for which she was not prepared. Let alone what is yet to come, which may be even more difficult for her body to survive. We don’t yet know how strong she is.”