Feral Blood (Bound to the Fae Book 2) Read online

  No doubt she’s right. I can’t help that picturing Talia receiving even a hint of cruelty from my pack makes my hackles rise, though. Bad enough that she had to tolerate Kellan’s viciousness behind my back. If he hadn’t been kin-of-my-mate…

  Well, that is dealt with now, even if I wish it could have happened in a better way, and the fae of my pack are much more of my choosing.

  “Your service and your wisdom are as appreciated as always,” I tell Astrid.

  She sketches some semblance of a bow and slips into the deepening shadows of the evening to take up her sentry duty. I head back to the keep. As my gaze skims over the horizon, my deadened eye conjures a brief wisp of a vision: three hazy figures on horseback cantering toward us, there for a blink and then vanished back into the aether the image arose from.

  A hint of our future or a glimpse from our past? It could be either. With no news that suggests Aerik has any real reason to suspect us of wrongdoing, Whitt has sent out an invitation to him and his cadre. I might have gotten a backwards echo of their arrival.

  My spymaster has also slunk into Copperweld to spy on their reaction firsthand as well as he can, not trusting anyone else with that job. There’s no telling whether Whitt will return later tonight or perhaps not for another day or two, if he becomes concerned and stays to monitor the situation further.

  As such, the keep is even quieter than usual. I have to walk the whole length of the hall before my ears pick up the thump and the grunt of activity from the basement gym.

  Apparently ingratiating herself with the pack didn’t wear Talia out too much. I come to the gym doorway to find her and August circling each other on the mats, the sweat shining on her forehead a testament to how long they’ve already been sparring. Her slim body is tensed in the T-shirt and sweats my younger brother obtained for her training, her balance impressively steady despite her damaged foot in its brace.

  I stay to the side in the shadows, but August picks up on my presence as I’d expect him to. He acknowledges me with a flicker of a glance but otherwise stays focused on his pupil, his teeth gleaming in his eager grin. Talia doesn’t appear to notice me at all, her concentration entirely on her opponent.

  “Ready?” he says.

  The second she nods, he springs, snatching at her waist. Talia ducks and tries to dodge to the side, but he catches her, swinging her back in front of him with a force that sends a ripple of protectiveness through me even though I know he’ll be careful with her.

  Her sputtered curse makes August chuckle. “You can’t always get away. How would you make an attacker let go?”

  They must have gone over some of the strategies before, because that’s all the prompting Talia needs to ram her elbow toward his nose. When he jerks his head out of the way, she slams her good foot into his knee. Releasing her, August falls back with an oof that’s only partly feigned, and Talia scrambles around, crouched animal-like on the mats but beaming at her success.

  A strange cordial of emotions floods my chest. Fondness, yes—Astrid wasn’t wrong about that. But a surge of admiration twines through it, for the strength this scrap of a woman manages to summon from somewhere within that delicate mortal body. It can’t be easy for her, practicing these moves against an opponent twice her size while she has a permanent injury holding her back as well, but she’s throwing herself into the training whole-heartedly.

  Isleen would have laughed at a human imagining they might brawl with fae and come out anything other than beaten to a pulp, but Isleen would never herself have tackled a challenge this great to begin with. My departed mate, Heart keep her soul, bristled with frustration when any task became difficult for her. She had many talents, to be sure, but that led to her expecting everything to come easily and to finding fault in anything that didn’t rather than seeking to improve her own skills.

  I hadn’t expected to encounter a disposition that so puts that aspect of hers to shame in a human.

  And through the fondness and the awe winds a sensation too clawed to be called protectiveness now. No, that’s pure possessive instinct, the drive in me to shove August away from this ever-surprising woman and gather her up where he can’t set a single finger on her.

  Not because I have any fear he’d hurt her—oh, quite the opposite. There was no mistaking the way his eyes flared as he held her in his arms, no mistaking that the flush in Talia’s cheeks now is more than just exertion. A trace of arousal laces the tang of sweat in the air.

  I will the barbed urge to claim her down with a tightening of my jaw. She isn’t mine. If I tried to force the issue, I’ve no doubt she wouldn’t have a single thing to do with me from that moment onward.

  Why shouldn’t she have August to turn to as well? It isn’t as if I can offer her all the attention a devout lover should. I have too many responsibilities pulling me in too many directions… I should be glad she trusts me enough to allow me any intimacy in the times when I can be at her side.

  If I truly mean to give her the best possible life here, then sharing her affections is part of that.

  Talia straightens up, and I catch August’s gaze with the slightest twitch of my eyes for him to stand down. We should find out how our lady reacts when she hasn’t been given a chance to prepare for an assault.

  In the swiftest of strides, I sweep into the room to whip my arms around Talia’s shoulders from behind. Her flinch tells me she clearly hadn’t registered my arrival at all in the midst of their tussling.

  She yelps, but rather than crumpling, her limbs strike out, her elbow jabbing my ribs, her heel smacking my shin in the instant before she realizes who holds her and how gently. The blows land hard enough to sting.

  “Sylas!” she gasps, jerking in on herself with a deeper flush blooming across her face. “I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

  I can’t pass up the opportunity to nuzzle her hair. “You did well, Talia. Your defensive reflexes are already becoming honed.” I give August an approving smile over her shoulder, aware that he may now be experiencing the same jealousy I felt a moment ago and hoping to assuage it. “A credit to both yourself and your teacher.”

  August’s grin comes back easily enough. “She’s an avid student.”

  As I release her, Talia’s head dips humbly. She glances from me to August, a hint of pride coming into her expression but worry clouding her light green eyes. “How likely do you think it is that I’ll need to use these lessons for real?”

  “You’ve already had a couple of aggressive confrontations,” August says. “I think it’s better for us to assume the worst, and if you never find yourself under attack again, we’ll all celebrate that fact.”

  Her lips twitch with another smile that doesn’t reach her anxious eyes. “But no matter how much you train me, I’m never going to be able to fight off someone who’s fae, am I?”

  If only I had a better answer to give her. “That’s not your fault. No human would have an easy time of it. But every extra second you can buy for yourself, fending off severe wounds or capture, allows us another second to reach you and finish the battle on your behalf.”

  “It isn’t even physical strength, really,” August adds. “We can bring magic to bear. Without that, you can’t help being at a disadvantage.” He chuckles roughly. “If I could teach you that part of battle…”

  Something in Talia’s hesitation after that statement puts me on the alert. She looks down at her hands and swipes one of them across her mouth, her body tensing all over again even though the sparring is over. I’m about to ask her what’s wrong when she raises her head, her expression determined.

  “I—I think there’s something I should tell you. About me and magic.”

  Chapter Six

  Talia

  When I finish my account of how I unlocked my cage door using the magical true word for “bronze” and later warped an attacker’s dagger the same way, Sylas and August stare at me in stunned silence. A nervous itch runs up my arms.

  I’ve been afraid to tell the
m about this additional strangeness, adding to the qualities that a typical human who’s been dragged into the fae realm wouldn’t possess. Will my seeming ability to use magic make me even more a target than when the only inexplicable specialness about me was my curse-curing blood?

  But these men have saved my life more than once—Sylas has killed for me, a member of his own cadre no less. Keeping the secret from them when the subject has been brought up directly felt too close to lying for comfort. I should be able to trust them with this. I want to show them I trust them.

  Not to mention that it sounds like my unexpected talent could be a deciding factor in my surviving another attack.

  Sylas recovers first, peering down at me intently. “You’re absolutely sure that you produced those effects yourself and using magic? Aerik might have failed to secure the cage properly…” He trails off, obviously unable to think of a reasonable explanation for how the fae woman’s blade could have gotten bent out of shape.

  “I tried the lock that day,” I say. “Several times before I got it right. And I felt the word work, like there was some kind of power to it when I said it right.”

  August gives his lord a perplexed look. “Have you ever heard of a human who could call on true names—not from the legends but in our lifetime?”

  Sylas shakes his head. “Not one. Even in the legends—which may have some truth to them—it’s always been men and women with at least a little fae heritage in the mix.” He frowns as he examines me even more thoroughly, leaning close and inhaling—testing my scent. “In all the tests I conducted before, I’ve noticed no signs that you’re anything but human through and through. But if it were a small enough element, with the other power of your blood as a distracting factor, it might be nearly imperceivable.”

  I might be a tiny bit fae? A shiver runs through me that’s as much anxiety as it is excitement. I don’t know if that makes my situation better or worse. “Is it all that common for people in the human world to have a fae ancestor?”

  “No. Given our issues with conception and inheritance, we’re particularly careful with potential and actual children. But very occasionally one slips by and is a weak enough half-breed to go unnoticed during their mortal lives, continuing to spread that heritage to their children. You would have to be several generations removed from the source to show no physical signs of it, though.” Sylas’s brow is still furrowed. “I find it hard to believe that with so weak a link, you could have managed to teach yourself not just a little trickery but an entire true name without any outside guidance.”

  “What else could it be?” August asks.

  “Who can say? We don’t understand the effect Talia’s blood has on our curse either. Perhaps the two factors are intertwined somehow—arising from a common feature we haven’t yet discovered.” Sylas rubs his jaw. “I don’t know of any other way to investigate the cause that we could easily pursue in our current situation. There are resources that might help elsewhere in our world, but that would risk exposing Talia’s secrets to our brethren.”

  I hug myself, the idea of the impenetrable mystery lurking inside me overshadowing any satisfaction I felt in sharing this secret even with these two men. “But even if we’re not sure how it happened, it’s a good thing, right? You were just saying that the reason I’ll never be able to defend myself against fae on my own is magic. If I can learn more true names or other spells…”

  Sylas appears to shake himself out of his pensive state. “I don’t like dealing with dynamics I’m uncertain of, but it can’t be helped. You’re right—this should work to your benefit, so long as you continue to keep it secret from everyone other than my cadre and me. If word got out that we’d gotten our hands on a magic-wielding human, we’d face nearly as much scrutiny as if they knew what benefits your blood offers.”

  A chill ripples down my spine. “Of course.” I’m getting more practice at keeping secrets than anything else these men are training me in.

  August moves toward the door, his usual cheerful energy coming back. “You’ll have to show us what you can do already, and then we can build from there. I have some bronze utensils in the kitchen that it wouldn’t be any great loss to see mangled.”

  As I follow him, my stomach knots. What if I can’t manage it? What if I am somehow wrong even with the two instances of proof?

  It won’t matter. I don’t actually think Sylas or August will judge me for a lapse like that. I just don’t want to let them down now that I’ve raised their expectations.

  Sylas comes with us, his demeanor more reserved. Not because he doubts me, I don’t think, but because of his qualms about the consequences this revelation might lead to. But I already had a huge bullseye on me for my blood, so I can’t really regret the possibility that a second oddity about me might allow me to fend off the people who’d want to use me for the first.

  The smells from our dinner—roast fish in a wine sauce and a bake of mixed berries and leaf vegetables that made a startlingly delicious combination—linger in the kitchen. August goes straight to the drawers beneath the counters and digs around until he produces a slightly battered bronze ladle. He sets it on the larger of the two islands and motions me over. “Give it your best shot.”

  What exactly am I supposed to do with it? I step up to the countertop and eye the lone spoon, picturing it bending in the middle like the fae woman’s dagger did. It’s hard to summon much determination over an act that seems so random. I nibble at my lower lip and mentally sound out the syllables I spent so much time committing to memory. Fee-doom-ace-own.

  I reach out my hand to grasp the spoon’s handle like I clutched the latch on my cage. The cool metal warms against my palm. Focusing all my attention on it, I propel the true name from my throat. “Fee-doom-ace-own.”

  The two fae men watch, tensed in anticipation, but the spoon just sits there in my grasp looking as spoony as it did before. My heart sinks. I try to gather all the energy inside me and declare the word again. “Fee-doom-ace-own!”

  Nothing. No tingle on my tongue, no change in the utensil I’m holding. I swallow hard, a ridiculous burning forming behind my eyes.

  I know I did it before. It must have taken a thousand tries, but I got there eventually with the lock on the cage. And the woman who attacked me, her dagger—I warped it on my first try.

  With panic and anger surging through my nerves. When I finally managed to unlock the cage, it was after that man from Aerik’s cadre—icy Cole—suggested they break my other foot and have me crawl around their fortress cleaning the rooms like a slave.

  “Talia,” Sylas starts, so kindly the tears threaten again, but I shake my head before he can finish whatever he means to say.

  “Let me keep trying. I think—I think I need to get back in the same mindset as when I did it before. Maybe some of the power came from my emotions.”

  He falls silent, giving me the space I need without any sense of impatience. I reach back through my memories to the terror of the fae woman’s attack, but that was a sharp jolt in the face of a sudden threat, hard to stir again when I’m here in one of the few places I feel safe.

  My years under Aerik’s control—those have stuck with me much more deeply, the horror twined through my spirit to the point that it seeps into my dreams, grips me at just the mention of my family. I hate the gut-wrenching chill that fills me when I think back to my imprisonment, but if I can use it, if it can give me power after everything he stole from me…

  My heart thumps faster, the sickly chill expanding through my abdomen, but I force my thoughts to return to the filthy, starved existence of my captivity. To the endless hours where I had nothing but a few harsh words spat at me, a little food and water shoved between the bars, and my imagination offering a far too ephemeral escape. To the days when Aerik and his cadre would come to cut my wrist and drain a vial full of my blood, Cole pinning me beneath his body as painfully as possible, all of them laughing and sneering. To the splintering of pain and the crack of bones fra
cturing in my foot the one time I dared fight back.

  To the wolfish beasts that lunged out of the shadows that night I teased Jamie into chasing me through the woods. Fangs and blood and guttural shrieks.

  My legs tremble under me. My lungs have clenched, but I manage to produce the syllables, imagining myself facing those beasts again, preparing to do everything I can to defend myself and my family. I can’t save them now, but maybe I can save Sylas and his pack from more violence.

  My fingers tighten around the spoon. “Fee-doom-ace-own. Fee-doom-ace-own!”

  With that second utterance, an almost electric energy quivers over my tongue. The spoon shudders and hitches farther forward, the rounded end jutting and narrowing into a point vicious enough to stab.

  August sucks in a startled breath. Sylas traces his fingers over the back of my hand, and I jerk my arm back from the makeshift weapon I shaped using a magic I barely understand. The fae lord picks up the spoon-turned-spike and turns it over, studying it from all angles.

  “You really did it,” August says, awe glowing in his eyes. A grin leaps to his face. “You called its true name, and it answered. Do you have the mark?”

  I glance down at myself as if one of those curving black tattoos might have appeared on my body just now. “I haven’t seen it. I checked everywhere I could see on my own and with a mirror after you told me what those are.”

  Sylas lowers the spoon. “The magic might not leave its stamp on humans the same way it does on fae. Impossible to know when we have no other examples. And regardless, you haven’t fully mastered the word. Once you’re completely in tune with it, it shouldn’t take that much out of you.”

  “If she was fae,” August puts in. “Maybe that’s different for humans working magic too.”

  The thump of footsteps at the doorway draws all our attention away from my handiwork. Whitt stops just over the threshold, his hair windblown and his eyebrows arching. “Humans working what now?”