Chapel Orahamm's Blog, page 17

Polaris Skies: Ch 20

Yeller stood out in the dim hallway. It was all he could do to bring his raging body back under control. He cursed out Cashia, swearing he’d get vengeance. He wasn’t sure how much more of this he could handle. Trembling, he leaned his head against a door jam and listened to the light chatter from the living room, knowing that he had to go back and act like a normal person again.

You going to survive there, human? Cashia asked.

Damn you, beast!

Sorry. Been a while?

Like fucking hell, it has! Do something like that again, fix it.

I would have, but you told me not to.

I told you I couldn’t take anymore.

I thought you didn’t want to.

Dude? God. I can feel him under my fingertips even now.

I can take you back in there?

No. Just. Let me catch my breath, and turn the heat down for the love of all that is holy. Not facing that group with a hard-on. Don’t even dare make me do that.

I’m sorry.

Thank you.

“You okay?” Benj came around the corner.

“Yeah.” Yeller flinched, making himself walk quickly back to the group and sink into the cushions of the broken love seat. He pulled a moth-eaten sofa pillow onto his lap to hold onto. Resting his head against the dusty fabric, he closed his eyes.

“So? You and Nat?” Sun Hee stuttered.

“Hmm?” Yeller breathed out.

Deck and Sun Hee shifted. The shag carpet swished against jeans and waterproof coats. Yeller peered at them over the cream and red striped ruffle. Deck wasn’t able to look at him, but he had Sun Hee’s rather undivided attention. With exaggerated effort, he raised his head to level his unwavering gaze at her. “What?”

“So, you are? Like we thought?” Sun Hee squished her shoulders up and wiggled her eyebrows.

Yeller shifted his feet on the worn wood floor. “Um, yeah, I guess so.”

“And Nat is what, bi, pan, something? Really?” Zola squeaked. Yeller nodded, not wanting to elaborate.

“So, you and he aren’t together, I guess? I mean, you’re out here, and Hana and him are in there?” Benj turned to the woodstove in the room to tap the chimney. No rattle. The inside heat bricks looked brand new.

“Hana is having fun whether they are or aren’t,” Zola mumbled to Sun Hee who failed at hiding a snicker, tugging at her ear.

“Do what?” Deck whispered to Sun Hee.

“She set a power mark on us earlier.” Sun Hee showed him the little feather on her left ear, describing it in rather vivid detail.

“All right, I don’t need to know anymore.” Deck waved the two women off. He knew what she was doing by the rising level of pain he could feel deep in his gut. Sadistic. Masochistic. Pleasure and pain. Not a ready fetish he understood.

“Hana? You? Tereza and Cashia?” Benj pressed again.

“We have our arrangement.” He ran his hand over his face to pull his hair back and twist it into a knot.

“Yeah, and we’re on a cross-country trip to Florgia on foot and would like to know what kind of accommodations we’re probably going to be dealing with,” Deck folded his arms across his chest.

“Oh,” Yeller squirmed. “Well…um, we’re sort of on friendly terms?”

“Friendly? Oh, come on, juicy details.” Zola pressed into Yeller’s personal bubble.

“I think you need to come down off those endorphins Hana is feeding you,” Yeller avoided, watching Benj fiddle with the wood stove.

“Whatever, spill the beans, bud,” Sun Hee demanded with a conniving smile.

“You two are quite the gossips.” Yeller regarding them under half-lidded lashes. They sat there staring at him expectantly. “What is so fascinating about this?” Yeller quipped, shoving his hands under his arms to keep from fidgeting.

“It’s nice to see you happy?” Zola suggested.

“We aren’t dating,” he tried to make them see reason.

“Sorry,” Benj said noncommittally.

“But? Tereza and Cashia?” Sun Hee bemoaned the confession.

“Sadist.” Yeller balled himself smaller on the couch. Sun Hee perked up, cocking her head. Yeller glared at her undivided attention. “They are…mhh dating? I think? And we have an arrangement set for them to see each other, if everything works right. Other than that, Nat and I are? How about friends with benefits?”

The hell is with your woman, Cashia? Yeller demanded.

She’ll play both sides if given the chance. She doesn’t like waiting around to get things done. Cashia replied nonchalantly.

You don’t drop that on people!

“Well, that works.” Zola leaned over to pat his shoulder.

“How are you guys happy about this?” Yeller asked his cousin, still confused.

“Hell, what you do with your life and your body is your business. When we find someone they like, our friends all giggle and congratulate them for finding some level of happiness. Member of the group, Yeller!” beamed Sun Hee.

“Uh…’k. Deck? You getting any of this?” Yeller turned to their leader.

“You like guys, they like guys, they think you’re one of them now,” huffed Deck.

“Right. No, yes, wait, what?” Yeller stuttered.

“Just ‘cause he likes a guy doesn’t mean he’s going to fall into the whole shrilling gossipy thing. He’s still a guy, and not all guys like sharing, what did you call it? Juicy details? If they get time, we’ll give them space; otherwise, I think we should probably leave them alone.” Deck provided his friend with an escape route. Yeller let out a sigh of relief.

“But Deck?” begged Sun Hee.

He crooked an eyebrow at her. “What if Yeller asked you about our relationship?” he turned the question on her.

“I wouldn’t care,” she said automatically.

“I wouldn’t want to discuss it,” he said.

“What’s wrong with us?” Sun Hee bit back.

“I think you put your foot in your mouth, bro,” Benj pointed out to Deck.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Sun Hee. I don’t think what we do in private is other people’s business,” he put his hands up to plead for understanding.

“What, are you ashamed of us?” Her pitch went up.

“No, I …” he was at a loss for words, realizing he was failing this new deluge of questions quickly.

“It’s just, Nat and I haven’t done anything yet, and I want for him and Hana and Sven and Sylvi to get situated first before I go messing with this odd love triangle thing. I swear, I’m not trying to evade you,” Yeller supplied, realising that his friend was boiling in hot water.

“I guess you aren’t the jealous type?” Sun Hee turned to Yeller.

“Of course not,” Zola defended before Yeller was able to reply. “He’s always been the good guy!”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” he tried to escape his mental portrayal.

“Oh, come on, don’t be so modest. You’re always trying to please everyone else. Even now, you’re trying to make Nat happy by giving him time with Hana,” she pushed. The comment went in one ear and out the other. He wasn’t doing it to be nice, he told himself. He wanted to make Hana better because it meant that Nat’s wolf was less likely to rip everyone’s head off. Self-preservation, that was it. As long as Nat got a grip, then they’d make it to Florida faster and the sooner he would be able to get the beast out of him.

Who are you kidding, dječak? Cashia laughed.

Not you too. Can I be at peace with my arrangement and not have everyone’s opinion right now? Especially not yours. Your woman is a sadist, and you aren’t any better. He bemoaned the creature.

Be at peace with your arrangement, Ruben, but you have to get a better understanding of yourself. You keep trying to make too many people happy, and you’re gonna lose yourself. The wolf told him.

And what do you know of it? Yeller riled defensively against the creature.

Why do you think I chose you, kid? You and I are much more alike than you think. Our group matched up to each of your kind as much as possible by temperament. Deck and Dietrich are our leaders, respectively. Benj and Heinrich are the intelligent strategists. Nat and Sven are the best friends and therefore second in command to the leaders. Then there’s us. We’re the heavy hitters, the big backup, but never there in the forefront. We’re always last to get noticed if we’re missing, always the last one called when everyone else has been recognised. And yet, because we are always there, never asking for anything, we gain the most loyalty, the most sympathy. When we hurt or are happy, all the others cry for us or laugh with us more than any of the others. We are the rare breed, to the rule. That is why I chose you to join with, even though I knew in coming to possess you of your feelings. That’s why I’m okay with you, because you and I, we want to make people happy and keep them safe. We aren’t in it to save or change the world. We want our friends, which makes us happy. Cashia told him.

You’ve thought a lot about this. Yeller pointed out, finding himself weary of the day, ready to sleep once more.

I accepted it as fact so long ago that I no longer remember why I realised it. For now, though, Yeller, you should get some sleep. You’ll need it in the coming days. Cashia lulled him to the land of dreams.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 21

“Keep him hidden,” a low feminine voice woke me from my swaying slumber. I choked, having forgotten where I slept. “Oh good, he’s awake.”

I rolled out from under one of Saeesar’s fins to encounter Pursha eye level to me. “I’m not sure I’m going to get used to this any time soon.”

“Get used to what, Kraken child?” Pursha’s hair swirled around her, a plethora of large cut emeralds wrapped with wire into the tresses.

“Other creatures, beings, merfolk being substantially bigger than me.” I pulled myself out of Saeesar’s coils and sat on the edge of the nets. Saeesar twisted, stretching his full length out.

“Is it so uncommon?” Pursha backed up for Saeesar to get off the platform.

“Well, I mean, humans are all kinda close to the same size, so I’ve never had a conversation with someone whose head is my height. It’s a bit weird for me.” I pushed myself off the platform and floated to the floor. “Why am I being hidden? And where? Oh, and I have an idea from last night and all those charms.”

“Karis doesn’t know you arrived, and if he figures out you’re the one with Siren’s Voice, he’ll claim you in a bid for Council position.” Pursha sank onto the floor to keep from towering over me.

“Why are you here, Pursha? You left the nesting grounds and Karis’s nest three years ago. You already know Taigre is safe.” Saeesar gathered up the shell of pearls and his boxes of gemstones into his satchel. “You haven’t wrapped him up yet, so I’m assuming you aren’t going to try to Mate Claim him.”

“The fact you had him to yourself this entire past night and haven’t either concerns me, Saeesar.” Pursha deflected the conversation.

“Call it a long courtship from my culture. I’ve agreed to the dowry, now it’s just a matter of time,” I spoke up.

Saeesar handed me the canvas bag. Wet as it was, that was a disgusting sensation; I slid on over my head. I wondered if having a shirt would save me from it or make the whole thing worse.

“Rocks and food cast-offs?” Pursha folded her arms across her chest.

“They have value in my culture.” I ran a hand across the top of the bag to feel the edge of one of the boxes. I wasn’t sure why Saeesar had included them.

“Why are you here, Pursha?” Saeesar returned us to his pressing question.

“I heard that Nuada is looking for him after Puca’s children were seen on the other side of the Trench. If Taigre said that you were caring for him, there was a likelihood with your keeper charm, that you would bring him with you,” Pursha answered.

“You mean to take him back to the Council for accolades, is that it?” Saeesar bristled.

“I was curious. No one gets close to the death bringers and lives. You did. I wanted to see it for myself.” Pursha begged for understanding.

“My siblings are close?” I asked.

“Within half a day’s swim.” Pursha nodded.

“Pursha,” Saeesar’s voice was a death threat of its own.

“Fine. Taigre got injured under his watch, like I figured would happen if I left him in his dad’s care. So, I came to get him,” Pursha huffed.

“He’s no longer calf aged. He can stay here if that is what he wants. You know it,” Saeesar gentled his tone.

“And yet he still needs a minder to keep him out of trouble. No, I’ll take him.” Pursha rose to her full height.

“That wasn’t the agreement, and he’s supposed to leave the nest now that he’s of age.” Saeesar pushed at his hair in frustration.

“And why am I discussing this with you and not Karis? You’re more responsible for the boy than his own father,” Pursha’s volume rose.

Saeesar rested his head in his hands, his shoulders slumping. “And look where that got him, a pipe in his tail and a human and half-kraken patching him up in the middle of a storm. He is headstrong and liable to get himself killed of his own volition regardless of whose nest he is dragged into right now. Taigre has growing to do. The type that can no longer be influenced by sire or dam.”

“Are you giving up on him?” Pursha hissed.

“Quite honestly, yes. I’m done and over trying to get lessons into that thick skull of his. I have other priorities. I want to go home, Pursha. To waters warmer and brighter than this dark zone bares. I miss it. Nuada pointed out that my stress lines are growing, rather uncalled for, but still, I am of Domu. I can’t spend my life here. It’s killing me,” Saeesar hissed back.

Pursha stalled her emotions and fully looked Saeesar up and down, her face falling with realization. “When did this happen?”

“Time. Over time. The salt is a constant pain, and I want to go home. I am well past calf, well past when I should have left and gone back to claim my territory as a Baya’s son.” Saeesar turned to me. “Come on, Marin, let’s get out of here.”

“What about that keeper charm thing?” I asked, kicking up into the water to follow him from the cave into the main chamber.

He deflated at the question, coming to a stall. Pursha followed us out.

“I might have an idea?” I offered.

A dark shadow passed by the entrance to the main chamber. Saeesar turned and pushed me into the mermaid’s hands. “Keep him safe if you don’t want all of Puca’s children descending on the nesting grounds,” he threatened as Pursha’s hands clamped around my arms and she tugged me behind her larger form. My swirling lights illuminated the tunnel behind me. Quickly, I made for Saeesar’s room and dodged up to the platform bed. There, I pulled netting up until I could bury myself in it to hide the twinkling lights.

A deep voice echoed through the corridors. “Saeesar! You’re finally back. Had me worried sick after that storm and when you disappeared after Taigre came back?”

“Overseer, a keeper charm will always call me home.” Saeesar’s voice seethed with anger.

“You told him?” Karis’s voice dropped with anger.

“And you didn’t?” Pursha squabbled back.

“I wasn’t going to lose a competitor.” A shock against the cave wall sent pebbles tumbling from the wall.

“This is why I left. Shouldn’t have come back.” Pursha hissed.

“No, you shouldn’t have. Now, leave. Saeesar and Taigre are mine.”

A noise of someone being pushed left my skin crawling.

“Let go of her, Karis. This won’t be looked on well by the council if an Overseer’s putting their hands on a mate.” Saeesar grunted. A sound like wood hitting stone echoed through to where I hid. A scream, like that of a bow across violin strings made my head throb. “Go home, Pursha. This doesn’t concern you anymore. You abandoned this nest, remember?”

“Saeesar! Saeesar! Curse you to a blue hole, Karis. What are you going to do to him?”

“Put him into the arena. That’s his job. That’s what I keep him around to do.” The dynllyr’s voice was setting off my lights. “If you don’t like my methods, take it up with the council. Nuada’s not going to help you.” A scratching noise, of wet paper against sand didn’t bode well for my mental imagery. “Here, Huyt, Itar, get this sea witch out of my nesting grounds. Need to make sure my contestant doesn’t go leaving before an important event again.”

I scrambled from the netting and dove for the floor. Rolling, I slammed into the wall and jarred my shoulder. Sharp needles drove into my fingertips as I tried to keep from yelping. My bag drifted down after me. I scrambled after it and caught it before it could hit the ground and scatter all its contents.

Quickly, I slipped it over my head and crept out the door, if creeping through the push and pull of water was achievable. An algae-covered torn sail canvas turned into my next cover. I pulled it loose of its detritus and bundled myself into it, hoping to tame my spots long enough to get close to the entrance and see what had happened to Saeesar. My imagination was already telling me bad things.

Scuttling from rock to rock, I peered out from my canvas cover, willing myself to be nothing more than another algae-covered rock in these acres of tunnels. The only thing I kept reminding myself was that it was a straight shot down the one corridor to the entrance. As long as I didn’t have to dash down a side tunnel to hide, I could get out.

The entrance stood empty. My drawings were slashed and wiped away. Sand lay disturbed in a large curly depression that sent the hairs on my arms crawling. I needed to get out of here before the owner came back. “Saeersar.”

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Subject 15: Ch 25

“You got a glitch?” Marjorta grabbed Fane by the shoulders to steady him.

Ishan muttered, “Nope, might be a bit tipsy, though.”

“You both went and got smashed before a raid?” Her crisp voice made Fane wince.

“He’ll be fine in a minute. Mind setting the parameters to not be gore?” Ishan pointed to the right of his character to indicate the settings menu.

“If you both are piss-faced, I’d rather you don’t ditch because you puke in your helmets. Yeah, let me set the gore and spin parameters,” Marjorta sighed.

Fane’s skin vibrated from the night on the dance floor. He couldn’t escape it, and he was barely tolerating the acoustic theme music. “Can I set my own music in my headset? Is that a thing?”

“Oh, yeah, here, pop your helmet off, and I’ll show you how to hook your watch up to it.” Ishan lifted his helmet off. This left Ishan’s high elf with his hands stuck above his head. Fane followed suit, and Ishan helped him connect his running playlist to the gear. “It’ll let you still hear what everyone’s saying; it’ll just turn the music volume down when necessary.”

“Awesome, thanks. Can’t do the piano stuff right now.” Fane flipped his list into shuffle mode and relaxed.

“You gonna make it?” Ishan stalled Fane before he could put his helmet back on.

Fane shrugged. “Think so. Been looking forward to it all week in a macabre sort of way. At least getting the gore setting set down isn’t a worry anymore.”

They jumped back into the game.

A knot of people stood out front of the Black Parrot’s guild hall, some talking, some waiting quietly for Marjorta to direct. She waved to the group, quieting those who were talking. A screen across the bottom of Fane’s vision pulled up.

[subtitles incoming]

“We have a few newbies on the raid tonight, guys. Say hey to RedKingsRightHand and JournalPage8. RedKings got a high stat and a high hit, but is still new to nerve gear. If he panics, throw a potion at him. JournalPage8 doesn’t have audio, so we’re going to keep the subtitles on for the game. Chat is open if you have a keycode access and need to be able to talk, otherwise we need to keep the audio clean for them to understand what the directions are. Hopefully that won’t bug you too much.” Marjorta pointed to Fane’s avatar and a black-cloaked figure that waved with a skeleton hand.

A foxwoman signaled a question.

Marjorta nodded. “Finnia?”

The foxwoman cleared her throat. “They any good?”

“RedKing’s at a 92 and JournalPage8 is a 56. They both clear the minimum guild join level.” Marjorta folded her arms.

“A 92?” a few voices overloaded the subtitles.

“How has he not played before and at that level?” A half-elf wizard stepped forward, pointing his staff at Fane.

“Hey, I don’t pry about what you do outside the screen world Chaviz. By-laws.” Marjorta pointed a finger right back at him.

The wizard dropped his staff and sneered. “Don’t tell me he’s leading this pack.”

“I don’t see anyone else here who is at his level.” Marjorata yawned. “No. I’m directing. But I’m not getting near his character when that dragon comes in.”

“So, wait, what are we all doing here then? Is he one-on-oneing the golden dragon?” A turtle-shelled individual with an archer’s bow poked through the crowd.

“You mean, we’re just here to make the raid number?” An owl woman huffed. “I wanted a piece of the treasure!”

“Treasure?” Fane asked.

“Does he not even know what’s in it for him?” A dragonkin hissed.

“Look, I can leave if this is going to cause issues for your guild, Marjorta. It’s okay.” Fane backed up a step.

“No! Stay!” several people all shouted at once.

“Uh? Wait. What? Do you want me here or not?” Fane rubbed at the back of his head.

“Yes. There’s only four people over level 79 on the server, and none of them have been able to beat the Three Hills Golden Dragon challenge. That section of the map has been closed off to all the world servers since the game launched two years ago.” The turtle-man walked up to Fane.

“Hold up, what?” Fane felt lightheaded.

The turtle-man went to say everything all over again.

“No, no, I mean the part where there’s only four people over 79 on the server.”

“Yeah, and three of them are necormancers. One of them is a paladin. None of them play raids.” The turtle-man tossed a glass ball at Fane.

The Lamp Sleeper caught it and tapped the sphere. Pictures of the four popped up on a newsletter. He scanned through the text and frowned. “Right. So, will this be dangerous for you all if I’m in the group then?”

“Hell, yeah!” One orc bellowed. “Sorry.” He put a hand to his mouth, his avatar blushing.

“Seems like someone’s excited to get beheaded again.” Marjorta whispered.

Fane and the turtle-man both snorted. The archer stuck his hand out. “I go by Balboa on here. Level 68 Archer at your service. Let’s go kick a dragon butt.”

“Nice to meet you Balboa. I’ll try to keep you all from getting injured.” Fane returned the handshake.

“No need to worry about us. We’ll all be making a muck of this thing anyways.” The orc laughed, causing Fane’s headphones to crackle.

“If we’re all done complaining, let’s go. Here, RedKing.” Marjorta handed Fane a massive crystal.

“Let me guess, throw it?” Fane remembered the ones Ishan had given him that were substantially smaller.

“Yep.”

The group emerged through the teleport loadscreen on the side of a volcano. All the landscape flickered purple and red, and Fane’s playlist shifted to a deep bass song. “Hey, Ish-Bostock, does this thing override my music playlist to select for boss fights?”

“Oh, yeah. Forgot to mention it has an AI that looks for music in your playlists for stuff that matches the tone when you encounter creatures. That way you aren’t taken too much by surprise.” Ishan patted him on the shoulder. “Going to go sit on the couch and watch the obs-screen. Have fun.”

Fane waved over his shoulder and pulled his back blade. “Alright, Marjorta. Directions.”

The half-orc woman nodded. “Dragon is in a cave on the volcano. It has three phases and eight life bars in each phase. Most anyone has gotten is down to the last five life bars before the whole raid party disintegrated. Goes through regular fire, to flight attacks, then it does earthquakes and controls the volcano’s eruption. You’ll need to watch for rubble and lava on top of its psychic magic.” Marjorta spoke loud enough for the whole raid to catch that she needed everyone to listen.

“We’ve got the wizards on the back.” The half-elf announced, waving to a group of twenty other wizards.

[I have the sorcerers gathered.] JournalPage wrote in chat.

“The archers have your back.” Balboa raised his bow with a platoon of other long and short bowmen.

“What do you want the paladins and rangers to do, Marmar?” A cat-man got the director’s attention.

“Should we tank first and let RedKing come in when the levels are lower, or use RedKing to knock the levels down first and go after the remaining bars? If you actively use your weapons or a spell, the algorithm will let you have a piece of the dragon hoard. The more you do, the higher the reward.” She left the option up to the group. One of the raiders popped a poll into the chat with a one-minute timer. Consensus came back: Tank first, and Fane would come in on the last phase for the killing blow.

“When we walk into that cave, the barrier will come up, and we will be trapped in there with that dragon, RedKing.” Marjorta turned from him to the lines of armed men. “Set your will, men! We either kill it or die trying!” Marjorta led the charge into the cave, Fane keeping up by her side.

“You said by-laws, Marjorta, so I might be pressing, but you ever served?” Fane dodged incoming robber flies the size of chimpanzees.

“Oh-ho. Is that why you’re good?” Marjorta smirked. Fane rolled a shoulder. Marjorta pulled out a club from her inventory and swatted away several of the flies in time for a slew of zombie frog-men to ooze from the cave walls. “Split my time between a base in Eand on New London and a gym I opened up in downtown.”

“Wait. Can you mute subtitles for just us or private chat?” Fane spun, slamming his blade into a robber fly’s thorax.

Marjorta sent a private DM chat over. “What’s up?”

“Were you stationed out in Mooreshead?”

“How’d you know?”

“Christi Larkson?”

“Who the fuck are you?” Her voice hit a pitch that told Fane he had scared her.

“Fane. Fane Anson? Part of Zephyr Abadelli’s troops? Do you remember me?” He punched through a pair of zombie frog-men.

“Oh, shit! Bro, get your butt back to base. We are drowning out here.” She barreled through an oncoming surge of fire demons.

“Miss me out there that much?” Fane teased.

Ishan called to him from the couch. “You knew Marjorta in real life?”

“Yeah. She’s an officer on my base. I’ve talked to her a few times at the armory. We’ve sparred a couple times.” Fane palmed his knife to the left and pulled a set of throwing knives from an inventory pouch at his waist. The demons burst in pixelated whisps of gold and red.

“Bostock! You mofo, you stole the one guy who could keep all these goofballs in line here. You better not get him killed out there!” Marjorta yelled through Fane’s earpiece loud enough for Ishan to wince. “No wonder you’re leveled so high, you damn redheaded weasel. I should just toss you at the dragon and wait. Would make everyone here watching feel better about themselves for once.”

“Wait, who the hell is there?” Fane ducked, his heart racing. He was okay with Ishan watching and playing with the rest on the server, but learning that there were guys he had mentored there watching made his chest tighten.

“Speaking of the devil. Abadelli! Get over here and watch. Anson’s about to open up the Carmadoon map.” Marjorta spun, a hook kick taking out another robber fly.

“Anson!” Zephyr’s voice came in over Marjorta’s mic as she stumbled.

“Get off me. He can hear you just fine, you clingy stick,” Marjorta hissed.

“I never thought you’d get in a gear. You said you thought it’d make your scars hurt.” Zephyr’s voice released the rising tension.

“Good to hear you too, chief. I get whacked by one of these miserable creatures, and it sets the plates in my arms on fire, but otherwise, it’s not as bad as I thought.” Fane advanced with the paladin’s platoon into the heart of the cave.

A rumble vibrated through the gear, and the lighting dimmed as a gold dragon unfolded itself from the shadows.

“This is it, men! Be ready.” Marjorta equipped a new set of armour and pulled a helmet visor over her face.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re a level 92, Anson?” Zephyr asked through Marjorta’s private chat.

“I still don’t really have a grasp what the level differences are. This is only my fourth or fifth time jumping into a game.” Fane took up a defensive position on the paladins to keep them safe on the right from the waves of smaller creatures.

“This should be good. Been waiting for a new section to open for ages.” A voice through Marjorta’s mic and in-game echoed.

“Is that Rogers?” Fane struggled with a zombie frog that had gotten itself wrapped around him. A knife to the gut popped the creature’s eyeballs out in a streamer of red and white confetti.

“Hey, RedKing. Long time no beat down. Been missing them for a while now.” It was the massive orc in the midst of the wizards and sorcerers.

“Holy hell, dude! Tell me you’ve gotten out from behind that desk.” Fane poured a set of potions over several Paladins who had gotten blasted with a boulder thrown by the dragon.

“Anson, save me. I hate pool duty. Don’t tell the recruits.” Rogers linked into Marjorta’s private chat.

“Who else over there is in on this raid?” Fane broached.

“We got everyone on base with a gear in on it. Yo! Flick a blue marker on. Fane Anson’s RedKing and wants to know who all’s in here raiding tonight!” Marjorta called.

A wave of blue outlines covered three out of every five men. The wizard who had first demanded information on RedKing in regular chat yelled, “I thought you said by-laws, Marjorta?”

“I did. Light up in green if you’re a family member or friend to someone in blue in here.”

The rest went up.

Ishan called from the couch, “Anson, you can’t escape Eand even if you did move all the way out to New Punjab.”

“Looks like, Bostock.”

“Right. Just like shot test, let’s see what RedKing can do with monsters.” Marjorta motioned the charge forward. “Clear the fields. Right flank, advance, and block off the landing ground. Manual said a distribution of twenty would keep the algorithm from letting the dragon land. Next, left flank, surround the healing pool. If the dragon goes for it, shoot.”

Fane watched the golden dragon’s life bars slowly dwindle away. Drinking a health and buff potion, he slipped his bone crown on, effectively making himself invisible in the midst of the crowds. Cutting his mic, he crouched, falling out of the dragon’s detect range. A few button presses of his gloves advanced him across the field until he was nearly under it. “Hey, Bostock,” he whispered, “why am I not melting on the lava field?”

“Lamp Sleeper. You’ve got an immunity to fire,” Ishan whispered back.

“I don’t have anything around me that’ll get hurt or broken, right?” Fane stilled until his invisibility cloaking stopped wavering.

“Don’t launch forward; flick the forward button when you jump straight up, if that’s what you’re wanting. The projector is maybe five feet in front of you. That or put your finger on the floor like you did with the chair and back up.” Ishan’s hand settled on his shoulders and helped him back up until Fane had room for his plan.

Marjorta raised a hand. The signal. Fane lost track of the room and leapt. Puncturing the sternum, fuel poured out of the beast, lighting the lava in a billow of black smoke. It roared, launching for the ceiling, but the rogues had bound its wings in rope. Spells and weapons crashed against its sides as Fane dodged its gaping maw.

“Ajay, remind me to call someone in the morning. The AC is getting ridiculous.” Ishan whispered behind Fane.

The images on the helmet’s screen flickered. Ajay muttered at Ishan. The prince snorted, “And now the power’s going fritzy.”

Fane rolled and gained his feet. The boss monster’s head swung toward him. The Lamp Sleeper flicked through his spell slots as he slid beneath it once more and punctured another fuel pouch. “Fall”.

A massive glowing white circle appeared below the beast and ate away half a life bar. “Feels counterintuitive to do this to a fire-breathing dragon, but let’s go with Flame Hands.” Fane clapped and pulled his hands apart; a blue fire snapped out toward the creature, searing a wing. A clawed hand slammed into Fane, knocking his health bars down to half.

“Shiatsu, that thing is bad news.” Fane ducked to hide behind a boulder while the rangers tried to take over the arm. Downing all his health potions, he took a breath to think.“Minotaur?”

“Minotaru,” Ishan agreed.

“Right.” Fane scuttled out from behind his boulder and dashed under paladin shields and archers. “Levitate.” He launched for the creature’s head and buried his blade into the skull, pulling down between the eyes. It roared back, flame engulfing the space. “Fall.” Fane tried the spell again. His blade gave, pulling through the bone and sinew with too much realistic detail. The eyes rolled back in the creature’s head before it imploded into a black hole.

Loot fell down from the cave ceiling. An item flashed in Fane’s inventory. He took a moment to marvel at the pulsating black star before Marjorta got his attention. “RedKing! Do you have it?”

“Have what?” Fane opened his inventory to a crystal white bow and arrow.

“Phoenix Death?” Ishan asked from the couch.

“What?” He pulled the bow and arrow to look them over.

“It’s a one-shot weapon. A phoenix is going to hatch from the black star. When it reaches full fledge, you have to crit shoot it, or else the dragon will respawn.” Marjorta explained as she picked up more loot.

Fane dropped the bow and arrow, which fell back into his inventory. “Marjorta, I have no clue how to shoot a bow in this game? I’ve never even used one.”

“Fuck. Whoever kills boss dragons ends up with the bow. I thought you’d know how to use one of these. You can shoot better than all the rest of us!” Marjorta yelled.

“A rifle, Marmar, a gun. Not this! Tell me where on base there’s an archery range, huh?” Fane bristled back as the black star throbbed, throwing off red and purple waves of light. He pulled the bow and arrow back out of his inventory and fumbled them, the arrow refusing to stay against the wood. Heat pressed against his back, and hands settled over his gloves.

“Breathe,” Ishan whispered in his ear.

“Bostock? You got this?” Marjorta called through his mic.

“Was an archer before I reclassed to wizard. Tension like your rifle, think you’ve got a trigger between your thumb and two fingers, rather than just the one; instead of it going off when you pull, it’ll go off when you let go. Square up your hips, and the long bow will loosen its tension.” Ishan shifted, feet against Fane’s to transform his posture. “Now. Wait for it.”

The black star broke into a million crystals. Fane followed the rise and fall of Ishan’s chest against his back. A scream, louder than the dragon’s roar, shook the cave. They held their breath. The infamous phoenix in its iridescent glory launched for the roof. Ishan kept Fane’s posture in check. Sighting down the shaft, Fane waited for the targeting ring to change to green. A flick of his right fingers sent the arrow flying. A hollow thunk and a sad cry, followed by the raining ash of the phoenix, caused a surge of excited screams around the raid party. A cut screen flashed onto Fane’s helmet. Phoenix ash spread across a section of a map of Carmadoon and burned away an area of mist.

The screen faded to black, and a series of credits rolled across it. “Server update for the rest of the night.” Ishan explained, finally stepping away.

“Mean I can take this thing off?” Fane tugged his helmet off.

“Yep. Your loot portion will be dropped into your inbox. Going to be interesting to see what you get for that.” Ishan eased back onto the couch. Fane dragged hot air into his lungs, all of his scars itching.

“Finally sober up?” Ajay raised a glass of beer in his direction.

“Probably.” Fane wanted out of that room. He needed somewhere private. Somewhere to get the fire in his limbs to stop. Ishan’s warmth still pressed against his skin.

“Why is the AC dead now?” Ajay mopped at his brow with the edge of his sleeve.

“Call down to maintenance. Great job, Anson; you’re sweating; go see if your room is cooler. No use letting everyone in here be miserable. I don’t think it’d be good to run the Nurvo Gear anymore tonight. With being this hot, and those power flickers already, I don’t want to destroy my gaming system.” Ishan leaned his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. “I have to be awake in five hours. Ew.”

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Polaris Skies: Ch 19

NSFW: Spice

Yeller and Nat slipped back to the living room where the group was between sleep and dawn waking. Hana had been moved to a curled-up position in the armchair. Sun Hee was apologizing for trying to ditch her.

Deck sat up to attention when the two came into the room. “So, what have you been able to do?” he asked. Sun Hee jabbed him in the ribs, throwing him a censored glare. “Oh, well…um, that is, we don’t need to know everything,” Deck amended, unable to meet either of the men’s eyes.

“It’s cool, Deck. We got Tereza switched over to me. I’m hosting not two, but three of these mutts up here now.” Nat pointed to his head.

“Seriously? You took Cashia too?” Deck asked.

Nat shook his head. “No, Cashia’s still with Yeller. I’ve got Sven and Tereza in here and most of Sylvi. The communicative part of her is in Hana, but the rest is in me.” He sat down on the armrest next to Hana.

“So, how do I get the rest of Sylvi?” Hana winced. She refused to reach for the female entity, afraid to lapse into a new set of convulsions.

“Was transferring Tereza really that easy?” Benj had the record player disassembled, cables and gears spread out in neat little rows. “I mean, physical contact is making her ill, right?” he prodded, then dropped a small spring into the shag carpet as he realized what he asked. “Oh frack.”

“Um.” Nat rubbed his arm.

Yeller stepped in, having come to a stop behind Hana’s chair. “You know how Nat cut his hand, and Hana cleaned it up? She got a portion of Sylvi through blood contact. It’s a simple cross of genetic material where these wolf genes or whatever you want to call them can willingly cross between their receptive hosts as we suspected earlier,” Yeller, careful to frame his answer, watched Nat out of the corner of his eye.

“So, you mean…? Nope, not even going to ask that. Okay, different question: so, we were right in making you leave Hana alone?” Deck stood up and walked into the kitchen. The bang of cabinet doors let the rest of the group know he was hunting food.

“You were,” Nat answered back, monotone. He was shutting down. Dark hands grabbed and pinched around his heart. His emotions slophed into the abyss to leave him hollow and cold.

“For now, we’re going to take Hana to see the rest of the house and claim one of the rooms so we can all talk this out in private and get a better idea of what needs to happen next to help preserve Sylvi.” Yeller took the lead.

“Sven? Have you found a safe way?” Dietrich interrupted the three from leaving.

Nat cringed as Sven took over, overwhelmed with being thrown back into the tight-fitting space that was his over-occupied brain. “We believe we have found a solution. I was too eager and too careless, commander, in choosing my mate’s host. I should have waited for a more ideal candidate.” Sven bowed.

“Beware then, Sven, that you cannot keep both Tereza and Sylvi along with yourself in this host for much longer. The toll that you place on him is almost too great. He could become a danger and a liability.” Heinrich stepped into the conversation.

“I understand, Heinrich, on a most intimate level. We will take the necessary precautions. That is why my host, Cashia, and this feathered woman are going to have a nice long conversation as to how to remedy this situation. I did say that I had an idea as to how to fix it.” Sven smiled sweetly, showing as many teeth as possible.

“Be gone with you then. We’ll wait here.” Dietrich waved them away.

“Hana, would you mind coming with us?” Sven offered a hand to the woman in the armchair. She tentatively laid hers in it.

The house had three bedrooms off to the south of the kitchen through a rotting hallway. The first door held a room the size of a large walk-in closet facing onto the street. Too small to comfortably seat the three, they moved on to settle in the second bedroom, foregoing the master bedroom. The room they settled into had a large picture window overlooking the snow-covered backyard and tree.

Cashia closed the door behind Sven and Hana. The men waited for her to find a place to sit. An old mattress leaned against the wall, and the bed frame had been dismantled and pushed against the other wall. That left enough space for the three to find a comfortable sitting area on the floor. Hana sank into the shag carpet near the door and tucked her legs underneath her, her glossy black feathers haloing her shoulders and draping across the floor. Sven and Cashia sank across from her, forming a triangle. Hana glanced from one to the other. Chewing on her bottom lip, her fingers rubbed against the carpeting.

“Are you okay in here with us like this, Hana?” Nat clasped his hands in his lap.

“Well. Not quite sure yet. Gonna just hang out near the door.” She tucked her wings around her.

“I’m going to let Sven do some talking, alright?”

“Okay.”

The man’s bearing shifted. “Nat informs me that this culture is particular about its manners of physical contact. He wishes to follow his leader Deck’s command to not touch you. I wish to amend that to accommodate your permission.” Sven spread his hands.

“I would appreciate that accommodation.” Hana picked at a bur caught in her feather.

“I realise that I was presumptuous in assuming that you would be willing to host Sylvi. In my eagerness to communicate with my mate again, I burdened you with her care, even in a small way,” Sven apologised. “I ask you now, without so many eyes watching, are you willing to take her on in full?”

Small way? Willing to host? You bloody well did not ask my permission to occupy me either, jerk. Where the fuck is my apology? Nat hissed.

I’ll get around to it eventually.

Get around to it now.

“What is the goal of taking us over?” Hana countered, interrupting Nat and Sven’s conversation.

“We wish to continue our genetic progeny when it is convenient, to communicate with our loved ones, and to live for as long as feasibly possible,” Sven smiled.

“By using us as hosts?” Hana asked. Sven nodded. “What is in it for us?” she pushed.

“The symbiotic relationship you’ve already observed these humans to have exhibited. You will gain the form of my mate Sylvi as your primary feature, a jet-black wolf, beautiful as the Siberian’s darkest season. You will have the abilities of a wolf and a human. You will no longer need to worry about hiding your wings. Your brother, if you wish it, will no longer be able to track you,” Sven provided.

“How did you know Michael was following us?” she glanced out the window in horror.

“See now, if you had our senses in complete, you would be able to smell his scent ten miles away from you. He has been following your feathers that you’ve been moulting since we left his encampment.” He shrugged.

“If he is on his way here, we must leave immediately,” Hana went to get up but sank back to the floor, putting a hand to her mouth.

“They will not find you so easily. We cannot risk moving you from here until we have either stopped or completed the change entirely, for your safety, Hana,” Cashia reassured. Hana put her hands to her temples, trying to ease the throbbing.

“Do you wish to become Sylvi’s host, or would you like her removed from you?” Sven asked more pointedly.

Hana eyed him, considering her options. Sylvi rubbed against her. The wolf had been so quiet, so careful not to disturb her. A kind creature, an antithesis to this gruff Sven. Talk to me, Sylvi. She requested.

I can’t for long, came the butterfly wing response fluttering behind her breastbone.

You aren’t all here like they say? Hana asked.

No, and as you are, I cannot be. The shadow at the back of her mind swirled.

Why must you be here? Why must any of you be here? Is there anywhere else you can go? Have you thought of actually possessing dogs or real wolves or something? Why humans? Why us? Hana demanded, frightened.

We are unique to this world, unique to this situation. We were once great beasts. We lived in the tundra of deep Serbia. We were something not seen in many millennia by humans. We once walked with the great Shamans and Healers of the Bai. We once communed with our human brothers and sisters, when the land was respected. It was not so difficult then. They walked with us in their dreams and visions, wrote about our exploits together on their tent walls and in their deepest caves. We are the last of our kind, exploited by scientists. Humans, our closest allies, our closest enemies. They took our essence, bottled and patented us. We found you in our time of need. You have one in your group who still possesses the compatibility of the old Shamans, who can accept the old ways. Sylvi whispered.

What are you going on about? Hana asked, confused.

You may find it difficult to find us compatible, for you are not of the original group. The original group, though, the ones that have taken us in so easily, one was born in such a way that they could accept our presence easily. Sylvi tried to clarify.

You’re not making any sense. Hana told the flutter.

I guess it is too much for a simple human mind to comprehend. The shadow shrugged.

How are we supposed to make you whole? I mean, if you’re some segment of yourself anyway, does it really matter? Hana asked.

Is an egg an entire egg if you only have a small drop of it? Sylvi retorted.

Well, no, but still, you are communicating with me, so what else is left of you? Hana asked.

If you were blind or deaf, you could still communicate, couldn’t you? But you would still be missing sensory input channels, wouldn’t you? The wolf pointed out.

But can’t you see through my eyes? Her head throbbed.

No. I wish to be complete, and this Nat has the rest of me. Are you willing to take the rest of me on, or would you rather stop the transformation? Be warned, your body will not be fixed by ending the transformation early. Your wings will not mend; there has been too much damage to them already, my dear girl. Sylvi whispered.

How do we make you whole, Sylvi? Hana asked, tired of this conversation.

A full joining would be ideal, Sylvi whispered.

Hana shivered with unease as her wolf slipped away. I can’t do that! I don’t even know him, Hana automatically shied away.

Have it your way; I will not force you to take on Nat. We do need to find an end to this soon. Sylvi vanished into the deep recesses of Hana’s mind, unwilling to venture out again. Hana turned back from her inward conversation to the two men sitting in the room with her. She took in a deep breath, nervous, “Sven,” she demanded, calling on Sylvi’s mate.

“Hana?” Sven hissed. His limbs tightened. He swallowed at her glare.

“I will take Sylvi under conditions.” She put up a finger.

“Conditions?” Sven warped Nat’s face into a smirk more wolfish than human.

“Conditions, and I am holding Cashia as safeguard that conditions have been heard and met.” She pointed at Cashia.

“Fine, Cashia will be safeguard.” Sven waved away the issue.

“I start this when I am willing and ready to start this, on my own terms. You cannot override Nat, and Sylvi cannot override me to get your wang off. Mutual agreement must be met amongst all of us before our bodies are used for anything of that nature. Got it?” Hana demanded.

Sven blinked at her brashness. “I never meant to insult your honour.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I’m some virgin here, and I’m not about to play a sacrifice to a wolf thinking it’s a demi-god, ‘k? I approach Nat, I approach you; that is my business and how I’m gonna call it. Whatever arrangement Nat has with Yeller, I’ll respect that and not get in the way. If you want out with your girlfriend, you talk that out with Nat and me, and we’ll get Sylvi in on the conversation. You can’t go overriding him, and pressing me into anything I don’t want to do. It’s not going to happen that way if you want to observe any ‘honour’,” she told him.

“As you wish.” Sven bowed once more.

“I would like to speak with Tereza and Cashia for a minute,” she demanded.

“Hana?” Tereza pressed forward, leaving behind shards of pain in Nat’s brain. His skin burned at the takeover, sharp notes dissonant along his scapula.

“This may not be my place to question either of you.” Hana paused, flicking a glance to the door. “However, I need to know how this is going to work amongst what, the seven of us?” she turned back to meet their patient gaze.

“How do you mean?” Tereza asked. Her voice left twisted curls of razor blades searing through his tendons.

“Are either of you the jealous type? That would get weird if Nat and I…you know? I mean, you two are in some kind of a relationship here, and I’d be using him while you were in there.” She twined her fingers together in her lap.

“My host and Nat have arranged their own physical needs with each other as, what did they call it? Friends with benefits? Stress relief without the commitment or something like that?” Cashia pondered.

“And you, Cashia? I would pretty much be doing it with the same body that your mate resides in. Not with your mate per se, but with the same body. Are you all right with that?” Hana tried not to mumble.

Cashia squirmed, fingers delving into the shag carpet. Yeller tensed, shying away from the question. The woman was quite forward in her speech. “For the sake of Sven’s mate, I would not take offence to it. For you and Nat, that is perfectly reasonable. As long as you’re fine with Tereza and I having our own time.” Cashia shrugged.

“Don’t we just have an awesomely weird love triangle thing going on here,” Hana smirked. “Probably should get this show on the road if I want to be normal anytime soon.”

Cashia moved to get up. “Do you want me to leave?” he asked, partially to Hana, partially to Tereza. Terror lingered in both of their eyes with the uncertainty of how they were supposed to act in the situation.

“Ummm?” Hana gulped.

Tereza, still overriding Nat, took the initiative. She eased over to Hana, slipping her hand behind Hana’s head. “There were no arrangements for me to withhold myself.” Tereza smiled.

Hana, frozen in place, watched with bated breath as Nat, Tereza, leaned in to kiss her.

Every raging emotion hit Yeller hard with Cashia being the forward. The beast’s pent-up desire for Tereza brought him to a level of heady pain he had not known possible. He sat back, positive that if he tried to get control of his body from the wolf, he’d probably not come back out of the tiny space he was in now. Tereza held Cashia’s gaze as she trailed kisses along Hana’s jawline and down her throat. Your wife is a tease. Yeller commented to Cashia.

God, you have no idea. Cashia replied, enthralled.

I’m getting the concept. I’m not much for watching this stuff. Yeller tried to pry Cashia away.

Then close your eyes because I’m about to do something with your body that you’re not gonna like. Cashia inched forward.

The fucking hell you are! Yeller fought Cashia. The wolf shut him off. Humans have such an interesting nervous system. He watched Tereza and Hana. The female had always done what she wanted. She was a reckoning unto herself.

Hana closed her eyes as her cheeks flushed, aware of every nerve ending the man, the woman, in front of her brushed. It wasn’t Nat, though, who was touching her. It was Tereza, Cashia’s mate. Her wings went limp. She pressed against Nat’s frame, lost in how it imprinted on her. She let herself drift in the ecstasy that was coursing through her system. How had this happened? Wasn’t she being the strong one here?

Cashia eased up behind Nat. He caressed his platinum-white hair, moving it away from his neck. Tereza paused, savouring the feel. Yeller paced, distinctly aware that the wolf was torturing him.

Do you wanna watch now? Cashia’s toothy grin encompassed him. The wolf gave Yeller access to his sight again.

A searing heat had Yeller trembling for self-control. Cashia slipped his fingers down Nat’s spine, forcing a shiver. He continued down to the waistband of his jeans to trace the line of muscle. Cashia. I can’t. Please, Yeller groaned when Cashia ran his hand up Nat’s side, providing every detailed impression nerve impulses could elicit.

Cashia sighed heavily, trying to regain some sense of control. All right, all right. That was mean.

You think?! Yeller retorted.

“We’ll continue this later, Tereza,” Cashia whispered in her ear, kissing Nat’s neck. Yeller was going to be lucky to make it out of the room with his dignity intact if the wolf continued to have his way.

“I’ll go and join the rest of the group. It’s okay.” Cashia patted Hana on the shoulder as he got up off the floor. “Don’t worry. Sven knows better than to do anything chauvinistically stupid. If he does, Dietrich and I will rip him a new one,” he reassured her and stepped out of the room.

“Hana?” Nat was allowed the reigns to his body. He moved away from her, trying to give her some room. Tereza was a complete sadist; he was convinced of that. She had held him and Sven at bay, allowing them the edge of emotions. A drug lord.

Hana glanced over at the pale man. His skin sang in the moonlight. She knew nothing about him. He was loyal to his friends to a fault. She knew his age and that he, along with the rest of the group, was done with school. Dreams of becoming some greatness, such as a lawyer or doctor, had gone down the drain with the war. What about his desires and interests? Was there any room there to know him? How could she get Tereza back? “Nat? I – I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to do this. We can find another way.” He backed up against the wall beneath the window.

“I’m good with this, I think. The wings are just a reminder now of my time in a religious cult. I don’t think I mind sharing space with a wolf. The world’s turned into a loony bin, so why not add in a few more patients with voices in their heads, right?” she tried to laugh it off. It was all well and good to set boundaries with Sven and talk about physical relationships with Tereza and Cashia, but getting there was another thing entirely.

Nat wanted to pull her to him and hold her. He knew she was nervous, but he also was aware of the deal struck between Sven, Cashia and her. Her terms, when she was ready. “We don’t have to right now if you don’t want. Sven can rail at me all night for this. I wish we had coffee. I mean, what is this without a proper date?” He tried to distil the tension with a bit of humour.

“Tea, I could go for some good sweet tea,” Hana grabbed onto the topic.

“Would you like that? A date? I mean, it’s not like the movie theatres are playing anymore, and we don’t have money to buy food, but would this,” Nat spread out his hands in the room, “feel less…forced?” He cringed at the word.

Hana grabbed the hand near her that he held out to the room. “The situation is awkward, but you are at least working with me on what I want out of this relationship, if we want to call it such, and that is what matters here.” She pulled him to her. He scooted across the floor to kneel at her toes, letting her hold his hand. “I don’t know what we want out of this relationship, if anything. You’re physically attractive at least.” She brushed a swatch of hair back behind his ear.

He leaned into her hand, his skin warm to her touch. Nat was aware, though, that Sven was aggressively feeding his fire.

“I know more than too many of my friends would have jumped your bones the instant they were asked if they wanted to,” she confided with a smirk. A blush ran across his face.

“I want to have, I don’t know, some moral high ground here. I don’t want you to think I’m some easy, horny tramp or something. I don’t really know you; I don’t even know if I would want to date you. Yeller and you? I’m okay with that, I think. I -I don’t want to feel used in this odd triangle we have ourselves in. Admittedly, if we’re just laying all our thoughts out.” She caught her lip between her teeth.

“What?” he pushed at Sven to give it a rest with the fireworks for a heartbeat.

Hana swallowed, her eyes brushing his shoulders and chest. “I liked Tereza being here for a minute.” Her cheeks went pink as she raised a protesting hand in front of her face. “I mean, well. She broke the tension, right?” Her pleading laugh drew the wolf to the surface.

Tereza?

It hurts for you to let me out, dijete. She might be more into me than you, but I can’t have you cracking as soon as I make my home.

You can tell what you do to me?

Intimately. And you get no joy from that type of pain, so I’ll hold off until a better path is clear.

Nat remained quiet for a minute, not sure how to respond. Hana’s fingers, warm against his palm, kept him centred to the room. “I had nothing to do with Tereza, but she did help, didn’t she? You are right. I don’t know if you’d want to date me. I’ve never been this way, persistent, with another woman. I’ve never…well, you know…done it with another woman…or guy for that matter.” He rubbed at the back of his neck and turned to glance out at the dead tree.

“Really? Never?” Hana raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Strict upbringing.” Nat mumbled.

“So you don’t throw yourself at the first cute pair of legs you see and become vindictively over-possessive of them?” Hana teased.

“Most of that was the wolf, if I might save my skin. I want to say that, but I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know. You’re cute. You smile easily. You’re brave. You try to find humour in scary or intimidating situations. I’ll be honest with you, though. It seemed to work with Yeller and my arrangement. We’ve been friends since we were pretty young, and loyalty amongst the group is given. If it feels more comfortable, I can give you what I gave Yeller and ask for nothing in return. A relationship without strings. Friends with benefits if you like. You don’t have to try to make yourself love me if it’s not there, and I’ll respect that. If you,” he gulped, afraid of denial at his next comment. “If you want to keep it between Sven and Sylvi, Tereza, if Cashia’s cool with that, and you don’t want me, my brain in on it, then that’s fine too,” he told her. “No matter what, I don’t want to do something that you don’t want me to do.”

“I appreciate that, Nat. I really do,” she whispered, pulling him closer to her. “Let’s get Sylvi switched over; then we can figure out our footing. Maybe you’ll be able to think clearer.” She kissed his cheek.

He turned to glance at her, afraid for her to collapse again. “What about the pain?” he whispered.

“We’ll figure it out along the way. It takes a few days for it to hit my system anyways, right?” She traced the spot behind his ear.

A heady rush of adrenaline steeped in his digits. Sweet intoxication, tantalising addiction. Her teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. He kept himself in check, allowing her to lead, taking all that she was willing to give. Her hands slid down his neck, pulling him closer. She avoided the tender spots in his shoulders as she trailed down his chest. Moving from his lips to his jawline, she found the cut of muscle along his obliques. He trembled under her thrall.

Her fingers continued their crawl down his skin, outlining the ridges in his muscles. They found the cut of his V at his hips, sliding lightly under the line of his pants. She traced to the button and zipper. His breathing stuttered in her ear. “You guys have no sense of modesty with your clothing, and yet you randomly have on pants at the most inconvenient times,” she whispered into his neck, tasting his collarbone.

“Do you want them off?” Nat reached for his waistband.

“If you would.” She let go of him. Leaning against the wall, she warmed to her view. Nat rose, tucking his hair behind his ear shyly. His bare feet stretched into the shag carpet as he shrugged his jeans off his hips, releasing his fullness to the chill.

He wasn’t entirely sure what to do next, but he watched with interest at Hana’s rapt attention. She held her hand out to him. He took it, sinking once more to the carpet in front of her. She caught him off guard as with her other hand she caressed his length ever so lightly from tip to base.

“You are…very forward…you know that?” His voice hitched in his throat with every stroke.

“Is that such a bad thing?” she cooed, pulling him closer and kissing the edge of his lips.

“N-no.” He swallowed as her grip tightened around his length. A shiver ran across his shoulders at her sweet, tormenting administrations. The lines of his muscles tightened with every stroke. He rested his head against her shoulder, trying to regain his fraying senses. “Slow down. You can’t do that much-much longer.” His senses were already frazzled by his earlier encounter with Yeller in the kitchen, and Sven was not relenting on the numbing sizzle in his gut.

“And if I do?” she whispered as her fingers moved to caress his balls, gently palming their weight. His blood hammered in his neck under her tongue.

“I’ll embarrass myself at worst,” he barely got out.

“What’s to be embarrassed about? I’m enjoying watching.” She smiled coyly, running the edge of her teeth across his shoulder.

He groaned at her audacity. Leaning back away from her touch, he tried to gain a minute’s reprieve. She leaned forward, following him, relentless. “We arranged it to be on my terms, so I’m having my fun.” She lay against him as he collapsed back to rest on his elbows.

“Have fun on your terms then, but I’m close and don’t think you want the mess on you or the carpet,” he confided.

“Oh.” She pulled over a piece of the curtain that had fallen from the window’s curtain rod.

“That works.” He relaxed to her ministrations; her eyes danced across his tip as she brought him too quickly to a nerve-tightening climax.

Cleaned up and clothed once more, Nat sat for a minute watching a smile wiggle at the corner of Hana’s lips.

“I um…well…a bit awkward, but … do you do cuddling?” Hana asked.

“I’m not going to complain.” He carefully pulled her into his frame.

Sven? Nat called on his wolf as he lay on the floor, Hana curled into the crook of his arm.

Human? Sven caustically sneered.

Nat was too euphoric to take angst against the creature. How are we doing with Sylvi?

I thought you were just getting your rocks off, brat; glad to know you remembered us in some small way. Sven grouched.

I’m going to ignore the fact that I did something with a peanut gallery in my brain and try to be civil here, Nat replied, every bit of dripping sarcasm coating his voice.

Well, I’ve got a bit more room to roam in here. You’ll have to ask Hana and the part of Sylvi that is occupying the woman.

You’re nowhere near civilised yet, so I’m going to go with we haven’t fixed your problem yet. Nat quipped.

You seem more relaxed; I guess you fixed yours? Sven derided.

You’re quite tiresome, you know that, don’t you? Nat sighed, turning over to curl around Hana.

“How are you doing?” he asked her.

“I’m all right at the moment, though I think Deck is gonna want to kill you in a while when it hits me,” she yawned.

“And Sylvi?” he pressed, wanting to pacify Sven as quickly as possible. Hana turned into herself, reaching for her wolf.

“Not enough, but she says that for my body I should stop for today,” she came back to him after a time.

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Firefly Fish: Ch 20

The cave floor held forty or fifty circles of lines and waves. As I etched the last pattern Saeesar held in his hand, my eyelids kept closing on me.

“Are you alright, Marin Goranich? You are wobbling.” Pursha reached for my stick as it floated to the floor of the cave.

“I’m alright, just tired. If I’m going to be a captive here, where can I sleep at the very least?” I eased into a cross-legged seat on the floor.

“How do you sleep?” Pursha asked.

I stared at her. That was the strangest question I could have asked up to this point. Yawning, I put a hand to my mouth and shrugged. “I sleep. I close my eyes and let the moving pictures in my head take over.”

“I mean, do you cocoon yourself into a hole or fill your lungs and hang straight up and down in the current in a group? Some of us close one eye and keep the other open?” She twisted her hands to help visualize the different positions.

I blinked. “I mean, if the day is good and the pay is better, I sleep in a bed with sheets and a pillow?”

“A bed?” Saeesar asked.

“Bed. It’s soft sometimes, hopefully, though a pile of hay can do in a pinch. No? Well, how do you sleep?” I turned to him, fighting another yawn.

“Bubble nests usually. Well, here, follow me, and I’ll show you.” Saeesar shook out his tail and carefully wound his way further into the cave. I kicked off to swim after him. My arms and legs burned with the effort. I had never swum for so many hours, been battered by the current for so long.

Various nooks and crannies that could easily have fit my mom and dad’s log cabin radiated off to the left and right of the central chamber. Many contained lumps and stacks of human junk: broken chests, timbers, algae-covered curtains.

He turned into one of these rooms.

The paraphernalia was lesser so than many of the others I had seen. Troughs of stone held sapphires intermixed with pearls. “I like the colors.” He explained, catching me looking at the gems.

“Do you do anything with them?” I sat on one of the trough lips.

“Sometimes. When I’m particularly bored and not responsible for anything, I’ll create massive patterns with them.” He took a handful of the stones and dumped them in my hands.

“And these have no value to you?” I stared at the cut gems. They had to have come from downed ships for them to have a jeweller’s touch.

“We don’t barter with them. They aren’t edible.” Saeesar shrugged.

I dropped the human fortune back into the trough they came out of. “Your culture astounds and confuses me at the same time, but I could learn to enjoy not being constrained to an economy.”

“You asked how I sleep?” Saeesar asked as I yawned once again. He did not yawn back, and neither did Pursha. Maybe yawning was a human or land animal phenomenon.

“Mmm.” I nodded, looking around for a bedframe as I expected any bedroom or sleeping quarter to contain. The ground, like the front cave held a thick layer of sand.

Saeesar pointed up. The ceiling rose higher than I expected. Midway up hung a series of woven fishing nets.

“What is that?” I furrowed my brows. The mass of fiber made no rational sense in my head. I settled on the word hammock to describe the situation, though the size of it could very well have accommodated the roof on dad’s barn.

“Hammock. Interesting name for it. It is my sleeping platform when I don’t feel like making bubbles.” Saeesar pushed himself up to the nets and slithered over, the ends of his feathery black tail drifting in a gentle current left from his movement. “Are you coming up?”

“Up?” My voice cracked. Did he expect me to share a bed with him?

“You are tired; should I have carried you?” He asked, his hair tumbling over the edge as he inched over to look down on me.

“No, just, didn’t expect an invitation to sleep with you.” I swam up to the edge of the series of fishing nets. “How do you not get stuck?”

“I have it layered so that I – oh, you’ll get stuck, won’t you?” His fingers dragged around my forearm down to my wrist.

“Probably?” I guessed, running my fingers along a few net squares to test the width. Saeesar settled his tail around me, curling his fins until he had turned himself into what looked like a snake wrapped up on itself. “You’re warm.” I relaxed into him.

“It does get cold down here and a bit too dark for my liking.” He pillowed himself on his coils and carefully tucked a voluminous side fin over me.

I hid a smile at the action. He had a habit of doting, and I rather liked it. “Do you remember the waters of your home?”

He closed his eyes, resting further into his arms. “I dream of them.”

“Were they warm?” I tucked my hands in and curled up in the valley between two coils.

“I miss the trees.” He rolled to match my curl.

I made a guttural hum as a question.

“Your lake, were there trees that would reach into it, with bows dipping into the stream? Roots reaching for sustenance so far out that it was surprising they survived?” He led on.

“I remember those. In flood seasons, some would end up with water up to their canopies.” I yawned.

“In our section of the river, where the sun would warm through the murk, the trees would cradle our nests, letting us sleep up near the light. I miss that. I was only a calf, yet that memory, buoyed by the bubbles my mother made, sleeping protected by my father with the green leaves making golden sparkles in the space between water and air.” He was drifting off as he spoke, his speech slowing.

Soon enough, he slipped into a soft sleep while I lay beneath his fins and watched my lights flicker across a patch of the cave ceiling. As tired as I was, the new place and sleeping arrangement kept my eyes open well past when my brain should have allowed me to slip into the sandman’s territory.

The patterns sang in my head, drifting and circulating like balloons in a circus midway. I traced the flickering lights on the ceiling, slowly picking up a beat within them. It reflected my heart rate. There, a different one, that one matched my breathing. There were others, but I couldn’t decide their connection. The swirling patterns collided with the charms in my head. One coalesced, a combination of several I had been shown and the flicking movement of my lights in time for me to lose consciousness.

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Subject 15: Ch 24

“Hey, Fane!” Shelly barely knocked on the door before opening it with a crash.

Fane flinched at the woman’s blunt intrusion during his meditation time. “Good evening to you too, Shelly.”

She flounced onto his rug, her lavender skirts ballooning out on the antique red Persian. Bright eyes stared at him intently, keeping Fane from returning to his meditation.

“Nothing’s on fire, or else I would have got word on my com to come get Prince Orlov. So, you’re not in here for work. I think. It’s passed hours for you.” Fane twisted to pop his neck. Shelly winced.

“Ajay’s busy watching Ishan and the rest of the house is quiet. You’ve got permission for leave this evening, right? Off duty? Let’s go see the town.” She bounced happily.

Fane raised an eyebrow. She reminds me of a little sister who wants to play tea party. He pictured it, a slashing burn sheering through his left eye. Gritting his teeth, he faked a bemused smile. “And where would we go this late in the evening? I have a raid at midnight apparently.”

“A dance club!” She sprang up and grabbed her gold sequened clutch before she could step on it.

“Dance club? I don’t know how to dance!” Fane protested as she grabbed his warding hands.

“Perfect time to learn, bard. Let’s go.” She dragged him out of the room.

“Hold up! I’m not dressed for something like that.” He pointed out the white shirt and grey sweats he did have on.

“Not like I haven’t seen men clubbing in those kinds of clothes anyways,” she huffed.

“At least let me feel like I can blend in.” Fane reassured and returned to his room, clicking the door shut on Shelly. “And why me?”

“Have you met you in the last four months? Bro, you need to get laid,” she told him through the door.

“I beg your pardon!”

“You are tense. Tense doesn’t even count. You’re freaking grouchy.”

“And you think a dance club will yield better results?”

“I don’t have a single clue who you’d go for, but there should be options.” She emphasized the last word by sounding out the syllables. “Also, I’m freaking bored and haven’t had a nightlife night in months.”

“Give me a different good excuse, ‘cause I’m going to have to sign out and writing down ‘going to get laid’ is not something I want to leave with Zahar.” Fane rested a hand on his wardrobe door and thought for a quiet moment about the variety he had now been blessed with. Zephyr’s blazer came to mind.

The deviation in evening activities sounded like fun. It sounded better than sitting in his room for the next three hours desperately trying to meditate when his skin was playing tricks on him this evening.

It was worse today for some reason. All he had done all day was stand next to Ishan’s chair as the prince evaluated new court musicians. The drums particularly instigated the issue. The thumping in his chest had left him needing a different outlet. Meditation had not calmed it.

Maybe Shelly had a point.

He shucked himself out of his sweats and pulled on jeans and shirt. The necklace, bracelets, and socks from that one horrifying event followed in close order.

“What’s this about a dance club?” A lower octave voice reverberated through door as Fane slipped his shoes on and stumbled, knocking into the wardrobe door.

“Is everything alright?” Prince Orlov’s voice weasled down Fane’s spine.

He stared in terror at the blazer on the hanger. “Just fine!” The soldier turned bodyguard yanked the crushed velvet off the twisted metal and ran a hand through his hair to fluff it into shape. Slapping on his braces and belts, he tugged his shirt over a Glock at his back.

Hawklike amber eyes met him in the doorframe.

“Good evening, Mr Orlov. Can I be of service?” Fane stuttered. The man had changed from his usual cream daywear into an asymmetric shaliwar in a slate and steel grey metallic.

“Ajay mentioned Shelly wanted to go to a dance club. It’s been a week plus since I escaped the compound. So, I’m tagging along.” He reached in through the door and grabbed Fane’s wallet to slip into the inner pocket of the crushed velvet jacket.

“Is Ajay coming with?” Shelly beamed, looking around the hallway excitedly.

“Had to go change. He’ll be here shortly. Sent me down to meet with you. Said I needed to step away from papers for a bit.” Prince Orlov looked Fane up and down, a critical glint to his eye. “You look nervous.”

“Having flashbacks to a dinner party.” Fane eased out the door and locked it.

“The one where you ditched me?” Prince Orlov’s musing smirk reassured Fane.

“If I say I won’t call you an arrogant peacock tonight, will that make up for it?” Fane folded his arms across his chest.

“We’ll see.” Prince Orlov flicked a glance at Shelly and approaching footsteps. Ajay emerged down the hall from the Prince’s apartment in a plain grey teeshirt and dark jeans.

They walked down the stairs, used to Fane’s quark. In the side lobby leading to the garage, he signed out the group, leaving in it that they were escorting the Prince for an evening out with an unexpected time back.

“Shelly, did this place have a dress code?” Fane asked at the door, rethinking his jacket with the sudden plume of cold humidity coming off the jamb.

“Keep it on. It looks good on you.” Prince Orlov whispered low enough to evade Shelly, who was filling Ajay in on the plan.

Feathers brushed up the bodyguard’s shoulders. “What about the press? Do you need a disguise of some sort?” Fane whispered back. This would be his first time in a relaxed public atmosphere with the prince. He shrugged, wishing for some space to stop feeling the prince’s heat crawling across his back. Opening the door, he ushered his three charges through.

“I’m the playboy my parents use as a distraction to keep the heir looking like a shiny idol, remember?” Ishan pushed his hair back off his shoulder in emphasis. “This is just par for the course.”

“You sound rather nialistic tonight, Prince.” Fane eased up to Ishan’s side as they walked through the garage to find a car. Ajay and Shelly had fallen into a quiet discussion several yards behind.

“A lot on my mind with what’s coming up this week. Lots of paperwork to get filed. I feel like blowing steam. We’ve got the raid to come back to, but there’s something about getting out of here every so often.” He waved down the valet and sent the man off for a key.

Ajay, catching the hint, came up to Prince Orlov and asked a question about a car. Prince Orlov pointed to an antique pearl white Rolls Royce with white walls.

“Tell me the glass is at least bulletproof.” Fane eased in on the right of Prince Orlov in the back seat. Ajay took the steering wheel, and Shelly clambered into the passenger seat.

“I’d trust it to keep me safe more than Ajay’s driving.” Prince Orlov grabbed Fane’s hand, his skin going ashen as the vehicle peeled out of the garage.

“Why do you all let this mad man drive? I am plenty quala-woah!” Fane grabbed for the passenger seat and held on tighter to Ishan’s hand as they turned out of the compound and merged into the speeding traffic that was Tri-Amritstar after dark. “Nope, nevermind, I ain’t driving that. Ajay, don’t kill us!”

Twenty minutes of terror and near misses later, they eased into a luxury parking garage in the district Fane had been taken to for clothing. “I’m not sure I want to ever leave the palace again if I keep repeating this experience.” Fane waited for his stomach to settle. He only became aware of his grip on Ishan’s hand when the man finally let go. “Oh! Sorry, didn’t – didn’t realize.”

Ishan ignored the apology and followed Fane out of the car quietly.

The bass system of the dance club reverberated through the garage, a muffled tone in the soles of Fane’s shoes. “Gonna regret not bringing earplugs,” he muttered to himself and opened the red fire door to the stairwell. “Up or down, Shelly?”

“Up two. It’s got a three-story centre with big skylights. It’s kind of interesting for a dance club. Most are usually very cramped; this one is post-modern minimalist chic and used for weddings during the day.” She swished past, the click of her mauve heals shifting from dull to crisp from the concrete stairway to the fake wood in the hallway.

“Ever been here, Prince Orlove?” Fane drew up on the right of the man while Ajay took up position on the left. His employer had turned reserved and stoic in the last few weeks since the incident with the queen. It had eventually gotten back through Shelly that the photos had been of Fane and Ishan at the gala.

“A couple of times. There are private rooms in the two-story balcony that we can use for drinks.” His face was still stuck in monotone, not giving Fane a hint on if the prince was irritated or not. It left an uneasy sensation in the pit of the bodyguard’s stomach.

A line of dazzling people turned as the prince, and his enterouge approached. Avoiding it, Ishan Orlov walked past, plastering on an immaculate smile, a politician’s smile. He greeted some of the people in line, shook hands, and took pictures with a few.

Fane mimicked Ajay’s method of standing off to the side enough to not be captured in the photos but helped break off physical contact from those who lacked enough common etiquette to know to let go. “Let’s get you inside, Prince.”

“Have Ajay find me something to drink when we get in,” Orlov whispered in Fane’s ear as they bypassed the bouncer.

“Yes, Prince.” Fane ducked as the door opened and the full bass hit him in the chest. Air pressure built a waiver in his lungs like he was already two drinks in himself.

Clocking the DJ and the opposing bar, he signalled Ajay and Shelly, who went to obtain drinks. Turning, Fane pulled in closer to the prince, slipping a hand around his lower back. He shifted him to the empty walkway that circled the dance floor to direct the man toward the marble floors leading to the second and third floors. “You wanted one of the private rooms? Who do we talk to for reserving one?”

“There’s a hostess on the second and host on the third.” Ishan nodded toward a cherry wood podium under a dim banker’s lamp on the second-floor landing. A small woman with waist-length black hair and a second woman of similar stature and a matched skin-tight pink mini dress both smiled at them.

“Where do you want to be?” Fane glanced out over the dance floor from midway up the second-floor staircase. He counted eight men prowling that could turn problematic. Security was tight enough, though. Fane spotted a handful of uniformed and another two handfuls of plain-clothed who might be.

“Your choice.” Prince Orlov’s amber eyes drew along Fane’s face, causing the bodyguard to trip on a riser.

Clearing his throat, Fane stalled for a moment. Questions flooded his brain as he worked on sussing out if this was a test or if the prince just wanted someone else to make choice for him tonight. Glancing up to the third floor, he spotted the hosts in slim black waistcoats and matching slicked-back hair.

At the landing, he smiled kindly at the hostess as they greeted him and Prince Orlov. “A third-floor private room for four?”

“Will that be with a stage, table service, or a drink pass?” The hostess asked, tapping at a holo-screen with manicured gold nails.

Flicking a glance to the prince, who failed to hide a slight rise to one eyebrow, Fane swallowed. He had no clue how expensive the rooms were or how this would get written off on statements. The man looked overly tired, though. Making up his mind, he slipped on his mask of aloof demeanour. “Stage, with table service. Corner privacy with access to the stairs if possible.”

“You want 3A?” The woman checked as she flicked through tabs.

“That the one next to the hosts up there?” He reached into his jacket to pull out his wallet.

“They’ll take your card and open a tab upstairs. Yes, that is 3A. The other two members of your party?”

“They’re grabbing a first round of drinks.” Prince Orlov explained.

“Right. When they get upstairs, the hosts will give them wristbands that will designate what room they’re in and give them discounts at the bar. Have them present a receipt, and Stephan will have the reimbursement credited to the tab.”

“Thank you.” Fane ducked in an augmented bow and guided Prince Orlov up to the third floor.

“I’ll set the tab on my card,” Ishan greeted the host at the top of the stairs, an easy smile flicking between the two men. A smoulder built behind Fane’s lungs at the look, and he regretted the decisions he’d made.

The corner room’s floor-length windows looked out over the city lights of Tri-Amritsar, and plush plum curtains circled around the other walls. A small stage and pole took up one corner, and a low table and pair of massive leather couches took up the opposing side. A minibar sat next to the door for easy refilling. The one-way glass door to the private room did nothing to cut the bass.

“It’ll be a while before Ajay gets here.” Fane checked his watch for messages from his work partner.

“He say how long?” Ishan sank into the middle of the couch that let him have a view of the skyline.

Fane asked and waited for a reply. It buzzed in short order. “He says it’ll be long enough for you to probably order pizza and get it delivered. Should I just send them up here?”

“No, I think Shelly and Ajay wanted this time for themselves. I turned this into a third wheel issue.” Ishan lay a hand over his eyes and slouched back against the couch’s headrest.

“Going to do a round.” Fane twirled a finger to indicate the room.

The prince waved the man to his job. Fane checked behind curtains and under the tables then ran a frequency wand in his holo-screen’s protective case across the surfaces to check for bombs or bugs. Finding nothing of interest other than a couple missed coins and bobby pins, he returned to stand in front of his employer.

“You got a headache? You gonna be okay? I can get you out of here if this isn’t where you want to be right now.” Fane tossed a thumb over his shoulder toward the door.

“Why’d you decide on the third floor?” Ishan caught Fane up in a glance beneath his hand.

“Eye candy.” Fane studied the host’s thin figure behind the door glass.

“You sampling? I thought…” Ishan laid his hand back over his eyes and sagged.

“Thought you might perk up.” Fane shrugged.

Ishan put his arm down with a thud and regarded the bodyguard with a confused look. “And that?” He pointed at the stage.

Fane studied the prince openly until the man put down his hand.

“What?” Ishan crossed his arms, closing himself off.

“And Shelly told me I needed to get laid,” Fane muttered.

Ishan’s face mottled a shade of pale pink as his mouth gaped open and closed to try to formulate a snappish reply. “You!”

Fane shrugged, the beat of the music shifting to a new tempo. “Not quite what you want? We don’t have to have anyone come in and perform if that doesn’t make you comfortable. Was just an idea. Also meant that we were closer to the stairs in case I had to get you out of here quickly. The one below was having a bachelorette party.”

“You throw a fit at me kissing you and calling your masculinity into question a few months ago, but you put me up here knowing my preferences and not having an issue with that. The hell, man?” Ishan stood and stocked Fane, crowding his space. “You’re swaying. You high on something? I didn’t see you take anything.”

“Nope. Drunk on the music. The private suite got me out of the lights, or it would be worse. Forgot to grab a pair of earplugs to turn the volume down a bit.” Fane knew he was being more blunt than usual, but the hi-hat skittered through his skin, and all he wanted to do was float on the bass drop.

“You? You get drunk on music?” Ishan scoffed.

“It’s a high sensitivity thing. Some people have it. Learned it the hard way a while back. Give me five minutes on the dance floor, and the night will vanish out from underneath me. As it is, I’m acting as bodyguard right now, so I sort of need my wits about me.” Fane’s endorphin rush sank into his toes, enveloping him in a comfortable warmth. “I’m not partial to being used for personal gain. Says the bodyguard, though. So, if I lit into your side for kissing me like that out of the blue in front of everyone and not explaining in a way that didn’t sound like an excuse…”

“Why’d you agree to a dance club if you knew it’d make you like this? Wait. Is this what the nerve gear picked up on? Why you ended up being the bard? ‘Cause you can get drunk on dance club vibes?” Long fingers hesitated at Fane’s waist before drawing him closer into Ishan’s warmth.

Fane didn’t protest, instead falling deeper into the music. “Musicians from earlier today started it.” He didn’t fight it when Ishan turned him to blanket his back as the beat reverberated through both of them.

“Bullshit.”

“Hey, some days, some people just want to get a bit wasted and have a change of pace. At least mine isn’t going rot my braincells.” Fane leaned his head back against Ishan’s shoulder.

“So, why are you letting me get away with this now?”

“The way you look at me, I’d be afraid for people’s safety from you if I went downstairs and danced with anyone else. My inhibitions are gone. Shit. I need to be paying attention.” Fane acknowledged the problem, but neither moved to disengage from their movement.

“You’re off duty, Ajay’s on. Not like anyone is getting close to me like this. That’d be suicide getting between us now, says that gun pressing against my abs.” Ishan slipped a hand around Fane’s chin, pulling his face in for a deep kiss. Tongues sparked fire. “Anyone?”

“I’m not overly picky when I’m like this.”

“Interesting. Should I keep you away from Ajay and Shelly?”

“Stupid music makes me cuddly as fuck, so yeah, probably.” Fane pushed a hand through his hair, wishing the air conditioner was better.

“What’ll happen if I put some guy on that stage?” Ishan’s hands played magic across Fan’s ribcage.

“Not much, just frustration that neither you nor I probably want to go home to tonight. Not with me trying to focus on some dragon.”

“I’m frustrated already.”

“That’s fair.”

“I’d rather watch you over any man, Shona.”

“Shona?” Fane drowned against the heat of Ishan’s lips.

“Gold.”

“I’m not blond.”

“No, but you are precious to me,” Ishan confided, moving away from his fixation with Fane’s lips to kiss along the man’s jaw. “See me as something precious to you.”

“You aren’t a thing, Beithe.”

“Turn of face. What’s it mean?” Ishan whispered in Fane’s ear, pulling the petite man’s body closer as the music shifted.

“Birch.”

“Gold and silver?”

“You caught on to my meaning,” Fane chuckled, a relaxed smile spreading easily. Ishan’s fingers tightened against the bodyguard’s hip.

A knock at the door broke the magic, separating the two in a panic. The endorphin high abated momentarily for Fane to realize what had happened to him. Horror escaped his quickly plastered mask of professionalism. “I’m so sorry, Prince, that was improper of me.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ishan warned.

The door opened. “Who wanted drinks?” Shelly walked in triumphantly with a pitcher of a questionable pink slushy substance, followed closely by Ajay with cups. “You alright, Fane? You look plastered.”

“Could say that. I’m not drinking.” He waved off a cup Ajay offered.

“Aw. Is it just going to be Mr Orlov and myself then?” Shelly looked between the two bodyguards.

“How stiff is it?” Ishan took a glass from Ajay and held it out for Shelly to pour.

“Very.” Fane whispered behind Ishan’s back as he walked around the man to the mini fridge and fished out a bottle of water.

“Wait, he knows how to do innuendos?” Shelly crowed.

“Only when the music is this good.” Fane downed the glass bottle and set it in the refill station.

“This what you needed? A DJ? The court musicians not up to your level?” Ishan sank back into the couch with a filled glass in hand, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

“The drummers weren’t terrible.” Fane flopped on the other couch, well out of Ishan’s touching distance and with a safety position to the door.

“That why you looked spaced out most of the day? I was wondering what had gotten into you.” Ishan took a deep swig.

“As I said, just needed a pair of earplugs. Defusers would have done the trick.” He raised a shoulder.

“I didn’t know you did casual outside of your nerve gear.” Ajay raised a water bottle in Fane’s direction.

“Am I working right now?” Fane tapped a toe to the next song the DJ threw onto the system.

“Even when you aren’t working you aren’t like this!” Shelly protested.

“You want me to go back to how I usually am? That’d be a true headache right now, and hard to do. So, what now? Shoot the breeze, break out a card deck? Hire a stripper?” Fane relaxed into the evening.

“Is he hot?” Shelly asked, eyes bright. Ajay said something to her, and they proceeded into a jovially heated conversation. “Wait, you’re not serious!” she protested when the man walked out.

“What happened? He get mad at a joke?” Fane regarded the broad man with a level of nonchalant interest.

“I think he went to find a dancer.” Her eyes had gone large, fingers at her glossed lips.

“Ajay? A dancer?” Ishan raised an eyebrow.

Fane flicked a glance at the prince, hoping for a way out. Ishan downed the rest of his drink and set the glass on the table. “I’ll be back.” He twisted his head to indicate for Fane to lead out of the room.

The door closed behind the men. “Restroom’s on the first floor behind the bar area.” Fane counted the heads of every person on the third-floor balcony before sweeping a gaze across those he could on the second balcony.

“I’m thinking this was a bad idea.” Ishan confided as they descended.

“Want me to let Ajay know, and we’ll get out of here? Just chill at your apartment before game?” Fane asked at the second-floor landing.

“No. Yes. I don’t know. I’m just not in the mood for some things. Know what I mean?” The man sighed, sagging into the vibration of the building.

“I can’t agree to be anything other than your bodyguard, Prince.” Fane put the man to the far side of the stairs near the safety of the wall.

“Why not?” Ishan paused at the bottom of the flight.

“It’s not in my pay grade.” Fane tested the edge of the crowd, debating with himself.

“You aren’t under obligation right now, remember? It’s your night off. Be a bit human.”

“Is that something you want to see?”

“Honestly, yeah, that sounds good. Might lift a bit of my mood at the very least. You?”

“And the photos that’ll be back to your mom?”

“She said I had no reputation for the family. What will it do to her anymore than tick her off about the same thing I’ve already been yelled at for?”

“You going to be alright with your own reputation then?”

“If it means seeing you smile like you did.” Honey-shaded eyes held a spark behind them.

“I stay here much longer, I won’t remember this evening.” Fane nodded at the dance floor, weighing options.

“You really won’t? It’s a legit thing for you?” The prince glanced between the dance floor and the DJ.

“Getting drunk on music? Yeah. If you get overstimulated by noise in general, this kind of thing can be like six shots of tequila without the slurring, and you just get lost in the flow. Makes all the stupid to-do lists and worries disappear because there’s no room for anything else other than the rhythm. Might wake up with a headache in the morning like a regular hangover.”

“I can’t tell if that’s pleasant or not.”

“There’s probably a good reason I don’t go looking for this type of entertainment on my own.”

“Then why are you walking me toward it?” The prince wound his fingers in Fane’s.

“Shut up for a while, Ishan, and come be a bit human with me.”

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Polaris Skies: Ch 18

It was Yeller and not Cashia asking this time. Nat looked at him sceptically. Hana rested a hand on Nat’s, her finger rubbing his thumb.

Yeller rose and offered Nat his hand. Nat brushed it away and dragged himself up on his own. He couldn’t look at Yeller. The white-haired man wasn’t sure if he was ashamed or embarrassed. He waited until the blond left to the kitchen, then followed him in, his hands jammed into his pockets. Yeller found a quiet corner boardering on the mudroom nook behind the edge of the fridge. Nat raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“God, this is going to sound so freaking weird. Tereza wanted to talk to you, and it hurts like freaking hell for her to take over. Like electric spiders,” Yeller told him.

“You dragged me in here to talk to Tereza?” Nat quipped.

“I have some standards, and I’m not gonna have them hearing a woman coming out of my vocal cords. It’s hard for her to take over as she is and I didn’t exactly want to yak in front of the group if she buckled me. She can’t navigate the neural paths as Cashia can,” Yeller growled back.

“Fair enough.” Nat motioned for Yeller to move on with it. He knew he was being cold, but he didn’t know how to act around Yeller at the moment. He had been close to the drummer. He had learned Gaelic for him, and underneath it all, he knew that there were feelings buried deep.

Tereza switched over. “I talked to Sylvi. She agrees with us that she needs to fully transform for everyone’s safety. Without the full transformation, she is a liability to this group’s safety.” She had a quiet voice, as soft as could be obtained from Yeller’s vocal range.

“What’s your idea then?” Nat leaned against the counter.

“I move in with Sven.” Tereza shrugged.

“And that would help how?” Nat wrinkled his eyebrows into a confused frown.

“Us, Yeller, you, and Sven, enough of the genetic mix-up, and we should be able to accelerate the transformation.” Tereza motioned her index finger between them.

“Wouldn’t the acceleration kill Hana?” Nat’s spine stiffened at the suggestion. Sven sat back, waiting patiently. He had already drawn his own conclusions and was waiting on Nat to accept his fate.

“There is always that possibility. However, look at it this way, if she was to slowly transform through the prolonged process you’ve been stumbling into like a bird in a cave, she might be put in more danger because of some type of trouble you’d get yourselves into. You remember how she followed you guys through the sky in the town. What would happen to her if her wings failed her in the middle of flight, or she blacked out when trying to help you out of a river or something?” Tereza crossed her arms over her chest.

“We should talk to Hana about this. Is she on board? I’m not going to force her against her will.” Nat took a step back from her.

You’ll do damn near anything to keep my Sylvi safe, human. Sven bit at him.

No, it’s wrong, and it’s not happening, Sven. I will not become Michael. Don’t you dare make me into him. Nat threatened back. Sven slunk into the recesses of his mind. He cursed, knowing the wolf would pop up again at an inconvenient moment.

“Talk to Hana if you need to, but what about me?” Tereza dropped her arms, opening her stance up to plead.

“I’d rather talk to Yeller about it. Switch out for a bit.” Nat twisted his fingers symbolically. His energy was wearing down. They had covered at least fifty miles since they had left the enclave. His shoulders were still raw. He had contributed a large energy burst to Hana. His emotions were everywhere. He watched, edgy, Yeller’s transformation from the female to the male.

“She is my mate, sir. Please, I need to be able to talk to her. I need to know I can hear her again.” Cashia overrode the change.

“I get it, just-just give me Yeller.” Nat pushed, weary. He watched again as the transformation shifted across Yeller’s eyes. “Yeller?” he asked. “Ruben?” he whispered.

“I’m here. Having these two lively and awake is a pain in the ass. Now that they’ve gotten vocal…gah. They keep trying to use me as a middle man, and I can’t keep up with it.” Yeller pressed a hand to his temple.

“I need to know from you, do you honestly want me to take on Tereza? And the thing with Hana?” Heat rose to Nat’s cheeks.

“To be free of at least one of these guys would be nice,” Yeller confided.

“Which one would you rather be free of? I’m-I’m okay with taking Tereza unless you’d rather…” Nat rubbed his arm, pulling himself into a tight strand. He couldn’t quite meet Yeller’s eyes at the question.

Yeller connected the dots. “Oh… you mean…which way would I rather swing in this type of a relationship for them?”

Nat nodded, lips thinly pressed together, warily watching every move Yeller made. “Tá náire agus eagla orm1,” Nat confided, shivering. He couldn’t believe that he could admit his feelings. He had never put a finger on them before, but faced with the need to analyze them, he could come to terms with who he was.

Yeller wanted to hug him, troubled at his admission, troubled that Nat would tell him such a thing in Gaelic. “Please, don’t be, Nat. You mustn’t feel ashamed of who you are, ever.”

Nat could allow himself, away from prying eyes, to admire the packed muscle that rippled beneath his friend’s shirt. He turned away, heat flushing his cheeks up to the tips of his ears. Nat turned to stare out the window over the sink, waiting for Yeller’s reply.

“I’d rather keep Cashia if that works for you?” Yeller walked over to the sink to study the dead tree in the backyard. He glanced down out of the corner of his eye at Nat’s face. The slight man worked over his lips, chewing nervously. Blood came and went from his cheeks as thoughts flashed across his eyes. His white hair, almost albino skin, and pale green eyes were breathtaking. He had a thin, almost elfish long nose in a chiselled face.

“I don’t know about this, Yeller. You and me, our folks went to church together. We-we were raised…not to give in to this. I was.” Nat turned to him.

There were so many emotions flickering across the waif’s face, it was hard to discern what he was thinking now. Yeller finally allowed himself a moment, a touch. He feathered his thumb across Nat’s jaw. He succumbed to the electricity coursing through his system, a heady, drowning high. Nat’s skin was smooth, almost freshly shaven. The small man had mastered his hair growth between being wolf and human. It was rather convenient, or else the whole group would have been pretty scruffy by now.

“Screw the church and it’s fucked up priests. They’re hella dead by now. You exist here, now. Who are you? Who do you want to be when no one is watching?” Yeller asked, putting his hand down, trying to distance himself. He quaked inside. Tension built across his shoulders. His tongue and lips tingled with the desire to feel Nat’s skin under his touch again. He had come to grips with himself on a personal level of who he was. He knew he was nothing like what his parents wanted. He was part wolf now. He sure as hell was no longer what his parents wanted. He knew, though, that he couldn’t force his position on Nat.

“I burned out of it long ago. Lost my faith when Gage died. Didn’t mention it to mom and dad. They wouldn’t have understood. Made that kind of obvious. Turned up for mass like a good little boy just to keep them happy. Keep me safe. But some things are difficult to overcome, you know?” Nat barely hid the tremble in his lower lip.

“Deck and Sun Hee and Zola and Benj don’t care, Nat. They aren’t going to say anything against it. You heard them.” Yeller tried to reassure the man.

“I guess I don’t really have anyone to torture me for this, do I?” Nat smiled back, his heart rate dropping to a normal rhythm. He had watched too many other kids eat asphalt when they got ratted out, both in high school and college.

“You’re nervous about what everyone else would think of you.” Yeller returned to the scene in the backyard.

“How did you get through it? I sort of always had a feeling about you, but I never wanted to ask, in case I was wrong. I didn’t want to offend you. I sure as hell didn’t want to make it awkward between us.” Nat pulled himself up on the white Formica counter next to the sink.

“I lied to myself. I pretended. You remember Samantha Boone?” Yeller asked.

Nat snickered. “Do I? We were all thrilled to see her gone. God, those blocky heels she’d wear to school every day and her incessant chewing gum habit. She was a horrid, brutal gossip. We were all relieved when you dumped her.”

“That was me trying to convince my parents they didn’t have to be any more ashamed of me than about my preference in music. Didn’t have to think about shipping me off to a camp,” Yeller confessed. “Honest, I didn’t mean to put you in this predicament. If you’d rather not.” He backed up a step.

Nat fought past his ingrained prejudgments, the ones his parents and his church had smashed into his brain until all he could do was regurgitate what they said, and there was no room in his brain for his own thoughts. He reached for Yeller’s hand, battling against the nervous prickle that ran up his skin.

Yeller pulled away for a hesitant second before letting Nat wrap his hand around his. He had never thought this day would come. The comfort, the warmth in that thin, elegant hand made Yeller want to smile.

Nat held it in his lap for a minute, staring at the large size of it in comparison to his delicate fingers. “I think I can at least admit to lust. Does that make sense? Is that okay to say?”

“I wasn’t asking for love in this.” Yeller twisted his fingers with Nat’s as the man on the counter feathered along his nails.

“Why not?” Nat looked up, brilliant green eyes catching the moonlight.

“Love and lust. Loyalty lost. You would protect any of us to the death. You love all of us in your way. You are loyal to all of us, but you aren’t specifically partial to any one of us with more favours than the other. Even Hana. You aren’t really after her for her loving, devoted companionship. That’s apparent enough. You might be an asshole some days, Nat. Honest.

“These Victorian ideals where people think that humans are meant to be in a monogamous relationship comprised of some lovely-dovey crap where every word is a whispered kindness. That’s not reality,” Yeller caught Nat’s thumb.

“What is reality? What have you seen?” Nat tugged it back, starting an absent-minded thumb war with the drummer.

“We’re members of the primates. Primates, bonobos, in particular, though it’s been observed in most others, don’t mix love and sex together. They use it for social order, tension release, group bonding, things of that nature. It’s not some metaphysical tantric act looking for enlightenment. It’s not even in that religious conviction that it’s there for children. If it were, then women would have more noticeable signs of coming into heat when it was time for them to procreate or would ovulate like rabbits or llamas or something like that.” Yeller caught Nat’s thumb. They started over again.

“I mean, let’s look at things rationally. You remember the whole adultery thing and the looking at another man’s wife, yadayadayada. You hide it from yourself, but you still do it. Well, for me, that’s other men; for you, looks like it might be both?”

Nat shrugged at Yeller’s question. He wasn’t sure of himself at that point.

Yeller raised an eyebrow, but continued, “Are we supposed to judge other people for that? Are we supposed to condemn them for the natural human condition?” Yeller turned his gaze back out the dusty window, losing that round and letting Nat have his hand entirely. “Humans are always looking for a potential bonding partner. We humans, in that hindbrain that is always looking for that one moment of physical bliss, judge everyone that we come into contact with and ask ourselves what we think of them. And I don’t think that’s wrong.

“Genetic differences is always a good one to look at. Quite a few cultures that don’t fall under the modern western Judeo-Christian model allow for some form of non-marital or marital polyamory. I mean, there’s some archaeological evidence for large clan orgies. There were tribes in Nepal before the monster or somewhere where one woman has many husbands to keep birthrates down that way land possession doesn’t get divided up until it’s unusable for agriculture. In many matriarchal cultures that celebrated earth spirit religions, the LGBTQ+ community were respected, if not seen as holy,” Yeller paused, sure that he had talked himself into a twisted knot. He had splurted a lot of facts that all seemed to connect in his brain, but he wasn’t sure if he had explained himself well.

“You’ve studied this quite a lot, haven’t you?” Nat circled the calluses on the man’s palm.

“I had to come to a better understanding of who I was in this world, and, living on my own, I had access to unrestricted internet. Even though I never told any of you guys, I was able to get to a point in my life where I didn’t hate me. I found that most everything I was taught was not what I felt comfortable with. I had to realise that I could make my own decisions and that I couldn’t let peer pressure from everyone, including my parents, tell me what I could and could not do in my life. I studied so much to understand what was wrong with me.

“What I found out is that there’s nothing wrong with me. There never was. It was outside cultural and social values that were not my personal feelings that were saying that I was a freak, a deranged renegade. I’m fine the way I am.

“If what you need is some kind of release, some type of non-commital fulfilment, I’m fine with that. I didn’t set out in this conversation to make you love me,” Yeller closed his fingers around Nat’s.

“I think we’re both warped on hormones, and you’ve always been there for all of us, for me. I see what you meant by Victorian ideals. You lost me there for a minute, but it makes sense. No one in their right mind sets out in this type of conversation to have a dry monologue about the principles of sexuality to sweet talk a lover.

“Honesty is necessary between us, and thank you for being honest with me about it.” Nat studied the callused hand holding his so carefully. To hell with it. He raised it to his lips. Electricity ran beneath his skin. The prickly edge that wanted pressure and warmth ate at his core. The tension in his shoulders had released the farther Yeller talked. It reassured him that Yeller wasn’t going to judge him or blackmail him. The man in front of him was saying it was okay. It was finally safe. “I think we’ve been in denial long enough, mo rún,” Nat whispered.

Fire swept through Yeller’s gut at the pet name. When had Nat learned that one? Yeller watched, frozen to the spot as Nat’s tongue swept the length of his thumb, his bottom teeth barely rasping against his thumb pad. Jolts seared his nerve endings, a low throb responded to the onslaught.

Nat sank into fixation. The salty skin against the tip of his tongue was rough from years of drum work and logging. Ridges from the use of the sticks meshed with thick skin from lumber work. Nat let his body override his mind. His fingertips burned. The snap of electricity crackled across his skin and seared through his stomach as his head throbbed. His imagination drove at him cruelly.

Yeller stood, entranced. The sweet, painful hardness that pressed against his jeans was enough to make his knees weak. Nat’s lips parted again; his tongue swept across his thumb as he pulled the digit into his mouth. Yeller groaned, unable to keep from reeling at the delicious torment, the hidden intimacy that so much was meant in that action. He savoured the exquisite moment. Nat’s tongue moved up the nerve-tender skin of his thumb, and he could imagine more.

Yeller eased between Nat’s legs, his hand pressing the man’s lower back until he was sitting precariously on the edge. The musician, falling to the fire and lost to the electricity of his nerves, leaned in to test the porcelain skin of Nat’s neck, the heady smell of cedar and woodland wrapping around him. He bent the waif farther back, smiling at Nat’s hard admission again his abs. The blond nibbled on Nat’s earlobe.

Yeller, barely able to control himself anymore, groaned as Nat dragged a pointed tongue tip from the base of his thumb up to his print. His free hand wandered down the length of Nat’s side to find the waistband of his jeans, feathering the line of his hip. It was becoming painful. He rested his forehead on Nat’s shoulder, trying to steady his breath, his chest tight, his body raging. It took all he could, his voice husky in the quiet of the kitchen, he pleaded, “Nat.”

Nat’s eyes snapped open, suddenly remembering where they were, embarrassed. “I’m – I’m sorry.” He dropped Yeller’s hand quickly.

Yeller continued resting his head on Nat’s shoulder, fighting hard to bring himself under control. It had not taken much for his mind to reach for every hidden fantasy that he had stored in it long ago. He breathed heavily, waiting for the electricity snapping across his skin to dissipate. Slowly he brought the roaring in his head down to a dull ache. “Tereza. That’s what we were talking about here, at least that’s what we came in here to discuss,” Yeller tried to redirect their thoughts. Nat looked away from the tall man, the tips of his ears cherry red. Yeller eased himself from between Nat’s legs, both still aware of the painful hard-ons each other had.

“I’ve taken her.” Nat curled his hands around the edge of the counter in an effort to ground himself. Yeller glanced over at the man, still trying to regain his composure. What he heard was ‘I’ll take her.’

“Do any of the mongrels in this room have a good idea as to how to transfer her then?” Yeller asked, pointing his question to Cashia and Sven.

“I said I already took her,” Nat mumbled again.

“Abair é sin arís, le do thoil2?” Yeller’s hands came up open in confusion. He went delving in the recesses of his mind to find a blank spot where Tereza had been occupying space. He turned, wide-eyed to Nat. “How did you?” he couldn’t finish the sentence before realization dawned on him. “Ingestion of genetic material. Not just bodily fluids. Even skin cells?”

Nat nodded. It didn’t take much for Tereza to jump ship. It was Sylvi that Sven was worried about. A receptive host with normal genes could accept the transition easily it appeared. Hana though, with her avian mutation, was suffering difficulties in accepting Sylvi.

“Can I accept her back or Sven for that matter?” Yeller swallowed.

Sven? Nat asked.

Oh, glad you’ve finally come back to me. It isn’t easy having Tereza in here roaming around trying to get comfortable. I had a nice soft spot all made up. Yeah, Yeller can take her back or me for that matter if we wished it. Anytime he feels like it would be nice. Sven grouched.

So, this is how you gave Hana Sylvi?

Well, not in such an elegant manner. Sven snipped back.

How do you mean? A pit dropped in Nat’s stomach.

You, idiot that you are, had to get that hand looked to. Sven provided.

You mean she touched my blood and you gave her Sylvi through what, her pores? It really is just a crossing of any genetic material? All I have to do is touch her and that gives her more of Sylvi? I’ve touched her multiple times. The rest of the group has touched her. Wait, did you make me lacerate my hand just so you could get your rocks off? Damn you!

Now you’re getting it. She was the first prospective female that seemed suitable to carry Sylvi. How was I supposed to know she had that bird contaminant in her? Sven snorted.

How’d you know that she would come along with us? Nat wanted to scream.

Sylvi’s not completely with Hana, enough to be able to relay information. That’s why it takes so much to communicate with her. You have the rest of her in here. I thought you understood this already. Sven bristled.

I practically swim in denial. I thought you got that part. That’s why there isn’t much room in here? Nat rubbed at tired eyes.

Bingo, give the kid a doggy bone. Sven remarked coldly.

“Bloody perfect. I have three wolves occupying my brain,” Nat lamented.

“Beg pardon?” yelped Yeller.

“You can have any of them over into your space any time you want them, Yeller. I have the entirety of Tereza and Sven in here, and most of Sylvi. I would like to remedy that as quickly as possible,” croaked Nat.

“Well, that’s going to be fun. Your hormones are going to be off the chart sharing between two women and Sven and yourself,” Yeller crossed his arms.

“You have no idea.” Nat tilted his head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling.

[1] I am ashamed and scared.

[2] Please say that again.

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To Be Gilded: Ch 2

“You know you didn’t have to come along, mother.” Deryk clutched at the swinging velvet rope over his head as the carriage jostled along the gravel road up to the Universite.

She waved a gloved hand at the comment. “Hush. You’re uptight enough as it is. It’ll be expedient for me to be there rather than you be middle man for the next month, concerning yourself over what I want for you. In this moment, consider if he will be what you want in a partner, not what I want from you. That much you are already doing by at least looking, finally.”

“It wasn’t that I wasn’t looking before.” He studied the pastures gliding by the small windows.

“If you were, you didn’t let anyone else in on it.” She set away her embroidery in frustration at the carriage’s unpredictable movement.

“I didn’t want to deal with the fallout if someone got the wrong idea.” He caught her bag before it could scatter its contents on the floor. Setting it on the purple horsehair padding next to her black and white pinstriped skirts, he contemplated the years she had been wearing mourning clothes.

“Marcus was right. You are difficult to drill holes in.” She twisted the latch on her bag to keep it from a repeat experience.

“I try.” His smile sank as the wrought iron gates of the Universite came into view. A massive converted monastery perched on a short cliff in the heatherlands. Away from the cities in every direction, it was placed to be of its own rule. A neutral area from which the world’s elite and wealthy could be catered to. “Why would someone go to a Designer school willingly?”

“It is not for a lack of opportunity.” His mother turned to peer through the window.

“They have jobs. They have money. Yet, they become Designers? Are we certain they are such a good school to work with? What if they have more nefarious motivations?” Deryk posited.

“Cold feet now, Deryk?” His mother turned back to a more comfortable position.

“I would not wish for anyone to tie themselves to me if they were in ill-fated straights.” He pulled at his cravat to sit it lower from his Adam’s apple.

“The school has been investigated thoroughly not only by the Queen but by other royals. They have not found it to be participating in questionable dealings.” She set a placating hand on his shoulder. “And every person considered for the Univeriste first needs a patron. Both parties have to agree to the patronage. And every one of them has had a complete and thorough background check to make sure they are not being marketed.”

His feet were cold and leaden, as was his stomach and his heart. It was not that his mother was incorrect with her information. It was that he did not completely trust any royal to be forthcoming with their information.

“If you are unsure after meeting this Mr. Van Dermarch, you are not obligated to continue. It will do enough to show the Guild leaders that you are listening and trying to find a middle ground for their own reassurances.” She startled as the carriage shifted from gravel to cobblestone.

“Presenting Mister Deryk Goldsman and Madam Angelica Goldsman for a Mister Albrecht Van Dermarch.” The steward pressed open the oak door for their entry into the headmaster’s ample sitting room. Within were a pair of men. One standing, hand trembling at his waist as he ducked a perfected bow. The other, significantly older with a grey salted beard, sat at a massive desk skirted on both sides by a pair of floor-to-ceiling windows. Behind him hung a portrait of His Majesty the King, Her Holiness’s father, sitting upon a resplendent white gelding.

“Mister and Madam Goldsman, please.” The headmaster motioned to the series of armchairs surrounding a low coffee table on a plush powder blue carpet. He took his time in rising, joints creaking in protest.

“Mister Baier.” The younger man, red-headed and lithe in appearance, turned between the guests and the headmaster, uncertain of procedure. He deferred to his instinct and helped the headmaster to one of the seats at the table.

“Aren’t you a good boy, Albrecht.” The headmaster patted him on the elbow and sank into one of the armchairs.

Albrecht turned back to the audience he had been requested to meet with. “Good afternoon. My name is Albrecht Van Dermarch. It is a pleasure.” His accent was distinct to Savia, heavy-toned and smooth.

Deryk studied his structure with interest as he rose to shake the man’s hand. Freckles in massive radial bursts peppered his face. His curly hair, barely tamed with enough wax a maid would faint, was quaffed and tied at the base of his neck with a thick ribbon. His suit was of decent tailoring, though it did nothing to hide sleek muscle honed from military duty and working at an artisan’s bench. Callused hands told Deryk that Albrecht had not given up his craft yet in hopes of becoming a Designer. “Deryk Goldsman, and my mother, Madam Goldsman.”

Albrecht licked his lip nervously and sat down. “Albrecht Van Dermarch, sir. You requested a showing of my pieces?”

“Probably not the proposal you were tutored on?” Deryk laced his fingers in his lap.

Albrecht looked to the headmaster for some direction before resigning himself to the fact that the man would only play silent witness to the conference between potential patronage. “No. Um, no, sir. I – no, that was not what I was expecting. I did bring with me the pieces you requested though, if that is really what you wanted to see?”

“We can discuss the potential of other duties you were prompted on in becoming a possible Designer. However, as you might know, I represent the Goldsman’s Guild, and any partner I would take would need to show competence in a craft equal to our work.” Deryk set out his parameters.

“Yes- yes, sir.” Albrecht rose and retrieved a series of small wooden boxes from the cabinet behind the sitting area.

Deryk studied the little boxes, not much larger than a parcel to hold a single saucer and teacup for transport. Once Albrecht had laid out the five cubes, he seated himself once more. “Would you like for me to?” The glassblower motioned to the parcels.

“If you would, please.” Deryk leaned forward with interest to see what types of bobbles and trinkets the ex-royal guard might produce. The first package contained what appeared to be a simple orb. Upon closer inspection, he sucked in a breath. Within the tiny ball was a world of ocean fish and coral, rendered into minutia. “You have an eye for detail and a fascinating concept of colour.”

“Thank you, sir.” Albrecht’s reply was soft as he carefully nestled the piece back into its protective packaging and turned to the next box. Deryk had to wonder if all the pieces were going to be tiny worlds. He could see it now. Something to stand on the same stage as his rings and necklaces. Little wonders that women throughout the Queen’s cities would be going mad for.

Lifting the lid on the next box, Deryk had to reassess. This one was instead packed differently, in strewn news clippings and padded wads of wool. A pulled crystal-clear horse on a grass base. Saddle and bridle rendered in absolute clarity. He would expect such detail from a lost wax brass. To find it in glass was breathtaking. “You are not just a glassblower.”

“No, sir. I know my way around a pipe, but I do perform other functions in the shop as well.” Albrecht hesitated to put the creature back.

“Do you enjoy working in the shop?”

“I did, sir.” His voice was cautious, and his eyes were captivated with his own work.

“I hear a distinct note in that statement, Mister Van Dermarch.” Deryk dared not touch the delicate horse, afraid to break it. He could see it in the Queen’s sitting room, easily decorating a mantel during Lantern’s Night.

“It was my father’s shop and now my eldest brother’s.” Albrecht allowed it to be explanation enough.

“You either do not wish to work for your brother, or your skills are not appreciated for what they are.” Deryk made the observation.

Albrecht replaced the horse and opened the third lid. “It is not that it is unappreciated. It is that I waste my time on trivial matters.” Within this box was what at first appeared to be a simple glass ashtray. In removing it and holding it to the light, Deryk had to reassess. In the afternoon light, the carving within it sent shattered rainbows skittering across the room.

“Trivial matters?” Deryk laid out a hand. This particular object made him less nervous to handle, and he was curious as to the method of carving in the lavender-pink that left clear geometric patterns across it.

“It is that father, now my brother, works as a subcontractor of the Savia Glassguild in mass production of shades and panels for the street lamps. In my desire to understand the extent I can push glass, I deviate from their mission and what provides the dividends for their folders. As a Designer, I’ve removed myself from the family and broken from the Guild. This would not be an acquisition of the Goldman’s Guild of the Salvia Glassguild.” He took back the ashtray Deryk handed him and replaced it in its packaging.

“That is reassuring. I do not desire or envy those with political motivation. Who taught you how to make these if the shop is in mass production? You were in his Highness Volder’s employment as a royal guard for a couple of years.” Deryk wanted more information on this sidestep from the family business.

“It is not uncommon within Savia for all men to contribute some time to the military upon turning sixteen. I had the fortune to be selected for his Royal Guard because of my particular disposition to detail. Having served my three years and finding that my employment was underutilized, I returned home. In doing so, after having been freed from my family’s standards for a time, I found my brother’s rule,” he shifted in his seat, slicing his finger on one of the shreds of paper upon opening the fourth box, “uncomfortable.”

“And your teacher?” Deryk pressed. A master craftsman he must have.

“Self-taught.” Albrecht’s face glowed red as if he were in trouble. Deryk left that announcement alone as Albrecht tended to the packaging. He sat with a master craftsman who had developed his skill to such a level. Any praise in this particular moment would sound hollow to the artist.

The fourth box contained a dessert drinking glass of a whimsical nature Deryk had not expected. A soft grey iris as the cup with the stock and foliage as the stem and stand; it could not hold more than a nightcap of liquor. “Is this why each of your pieces is small? The ability to work an item in a timely manner without observation or without infringing upon materials?”

“As you say, sir. Each is small in that we waste enough glass on stringers and malformed canes that my brother finds it easier to allow me my whims when the shop closes for the night as long as I clean up. It is not that my other brothers leave their duties, but that I enjoy my quiet.” Albrecht set the cup back in the cradle of wool.

“I find quiet, the late evening, and lamplight to be a time when I can truly craft for myself too.” Deryk gave a small piece of himself to the interview.

“You are a craftsman yourself, Mr Goldsman?” Albrecht asked.

“Yes. I may represent the Guild, but I do sit at a jeweller’s bench more often than not.” Deryk stared pointedly at the last box. If what he had seen had been the lead-up, he could not fathom the surprise awaiting him.

“It’s like listening to piano, isn’t it, sir?” Albrecht’s smile caught Deryk off guard. A shot of heat robbed him of thought as the man lifted the lid on the last box. A series of sheets of green glass all twisted carefully upon themselves contained a hollowed space, a man swimming through a cavern. Slanted in the light correctly, the man almost moved.

“It is not that you are a simple glassblower, Mr Van Dermarch.” Deryk hesitated over the piece, the delicateness and difficulty ever-present in the imagination and execution. “It is that you are an artist of miniatures asked to paint the outside of a house over and over again. You have no room for growth in a medium you were blessed with. You have a saint’s touch.”

Albrecht glowed under the compliment, hanging his head to hide his bashful smile. “Surely this is not what you wished to discuss at length, Mr Goldsman.” He recovered his embarrassment to pointedly acknowledge the Headmaster and Madam in the room.

“In all honesty, it was. I am privy to the knowledge of what is usually requested in these meetings. It matters not to me your appearance if this is what you are capable of. Your aptitude is phenomenal enough. To admit, though, it was initially your photo that did draw my interest. I did not realize your complexion was so enchanting.” Deryk allowed himself a moment of charm. He genuinely wished for Albrecht to join with the Goldsman’s Guild as an artisan.

“You flatter, sir.” Albrecht’s breath hitched.

“Are you set on becoming a Designer, Mr Van Dermarch?” Deryk asked.

“I find the prospect of it to align with my current values, Mr Goldsman.” The man settled into his chair, no longer needing to share the more intimate part of his soul with a set of strangers.

“Your feelings upon having a male patron?” Deryk waited on Albrecht’s reply as a maid came in and served tea.

“I find it to be a good match.” Albrecht carefully handled the piping hot teacup.

“Do you have questions for me, Mr Van Dermarch? I realize this has been an extraordinary meeting from what you have most likely already been through several times.” Deryk offered.

“It would be too presumptuous, sir.” Albrecht tried his tea, burning his tongue in the process.

“Asking you to undress for me to inspect you like a lamb for the butcher feels presumptuous to me, Mr Van Dermarch.” Deryk pinned one of the many institutionally accepted methods of patronage under his disapproving tone. “If I required another butler to oversee the runnings of my house, I would have gone to the Academy to acquire one there. As it is, you have listed yourself with the Universite, and hence, I would think it imprudent of me to offer you a position within Goldsman’s Guild on your talent alone.”

Albrecht, taken aback at the comment, rubbed one thumb with the other as he contemplated the patterned blue carpet beneath his shined leather shoes. “I would, then, if you say it is not presumptuous to ask, sir, as one craftsman to another, as you say, one potential equal to another, do you have any of your pieces I might see?”

Deryk smirked at the request. “It is how we communicate, is it not?” Reaching into his coat pocket, he withdrew a black velveteen-covered box and set it on Albrecht’s side of the table. Albrecht, calloused hands careful, took up the box to investigate the contents. Flipping open the hinged lid, within it, he studied the products. Gold bars, tiny, no longer than the length of his pinky nails, ended in pairs of arrowhead cut emeralds and rubies. Chains, slim and feather-light, dropped from each minuscule arrowhead tip to create a semicircle.

“You made these, sir?” He carefully extracted one of the bars to study it in the late afternoon light. Fire shot through the rubies and emeralds, casting coloured spots on the table.

“I did. Reading a description of your personage, I estimated what might look good on you. What your resume told me of you.” Deryk nodded once.

“I am not familiar with its usage, sir. They are not a type of cufflink I have ever seen.” Albrecht admitted.

Deryk cleared his throat, glances flicking between his mother and the headmaster. “They are not meant for clothing, Mr Van Dermarch.”

Albrecht furrowed his brow as he contemplated the tiny bars. Investigating the intricacy, he found the arrowheads twisted from the shafts, exposing a sharp post with a set of threading for the ends. A light lit in his eyes. “Earrings?”

Deryk shifted uncomfortably at that assessment. “Um. Well. No, Mr Van Dermarch, but within the same function.”

“Nipple piercings, Albrecht.” The headmaster interjected, breaking his silence. Deryk raised a gloved hand to his own mouth to hide the heat creeping up his face at the bland assessment.

“When did you even have time to make those! I thought you said you were busy with the Queen’s Jubilee commission.” His mother pressed, ignoring the use of the ornamentation.

“I – well. It was a simple enough thing.” Deryk drank his tea. Albrecht had been rendered mute at the revelation. He had not dropped the jewellery in disgust, though. Instead, he was interested more in the fineness of the threading and the smooth glide of the arrowhead.

“Thoughts, Mr Van Dermarch?” Deryk swallowed the last of his tea.

“I have to wonder. I’ve seen medicinal bottles and such. How small could I get a proper thread?” He mused, fascinated.

Deryk snorted at the assessment. “You. I like you. Will you let me be your patron?”

Albrecht looked up at the question, his eyes wide. “Really, sir? You would like for me to become your Designer?”

A single burst of a laugh shot from Deryk at the question before he reigned in his response. “I would like a great many things, Mr Van Dermarch. Inclusive of a week-long trip to the oceanfront and access to all the fudge served on Lantern’s Night, but I realize I cannot have all that I desire. This is a partnership. What do you want?”

Albrecht stalled, surprised. “I-I, well, as you said, I would like a lot of things. This. A craftsman with another. I could enjoy this. You are interesting and different. I think – I think I would like for you to be my patron, yes.” He reached a hand out.

Deryk took it, shaking it with confidence. “I look forward to what you will show me, Albrecht Van Dermarch.”

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Firefly Fish: Ch 19

“Saeesar, Keris never had plans of letting you go.” Pursha blocked our way from the cave, coming down to our level such that her massive eyes wouldn’t leave my sight.

“How does he plan on retaining my services?” Saeesar hedged, sheilding me from Pursha at this announcement.

“A keeper charm. He had a member of the Council put it on you when you were still very young. He used it to make sure you would be drawn to return to the nesting grounds if you ever felt compelled to leave.” Pursha folded herself into a large mound, curling her tail until she settled her humanoid upper half into it like my mother would do in her skirts and petticoats in her rocking chair in the evenings.

All of Saeesar’s fins flattened at the announcement. The current turned cold at the statement. “Keeper charm?”

Pursha ducked. “I’m so sorry, Saeesar. I don’t know how you would get away from here if your intentions were to go back to your home waters.”

“Can I ask something?” I stepped around Saeesar’s defensive form. He cast a censuring glance my way, what I suspected was a bid for me to hide myself in the crevices of the cave and disappear so that Pursha would forget I existed.

“Marin Kraken-child?” She flattened herself further until she lay across her tail, like Victoria would lay on a pillow on the floor to read her book for school.

“Is a Keeper charm problematic?” I took Saeesar’s hand if only to still the twitch in his tail.

“It can’t be broken. And it’s against the Antomnus code!” Saeesar’s hand tightened around mine and his muscles tensed.

“I am sorry, Saeesar. It cannot be undone. I could not prevent it either. Keris brought you home from the court, and it was already on you.” Pursha apologized. Saeesar deflated in my hand, crumpling to the bottom of the cave floor. His fins lost their rigid line.

“Show me how a charm works.” My teeth clicked in the silence.

Pursha regarded me skeptically. “Why?”

“Because I’m gonna drown in about five minutes if you don’t, and I’m not having Saeesar see me do that.” I stepped in front of the Bet-tah’s collapsed form.

“Drown? Surely not. You are Kraken child.” She flicked her hand to dismiss the statement, her current wavering my place.

“Show me,” I demanded again.

A thin mist of bubbles escaped her. “You care more for yourself than Saeesar if you would move a conversation from us talking about him to yourself.”

“What are the rules to charms? What can’t be broken? What can be bent?” I pressed.

“Settle yourself, Kraken child. Here, a simple breathing spell. That is what you want?” She approached closer, holding out a large grey hand for me to look into. A small green wheel of light bounced in her palm, spirals and geometric shapes circled within it.

I picked up a stick and flattened out a portion of the sand in the cave. “Can you hold that until I’ve drawn it?”

“Yes?” She leaned over me to watch me work. The intricacy in the pattern felt familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

“What about another one. Give me another one, what everyone needs to know here.” I would ask her for the finer detail on how to cast it in a while.

“You’re singing, Marin,” Saeesar’s lifeless voice crept up my shoulders.

“I’ll be screaming here in a minute if I don’t get a grasp of something down here.” I hedged.

“Heal.” Pursha provided another green spinning wheel for me to trace out in the sand next to the one I had studiously copied.

A chipped texture ran through my skin. Splintering needles brushed along my joints. “Right. I have the image. How do I cast it.”

“You will it. It’s in you. It’s in all who are part of Autumnos. I don’t know how else to explain it?” Pursha’s own voice deflated at that announcement.

“How do your calves learn?” I pressed, studying the first circle, writing ‘Breath’ next to it.

“By watching the adults when we cast it. We show it like we did. Seeing it a few times is enough to imprint it.” She scratched at her head.

“Helpful. Very helpful.” I crouched to stare at the pattern, willing it to commit to memory. Tracing the lines, a sensation, one different from the splintering, unnerving tell of a charm breaking, eased through my veins. “Movement. It’s movement. It’s like watching silverfish in a shole. It doesn’t feel like there is a pattern, and yet it’s at the…” I flicked the tips of my fingers across the corners in the image. A beat formed in my breastbone as I followed the corners. “It’s a pentatonic scale.”

“A what?” Pursha asked.

“It’s music. It’s symbolic notes.” I looked up at her, the realization fascinating. I floated to Saeesar, moving him from his misery. “Come here.”

“What?” His morose demeanour was understandable in the circumstance.

“I’m singing, right? I almost always am, yes?” I pressed for his attention.

“It tends to be a subtle hum unless you get scared or are enjoying yourself. Why?” He cast a questioning eye at the circle on the cave floor.

“Do I sing if I’m looking at this?” I pointed to a corner in the circle.

“Yes? Why?”

“Does it change when I go to this one?” I pointed to the next image in the charm.

“Yes, what are you thinking?” He pressed up closer to me.

“Here, no. You aren’t illiterate. You do have writing. It’s in your charms. It’s music. It’s the sound in that organ in my head. I heard it when Taigre was trying to communicate with me before he messed with my head.”

“But I can’t see that as words, like you see words, Marin.” Saeesar pointed at the circle.

“Here, no.” I pulled myself up to rest my forehead against his iase.

“What are you doing?” Saeesar baulked at my invasion into his space.

“Caste Breathe for me.” I closed my eyes and waited. Lights filled my head, purples and greens, light ecru and deep reds. Stars filtered through the waves in the images behind my eyes. Deep notes swept in under a set of high notes that elicited snowflakes in my memories. The sound of the A on a mandolin string.

“It’s a song. It’s there.” I let go of his head and moved back to give him room.

“Do you want me to cast this on you?” He blinked, still holding the glowing charm in his hand.

“No. Tell me how to get the glowing thing. I can hear the song now.” I hummed the bars that the song had, drawing the circle in the space in front of me with my finger, catching each of the geometric corners in the pattern as the image built in my head. A snowflake. It came to me, crystal clear, the edges floating away in the night.

A green ring, twice that of what Pursha had produced floated above my hands. The pattern twisted with strands of blue and purple. “It’s Breathe, right?” I didn’t dare take my eyes from it, but I wanted one of the two in the cave to tell me yes before I cast it on myself.

“I think it is. Other than for the color, and the size of it. This will last you days, if not weeks, if it works.” Saeesar carefully edged around the ring to study the pattern. “You’re still singing. Is that the song you were saying this makes?”

“If it’s the one I’m playing in my head right now, yes. What do I do with it?” I knew though, in asking. I turned my hands and pressed the green ring to my chest. The scattered sensation under my skin turned electric, piercing through my lungs, buckling my upright resolve. All the lights in the cave disappeared.

“Marin! Marin! Wake up! Marin!” Saeesar’s voice brought me out of a summer afternoon with my siblings at the watering hole.

“Saeesar?” I blinked, pulling at my fingers until they came unclamped from the fists I had made of them. “I’m alive. What happened?”

“I don’t know. You used that charm, and then all your lights turned bright, and then you collapsed. How do you feel?” He helped me sit up.

“Exhausted, like waking up well before the cock crowed and trudging my way to school in bad weather. I need coffee.” I pressed the heel of my hands into my eyes, willing the weight in them banished.

“You are not in pain?” He curled his tail around me protectively. It was an interesting habit of his, and I couldn’t decide if it was his way of getting his massive length out of the way, or if it was protective against Pursha, or meant to reassure me. Maybe a little of each.

I drew in a deep breath of water and blew out, waiting on the skittering lines that would remind me of the charms Saeesar had put on me. It never came. “I think I did it?”

“Your charm worked?”

“Maybe?” I scrambled over Saeesar’s tail to look at the other charm.

“Is he really himself, Saeesar?” Pursha’s asked.

“I have no idea. I think so.”

“I’m breathing. I think I’m still me. Saeesar, what other charms do you know?” I demanded.

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Polaris Skies: Ch 17

Deck turned to Yeller. “I’ve been informed that you’re the heavy hitter of the bunch, Cashia. Are you mated too?”

Yeller was thrown back to the darkness of his mind as his wolf pushed forward, responding automatically, his voice dropping an octave, “Yes sir, Tereza. She is paired in my genetic code currently. When a suitable mate to this boy appears, I will be able to release her and be with her as a mate should once again, same as Sven. Anything else you require, sir?” Cashia bowed as best he could on the broken love seat.

Deck gaped before closing his dropped jaw. A smile tugged at his lips as he tried not to laugh. “You picked quite the carrier if you wish to have your mate.” Deck tried to keep his smirk to a minimum. He watched the wolf’s gaze turn inward.

“Go hifreann leat1! I can’t believe you said that,” Yeller hissed at Deck. “I can’t believe you knew.” He sank into himself, burying his head in his hands.

Deck recoiled. He hadn’t expected Yeller’s reaction. He watched the blond hide behind his hands in embarrassment. Not entirely sure where to go next with his blathering, he patted his friend on the shoulder reassuringly. “What is it that Nat always tells you? Tag bag ay?”

Yeller looked up at him beseechingly. “Tóg go bog é2? And you, you’re not…you know…mad or disgusted or anything?” he whispered.

“Hell no. I don’t swing that way, but your wolf friend might have a few foul words about the mix-up.” Deck nodded to him.

“Does everyone else know?” Yeller whispered, mortified. Zola and Sun Hee shrugged.

“It didn’t take much to figure out your type, Yeller. Though, it might take a bit longer to find him in this wasteland. I don’t think Nat swings that way, do you, wolfman?” Zola poked at her friend.

Nat looked up when the wolf released its stranglehold, not having paid attention to the conversation. “Huh?” He blinked, startled to be back in the front, his eyes changing to his regular colour. They had been talking to him.

“Want to take on a second lover?” Sun Hee flicked a thumb in Yeller’s direction, Deck falling in the crosshairs of that motion. Nat stared at her, stunned, then to Deck.

“She wasn’t offering.” Deck pointed at Yeller.

Heat burned at the tips of Nat’s ears as he dodged his focus around the corners of the rooms before settling to a spot in front of his feet. “Oh, um, well…uh.” He swallowed back a flutter in his stomach.

You’re joking, right? Sven snickered at him.

Nat wanted to cower under the taunt, wanted to climb into a hole. He knew, though, he couldn’t lie to himself about this if he wanted to reign in this beast. No, actually, I’m not, and you should probably get that through your thick head if you’re gonna be occupying mine. Nat bit back, trying to fight down his feelings. He had been raised against this line of thought. He had been taught to fight it and to only follow his desires in a mainstream fashion. To not have to deny his tangled feelings; that would be ideal. How the hell was he supposed to know what to do about it?

The group watched a series of emotions wash over Nat’s face. They waited as he spoke with the wolf. Hiding his mouth behind a shaking hand, he glanced back at Yeller.

“Really?” Benj sat forward, surprised. “No wonder you’ve been off the wall the past few weeks.”

“Are we all discovering our sexuality this week or something? Is it bring your feelings to class day?” Nat snipped back.

“Hey.” Deck waved him down. “There is nothing shameful about how you feel about a person or different people.” He looked pointedly between Yeller and Hana.

“Bloody hell, it’s not!” Nat spat back. “I wasn’t raised like this. My dad would kill me if he found out.” He hid his face behind his hands.

“No, you weren’t. Your folks were staunch Catholics. Heard your dad over dinner say that all the gays needed to rounded up. I remember that. No wonder you’re in a deep pit of denial. Kid, you’re bi or pan or something in that label department if I was ever a betting man,” Benj replied.

“I would have called that bet and said he was demi.” Sun Hee volunteered.

“I thought he was ace. Never seemed interested in any of that kind of chat. The wolf has blatant tastes, though.” Zola leaned back.

Nat fought the shake in his shoulders. Sven. How do I murder you and keep breathing? Tightness wound around his lungs. He was cornered; a thin veneer of civility was all that kept him from lashing out or running away. “You all are taking this rather well.”

You don’t. The wolf paced.

“Knowing Yeller is gay and finding out you’re interested in more than one gender or whatever is the least weird thing to happen to us all week, Nat,” Zola reassured him.

I am not sharing space in here with Tereza. That is not happening, Nat. Sven growled at him, the shadow twisting around the wolf.

I wasn’t asking you to, Sven. I’d rather have you out altogether. Just let me figure out what is going on, ‘K? Nat wanted to slink away.

I can tell you what’s going on. In the animal world, it’s not foreign to us, dijete. It’s nothing to be ashamed about. Have fun with who you want, but there’s only room for one in this cubby-hole of a brain you’ve got. Sven growled.

Yeah, me. I could do with you being out of here. Nat griped back. The tightness in his lower gut had come undone, leaving him cold and naked, exposed to humiliation and shame.

Nat continued his argument with Sven while Deck moved to his next information source, sensing it to be a wise idea to leave him to cool off for a few minutes before trying to bring out Sven. The leader was slowly getting a feel for the emotional output of each wolf. It helped that Dietrich was supplying memories of the wolves and their antics to help him feel closer. Heinrich was hyper and willing to be out there. Cashia didn’t appreciate being called out, and neither did Anastasia. Sibor was faithful and calm, a strange combination to Sun Hee’s dynamic attitude.

With darkness seeping into the room and Polaris rising large on the horizon, Deck stood up and paced the length of the room, all the while weighing his odds with Nat. What he was planning on doing could potentially be a rather deadly situation if he didn’t draw an ace on the first pass. He strode determinedly toward Nat, and jerked him up. Yeller came to his feet to pull them apart before hesitating as all eyes fell on him.

“Sven.” Deck’s teeth gleamed, sharp and white in the moonlight. “Get your butt out here. We have a few words to mash.”

“Is that you, Dietrich, or is it the human talking?” Nat’s voice had dropped an octave, raising hackles on the group’s necks.

Deck tried to suck in his gasp and not lose his composure. The room fell into a dead silence. All eyes settled on Nat, keenly aware of the creature parading in their friend’s body. “This is Deck, leader of the humans with Dietrich at his side, speaking to someone that Dietrich referred to in good faith as being his ‘most trusted.’ I would very much like to get some things straightened out. ”

Sven, disengaging Deck’s hands from his shirt collar, eased his way out of the man’s grasp. The creature settled to his armchair once more, his eyes never wandering from Hana for more than a few seconds at a time. “What is it that you would like to speak with me about, Deck? Are you here to make this body more uncomfortable? You seem to have done an effective job at that. His hormones are all ablaze in here. It’s hard enough to think,” Sven hissed back maliciously.

It was too strange to see Nat and hear a completely different voice coming from him. There was a familiarity, though. They had heard it before but never realised it had been Sven speaking; the accent had thickened with the pitch drop. The voice had not registered as much authority or terror before. Now though… Deck mustered enough courage to sit on the arm of Nat’s armchair. The creature, shifted away from Deck. They looked down at the barely conscious Hana.

“How is Sylvi getting along?” Deck asked.

The creature’s entire body tensed and a growl issued from deep within. Nat, buried in the recesses of his mind, watched the shadow that persisted in twining itself around her mate.

Deck’s hackles raised in response. He rolled his eyes and whacked Nat on the back of the head. “Cut it out and answer the question, punk. If I know how she’s holding up, I may be able to figure out a way for the process to run more smoothly. Don’t question Deck; he has a good head on his shoulders.” Dietrich nipped at his second in command.

“I am sorry, Dietrich, I didn’t like being asked directly about my affairs by a ljudski.” Sven returned Deck’s smile tooth for sharp tooth.

“Get a grip, or else Sylvi may die, and we won’t live much longer. I need you as my second. You’ve always known. You’ve always protected us. So, can it and answer the boy’s questions,” and like that, Dietrich left Deck back in control.

“All right, bright boy, watcha want with me?” Sven turned acid green eyes on the man.

“I need for you to contact Sylvi and ask her, if you can make contact, what we need to do for her to get better.” Deck crossed his arms.

“Well, I can tell you the quickest way is to quit torturing both of them. They have to figure out where they stand with each other as humans before we can have any chance at survival.” Sven flicked his glance between Yeller and Hana.

Deck frowned, chewing at the inside of his lip. The two men levelled an accusatory glare at each other. Sven bowed out of the contest. Deck watched as the creature slunk from his chair to kneel next to Hana’s paralysed body. Tears rolled from the corner of her glazed eyes, staining her pale skin.

Nat brushed her cheek and placed his forehead on hers, closing his eyes. He breathed out, with Hana breathing in, and the process continued for a few minutes. Deck heard the clack of teeth as something frustrated Sven. More tears streamed freely from Hana.

Sven turned to look at Deck squarely, his eyes green ice chips, flashing with malice. “You realise that I only heed Dietrich. Don’t force me to do things I don’t want to do too often, or you may lose your place in this pack.”

The creature gently cradled Hana’s head. “Sylvi says the combining with the avian DNA is causing her to – as she said: ‘experience pain worse than that of death.’ She’s not sure what it is that is causing it, but it has something to deal with the number of genes. Somehow the wolf gene is ripping apart the avian DNA. If it continues, either the wolf DNA will take over completely, and the pain will finally stop, or else she’ll die from the stress of it all. The DNA so far is not creating malignant tumours, but it is causing tears and holes in the cells of her wings, causing her immense pain when she uses them. When she comes in contact with more strains of the wolf DNA, even slight traces, it causes the wear to occur at an accelerated rate for a time. If Hana had been singularly human, the genetic take over would have been fast and harmless. Because there’s this deviation, the dose isn’t working like it did with us.

“I wish I’d have waited. This is cruel. Her left wing has been eaten away at the nerves joining the joint to the shoulder. That’s what’s causing the pain right now that you are feeling.” Sven breathed out and rubbed at the back of his neck. The cat clock Benj had been mucking about with started ticking, causing him to shiver as the eyes danced back and forth.

“Sorry.” Benj grabbed for the contraption and ripped the leaking battery out of it.

Sven watched Deck. Concern and calculation swam across the man’s face. He saw Dietrich in the man, not the wolf, but the actions the man took, the calculating mind that rested behind the man’s eyes. A small level of respect grew for the humans’ leader, but Sven was not willing to admit him as the alpha yet. It was beginning to make sense, though, as to why Dietrich had chosen Deck as his host.

“So, is there a ‘best’ solution to this?” Deck broke the silence coating the living room.

“If there is no problem with the wait, the transformation should be done in relatively little time, another month or so.” Sven shrugged, working to mask his fear with nonchalance.

“And all this time, she’ll continue through those levels of pain that I know I barely scratched the surface of.” Deck pointed back, rubbing at his abdomen where Hana’s mark lay.

Nat studied the woman and sat back to listen to Sven twist around for reassurances to quench his terror. There were no real options outside of waiting; anything else, any more contact with the wolf strain would accelerate the process and potentially kill Hana. What were the other options? Deck stared at Nat for a while in contemplation. Benj eased over to Deck and whispered something in his ear. “No! Absolutely not!” The snapped reply caused Nat to flinch.

Nat flicked his fingers to distill the build-up of prickling electricity in his digits that came with loud noises and difficult conversations. “What?”

Deck, startled to hear his friend’s voice, looked back at Nat. “Don’t think anything about it, Nat; it’s okay. Just need your wolf to behave himself.”

Sven threw Nat into the background “Benj?” he growled.

Benj looked hesitantly at Deck.

“No, you may not!” he yelled at Benj.

“Dietrich.” Sven’s teeth snapped.

“Yes, Sven?”

“What is it that is being hidden from me that could not possibly help in the attainment of my mate’s wellbeing?” A thin veneer of righteousness failed to contain his anger.

“Heinrich brought up a point. It may not just be blood born. Might just be bodily fluids in general. Common enough for many communicable methods. What are your objections to pursuing a relationship with a human to transfer the rest of Sylvi and accelerate the change?” Dietrich asked Sven.

Sven pondered this, wishing he were able to speak with his mate. Nat pushed for front. “That’s her decision if she is willing to find out. You wolves took away her choice when you willingly infected her. She gets to choose how fast this happens.” The next thing that Nat knew, he had two wolves at his throat, hot saliva dripping on his skin. He had never known fear quite like potential death at the end of a wolf’s jaws.

“This is not a matter of your will, boy; this is a matter of life and death for one of our pack,” Heinrich growled. Anastasia joined with the expression.

“Heinrich!” Dietrich snapped.

Sven growled back, “Brat3 is quite adamant about this, Commander. Don’t push him on this yet. I’ve had a time trying to convince him to let me be close to her in the last few weeks.”

Dietrich snapped and bared his fangs. “Get a hold of your human. Make up your mind, Sven. What is it that you want out of this!”

“For my mate to live.” Sven pushed Heinrich’s muzzle off him.

“Then override this child. His desires are only secondary in this matter. We will not lose Sylvi. And yes, Sven, if it comes down to it, you will be sharing space with Tereza. It didn’t take you long to realise that both you and Sylvi couldn’t share the same body. Cashia is probably having issues the longer he keeps Tereza with him.” Dietrich backed up, wiping at his mouth in an effort to return his teeth to a more human appearance.

“No, Dietrich. There is not enough space in here for me and this boy, let alone Tereza too.” Sven leaned forward into Dietrich and Heinrich’s space.

“You will not overrule me on this, Sven. It’s final,” Dietrich cut him off.

Sven ducked his head to his leader in difference. “And alpha isn’t permanent, I might remind you.”

Nat grabbed Sven’s consciousness and tore it back into the blackness. He gasped, finding himself finally in control. “You might have accepted this, you fucked up werewolf thing. This isn’t right and it isn’t your place to tell her or me what to do with our bodies or our brains. We didn’t ask for you to be in us, and you haven’t looked for our consent on jack shit. Deck, rationalise with your wolf. You were the one who told me Hana was under your protection. Protect her, damn it!”

“Shut up, human,” growled Cashia.

“How do you not have a problem with this?” Nat directed the question at the drummer. “Yeller, éisteacht liom4.”

“Tereza, whether occupying a male or a female body, is who I love and who I must have. We cannot share the same body as we are now and be able to communicate. Nat, Sven and Tereza sharing the same body will not be able to communicate together either. Sven, if this male you occupy, however, can take her, then I will have no problem with my host’s orientations,” Cashia answered. Nat stared at him, stunned. “For now, though, I can wait to be reunited with my Tess. You must help Sven’s mate live through the change, for I believe, if she were to die, you would be ripped from the inside out by a devastated creature more fearsome than Dietrich and I combined,” Cashia warned.

“What now then?” Sven turned from the group to kneel next to Hana, confused. He brushed a feather of her wing.

Nat? Deck reached for his best friend through their link.

It was bizarre for Nat to feel his body taken over by another entity, to feel his voice box producing sounds not from himself. Sven continued to speak to Dietrich as Nat reached for Deck through their own path to speak.

Deck, help me out here, man. What am I supposed to do here? Nat begged for help.

Dietrich is absolutely brutal. He’s nothing to trifle with, any more than Sven probably. You will have to do something about this. Deck told him cautiously.

Nat tensed as Hana settled a hand on his arm. He looked down, bypassing a startled Sven. “Hana?” He grasped her hand.

“Cashia?” She drew Yeller’s glance.

“Yes, ma’am?” He knelt next to her.

“Sylvi needs to talk to Tereza. Can you back out for a bit?” Hana asked the blond.

“As you wish.” Yeller bowed, touching his forehead to hers. They began the same process that Nat had endured earlier with Sven, the rhythmic breathing throwing them into a trance-like state. About five minutes in, Yeller straightened up. “Nat, mind coming with me for a second, más é do thoil é5?” Yeller motioned toward the kitchen.

[1] Go to hell.

[2] I am sorry

[3] brother

[4] Listen to me

[5] Please

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