Secrets and Promises

Secrets and Promises
Ian

Rain slides off the branches serving as a makeshift roof above the cottage. I’ve been awake for at least an hour now, I believe, staring up at nothing while pondering everything I’d need to do to make this a home. New walls, for sure, but there’s plenty of river rock nearby that can be stacked in place. A large addition wouldn’t take much time or added skill. Wood is abundant. I could have two new rooms built by the time the first snow flies. 

The rest would come in time. Real flooring. Furniture. Windows to let the sunlight in. Sunlight I imagine would warm a real bed where I could wake up every morning to… this. 

It’s asinine. A stupid, farfetched daydream. 

I still linger in it while Oakley sleeps beside me, her cheek resting on my chest, her body curled around mine. 

My lucid dreams come to a screeching halt when a twig snaps a quarter mile away. 

I slowly untangle myself from Oakley, draping her cloak over her still half-naked body. I keep an eye on her while stepping into my boots, which I managed to snatch from camp before I tore off into the woods to find her last night. This is the first night since the transformation began that I remember details in full color, and I’m thankful for it. Thankful I’m finally getting a fucking grip, but also that I got this one night with her before we’re forced apart. 

But this place? This was someone’s home once for a reason. It’s in a protected valley with a dense forest on all sides. A creek runs nearby, and I believe it was used for washing and bringing water up to a garden, based on the remnants of stone-walled planting boxes dotted across the overgrown clearing. There was a smoke shed here, too, which tells me hunting opportunities were plenty. Whoever lived here before was never hungry. 

This place makes me wonder if that person was like me–forced to be alone–or if they had a family, like I so desperately want. That dream is hanging precariously from my fingers with every passing second. 

Can I still have that?

Can I have it with Oakley? 

Is it possible? Is it even fair to her?

More twigs snap, alerting me to an upright presence–not small game, not a deer. Each snap is calculated and louder than it needs to be, more dramatic, which means whoever’s approaching wants me to know they’re here. 

I’m expecting Naomi. Instead, Wren ducks out of the tree line and steps into hazy, gray morning light, the hood of his cloak catching raindrops. 

His green eyes meet mine, and he nods, tossing a large sack at my feet. “I had a feeling you might be in need of clothes. I’m not surprised to find you shirtless.”

“I didn’t have a chance to think about being appropriately dressed for the elements before the shift began.” He remains on the edge of the clearing, likely gauging the situation. I don’t blame him, but I’m also fully aware that I’m back in my typical, everyday form now–not a beast, and definitely not some fae monster with wings. 

He tilts his head toward the cottage and the nest of branches I used to make a roof. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“As long as we don’t wake her. She needs the rest.”

“Follow me.” He pivots back into the trees, and I fish out a shirt, then a well-made, thick flannel someone in New Glade would wear. It’s made with care, down to the carved wooden buttons, and fits like a glove. 

Wren doesn’t lead me far from the cottage. In fact, I can still see it through the trees when we reach the creek, which burbles loud enough to muffle our voices, which I think was his plan. I find it oddly considerate. 

“I followed your scent here. I wanted to check in and ensure you and your companions made it through the night.” He sits on a fallen log and gracefully folds his fingers together. 

“Did you see my cousins this morning, by chance?”

“They’re awake. I spoke with Fennec.” He rolls his lower lip between his teeth. “What is he, other than a fox?”

I smile to myself. “He’s what we call a Shadowsynger.”

“I sensed some kind of elemental magic in him. I wasn’t sure what I was detecting, but to be honest, he and his sister are the first foxes outside of our den that I’ve ever come across.”

“Their family are the only ones like them, as far as we know. Foxes are still damned, so to speak. Folklore.”

“The stuff of nightmares. I see nothing has changed.” He loosens a rock with the toe of his boot and watches it fall into the creek with a plop. “There’s something we need to discuss, Prince Ian. The timing feels selfish given your circumstances, but given mine, I can’t wait any longer.”

“What is it?”

He meets my gaze and looks dreadfully serious as he answers. “I’ve been talking with my elders. We are safe, as it stands, well hidden in these mountains, but your world is ever expanding, and this–” He waves between us. “This is proof that my den isn’t as remotely hidden and safe as I thought. Alpin and his followers are dead. That’s been confirmed. We’re indebted to you for that, but I have no loyalty to your family, to the cousins currently sleeping half a mile away.” The look in his eyes tells me everything without needing to say the damning words out loud. 

Can he allow them to leave? Is that a risk this Alpha can make?

“The existence of foxes in my family is a secret that is heavily guarded against everyone outside of our closest circles,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. “Fennec and his siblings, especially. They’re all foxes. None of them inherited the wolf capabilities my uncle Aris could have passed down, but he is a fox as well as a wolf shifter.”

“A fox-wolf hybrid?” Wren asks suspiciously. “That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not.”

He leans back, dragging his hands up his thighs. Every movement he makes reminds me of Fennec, which strikes me as odd that I’ve never noticed the differences between us before. Like Wren, Fennec is graceful, like a dancer. The way he moves, his mannerisms, even the way he speaks screams fox, and I would never have noticed if I hadn’t met Wren. 

“Killing my cousins is totally unnecessary,” I say, fixing him with a sharp look. “I would highly encourage you not to try, even with back up. Naomi is not nice.”

“Not nice?” He chuckles. “She’s a Firestone. No one in my skulk has any interest in going near her. Trust me.”

“Can I? Can I trust you’ll allow them to leave? Just like I’m asking you to trust me when I give you my word that no one will know of you and your people?”

“We’ll leave them alone,” he says on a breath. “We’ll give them some supplies. That’s it.”

“And in turn, you have my word that no one will speak a word about what they’ve seen here, or who they’ve met, if that’s really what you want.” 

I wait for the flash of understanding in his eyes. I wait for the flinch, a twist of his fingers, anything that would give away the one thing he hasn’t brought up and is being very careful not to let slip. I roll my shoulders, eyeing him skeptically. “How old are you, Wren?”

“Older than you, for sure.”

“How much older?”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

“That’s rather old to not have a mate. A fated mate, at least.”

His gaze is like cold iron. “Fated mate bonds among my kind are very rare.”

“Oh, I understand. My aunt Posey is also a fox, and I have the story of how my uncle Aris found out. It was….” I trail off, running my tongue along the inside of my teeth. “Did you know immediately?”

“Did I know what?”

“Juliette?”

He shakes his head, refusing to look at me. 

“She’s only twenty. According to what little I know about foxes, that’s too young to know.”

“And she won’t know because she’ll leave, and she’ll go back to her life elsewhere,” he snaps.

“So you are her mate?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks hotly, and there it is, the flinch. The twist of his fingers. The gnawing sense of discomfort I was waiting for. 

“Because I noticed right away, and I’m guessing Fennec did as well.”

“He didn’t bring it up when we spoke this morning.”

“Because he’s her brother, and he’s hoping it’s not true for reasons that go beyond that you’re a fox who lives on the other side of the world.”

“Why even bring this up?” he asks, biting back a snarl. “You have far more important things to worry about, like your own mate.”

“Because I cannot promise you that those two foxes will remain in their territory now that they’re not blissfully ignorant of the fact that there’s people like them in the world, and they’re no longer alone,” I bite out. “I can only promise no one else will know, but I can’t make promises that Fennec won’t get curious. Juliette has no idea you’re her mate. None. I’d bet my life on it, but Fennec knows. When he returns–because he will return–I want your word that you won’t kill him.”

“If I give you my word, I want something in return.”

“What is it?” I’m already losing track of the promises we’re making. 

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know what you’re thinking right now, and it’s not about me. It’s not about your cousins. It’s about her, the woman you made shelter for. The woman your beast has recently claimed as his own.”

My heart rate quickens. A sickening sense of possessiveness spirals through me, shattering all other feelings. It’s unusual and foreign. I was raised to extend a great deal of trust to my pack and my community in the Deadlands. I’d feel perfectly secure leaving Oakley there in the company of my pack mates, even the men. 

My beast begs to differ. Very much so. Even the thought has the creature clawing for dominance. 

I hold him back, clearing my throat, “It was raining.”

“You made her a little nest, Ian.”

“She is my–”

“Mate,” he finishes boldly, biting down on the word. “And I have it on good authority that you’re running out of time to save her.”

“I am the danger to her. She’s leaving with my cousins. She’ll be gone when this beast tries to take over control. After that, I don’t know. I’m trying to remain hopeful there’s an ‘after’ to all of this.”

“Do you realize what that’ll look like? What form did you take last night, Ian?”

I startle, narrowing my eyes. “What do you mean? How much do you know about what’s happening here?”

He stares at me for a long, long time. “There’s someone you need to meet, but alone, if possible. Your family and mate will need to be long gone by then. He does not appreciate company.”

“What are you talking about?”

He flexes his jaw, and for the first time, Wren looks deeply uncomfortable. Damn near scared.

“Wren,” I press, and he lowers his head into his hands for a moment, groaning softly. “Wren?”

“I’d be risking not only my neck but my people for you.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because,” he growls, lowering his hands. “I can’t just allow you to remain, which I believe is your plan, right? You’re going to reject that poor girl, thinking it’ll save her life, and send her back while you live out your days here, in my territory, as a beast, if you’re not able to control it. I can’t have that, but I also can’t kill you because I owe you my life for how you helped free my people from my brother’s reign of terror, finally. Meeting you was fate, but you’re a walking omen of death as it stands. We need to change that.”

A chill runs up my spine. “Who, exactly, is the man you need to meet?”

“A man like you,” he replies, and he looks up when a twig snaps with dramatic flair. 

I look over my shoulder at Oakley, her hair mussed from sleep, as she stares down at us from the ledge overlooking the creek. I’m sure she heard most of it. I’m certain, based on her withdrawn expression.