You Can't Have Her

You Can't Have Her

Ian

Fraser appears in the throne room carrying a large armchair like it weighs nothing. He spots me, nods like this is a casual encounter, and sets the chair on the ground, where he proceeds to drag it several dozen meters into the center of the room. The scraping grinds my gears. My ears ring, but I think that was the point. The dragon sits and splays out in a very relaxed manner, propping his ankle on his opposite knee.

He looks me up and down from a safe distance away. “Remove your shirt and pants.”

I grit my teeth. “Normally, I’d like to get to know you a bit better first.”

“Now, shifter. This is not a game. I have very little men’s clothing that would fit someone your size.”

I shrug out of my shirt. It falls in a heap, which I kick away. My pants are next. Standing in nothing but boxers against the cold bite funneling through every open-air archway exposed to the elements, I keep my eyes locked on Fraser’s face, and his smirk digs deep into my subconscious, making me feel more exposed than I already am.

Fraser’s golden brown eyes sweep to the edge of the room, where Wren walks out of the shadows and leans against a wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, I believe we’re ready whenever you are,” Fraser says with certainty, and his gaze meeting mine again. “You may begin.”

“It doesn’t work like that.”

“Because you cannot control it,” he states, and I realize he’s walking me into a trap.

“If you’re trying to get under my skin–”

“I don’t care how you feel about me,” Fraser drawls, leaning back in his chair without a care in the world. “I don’t care whether or not you succeed and go on to live a happy, fulfilling life outside these walls. But that’s just it, Ian. If you cannot control this part of you, you will not leave. Something like you cannot be loose in our world, and I will not have it in my territory, either.”

I notice Wren adjusting his weight out of my peripheral vision. His discomfort is palpable. I’m sure mine is, too, but Fraser?

This isn’t the first time he’s done this. Broken a beast. Tamed what shouldn’t be tamable.

“How many others have stood in this room and done this?” I ask.

Fraser’s wide, full lips twist into a flicker of a tight-lipped smile. “None.”

“Then how can you be so sure you can even help me?”

“Because I’ve known men like you. I’ve seen men in worse shape than you, Ian. Far worse. Too far gone for help. Do you know why your multiple forms are fighting for dominance? Naomi keeps calling it a curse. Wren and his folk share similar sentiments. What do you believe?”

My sharp exhale flares my nostrils. I’m trying to remain calm, to maintain some sort of equilibrium, but tangled childhood memories crash through my head, blurring the room.

I had loving parents. My childhood was one of scraped knees and being sent outside to roughhouse with my friends until the sun set and the dinner bell rang. Mom’s laugh is forever cemented in my memory, and Dad’s stories from the Glade were mirrored by my friends’ fathers and turned into the games we played as boys.

But there were nights I’d lie in bed, listening to their hushed voices long after I should have been asleep. Both came to Eastonia with trauma. Mom was taken and thrust into the very hellscape Dad was born into, forced to fight for her life for the entertainment of others while he trained her for the arena where he watched entire generations of wolves perish.

But there was one moment Mom hadn’t been able to let go of. One moment that haunted her more than others. It was a single second in time that made her skeptical and suspicious whenever anything was wrong with me. A slight fever. A strange bruise I didn’t remember getting. The one headache I’ve ever had in my life.

“My mother was sure something happened to her while she was pregnant with me,” I say, my voice distant and dreamlike as the world comes back into view. “My father was born with wings, in Pantharas. They were cut off at birth. There was concern I would be born with them, but I was not.” I glance at Fraser, who’s watching me keenly. “My grandfather has a beast form, as did his father, but they weren’t out of control like mine is. But they are not fae, and the form I took last night… was fae, like I didn’t have a drop of wolf blood in my veins.”

Fraser tilts his head to the side while I explain what it was like in the form. I felt powerful. Unstoppable. Flying was second nature.

“I’m only a quarter fae. I shouldn’t have these abilities.”

“You’re right. You should not.”

I lick my lips, taking a single step forward, unable to stand still. “My mother was struck by a fae king's magic when she was pregnant with me. She was sure, so sure, that it hurt me. Could that be why….”

I can’t make sense of anything tangible right now.

“It could be. There’s no way to confirm.” Fraser drops his ankle from his knee and keeps his legs splayed like he’s about to get up. He cracks his knuckles, deep in thought.

“You said you’ve seen this before.”

“I have.”

“In what context?”

“War.” His eyes meet mine and hold–hard. Even so casual, so normal right now, I’m reminded how unnervingly different he is. A foreign kind of violence oozes off him. I find it hard to imagine what he’d look like as a dragon. I can’t fathom it. He glances at Wren before looking back at me with a deep sigh. “The fae were masters of their craft in those days, during the final push of the war no one won. I’ll say that much.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Then it’s true,”–he glances at Wren again, chuckling–“all was truly lost.”

“It was three thousand years ago, Fraser,” Wren says quietly.

Fraser rolls his eyes. “There’s no need to remind me. I was there.” He rises, tucking his hands in his pockets and begins to pace. “The dragons were aligned with the shifters and witches of this land, not the fae. We were targets in our dragon forms for obvious reasons–large enough to spot, and easy to shoot out of the sky, to spear out of the ocean, the rivers.” He sucks his teeth. “Most of us, by the end, reverted to fighting in this form.” He motions to his body. “We fell in line with foot soldiers, the wolves mostly. The foxes had long returned to their mountain dens by that point. They sensed a losing battle before the rest of us did.” He returns to his chair with a grunt, running his fingers through his hair. “But from the front lines, we bore witness to the hybrids, like you. Like your father, I presume, half fae and half wolf, bred for power, not magic. But some fae abilities tried to break through, and when they did, it was… gruesome. If your father didn’t have fae abilities, fae magic, I’m assuming their hybrid breeding program succeeded at some point in time.” Another oddly reptilian head tilt. “I don’t need to go on.”

“I think you should,” Wren replies, and my nod in agreement has Fraser rising again.

“Very well. You asked.” He tucks his hands behind his back, eyeing me skeptically, his gaze falling on the scars running up the length of my forearm. “Those scars were quite common, actually, among the men and women affiliated with what became known as the Becoming.”

My stomach twists.

“It was essentially an involuntary shift they could not control, and after a certain point, it was permanent. We watched enemy soldiers go insane and absolutely decimate their own comrades. We’d hear screams from enemy encampments in the night and knew, without a shadow of a doubt, what was happening. It was awful. Some of the worst violence I’d ever seen, and I bore witness to entire packs, entire communities, being gutted. Yes, it was likely fae magic. Yes, it’s likely that same magic that is manipulating your very genetics, but there is no cure for it other than death, unless–”

“Unless I submit?” I grind out.

Fraser grits his teeth. “Not… really.”

“Then what can I do?”

“I’m not finished,” he cuts in, pacing back toward his chair. “How much time do we have, by the way? Has a new scar formed yet tonight?”

“No.”

“Then that is already a good sign.” He hums, looking at the night sky painting the world beyond his mountain in cloudy darkness. “Some of those poor souls managed to escape across the front lines to seek help. Our healers were curious, of course. A lot of the battles were taking place at night, under the moonlight, when lunar magic was most potent for the witches. They tried healing them, tried banishing what they thought was a curse. The only successful recoveries were those who managed to break through some type of mental wall that kept their beast ignorant of who they really were. Once they got over that and were able to manage their symptoms, and know their triggers, most got better with time and training. Although, to be perfectly honest, the war came to a bloody, screeching halt shortly thereafter.”

A pang of heat licks up my arm and settles so deep I feel it in my bones. Fraser notices my flinch. He slowly begins to unbutton his shirt.

Fraser continues cautiously, “Some of them had mates whom they met on our side of the fighting.”

My muscles twitch. Little spasms run up my spine.

He looks to his side as another shadow drifts into the room and comes to a stop beside Wren. Naomi looks between us, her eyes wide and unreadable. My lips part to scream at her for not staying with Oakley like I commanded, but my tongue won’t cooperate.

“What happened to the mates was not expected. It was brutal. They could feel everything. Every single change. At first, it wasn’t painful. Just a scar. A mark somewhere on their bodies.” He shrugs out of his shirt, watching me with eyes sharp with sudden concern. “But as the transformation progressed, they started to feel it. Bones breaking with every shift. Fevers. Delirium.” He tosses his shirt toward Naomi. “Most died. They died long, painful deaths. Worse than any warrior in battle. They died screaming their mates’ names, pleading for help.”

“Fraser, you’re taunting him,” Wren warns.

“She’s feeling it right now, isn’t she?” Fraser says as he stalks to the side. Naomi falls out of view behind him. “She’s probably thrashing, unable to wake up from the nightmare you’re causing.”

My canine teeth pop, sharpened like a blade's edge. Pain rockets up my spine as my mind slips into darkness I struggle to stay ahead of.

“You can’t have her anymore,” Fraser taunts, resting his hand on his belt buckle. “You’ll kill her. Death is the only way to end her suffering if you don’t give her up, Ian.”

“She is mine,” I snarl, and my voice sounds so wrong. So violent and loud. It doesn’t belong to me.

He takes several shallow breaths. “If you don’t reject her, I’ll kill her myself.”

My brain shuts down. One moment, the room is wide and vibrant, and Fraser is there in full color, his body positioned between me, Naomi, and Wren, and then they’re just… gone.

For a second.

A single fucking second.

I come to in my beast form. I feel it all. See it all. Massive paws, eyesight so precise I’m sure I can see through walls. I don’t have a single moment to process the change and rush of power bursting through my veins before my senses flood, and Fraser becomes my sole focus.

Hurt him. Kill him.

I lunge. He roars, ripping off his belt like a whip, and races toward me.

Naomi’s shout of shock fills the room and fades. Everything vibrates violently, but I ignore it, my mind focused on one thing and one thing only.

Shredding this man to pieces.

My mate. Oakley is mine. She is mine. Mine. Mine. Mine….

“Fraser!” Wren shouts.

One moment, Fraser is a man, all muscle and fury behind his golden eyes, and the next, his body folds in a gust of hellfire, and the shadow draping over the room curls through the smoke, nearly to the ceiling.

I forget everything.

I fall backward on my ass. My beast form shatters back into an upright body. My fae body. My wings curl and expand behind me, rippling as I crawl backward away from the monster rising out of the smoke. Bright, massive golden eyes peer down at me, murderous, and gargantuan claws scrape to a stop barely a foot from where I’m practically prostrate on the ground in his shadow.

The dragon’s long snout erupts through the smoke. He lifts a single talon, catching my wing, and pierces through it.

“Well done,” he says into my mind through a link that shouldn’t exist. Then Fraser drags me by my wing into his smoke, and the world goes all black and gray.