A. E. Lowan

The February wind chased Cian across the wind-chilled patio concrete and back into the house. He closed the sliding-glass door against the onslaught and set his covered basket of fresh cuttings from the winter garden on the table, tickling little Noel’s toes with cold fingers and eliciting a squeal of delight from the baby. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it across the back of a chair, stooping to kiss his son’s round cheek, then straightening and crossing to the big island counter to lay a kiss on the back of Winter’s neck. “I think I got everything.”

Winter leaned back against him, and Cian reveled in the feeling of her nearness, her warmth, and the lightly floral scent of her shampoo. “Thank you for going out and getting them for me. I can make the potions in the apartment kitchen above the shop, but not without these cuttings.”

Cian smiled and kissed her hair. “I’m happy to help, and the last thing I want is to chase you away, but aren’t you running late to open?”

Winter looked at the clock and gave a tiny jump. “Blast! Yes, I am.”

Cian stepped away and picked up the jar of mayonnaise from the counter. “I’ll finish your sandwich while you get your coat. It’s freezing out there.”

Winter smiled up at him and laid a soft kiss against his lips. “What would I do without you?”

Cian smiled. “Let’s never find out.” He kissed her again, deeper, and she rose to meet him, her lips parting beneath his mouth. He finally broke the kiss with a reluctant groan and pressed his forehead to hers. “Coat. Late. Or screw it and stay with me today.”

Winter squeezed her eyes tight but stepped away. “Jessie’s at school, and I don’t have rabbit help until this afternoon. I really have to go.”

Cian smiled and let her slip away. Work was important, and he had his college aptitude exam to study for. He had lost precious weeks in Faerie last month and time was quickly running out. He turned back to the sandwich, finished it, and dropped it carefully into Winter’s lunch bag, making sure that she’d already packed some grapes and sliced cucumbers. He walked over to the kitchen table and pulled a sheet of paper out of one of his notebooks, carefully writing, “You make me so happy.” He folded the note and tucked it into the bag, then transferred Noel to his chest carrier to free up his hands. He picked up the bag and basket in one hand and took all three to the foyer where he met Winter winding a scarf around her slender neck. He gave her a quick kiss and held up the baby for his mother’s kiss. He handed her the basket and lunch bag and waved her out the door with Noel’s pudgy little hand. “Bye, Mommy. Come back to us, soon.”

Winter smiled and waved to their little one. “Bye, Noel. Take good care of Daddy Cian.” Cian beamed and watched out the open door until Winter was in her car and out of sight down the long driveway. He moved to close the door but heard Brian’s mother’s new van approaching the house. The young Hero and Etienne had been practicing nearly every day since they’d returned from Faerie. Brian had a new drive to learn, born out of the blood, pain, and loss suffered during the brutal battle there. Cian understood. He had returned with a stronger desire than ever to learn everything he could about medicine and his healing gift. He held the front door open and waived Brian inside as he swung the van door closed. “Come in. It’s cold out there.”

Brian nodded his thanks and slipped past the sidhe, shrugging out of his padded denim jacket and hanging it on the coat tree in the hall. “Morning, Cian. Happy Valentine’s Day!”

Cian’s smile only slipped a little as he blinked his confusion. “Thanks! Happy what?”

Brian grimaced and patted Cian’s shoulder. “You fit in here like you’ve been here forever. I forget that so many things are your first time encountering them. Every February fourteenth is Valentine’s Day. It’s a day to tell the people you care about that you’re thinking about them.” The Hero flushed a little and seemed to find a speck of dust on the picture-filled table fascinating. “And you can ask really special people to you to be your Valentine, if you have someone that you care about romantically.”

Cain bounced little Noel in his carrier and thought about that. “Someone romantic, like you and Jessie?”

Brian coughed and rubbed at where the speck had been eradicated. “Exactly like that.”

Cian nodded. He had a couple of people who fell into that category. “How do you ask them to be your Valentine?”

Brian walked back to the coat tree and pulled an envelope and a little square box that smelled like chocolate out of his inner pocket. “Normally with flowers or candy and a card, like this one. In it, you tell the person you feel romantically about what you like about them and how they make you feel, and you ask them to be your Valentine if they feel the same way.”

Cian looked at the red envelope. “I don’t have any of those to give anyone.”

Brian looked down at the envelope and back at the sidhe. “You can buy them at stores in town, including ours, but you can also make them yourself with paper, scissors, and glue. That lets you be really personal with your Valentines.”

“Is that what you did for Jessie? Make it yourself?”

Brian smiled and looked down at the envelope. “Yeah, I did. It might be a little cheesy, but I think she’ll like it more that it came from me than a store.”

Cian thought about that, and it sounded right. Handmade, then. “Is there something special that I’m supposed to make?”

“Most people include hearts or flowers, but really you should just think about what the other person likes and try to make them something like that. Some people write a poem, or something sentimental, or you can just write, ‘Be Mine.’ It’s really about the thought that you put into it. If you want to give it a go, I know that Jessie has tons of art supplies upstairs that I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you using.”

Cian grinned. He had a lot of work to do, but if this was the day that everyone told the people special to them how they made them feel, then he wasn’t going to miss his chance. He tucked Noel a little higher on his chest. “This sounds great. Let’s raid Jessie’s supplies, and I’ll see what I can do.”

Cian followed Brian up the stairs and to Jessie’s room. In a cabinet near her desk, Brian found paper in various colors, scissors, glue, markers in every hue, and even a box of odd buttons, ribbons, and tiny bows. They gathered up the supplies and took them down to the kitchen, depositing them between Noel’s carrier and Cian’s study guides.

Etienne stood impatiently near the basement door. “What are you two up to? I’ve been waiting here since I heard the van.”

Brian grinned at Cian but answered the faerie knight. “We were gathering supplies for a special project. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Etienne took in the pile of supplies on the table and his brows knit in confusion, but he didn’t ask for elaboration. Instead, he said, “It’s too cold to work outside today, so we’re taking over Alerich’s boxing studio for the morning. Let’s get to it. The day is getting away from us.”

Brian nodded. “Let me just grab Courage.”

Etienne grunted and headed down the stairs.

Brian turned back to Cian. “Just think about what your person means to you, how they make you feel, and use that to make the card. There’s no right or wrong way to do it.”

Cian looked down at the pile of supplies and thought about Winter and how she made him feel and ideas flooded his brain. He beamed at the Hero. “Thanks, Brian!”

Brian ducked his head and smiled at the sidhe prince. “No problem. Good luck!”

Cian sat and picked through the paper. The card that Brian had been carrying had a red envelope, but he had no idea what the card inside might look like. But Brian had said to think about Winter and how she made him feel and to go from that. Cian closed his eyes and pictured the wizard, her long hair, her scent, and how her smile made him feel like the first days of spring when everything is in bloom and the breeze held the scent of promise in the air. He picked a piece of blue paper, like the skies in spring for his background and a selection of greens for the grass and trees. He began cutting small shapes and gluing them to the blue background, building a landscape out of cut paper.

Cian looked at the growing landscape and it wasn’t quite right. It was frozen, still, while Winter made him feel full of life. He concentrated on the scene, breathing life into it the way he could breathe healing into a body. He funneled his magic into the paper until the blades of grass danced with glamour in the spring breeze and the clouds lazily traced across the paper sky.

Cian thought about what Brian had said about hearts and flowers and cut flowers to dot the grass, thinking about Winter’s shampoo and the slightly floral scent that had come to mean home. He breathed the scent into the scene until each gust of the paper breeze brought the essence of another flower.

He remembered Brian said that some people write poems for their Valentines. That was really just a song, wasn’t it? He thought of Winter and sang a sidhe love song into the card, breathing it to life like he had the flowers, the grass, and the wind, until the card rang softly with Cian’s voice, the song of a sidhe lord and his lady love.

Cian looked down at the card and was happy with what he saw. This was how Winter made him feel. Alive, and new, and full of beginnings. He signed the card, “Be Mine and Let Me Be Yours. Cian.”

He gently folded the card, careful of the pieces, and made a red envelope to hold it, writing Winter’s name in his careful script on the outside, smiling at his work. That was always how it was with Winter. Things were easy and they made him happy.

He looked back at the pile of supplies and the smile changed. He thought of Etienne, who made things anything but easy, but who also made Cian happy. How to tell the gruff faerie knight how he made him feel. He closed his eyes and thought about the man, about their night together before the battle, and the many nights since. He chose a black piece of paper and cut starlight pinpricks into it for the night sky. As before, he breathed his magic into the scene and the stars began to twinkle in their paper sky. He cut a moon hanging full and bright and a tree beneath which he glued two lovers lying on the ground, staring at the heavens above them. He cut a fire, burned low and smelling of hickory and with his magic, the flames danced in their ring and cast shadows on the lovers. He thought of the smell of Etienne, smoke, leather, and steel, and breathed them all into the card. He didn’t sing. He didn’t need to. Etienne was a man of few words and would know what Cian was saying without saying anything. He simply signed it, “Be Mine, Now and Always. Cian.” He folded it carefully, and made a red envelope that said, “Etienne,” to slide it inside.

Cian smiled wistfully down at his creations. Two cards for his two loves. Two Valentines. But then he frowned. It was true that he loved Winter and Etienne both, but Brian said that Valentine’s Day was a day for telling the people you cared about how they made you feel. He was nervous, but with a shaky hand he picked up another piece of paper, this one brown like the Library. He had another Valentine to make, but this one caused him some trepidation. Alerich. He cared for the man, but neither of them had talked about those feelings at all. What if he asked Alerich to be his Valentine and the man said no? But Brian hadn’t said that Valentines were a sure thing. Only that he should tell people how they made him feel and ask if they would be his Valentine. He could do that. He could tell Alerich how he made him feel, even if the wizard didn’t feel the same way.

Cian cut carefully. He cut a fireplace with a roaring fire and breathed it to life. He cut chairs and books and arranged them like the evenings they had spent together reading in the Library. He cut two men and put them in the chairs, books in their laps. He thought of Alerich and his scent, firewood, paper, and spices. The feel of silk and leather. And the walking cadence of Shakespeare’s meter, iambic pen-something, that Alerich practically sang with every reading. He breathed them all into the card, and finally cut butterflies flying from the book in paper-Cian’s lap like they fluttered in his belly. How the wizard made him feel. Cautious and curious. Nervous and exhilarated. He hummed a song into the card, a tentative but hopeful song. One that offered his heart and hoped that it would be handled kindly. He signed it, “Be My Valentine? Cian.”

He made one last red envelope and wrote Alerich carefully across it, sliding in the card and biting his lip. This one made him nervous, but it also felt right.

He looked at his small pile of Valentines. The first he’d ever made. He hoped that he’d done it right. But Brian had said there was no right or wrong way. To show them how they made him feel. He’d done that and now all he could do was ask them to feel the same. To be his.

Cian gathered up the rest of the supplies and returned them to Jessie’s cabinet, changed the baby and gave him a bottle, rocking him in the nursery glider and humming the songs he had sung for Winter and Alerich. He would get to work on his studies in a moment, and later he would give his very first Valentines to Winter, Etienne, and Alerich. But for now, he was content to rock his son, hum a love song, and think about the family they were making in this house. Brian had said “Happy Valentine’s Day,” and Cian was happy. Happier here than he had ever been in his life.

***

“You doing okay?”

Alerich grimaced in the chair, the uncomfortable feeling of the needle penetrating his skin like the rough tongue of a cat scraping over a sunburn combined with thousands of tiny claws perforating his chest. The pain seemed to grow more intense the longer the artist worked on him, but Alerich was determined to see this through. “I’m fine.”

The tattoo artist grunted and bent his head back over the design, wiping away blood and excess ink with a practiced swipe.

Alerich watched him work, the outline of the blond raven done in white ink finished, and the artist filling in the delicate feathers. The raven’s blue eyes staring up at Alerich were disconcerting, accusing, and Alerich stared back, full of guilt. He hadn’t known Gaubert long, but Alerich believed that they could have grown to become friends. Gaubert had believed in the Coalition, believed that Seahaven could be changed, and the lives of the various therian groups made better. He had believed in Alerich, right up to the end.

Alerich looked away from the raven on his chest, the pale ink as ghostly as the memories that haunted him. He had failed Gaubert. Failed to see how dangerous politics in Seahaven really were. Failed to stop the attack that killed the raven and nearly his entire murder. Only the kids, Colette and Casmir, had survived, Gaubert hiding them at the last second, telling them to call Alerich. That Alerich would help them.

The kids were safe now, tucked in at the Theatre and far from the reach of the sharks and their guns. But neither Casmir nor Colette would take his calls. They were angry at him for being new to town, for misinterpreting Gaubert’s request for assistance, for his naivete and ignorance of how things functioned here, for his idealistic fantasy that everyone could be brought to the table and would be happy to forge a new community out of the fractious mess Seahaven had been for the last hundred and fifty years. They were angry at his failure, but not half as angry as Alerich was with himself. And so, he sat here, arms gripping the chair, trying not to move as his greatest failure was indelibly etched into his body where Alerich would always see it and remember that his mistakes cost lives.

The artist gave one last swipe and sat back, turning off the machine. “What do you think?”

Alerich looked down at the finished raven. The likeness was amazing, the bird looking like it could flap its wings and fly off Alerich’s chest at any moment. “It’s perfect.”

The man gave a brief nod of thanks, slathering the new tattoo and covering it as he explained how to clean and moisturize it over the next two weeks to have the best results. Alerich listened carefully, even though he knew Winter would have a salve that would cut the healing time drastically. Though part of him wondered if he shouldn’t forgo her salve, to heal slowly and painfully as further penance for his failure. Alerich didn’t think Gaubert would want him to suffer, but he wasn’t so sure about Casmir. The boy was so angry. And Alerich couldn’t blame him.

Alerich stood, paid the artist, and gingerly buttoned up his shirt. He felt the sting of the new tattoo and welcomed the ache. It matched the one in his heart.

He left the shop and headed back to his car. He had two more meetings scheduled today with groups that wanted to take part in this grand experiment. He reached a tentative hand up and touched the tattoo, promising that he would learn from this mistake and never underestimate the dangers of Seahaven again. He slid into the car, gripped the steering wheel, and made a vow to the ghost now emblazoned on his chest that he would do better, be smarter. That he would learn from this tragedy.

That he would be the leader that Gaubert had needed.

***

Alerich swirled the tumbler in his hand as he surveyed the disaster that was his new office. It had been weeks since his father’s things had been sent from Ashimar House in Surrey. Granted, it had been a busy time between the mess with the raven murder, Bertrand’s visit, and of course, going to war, but still, he felt as if the piles should have gotten a little smaller. The truth was, he was procrastinating with this project, sorting through his father’s papers. He was sure that there were dozens of things in these boxes that he needed to tend to but just as certain that every box held something painful that he would have to handle, contemplate, and process. Processing had not been his strong suit since December, since the night his father died.

This is nonsense, Rick. They’re just boxes. Open one and get started. He tried to pysch himself into motion, even laying a tentative hand on the closest box to hand, but he just stood, staring at the hand, so much like his father’s, poking out from the suit he had worn to the meeting tonight. Oh, for fuck’s sake. Stop being a ninny and open it.

He knocked back the amber scotch in the tumbler and set it on his desk, picking up the box knife that had seen too little use this month and opening the box. He pulled open the flaps and was greeted with file folders, all with neat, printed labels in their plastic tags. He thumbed through the top few—financial transactions pertaining to the House in Surrey going back more than twenty years. No ghosts here. He blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and pulled out the folders, filing them in the currently empty filing cabinets behind him.

He fell into a rhythm, opening a box, sorting and filing the contents. He would go through them in more detail once he had a handle on which topics were the most pressing. The tension slowly left his shoulders as he worked, and he found breaking down each box as he emptied it was slightly cathartic—slowly reclaiming his office, box by empty box.

He stooped to grab a box from the floor, and it was a bit heavier than the rest. He hefted it and set it in the newly unearthed leather chair in front of his desk. He extended the box knife’s blade and cut carefully through the packing tape. Peeling back the box flaps revealed bubble wrap, and underneath, the hard edge of his father’s computer. Finally. He’d been looking for this from the beginning, though admittedly, not very determinedly.

Alerich gently pulled the machine from the box and set it on his desk. If the computer was really here, there should be a monitor somewhere to. He looked at the rest of the boxes with renewed hope. He had started to believe that his father’s staff—his staff now, he supposed—had been messing with him, holding the computer back and telling him it was here.

He lifted the empty box to break it down and it rattled. He looked through the bubble wrap and in the bottom of the box, lying unnoticed was another square wrapped in the plastic. Alerich pulled it out and unwrapped it revealing an old VHS tape. It wasn’t labeled, though it looked like a home tape, the little tab still in place for recording.

What is this, then? He turned the tape over in his hands, but the underside of the box gave no clues to its contents either. Alerich eyed the tape with some trepidation. Magnus Ashimar had been a man of many secrets and most of them involved blood and pain. The chances that this tape held one or more of his father’s multitude of crimes were high. But it was alone in the computer box. If his father had kept trophies, shouldn’t there be a cache of them. Why one tape.

Alerich poured himself another scotch. He hadn’t run across a will or any other document detailing what Magnus wanted to happen to his property on his demise. He supposed this could be a visual deposition. He took a deep drink from the tumbler and stood up, gripping the tape. Only one way to find out.

Alerich carried the tape into one of the parlor rooms on the first level of Mulcahy House. It was a cozy room with couches lining three sides of the room and a large television with a media cabinet nestled in between them. He and Winter had been spending several of the cold February nights in here cozied together watching movies. Alerich loved movies and Winter had admitted that she hadn’t seen many in years. They were making up for lost time together, and it was one of Alerich’s favorite parts of the day.

He looked down to the VHS in his hand and stilled. He thought about his twin, upstairs. This had belonged to their father. Maybe he should get her before watching it. But the truth was, Elspeth was having an even harder time coming to terms with their father’s passing than he was. She was finally starting to get a little of her old sparkle back, mostly due to Thomas’s influence, he was sure. He didn’t want to drive her back into the depths if he could avoid it. No, better to watch this alone and see what was on it. He could always share it with Elspeth later if it would bring her comfort.

Alerich turned on the TV and the old combination VHS/DVD player. He was amazed that the thing still worked and had big plans for a modern media room in the House soon, but for now, this would serve his purposes. He pulled the tape out of its sleeve and slipped it into the slot on the machine, picking up the remote and settling down on one of the couches.

The picture rolled for a moment, cutting in rather abruptly, a home movie then. Alerich took a steadying drink and hoped that he was right that this was not likely to be a trophy film. He heard his father’s voice as the picture zoomed through a room not lit properly for filming. “What have we here?”

The picture moved jerkily as though whoever was taking the video was walking around a corner, then settled onto a picture of a young woman sitting on the floor in the center of a whirlwind of mess, blocks and toys strewn everywhere and two toddlers laughing in the mayhem. The woman was smiling and laughing and tenderly smoothed the hair out of the eyes of one of the toddlers.

Alerich’s heart stuttered. The smiling woman was his mother, Carine, making the twin toddlers himself and Elspeth. And the cameraman was his father.

“What games are we playing today?” his father asked. His mother smiled at the camera and replied with her light French accent, “We’re building a bear house. Their old one was destroyed by a hobby horse stampede.”

The Magnus holding the camera laughed and focused on one of the toddlers in matching blue and white shorts and shirts. “Alerich, what do you have there?”

The toddler Alerich held up a well-loved teddy bear in chubby fingers. “The daddy bear.”

The camera zoomed close in on the toddler’s hands. “What a fine bear. Make sure you build him a good house.”

Toddler Alerich nodded solemnly. The other toddler, little Elspeth, wandered into the frame with a bear of her own. “This the mummy bear.”

Magnus focused the camera on her. “Right you are, my little love. She’s beautiful.”

Elspeth beamed. “Just like Mummy!”

The Magnus behind the camera laughed and focused the camera on his wife. “Just like Mummy, indeed.”

Carine laughed up into the camera, the sound echoing in Alerich’s heart. She looked so happy, here with her husband and twins. “Come play with us, love.”

And to Alerich’s amazement, his father set the camera on some hard surface and walked into the maelstrom of toys and toddlers and sat on the floor, little Elspeth immediately plunking herself into his lap. He bent down and kissed the toddler’s head and smiled at Carine before turning to little Alerich. “Here, son, let me help you build a fine house for your bears.”

The little Alerich on the tape beamed up at his father and began bringing him the blocks that were scattered around the room, watching his father place each brick into a wall.

Alerich pressed the pause button and felt hot tears running down his cheeks. So, they had been happy once. All of them. He had always wondered if they had been before his mother was murdered and his father became the cold, demanding monster in his nightmares.

He knocked back the rest of the drink and hit the rewind button. The tape whirred and he pressed play from the beginning. He wasn’t sure how the tape ended. He feared this happy memory would end like so many of his, but before he found out, he selfishly wanted to see them as a happy family and dream what ifs for just a few moments more.

***

We are excited to announce that the e-book for Beneath a Stone Sky: The Third Book of Binding is now available on Amazon!

https://www.amazon.com/Beneath-Stone-Sky-Third-Binding-ebook/dp/B09F3VXZ7F/

For those who prefer paperback, it will be available in mid-November. We’ll let you know as soon as it hits the shelves.

If you need to get caught up in the Books of Binding, the e-books for Faerie Rising and Ties of Blood and Bone are both on sale this week. You can grab Faerie Rising for $0.99 or Ties of Blood and Bone for $1.99.

https://www.amazon.com/Faerie-Rising-First-Binding-Books-ebook/dp/B06XDHC667/ https://www.amazon.com/Ties-Blood-Bone-Second-Binding-ebook/dp/B07FZC63QN/

***

Thank you all for your support and patience as we finished Beneath a Stone Sky. There are more Books of Binding in the works. You’ll find a sneak peek at Rosemary for Remembrance: The Fourth Book of Binding at the end of Beneath a Stone Sky, and we are already hard at work on a stand-alone side novel set in the Binding Universe called To Possess a Dragon.

Winter tied the last stitch and gently patted the therian wolf’s shoulder. “All done.”

The wolf growled, and Winter slowly removed her hand, her eyes hardening as she stared the young therian down. The wolves of Seahaven used dominance fighting as their favorite sport, but Winter was in no mood to resort to fisticuffs against an amped up injured therian with something to prove. Not that she would have any chance against him in a physical match. Wizards were neither as fast nor as strong as therian, and they didn’t heal as quickly. Then there was the problem that wolf therianthropy was one of the easiest forms to contract. One good bite and Winter could begin the process of becoming a wolf herself. That would be bad on two accounts.

First, Seahaven’s new wolf queen, Vivaine Hayden, was famously jealous and had killed or driven off all of Seahaven’s female wolves when she joined the pack. And second, a person could not be a therian and a wizard at the same time. If she were bitten and began to transform, she would lose her magic — the one thing she and her dwindling family counted on to maintain the precarious balance among the various preternatural groups in Seahaven.

So, she definitely didn’t want to physically confront this young wolf. But she couldn’t afford to back down either. The wolf would see any attempt to deescalate as submission and that would be even worse for her family and Seahaven than Winter losing her magic.

The Seahaven wolf pack was horribly unstable. Its leaders were amoral and vicious, and its large number of unattached young males were under tremendous pressure to fight their way to the top or be prey themselves to the older and stronger wolves.

Maintaining what little peace existed between the preternatural groups in Seahaven was only possible because the wizards were seen as a neutral party and could thus negotiate with any group without the other groups fearing the wizards were biased. None of the other groups would ever allow the violent and unstable wolves to hold power over the wizards — not even a pup like this one winning dominance over one young wizard. The city would fall to factional war.

So, with no way to deescalate with the now snarling wolf, and no desire to allow the confrontation to get physical, Winter was left with only one option — using her magic on him. That was usually frowned on, as it could be seen as an act of war, but the therian had left her no good options.

Winter raised her hands and started to sketch a glyph in the air. The wolf, realizing that the wizard was about to cast, jumped off the table and tried to rush her before she could complete the casting, but Winter had played this particular game before and finished the glyph of shielding before the wolf cleared the table.

The shield pulsed red between them, and Winter blinked a little in surprise. She looked down at the gloves she wore, and comprehension dawned. The gloves were smeared with the wolf’s blood. She had inadvertently cast a blood magic shield, giving her magic over this therian a little more oomf.

The wolf paced on the outside of the visible shield, growling. “You can’t keep that shield up forever, wizard.”

Winter was tired. Tired of politics. Tired of betrayal. And tired of living under the constant threat of violence and death, even from the very people she spent every waking hour trying to either help or heal.

She raised the bloody gloves and glared into the eyes of the wolf as she began to sketch again. She finished the glyph and, putting resonant Command into her voice, she poured power into the design and said, “Burn.” The power in the glyph, drawn with the wolf’s own blood, flared and the wolf began to scream as the blood in his body reacted to her command. He fell to the floor, writhing as his blood boiled inside him.

Winter stared down at him and felt little pity. She had spent the past hour healing this wolf from the last fight he’d lost only to have him turn on her when she was done sewing him up. The wolf was a hot head, and in Seahaven that would undoubtedly get him killed.

But Winter didn’t want to be the one to do it if she didn’t have to. Yes, he was trying to dominate and attack her, but he didn’t seem to understand that he stood no chance against a wizard. His speed and strength were no match for her magic. But perhaps, while writhing and screaming on her floor, understanding could be reached.

She raised her hands again and the wolf whimpered pitifully. Winter felt a little ashamed for hurting him, but she needed for him to understand that she was no wolf’s prey. She sketched a glyph and said, “Cool.”

The wolf stopped writhing and lay panting on his side.

Winter checked that the shield was still up and crouched beside him. “Look at me.”

The wolf obeyed, all thoughts of dominance erased from his eyes.

“I understand that your life is chaotic and dangerous. I understand that attacking and either changing or killing someone like me would make your standing go way up with the other wolves. But I need you to understand something. Do I have your attention?”

The wolf ducked his head and nodded meekly.

“Good. Listen carefully. I am a wizard. Wizards are capable of some very dangerous and painful things. The next time you even think about attacking me or my family, I want you to remember that I took pity on you today, but I never will again. Do you understand?”

The wolf nodded over and over, frantic to obey. “I understand. I’m sorry. I—”

Winter cut off his apologies. “Get out.”

The wolf pulled himself up off the floor and limped through the beaded curtain and out through the shop.

Winter watched him go until the door of Curiosity’s shut behind him. She quickly crossed the shop and locked the door.

Blood magic. She had used blood magic to torture someone. She tried to feel horrified or at least a little scared about what she had done, but all she felt was relief that it was over, and death had not come for her today.

Winter went back to the workroom, carefully peeled the blood-smeared gloves off, and tossed them into the trash. Maybe it was wrong that she didn’t feel remorse for what had just happened… or maybe it was just another way to survive in the mess that was Seahaven.

***