Waxing Gibbous

Chapter 7

Storm rested against a tree further up the trail waiting for Soren and Tegan to finish whatever discussion they were having. It was a conversation that had him nervous. Soren was a pompous jackass that wanted everyone and everything to bend to his whim. He was glad the Tegan had stood her ground against him, but still…the werewolf was trouble. He now knew of her potential power. He had even sampled it from her very veins. She would be attractive to any of the wolves for that reason. Soren though, the bastard could be after her to strengthen his own power and standing within the pack. If Tegan was his mate, it would be nearly impossible to overthrow him by the time he took his place as the alpha male.

The familiar clenched his fists at his sides and had to fight from going back and cold-cocking the son of a bitch. His instincts were all fired up, screaming for him to go to his master and protect her from the possible danger that Soren presented. It was an almost painful burning in his chest, a driving need that was almost tortuous. But she had ordered him to go away. He was stuck on the fringes, unable to go be at her side, waiting for his master to grant him permission to act.

Being without Tegan for most of his life, he never had to deal with these raw wild urges before. Though the nature was ingrained in his being, they had never been as strong as they were now. It was something that Storm hadn’t anticipated, so it was hard trying to get a grasp on controlling his emotions. When it came to his master, his natural tendencies overrode the more rational part. His feelings increased tenfold and he was having difficulty restraining himself from acting on impulse. And he had a feeling that it was going to take him a while to adjust.

Sighing, he crossed his arms over his chest and pressed a booted foot against the trunk of the hard maple. There was no telling how long the pair would be talking – or fighting as they seemed to do on a regular basis. Looking up at the sky, the tiny sliver of a moon was partially obscured by the thinning foliage on the trees. Stars winked in and out like twinkling lights. The calm night breeze rustled up leaves, making them dance at the wind’s command.

He was itching to fly, to relieve the stress that had built up over the last two days. It was the only thing that granted Storm the feeling of being unrestrained anymore. Being cursed to this island without his witch had become unbearable at times. Except for the little display he gave Tegan, he hadn’t actually been free to spread his wings. With her coming back, he had to attend to her instead of doing as he pleased. But he wasn’t complaining. He was thrilled to finally have his other half with him.

The urge to defend flared up again, this time sharper and more insistent. Storm winced and rubbed his chest where his heart beat. He closed his eyes and let Tegan’s emotions wash over him, everything that she felt he began to feel as well. She was angry and annoyed, with a twinge of fear swirled in. At least that was dimmed down to the background. There was nothing that he could have done to save her if she was in danger. Being her familiar, he had to obey every command that she thrust on him. He was magickally compelled to. That was just the way it was. And he completely hated it, or rather hated that Tegan had banished him from her side. He was going to have to speak with her about this. It could do more harm than good one of these days if she wasn’t careful. Tegan could unknowingly put herself in dangerous situations, like right now. There was no telling what that wolf wanted and he doubted that Tegan could protect herself from him if he attacked. In fact, he was sure of it. And there was nothing he could do to help her if Soren decided to pull some stunt. If he harmed Tegan, he would ring the mangy mutt’s neck.

Like the flip of a switch, he closed off the connection to Tegan as best as he could. Feeling her presence was maddening and knowing her emotional grid only called harder upon the urge to be at her side. It made the burning sensation become even more painful than before.

The rest of the pack was probably congregating at the Den already. They would be awaiting their new healer’s arrival. If Tegan didn’t show soon, they would probably get worried and come to investigate the delay.

Soon he heard footsteps crunching through the dead leaves carpeting the ground. He looked behind his shoulder and relief flooded through him. Tegan was trudging toward him, her face twisted in a fierce scowl. Soren wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Storm was grateful for that because he might have been driven to rip into him once more.

“What words did he have with you?” Storm asked curiously as she came to stand in front of him. There was a fire in her eyes and her jaw was set in anger. She looked like she was ready to do a little ripping into something herself.

She shook her head and her cheeks puffed out as she lazily blew out a lungful of air. “I’ll tell you later. Right now, I just want get back to the house, soak these tired bones in a scalding hot bath, shut the world out, and sleep until the next millennia,” she murmured wearily.

“We should be there soon. The rest of the werewolves will be waiting for your arrival.” That is, if they aren’t already bounding back through the forest in search of her. Since she displayed her power, they would want to keep close tabs on their shaman. Whether Tegan liked it or not, they were going to insert themselves in her life in some way. At least she would always have their protection. And with her living apart from the wolf pack, they would constantly patrol the wooded areas around her house.

Her brown eyes rolled. “I am in no mood for anymore werewolf bullshit at the moment,” she huffed, slinging her hooded sweatshirt over her shoulder.

“I’m sure Ulrick is going to want to hurry the healer’s ceremony along now,” Storm told her. Frankly, he shared her sentiments on the whole ordeal. At least once the rite was over she would be able to focus more on her studies with magick. It was going to be a long journey ahead of them both, but he knew that the young witch was up to the task. She had enough fortitude to become something great.

“I do need to talk to you about something, though. It’s about the ritual I performed earlier. There was something wrong,” she said, concern wrinkling her brow and melting away the agitation.

He matched her worried expression. “What do you mean by something wrong? The spell went well and Vivian was healed properly.”

“Well, when I was attending to her, there was this orange aura like thing clinging to Viv’s body. When I touched it, I could tell that someone had put some sort of hex on her. I have a feeling that her sickness had nothing to do with depleting pack magick. Someone had made her ill. It seemed to be a pretty weak spell so I was able to break it apart pretty easily,” Tegan explained.

“You must tell Ulrick about this. He needs to know so they can find who or what did this,” Storm told her somberly. If someone was gunning for the pack, chances are they would be coming after Tegan as well. It was only a matter of time before they found out about the Darkwood’s new healer. It was a common occurrence for other packs to use magick instead of fighting to choke out rival wolf clans. War was only used as a last resort. He would bet anything that that was what was going on here.

“Why would anyone do such a thing? She is just a child for crying out loud!” Tegan said.

“It could be a power move from another clan of wolves. In reality, it probably hand nothing specifically to do with the girl. She just happened to be the first one the spell found to cling to. I think you should check other members of the pack for the same curse. It might be feeding off of them and they wouldn’t even realize it until the sickness was upon them,” Storm advised, stepping over a branch that had fallen along the path. He reached over to help Tegan over the hurdle in their way.

“How do you think the spell was cast? Can you conjure from far distances? Do you think someone snuck on the island and did this?” she questioned, crawling over the dead limb.

“There is no way of knowing how they did it exactly. You can work magick from a distance, but this island is pretty isolated. I don’t think it was cast from afar. A witch could have sent his or her familiar over with a charm. It was definitely a dark craft because of the harmful intent. The rules for casting black magick are different from white so there is no telling how the witchcraft was actually worked.”

“The spell was pretty easy to get rid of and the magick that I called upon, it sort of purified and absorbed it. But if you were going to make someone sick magickally, why do it with such a weak spell?”

“Since the pack has been without much magickal strength for so long, it would have been effortless to plant a spell that could go virtually undetected. The smaller the spell, the longer it can remain unnoticed. It was probably designed in a way that would disguise it as depleting strength within the pack. And because they didn’t have a healer to tend to such attacks, any small hex would do significant damage. I don’t know who the Darkwood clan have allied themselves with, and I don’t know who their enemies are either. If I had to make an educated guess, the culprit would more than likely be one belonging to another werewolf pack. I never paid mind to many of the events that happen in and around the werewolves. I try to keep my distance from their politics,” Storm told her.

“So, you didn’t stay with them while I wasn’t here?”She asked, confused.

“No,” he murmured.

“Why not?” She demanded. “I’m sure they would have taken you in.”

“I don’t belong among them, Tegan. I am hardly among the welcomed anyway. I am not a werewolf. I am simply the familiar of one.” Despite what she might have thought, the werewolves would have turned him away at their doorstep. He was still considered an outsider even with Tegan here. There were also past events that made him untrustworthy in the pack’s viewpoint.

“Half,” she reminded. “I’m not a full blow wolf, just half of one.”

His lips turned up at the corners. “Still, your place is among them. And my only place is with you.”

Tegan reached out and snagged his arm, linking it with hers. “If they take me in, they are going to have to take you in as well. There is no negotiating that. I wouldn’t desert you for them. Like you said, you aren’t going anywhere and you better make peace with that,” she said, grinning up at him. She was so firm on the matter that Storm could feel her loyalty to him through their connection. It shifted something within him and he found himself holding her a little closer to his body. In all his experiences, he had never been treated with so much care and it moved him deeply. To him, Tegan was something rare, something to be cherished.

The dim glow from the lights of the mansion came into view then, splitting apart the darkness of the night.

“Thank god,” Tegan mumbled, speeding up her pace just a little.

There were still people milling about, but most of them were getting into cars and leaving. Ulrick and his wife were on the porch seeing their guests off. They noticed Tegan coming toward them and rushed over to greet her.

“We were starting to worry about you,” Ulrick said in that deep voice of his.

“I just got held up a bit, but everything’s fine. There is something really important I need to talk to you about. It’s about the ritual. There is someone that is making the pack members sick. It’s a subtle spell, but I was able to recognize it for what it was. I might need to check everyone else just to make sure they aren’t afflicted as well,” Tegan said.

His mate looked at Tegan with a frightened expression, while her husband looked murderous. His face was red, his nostrils flaring, and his hands were clutched at his side.

“Do you know who would do such a thing?” Lyn asked, looking up at the alpha with wide eyes.

“No, but I do have an idea where to begin to look,” Ulrick growled out low and ferocious.

“I know you want to discuss everything further and all. I really would like to, too. But I am dead dog tired from today,” Tegan told him.

The pack leader nodded at her. “You did well today, Tegan. You go on and get some rest. We will discuss this further sometime tomorrow.”

“Thank you.” Storm followed as she took the stairs up to their room. Once inside, she leaned against the closed door with her lids drawn down.

He knew she was going to be expended of energy, but he wanted to be sure that nothing was wrong. “Are you sure everything is all right with you?”

She nodded her head. “I’m going to take a bath, okay? I’m still sweaty and gross feeling, like I was dipped in a huge vat of nasty. Does casting always make you feel like this?”

Storm shook his head. “No, it was more than likely the hex you broke. Those always have a tendency to leave something loathsome behind. I would like to ask you something, Tegan.” She nodded at him to continue. “Could I have permission to take to the skies for a little while? It’s been a few days since I felt the wind beneath my wings and was able to fly about the island.”

“Of course! You don’t have to ask for my consent to go out. You are not an animal – well, completely animal. You are free to do as you please.”

“Do you really mean that?” Storm asked. The kindness that she showed still shocked him every now and again.

Tegan took a few steps forward until she stood toe to toe with him. She reached out and gently squeezed his shoulder. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” he said bowing his head to her in a graceful manner. “I have to go fetch the backpack that I left on the beach as well. But I will wait for you to finish your lavations and then I shall go. I want to make sure you get settled for the night.”

She shook her head slowly in amusement. “We really need to update some of your vocabulary. I’m sure nobody uses the word ‘lavations’ anymore,” she said with a hiccup of laughter.

He gave her a tart look before his lips turned up in a weak grin. “Will you get to your bath?”

“Okay, Mr. Bossy. I’m on it.” Tegan hopped over to her luggage and dug out an old, oversized tee-shirt and some pajama shorts. When she was finally gone, Storm sighed and flopped down on the springy mattress.

He waited for a while, thinking about nothing in particular. Tegan was taking a while in the bath so he picked up a book and started flipping through it. It was an archaic leather bound grimoire full of crude spells that have since been tweaked and changed by time. Sizzled into the hide was the Darkwood clan crest. The parchment had since aged into a grimy yellow but the black ink had not worn away at all. It smelt musty and corners of the pages had been worn away by thousands of browsing fingers.

He set the book down after he idly flipped through it and checked the clock hanging on the wall. It had been about a half hour since she had left. He got up and crossed the hall to the bathroom. He rapped his knuckles against the door, waited for a reply, and got a whole lot of nothing.

“Tegan,” he called out. He knocked harder, but still got no response. He grabbed the brass handle and turned slowly. Peeking inside through the crack in the door, he saw that she was still in the bathtub. Her head had lolled to side and her lips were slightly parted. Her eyes were closed and her breathing was deep and even. She had fallen asleep.

Storm stepped into the bathroom and crouched down beside her. “Tegan,” he repeated and gently shook her. She moaned and turned her head away, not once waking. He shook her harder, but she did not rouse. Reaching into the tub, he pulled the plug from the drain and got a towel. As the water drained, he settled it over her nudity, knowing that she would have been embarrassed had she been awake. But he couldn’t very well leave her in the water all night. It would grow cold and the last thing he needed was a sick witch on his hands. Also, she could possibly slip underwater in her sleep and drown. There was no telling how deep a slumber she was in.

He grabbed another towel, went back to the bedroom, and placed it on the bed so she wouldn’t get the mattress wet. He went back to the bathroom and scooped her up, carefully tucking the towel safely around her. She groaned and wiggled a bit, but nothing seemed to rouse her from the deep sleep. He laid her out on the bed then pulled the covers up over her body. He switched the lamp off on the bedside table and went to the set of windows on the far side of the room. He opened them then stripped free from his clothing. Reaching up, he plucked a feather from his dark locks. With the quick flick of his wrist and an explosion of white, he was off in a wild rush of wind. It blew through his feathers and across his avian body, making him feel the freedom that he so craved. He even forgot about being tied to this rock as he cruised through the trees.

Everything on the island seemed to be immersed in tranquility. There were a few wolves about, running and playing with each other. There were even a couple bounding through the forest alone. He swooped down and glided though tree limbs and vines. He delighted in the natural setting. He felt at home among the forest, unlike being cooped up in a building. This was originally where a part of him belonged and the familiarity of it was what calmed his restlessness.

Another part of him loved being with Tegan. And it was not because he was chained to her by fate. She was pure of heart, generous like so few he had come across and known. He had experienced cruelty firsthand and didn’t wish to relive what he had been through. But it did not stop his past from creeping up on him. A past that he wished could be erased from his memory.

The wolves had once brought an enchantress into their midst as a quick fix for a witch that had proved too inexperienced for the job. She had been evil; her soul had been just as black as her heart. Magda had been her name, and though it did not compare to the power Tegan’s mother possessed, she had a strong magickal aura. When she had first come to the island, something hadn’t set well with Storm, but he had ignored the feeling, thinking that it had just been her foreign magick agitating his senses. He – as well as the wolves – had been wrong.

Instead of aiding the pack, she had killed a dozen of them off with one wicked spell. Magda had been a fraud, feigning to help the ailing Darkwood clan, only to be using that very magick to harm them. She was sadistic and got her thrills by the suffering of others. She was one who would singe the wings off of a moth and watch it flop around helplessly just for the fun of it. The hag even got joy from torturing her own familiar. It had been an opossum, a male that she had treated harshly and had beaten viciously until he had died at her hands. After his death, she became even more sinister, maddened by all the evil she conjured.

Storm remembered waking up in agonizing pain one early morning. After a night of flying, he had been asleep in the forest, shying away from the wolves and their problems. He opened his eyes to find Magda standing over him with a glowing red-hot iron rod twisted in the shape of the Rune of Subjugation – better known as the Slavemaker. She had burned the marking into his skin, trapping him in her web of malevolent craft.

The smell of his flesh as is sizzled was still fresh in his mind, the stinging agony as the dark arts coursed their way through his body, taking over. Because he wasn’t under the command of his own master, he was easily taken as slave to Magda. Storm had to do everything that she commanded as her pseudo-familiar. She was in need of another after she had killed her last. The witch had recognized Storm for what he was: an un-familiar, one without his or her witch.

Storm had tried to resist her at first; doing anything he could not to follow her orders. But the more he struggled against her, the more painful the backlash of dark magick became. And though the spell work for slaves had a built in mechanism to punish them if they were to disobey, Magda felt it necessary to cause more physical harm by flogging him into action.

With the flesh hanging from strips on his back, legs, and arms, Storm had finally submitted, no longer able to take the pain any longer. Magda had degraded him, making him crawl through the dirt and grass to her boots and kiss them. Then, to make sure she got the point across, Magda had kicked him in the face and broke his nose as well as knock a few teeth loose.

As the blood gushed from his face, she had slipped around his neck a collar with a leash attached. Magda had violently dragged him to the shelter that the pack had provided for her. There, he had been made to help her bring down the werewolves. She had crafted many a spells to weaken their power. Her ultimate plan had been to reduce their numbers and enslave them as well.

She had worked him until he very nearly begged her for death. Her desire to cause him anguish had quickly turned into desire for his body. Again and again she had taken him. Forcing him to perform when all he felt was pure disgust. She would use him and then beat him afterward. He had become broken, hollowed under her lack of care; nothing more than a mindless puppet to serve her every whim and will.

By the time the wolves had finally figured out what had been going on, it had been too late. Magda had gone on a warpath, slaughtering a dozen or so werewolves, killing them with black magick. Many innocent lives had been lost before the wolves had fallen upon her, ripping her to shreds. Ulrick had been the one to tear out her still-beating heart from her chest, skewer it on a pike, and set it ablaze.

That had been the end of her reign, but not of the Darkwood clan’s pain. They had to shoulder the losses of members of their pack, their family. And Storm felt responsible for a chunk of it. He wished that there was something that he could have done, some way to have gotten the upper hand on Magda. But she had bewitched him into nothing more than a servant to her sadistic whims. God, he had helped in the slaying of so many innocent lives.

With his conscience overwhelmed, Storm wasn’t paying attention to where he was flying. As he swooped into a clearing not too far from the mansion, he felt the brewing of magick. Something wicked thickening the air with evil intent. He landed on a stump to look around for the source of the bad aura. Craning his neck to and fro, he got nothing.

There was a shuffling behind him. As he was swiveling his head in the direction of rustling leaves, that is when the attack came. He slammed into the ground with enough force that it winded him. He could feel his wing bend and crack under the pressure as dripping jaws clamped over him and bit down, breaking into the skin. The very last thought before blackness swallowed him up was of Tegan and how sorry he was that he was never going to see her again.