ULRICH AND THOREN SET OUT FOR THE WILDS THE
NEXT MORNING. By foot, the journey would have taken a
month. If Ulrich had flown them, a fortnight. Neither was acceptable to
Ulrich, who couldn't stand the thought of being away from his pregnant
mate—let alone any of his mates, if he was honest—longer than he had to.
Luckily, Cecil was a Magi versed in portal magic. With his help, the trip
to the Wilds was quick and easy. They stepped through the portal into the
hub of the Wilds just after mid-morning. The hub—a conglomerate of
shops, residential buildings, and forest—bustled with life. The grounds
were slick and muddy from recent rainfall. Ulrich breathed in the scent of
the Wilds and almost lost himself to his more primal instincts—ones he'd
left behind when he answered Salem's call only a few weeks ago.
Thoren nudged his elbow into Ulrich's side. "Remember why we're
here," the werewolf warned. "You give in to your beast and you can kiss
Salem, Cecil, and our baby goodbye."
Ulrich scowled. "That will not happen."
"Sure it's won't." Thoren rolled his eyes and pulled a folded list from
his shirt pocket. He spread it out. "Come on. Let's find these ingredients."
"Wouldn't it be quicker if we split up?" Ulrich asked.
"And succumb to the Wilds like you almost did?" Thoren snorted. "No,
thanks."
"Point taken." Ulrich sighed. He wanted to complete their errands as
quickly as they could, but deep down he knew Thoren was right. Outside of
laws, the single thing that could pull Ulrich and other shapeshifters back to
the Wilds was the call of their own beats. Like every other shapeshifter,
Ulrich once summoned his animal spirit and had it sealed within his body.
The call of the Wilds was a primal one, and if Ulrich and Thoren hadn't
traveled together, they might have been in trouble.
Aside from the call of the Wilds, the territory's mantra—once you enter,
you never leave—was still the law of the land. Diplomats and political
figureheads could move about freely, but ruled the Wilds with a strict, iron
fist. If anyone outside of royalty left the grounds, Seekers'd hunt them and
bring them back. The only reason he and Thoren could return without fear
was because Salem claimed them. Otherwise, their trip to the Wilds would
have been a suicide mission.
Suicide, because without his mates, Ulrich was certain he'd keel over
and die. He was a dragon shifter after all—and dragons were notorious for
lamenting the loss of their mates.
Although Thoren's presence comforted him, Ulrich couldn't stand being
away from Salem and Cecil. His dragon wanted nothing more than to scoop
his pregnant mate into his arms and shield him from the rest of the world
until their child was born.
Heck, if he could wisp them off to a cave somewhere, he would. But
those, too, were primal instincts passed along to him by his dragon.
Regardless, being away from Salem when he was so vulnerable drove him
and his dragon mad.
To distract himself, Ulrich focused on finding ingredients. They walked
along the market's winding path of shops and stalls and weaved through the
crowd of morning shoppers. The air was thick with the scents of meat,
produce, seafood, and fermented foods.
Shopkeepers shouted into the crowds, eager to sell off their inventory
and close shop for the day. They passed butcher stalls with fresh cuts spread
out and spit-roasted meats cooking in the background; produce stands with
sweet smelling samples; fish mongers with tables full of fish; and craftsmen
with their unique products on display.
A shop along the way caught Ulrich's attention. He grabbed a surprised
Thoren's hand and pulled him toward it.
"Where are we going? The shop's that way."
"Wait here."
Thoren complained, but Ulrich ignored him. He walked up to a tiny,
drab shop advertising Siren scales. He leaned down to talk to the
shopkeeper, a short man who was barely visible beyond the tabletop he
stood behind.
"I'd like to purchase a..." Ulrich scanned the sign's scribbled offerings,
"flask of Siren scales."
The short shopkeeper said nothing but stretched out his hand. Ulrich
handed him several small coins. After stuffing the coins into his shirt
pocket, the shopkeeper packaged one flask and gave it to him.
Ulrich thanked him and returned to Thoren's side.
The werewolf craned his neck as he peered at the bag. "What d'you
buy?"
"Siren scales."
"What does Cecil need those for?"
Ulrich shrugged. "Dunno. He didn't say."
Thoren and Ulrich continued down the path until they arrived at a dead
end with a tiny wooden shack. A small sign hung from the roof and read,
Venessaa's Concoctions. A tiny circular table sat out front. Planters with
herbs hung from the roof, dripping from the rain. Flowerbeds with damp
soil lined the perimeter of the shack, filled with climbing plants that had
woven themselves along trellises until the wood behind them was barely
visible. Unlike the rest of the market, the herb shop appeared to be empty.
As the two shapeshifters stood examining the shack, there wasn't a
customer in sight.
"This is the place, I guess," Thoren announced.
He walked forward and rapped on the door. Ulrich joined him seconds
later.
"I can hear someone inside," his wolfish companion whispered.
Ulrich quietly called forth his dragon's eyes. Beyond the door, he saw
two heat signatures. "Two," he whispered back.
"Do your eyes always turn red like that?"
"When I'm using my powers."
"Neat."
Ulrich listened closely as one of the heat signatures hastily bustled
about the shack. He could hear the clambering of feet and the clinking of
glass. A moment later, a young girl answered the door. Ulrich looked away
and quickly quieted his powers so his eyes returned to normal. The girl
smoothed her sunflower colored dress and brushed white bangs out of her
flushed face. Ulrich was drawn to her silver eyes.
"May I help you?" she asked.
"Valencia sent us," Thoren told her.
"Valencia?!" the girl gasped. "You must be here for that."
"That?" Ulrich questioned.
She hesitated. "I'm helping another customer, so could you come back
in half an hour?"
"It's all right, Venessaa," a man inside the shack said. Ulrich figured the
other heat signature belonged to him. "I was just leaving."
Ulrich and Thoren sucked in a collective breath when the Wilds' leader,
Damon Nightshade, appeared in the doorway. Despite the man's lanky
appearance, the Wilds knew him as a force of nature—capable of fighting
toe-to-toe with the best of the best. Even Ulrich's dragon quivered in
Nightshade's presence—and that was saying something. The man's golden
eyes met Ulrich's and a small, predatory smile broke out across his face.
"Vanessa, I would like to speak to these gentlemen alone."
"But my lord..." Venessaa whispered beside him.
"Don't make me repeat myself." The king of the Wilds stepped out into
the mid-morning sun. Something sparkled and caught Ulrich's eye. A flask?
He stared at the vessel hanging from Nightshade's waistband and wondered
what it was for. Ulrich was curious, but he didn't dare ask.
Behind them, Venessaa bowed and retreated into the shack to give them
some privacy. Ulrich swallowed, his mouth dry. He bowed his head and
waited. Once they were alone, Lord Nightshade spoke. "How is life with
Bloodborne's king, Salem Summers?"
Ulrich raised his head, surprised. He chose his words carefully. "It is an
honor to see you again, Lord Nightshade. I have adapted to life with my
mates well."
"Mates? Plural?" The king pointed between them. "Which one of you
will serve as his heir?"
Thoren and Ulrich glanced at each other. On the outside, Ulrich
maintained composure, but on the inside, he was panicking. What was he
supposed to say—and what if he said the wrong thing? He regretted how
unprepared he was and made a silent vow to ask Valencia for guidance later.
His dragon shuddered with nerves and rumbled in response to his racing
emotions.
"He has not decided," Thoren answered.
"How like him," Nightshade sighed. "That man has never been decisive
in his life."
Ulrich fought against his offended dragon, who wanted nothing less
than to tear into Nightshade—even if he was the leader of the Wilds. He
sensed the same tension in Thoren, which only doubled his dragon's efforts
to break out. Ulrich focused on his breath and steadied his racing heart.
"He has waited a long time to settle down, I suppose," Ulrich answered.
"You catch on quick." Nightshade smirked. "If you two would humor
me, I'd like to impart a little advice." He sat down at the table in front of
Venessaa's Concoctions and retrieved a box from his coat's inner pocket.
From the box, Nightshade withdrew a deck of cards and began shuffling
them.
Ulrich and Thoren watched in silence. Judging by the expression on
Thoren's face, he was just as confused as Ulrich. Nightshade cut the deck
and laid out four cards face down. One by one, he turned them over. "The
Fool, The Lovers, The Sun, and Death. How interesting."
Ulrich's stomach lurched. "Death?"
"What does that mean?" Thoren growled.
If Lord Nightshade sensed the tension brewing within the two
shapeshifters, he didn't show it. Instead, he threw his head back and
laughed. Then, as if strained by the action, he doubled over and gasped for
air. Lord Nightshade reached a shaky hand beneath his waist and retrieved
the flask. He downed its contents and wiped his mouth.
"Are you all right?" Thoren fretted.
Lord Nightshade gathered his cards and returned them to his pocket. He
pushed to his feet and clapped both of them on the back. "If I were you, I
would worry more about the cards."
"But we don't know what they mean," Ulrich protested. He'd only seen
tarot cards a handful of times and had never tried them himself. Thoren
seemed as clueless as he was.
The king of the Wilds narrowed his eyes, expelling an aura that made
Ulrich's dragon prickle. "You will succeed but can you best the forces
which oppose you? That is the message the Universe is sending."
The three of them stared at one another in silence. Lord Nightshade
smiled. "Don't you have business with Venessa?" Lord Nightshade walked
to the edge of the road and looked back. "Do tell Lord Summers
congratulations for me. Don't forget to send an invitation my way when the
time arrives." With that, he disappeared.
Thoren turned to Ulrich and crossed his arms over his chest. "What was
that about?" the werewolf grumbled.
Ulrich shook his head. "Your bet is as good as mine. His advice was too
cryptic for my liking. We should tell the others when we return."
"Good idea. Think we should knock again?" Under the sunlight,
Thoren's hair shimmered. He flashed his infamous wolfish smile Ulrich's
way and damn near made the dragon's heart stop. His beast swooned.
Before Ulrich could answer, Venessa reappeared in the doorway and
gestured for them to enter.
Inside, it surprised Ulrich to see a full-service bar, though none of the
bottles looked like any alcohol he'd seen before. They lined the walls and
glowed like decorative, neon lights. He and Thoren approached the bar and
sat down.
Venessa snapped her fingers and disappeared in a poof of smoke. Ulrich
recognized the mannerism from Valencia. They're sisters, all right, he
thought.
Seconds later, she reappeared behind the bar and began gathering
random bottles from the displays. She stacked them up in her arms, carrying
far more than he thought was safe, and lined them up on the bar. Venessa
snapped her fingers again. This time, a box appeared in her hands.
Ulrich couldn't help but gawk. He'd never seen anyone perform magic
in the Wilds and get away with it. Not to mention, Venessa seemed close to
Damon Nightshade, so he must have known of her powers.
Thoren nudged him in the side and showed him the paper Valencia gave
them. Ulrich turned back to Venessa, who was hard at work
concocting...something. Her hands worked with an urgency and elegance
Ulrich found awe-inspiring. Neither of them dared interrupt her. Venessa
continued to snap her fingers for each task. No matter what she needed, it
materialized. "How are you doing that?" The question slipped out before he
could stop it.
Venessa smiled at him like the answer was obvious. "Magic, my dear
dragon shifter."
Ulrich wanted to say it was illegal, to ask how her how she'd garnered
the favor of the king, but his voice caught in his throat.
Venessa chuckled and changed the subject. "How is Valencia?"
"She is well," Thoren reported.
"Is she still as beautiful as ever?" Venessa sighed.
"Yes." Thoren shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Ulrich could smell his
mate's impatience and wished he could soothe it.
"Delightful," Venessa cackled. She reached into the open box and pulled
out several flasks. Venessa lined them up and popped them open. Another
snap of her fingers, and suddenly the bottles she'd gathered were empty.
She capped the flasks and gave each a shake.
Finished, she bagged the flasks and sat them in front of Ulrich and
Thoren. "These will help his symptoms. Give him one as soon as you return
to the kingdom." Another snap, and several bags of full bottles appeared
next to the flasks. "I'm afraid I can only provide a month's worth at a time.
Come back to me when you need more. Oh, I almost forgot..." Venessa
reached under the bar and brought out a small crystal no larger than a
marble. Blue liquid swished around inside of it as she passed it to Ulrich.
"When you get outside, think of home and throw this on the ground."
Ulrich was speechless.
Thoren was far more vocal about his suspicions. "How did you know
what we needed? I haven't even showed you the list."
"You have much to learn, wolf," Venessa soothed. She took his hands in
hers and gave them a gentle squeeze. "My sister will have the answers you
seek. Now go. Your mate awaits you!"
Venessa didn't have to tell Ulrich twice. He scooped the bags off the
counter with one hand and grabbed Thoren with the other. "Thank you, my
lady!" he called back as he pulled Thoren through the doorway.
As they left the small shack, Ulrich heard Venessa whisper under her
breath, "thank the gods, my prayer has been answered."
Outside, Ulrich was paying too much attention to the crystal and
bumped into someone in front of the shop. He thought it was Thoren, but
when he looked up to apologize, he stared into the eyes of a gorgeous
woman with long, angelic hair and a soft, caring face. The woman
apologized before he could utter a word.
"I'm so sorry," she gasped. "I wasn't watching where I was going."
"No," Ulrich stammered. "It's my fault. I didn't mean to impede your
shopping."
"Oh, I'm not shopping," she laughed. "I work here. Did you find
everything you were looking for?" Ulrich noticed her gaze drift down to the
bags in his arms.
He moved out of the way and bowed. "Yes, thanks."
Thoren stepped between them. "Sorry, but we're in a hurry."
"Have a blessed day."
His mate ushered him away from the shack. "You didn't have to be
rude," Ulrich growled. "That girl was just trying to be nice."
"Yeah—but while we're standing here with the antidote, Salem's
suffering," Thoren reminded him.
"Point taken." Ulrich retrieved the crystal Venessa gave him and
imagined Salem's estate before throwing the crystal against the ground. It
shattered and bubbled on contact. Blue smoke erupted around them as a
portal appeared. Thoren followed Ulrich into it, and when he opened his
eyes next, they were back at the Summers' mansion. Not one blade of grass
appeared out of place and the wards were as strong as they'd been when he
left. It relieved his dragon to find everything was as they'd left it.
Now he just needed to get Salem the antidote.
Ulrich moved swiftly. First, he stopped in the kitchen. He snagged the
flask and flitted upstairs to Salem's suite. When he opened the door, he was
bubbling with enthusiasm. His dragon rumbled—prideful that they'd
secured the antidote and returned to a safe Salem.
Cecil and Valencia were sitting next to the bed playing a round of runic
chess when he entered with the flask.
The magi's eyes met his and a large grin broke out across his face.
"You're back!" Cecil leapt out of his chair and threw himself into Ulrich's
arms.
"We're home!" Ulrich grinned. He squeezed Cecil against his chest.
"And we've got the antidote."
"How did it go?" Valencia asked.
"Let's just say your sister helped us out." He winked.
"Sister?" Cecil pouted. He looked back at Valencia. "Why is this the
first time I'm hearing about your having a sister?"
"It was a first for us, too," Thoren said from the doorway. The werewolf
acknowledged the housemaid and said, "I wondered why you'd selected
that exact shop, but now I see why."
"Speaking of that—why didn't you tell us the truth?" Ulrich implored.
"I did not intend to withhold that information from you," Valencia
explained. "Rather, I didn't think it was necessary. Desperation begets
action. My sister is the only one who can make what my lord requires. I
needed the antidote as soon as possible."
Valencia propped Salem up against a stack of pillows and uncapped the
flask. "Drink," she urged. Salem opened his mouth and swallowed the
concoction without complaint. Valencia readjusted him and placed the
empty flask on the nightstand.
Ulrich noticed some color return to Salem's complexion. Soon, he was
taking slower, more restful breaths. The twinge of pain in his countenance
eased, too. Ulrich gave himself permission to rest, too, and slumped down
in the bed beside his pregnant mate.
Cecil stroked his chin and pursed his lips. "How did your sister know
what he needed?"
"She is a potions master," Valencia elaborated. "Back when the late king
was pregnant with Master Salem, I reached out to Venessa for help."
"But your sister's in the Wilds. Why aren't you living with her?" Thoren
asked.
"My sister and I weren't raised in the Wilds," Valencia said. "We're
from Sorcerea."
"Then how did your sister end up in the Wilds—and how did you end
up here?"
She sighed and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes looked through them,
far away, lost in distant, old memories. "It's a long story, but I will tell you.
My sister and I were born to strict parents. They raised children so they
could mold them into magi and exploit their magic for coin.
"Our parents thought I was born without magic and Venessa's didn't
surface until much later. They called us 'duds' and cast us out one night. We
became orphans and got caught by a trafficking operation that sent us to the
Wilds."
"Holy shit..." Thoren breathed.
"What happened after that?" Cecil asked, visibly shaken.
"The king who served before Lord Nightshade found us at an
underground auction and bought us," she said. "He wanted my sister to
become a potions master and purchased her. But he sent me to serve the
Summers, and the rest is history."
Cecil wiped his eyes. "That's so sad," he sniffed. "Don't you miss her?"
Valencia smiled. "Of course I miss her. But we are still alive because of
his generosity. As long as she is alive and well, I am content."
Suddenly, Salem gasped and opened his eyes. Ulrich and the others
were drawn to his side. The dragon shifter reached his hand out and gripped
Salem's. "We're here with you," he soothed.
Thoren ran one of his hands through Salem's hair. "You collapsed," the
werewolf said.
"But Ulrich and Thoren went to the Wilds to get you medicine," Cecil
added quickly.
Salem smiled weakly and looked around at them with warm eyes.
"Everyone," he croaked. "I have something to tell you."
Ulrich had a feeling he knew what Salem would say, but let his mate
have his moment, anyway.
"I think I'm pregnant."
To which the dragon, magi, and werewolf grinned at him and said, "we
know!"