Wonderland Ch. 10

Thatcher watched as Saoirse wrapped fur after fur around Tempest's lean frame, the elderly female chattering nonstop despite the early hour. Tempest just managed to nod and smile, laughing and adding her few words of input when it was necessary.

He knew she had not slept last night, as she hadn't the night before. Already in the two days of her self-induced punishment, Tempest looked gaunt and frail; her cheekbones sharp under her thin skin, and her eyes were foggier than usual. Her lips were pressed in a thin line when she was left alone, an almost permanent furrow wedging itself between her brows.

Two days and she looked like hell. Thatcher was beginning to wonder what she would look like in a few weeks.

"Táxim-se."

Thatcher gave his head an abrupt mental shake as Kynan, the ferocious but aging Herd Leader of the Lunar Kynan Herd emerged from the outdoors. He was already dressed for both battle and warmth, though he didn't need it. Like the Drul's, the elements did not affect the Lunar, for they were made up of earth magic. They changed and adapted as the earth did; nature's sway incapable of affecting their needs beyond their hunger pains.

"Kynan," Thatcher responded, holding out his arm. They embraced forearms briefly before bypassing other formalities. "Is the weather holding up?"

Kynan brushed off the ice from his coat and grinned viciously, bearing his sharp canines unintentionally at Thatcher. "If you consider snowstorm conditions perfect for a summer stroll, then it's grand." Thatcher smirked at Kynan's insolent tone. Kynan had always carried the reputation for belligerence to the point of brutality. Every conversation Thatcher had with the male was only fulfilling the expectations he had of the Herd Leader.

"Awfully windy," Kynan commented suddenly, tugging on the golden-red beard that hung in two braids off his chin. "Wind chill is in the negative." He jerked his head in Tempest's direction. "Might be a bit dangerous for the human."

"What?" Tempest asked sharply, swinging her head towards them. Thatcher fought a smile. He had to give the girl credit – she had the ears of a bat when she chose to pay attention. "I'm going," she said firmly, swinging her eyes to Thatcher, knowing with him she would have more weight than the Luna war lord.

You're such a pushover; his tiny little voice mocked him. She's just a girl, a silly human, but she's got you waxing poetic come nightfall.

If waxing poetic involved summoning the intense, sexually charged dream he and Tempest had shared weeks earlier almost every night for nearly five weeks; then yes, Thatcher was bloody Shakespeare reincarnate.

"The lady insists," Kynan teased, drawing Thatcher back to the present. "Maybe if I tie her to one of the trees on the timber line, she'll have a change of heart?"

"Only if you she doesn't tie you to it first," Thatcher quipped dryly, crossing his arms as Tempest approached. Saoirse had bundled her up nicely, so he knew she would be warm enough to not suffer hypothermia or even a sniffle.

But Thatcher could not take the risk.

"I'm going," Tempest repeated firmly, fire returning to her green eyes, fire that sent the smoldering coals of Thatcher's need to almost volcanic proportions. Tempest could do him in without having to even try, but damn it if he was going to make it that easy.

"On one condition," Thatcher said carefully, not allowing the playfulness of his suggestion to seep through his words. He was all iron and force, the qualities of a leader. Tempest responded accordingly, submitting slightly to his aggressive stance and firm tone.

"The condition?" she asked him quietly.

"You ride with me. At the first sign of numbness, you tell me so we can stop. Only fools suffer in silence."

"Rather be the squeaky wheel than the broken one," Kynan barked up with a hoarse laugh, clapping Tempest rather hard on the back. She took the blow with a smile, her eyes a little tight with pain.

"I guess that'll be okay," Tempest said carefully, her eyes avoiding Thatcher's as Kynan sauntered off to check the status of the search party, barking orders as he went.

Thatcher wasn't a fool. He knew Tempest was frightened, and it wasn't because of the weather.

It had everything to do with being near him, touching him, having his skin so close to hers. She wanted nothing to do with his close familiarity, even though just days ago she had lamented his coldness towards her.

Tempest could make excuses, Thatcher thought to himself as he finished pulling on his own furs and wraps. But Thatcher knew his closeness frightened her.

Because she loved him.

Because she wasn't supposed to love him.

Thatcher cleared his head with one soft shake and pulled the skullcap down over his ears before bringing the fur lined hood of his parka up over it, tugging the strands in the hood tight. Tempest was observing a heat rock Tavish held when Thatcher approached. He felt his chest tighten at how easily she accepted the Luna male's awkward fuzzy paws against her borrowed furs. Thatcher's eyes bore holes into the Luna's face when the lanky teenager thought to tickle her as he tucked the rock in between two layers of bear skin.

Thatcher took a final step forward, his chest almost brushing the male's shoulders at the close proximity. He cleared his throat and watched with grim satisfaction as the young Luna fumbled for an excuse, a blush of embarrassment and fear crossing his face as he stammered out words to appease him.

Thatcher jerked his chin, gesturing for Tavish to move away. Tavish did hurriedly, almost tripping over his large pawed feet as he did so.

Thatcher took over where Tavish had left off, nimbly redoing the bindings of the furs, even though Tavish had done a perfectly good job to begin with. Tempest's breath caught with each tug of the laces, her slight body jerking forward a bit when Thatcher tugged and pulled. On the final lace, he pulled her close, allowing her to feel the heat from his body – his lower body – before looking her in the eyes.

Tempest's face was flushed hot pink, her pupils dilated slightly. Her full lips were parted just a hair's width, her breathing a few touches heavier than usual. Thatcher's beast rumbled in approval.

"Warm enough?" he asked her quietly. Tempest nodded and blinked rapidly, trying to focus her thoughts. Thatcher fought a smile as he wrapped his fingers around her belt and felt her stomach hollow instantly. When he did smile, her pulse ratcheted up a few notches.

"You'll tell me when that changes?" Thatcher pressed, his voice dropping a few levels as he took a step closer. In response her heart beat even faster and the hue of her irises darkened to a deep hunter green. A musky scent cloyed with her natural one, telling Thatcher exactly what he needed to know.

"Uh huh," Tempest murmured, her eyes widening when his fingers slid around her belt to her back. Thatcher did up the ties at her back, making sure she felt the heat of his gaze. When Tempest was finally suited up, Thatcher helped her into her gloves and skullcap, his fingers brushing over the pulse points of her body as he tested her reaction to him. He was never disappointed.

"Are we finished here or do I need to have Lennox throw you into the snowdrift to cool your furs?"

Thatcher caught Kynan's amused gaze and smiled crookedly. "We're finished."

"Excellent. Right this way, little Annis."

"My name is Tempest," she bit out suddenly, her eyes flashing molten silver. Thatcher tried to ignore the black monster of rage that curled within his chest at the sight of Tze'sic using his bond, but couldn't completely.

"No need to shout, Kitten," Thatcher chuckled humorlessly. He caught Tempest's arm before she could follow Kynan out into the cold. "Control your temper, Tempest. For you are not yourself," he whispered in a hiss into her ear, the smell of the oils she had taken in her bath this morning tempting his self control.

Tempest stopped and turned into his chest, her hands curling themselves around his own belt before her silvery-green eyes met his. "And neither are you," she answered curtly, her voice barely level.

Thatcher held her in his gaze before cupping her face in his hands. Unable to hide his glee at the responsive gasp Tempest gave, Thatcher sunk into her thoughts and found the ghost of Tze'sic within her mind, well hidden beneath veiled memories and weak magic. Weeks ago, penetration this deep would've been impossible. But weeks of taking Thatcher's blood had made Tempest immune to the damages his probing could cause.

With a soft burst of energy into her frontal lobe, the "ghost" vanished. Tempest's eyes immediately turned brilliant green and the foggy glaze to them cleared. Color returned to her face and she stared up in surprise at Thatcher.

"W-What did you just do?" she breathed in surprise. "I...I can..."

"Focus?" Thatcher offered. "Think clearly? Tze'sic was using you as his eyes, manipulating the bond you two share." Tempest's face crumpled slightly and withdrew into herself, the fire in her eyes diminishing instantly.

"I don't understand," she whispered slowly, her brow furrowing deeply. "Talon cares about me. Why would he use me when he could just ask, like you do?"

The words were out of Thatcher's mouth before he could stop them. "Tze'sic and I are two very different creatures. His approach to controlling those around him is far more subtle than my own." Thatcher took a step closer, the damage already done in his eyes. "You don't know Tze'sic like I do, Tempest. The man that seduced you and the man that fights battles and controls his people are two different men. In time, you'll learn that."

Thatcher held up the skins so Tempest could pass through only to find that tears were falling down her cheeks.

Thatcher swore internally then. He had gone one step too far, but it had to be done! Tempest's disillusion over the Ancient Gargoyle had to be broken. In time, her disillusionment with him would have to be shattered as well.

Tze'sic was a good man, one you could trust. But he was also a Gargoyle, an Ancient. His skills at manipulation did not stop at trades and tribal negotiations. It was injected into every aspect of his life, as it was also in Thatcher's. In the game of power, manipulating others was the only way to prevent manipulation of oneself. Thatcher had learned that lesson very long ago.

Tempest was but a pawn, a means to fit an end. Sure, maybe Tze'sic valued her in some way, but even Thatcher knew that the Gargoyle had not found a life mate in this human.

Like Tze'sic, Thatcher wasn't the only one above manipulation. Even if it meant twisting truths to win an army and ally, he'd take the risk.

Tempest was no more of a life mate to Tze'sic than Thatcher was a son to Fuyher. Words whispered in the bed sheets meant little if they weren't written in blood.

"Tempest," Thatcher whispered, turning his back to the cold so those in the search party could not see her tears. "You must not cry."

Tempest's cheeks flushed red with anger. "Why?" she hissed. "Because I'll make you look weak?"

Thatcher caught a rogue tear with a gloved finger and gently brushed it away. "No, because your tears will freeze on your skin and blister." Tempest recanted and nodded before brushing her eyes with the fur of the cloak. Thatcher gently caught her chin and felt his heart contract and expand tightly when her shimmering emerald green eyes locked onto his. "You are upset, rightfully so. But do not mourn your loss of Tze'sic now. We have others to worry about who need our aid."

He stepped back and held up the furs once more, and this time Tempest did not hesitate. They walked together to Mannat and when Thatcher helped Tempest mount, she did not pull away from his touch like she had before. Thatcher easily threw himself up behind her and draped his own cloak over her before locking an arm around her waist to seal her to him.

With a nod to Kynan, the small search party began to ride.

+ + + +

Thatcher and Kynan did not call for a break until the Final Eden was in sight. The location of the mountain was ostentatious, for it was the largest and most imposing of the mountains in the Queensland chain. A fresh layer of snow left from the night before covered the entire landscape and the iron grey sky showed no signs of weakening.

The entire place was a dismal sight.

Thatcher called Mannat to a halt and looked down at the bundle in his arms. A few hours previous Tempest had begun to doze off, lulled to sleep by Mannat's easy gait. How in the hell she hadn't been rigid from the snow and ice that was falling on them, Thatcher had no idea. To keep Tempest warm he had cradled her to him, their furs swaddling them both for added insulation. Feeling Tempest's warm breath on his chest had been on his mind the entire ride and even now as she stirred, he was hard-pressed to let her go.

"W-Where are w-we?" she shuddered a few minutes later. "And w-why is it s-so c-cold?!"

"We are a few miles from the Final Eden, and it is cold because a storm is coming," he answered, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.

Tempest made a face and pulled Thatcher's cloak over her head. "Wake me up when we're someplace warm," she mumbled into the furs covering his chest.

Thatcher chuckled as she fought against his tug on the cloaks. "We're taking a break," he laughed, giving up on unfolding the cloaks. "Do you need to...go?"

Tempest shook her head and Thatcher smothered a sigh of relief. While he wasn't nearly as chilled as Tempest, her body had been radiating much-welcomed heat to his torso. The idea of having his own personal heater being taken from him was not an idea he cherished.

A few minutes later the party was moving again, this time in a faster pace than before. Tempest was excited enough to poke her head out briefly from her cocoon and examine the terrain before tunneling herself back inside.

They were only a hundred yards from the cave when the first wave of wards struck them. Immediately Mannat and the few Raspan scouts that had accompanied the party balked. Thatcher gritted his teeth at the ringing that began in his ears and fought for control on Mannat as the beast swayed and paced in place, seeking relief from the painful magic.

"We must go on foot then," Kynan announced as he and one of the large silver wolves that had served as his mount went forward. They went another ten yards before a shudder went through both the mounts and their riders. "This is as far as I can go!" he called over his shoulder, shakily dismounting from the wolf. The other Lunar did the same, though some did not land gracefully and fell to the snow, weakly pulling themselves back up.

"What of your human?" called one of the Luna scouts. He gestured to Thatcher and the bundle in his arms. "Can she pass through the wards?"

Thatcher ground his jaw at the Luna male's insolence, but decided to ignore it. Truce or no, the Lunar and the Raspans hated one another. Tempest would be considered just as much of a disgrace, whether she was full-blooded Raspan or not.

Thatcher parted the folds of his cloak and fought a smile as Tempest stirred from her sleep. Gently easing himself into her thoughts to wake her up, Thatcher felt something other than his own mind brush through Tempest's. The shock of it took his breath away. The presence wasn't threatening or intrusive, merely just curious. It latched onto Tempest and instantly the feeling of being warmed to the marrow radiated through Thatcher's bond to the girl, heating him up enough that he broke out into a sweat.

Almost instantly Tempest shot awake, her breathing shaky and her eyes wide in her pale face. Thatcher was forced back into his own head, the resounding mental crash disorienting him for a moment. The presence dissipated as quickly as it had arrived, leaving the taste of ginger in Thatcher's mouth.

"What was that?" Thatcher whispered, his words echoed by Tempest's own.

For a few seconds they regrouped themselves before Thatcher relayed what was happening to Tempest. She swallowed hard but agreed to test the wards; her hold on him tightening as Thatcher gently helped her dismount from Mannat.

Hand in hand the two of them walked towards the large, ominous gaping mouth of the entrance to the Final Eden. Thatcher forced himself to walk through the wards, each step a battle with his own endurance until finally in the last ten yards he could go no further.

His entire body was damp with sweat now. His magic could not penetrate the shields around the wards, let alone locate them, making it impossible for him to break the magic. Whoever had designed the wards had used very advanced Drul magic, magic he was not familiar with or had ever trained to counteract. That thought only pissed him off more than he was willing to admit.

"This is as far as I go," Thatcher gritted out hoarsely, his eyes closing as a small shoots of pain began to attack his nerves. This final stretch of spells had been designed to kill, and while Thatcher had enough protection to slow down the process, he wasn't immune. His convoluted DNA could only shield him for so long before it too reached its limits.

Tempest nodded and dropped his hand. "I go in and find the Drul responsible for casting the wards. I tell them I'm a friend of Talon's and that I brought others to help." She eyed Thatcher fleetingly, her nervousness almost palpable. "Is that it?"

Thatcher nodded stiffly, his fingers curling under against his will as the spell began to reach his muscles, atrophying them with growing vigor. "I'll wait for you," he vowed.

Tempest smiled wanly and eyed the cave mouth apprehensively, but took a step forward. Thatcher watched her until his eyes could no longer see where she went, the darkness of the cave engulfing her completely.

Thatcher stepped back through the wards until the moment his body stopped throbbing in dull pain. He was still far ahead of the others, but at least in the area of wards he stood in, he could bear the attacks on his mind and body.

"How can she find them in the dark?" Kynan called out to him. "How do we know she'll be safe?"

Thatcher gritted his teeth and kept walking back until he was out of the range of the wards and at the search party's side once more. "She has a flashlight and matches, if it comes to that," he said quietly, his jaw tightening as his magic began to heal the wounds inflicted upon him. "She smells of Tze'sic, so they will not harm her. All we have to do is simply wait."

"Wait," Kynan repeated. Thatcher nodded stiffly. "Why can't you break the wards?" the leader asked, not hiding the accusation in his voice.

"This is Drul magic," Thatcher admitted grudgingly. "Very powerful Drul magic. The spells prevent me from using my magic to locate the wards' whereabouts. I'll test the limits but I can't promise results."

Thatcher walked away from the herd leader before he could be asked anymore inane questions, internally swearing at the damage done to his body. Blood pooled in his boots as he walked, the smell drawing each Raspan's attention.

"My prince, you are hurt."

Thatcher shook his head slightly, only briefly eying Mannat. "I will be fine," he bit out.

"Were you injured from the wards?"

Thatcher said and did nothing, his jaw grinding furiously as he tested the wards over and over again without thought or care or strategy. Mannat ambled up beside him and began to dig into the snow to build an above-ground nest. The other Raspans began to do the same.

Thatcher inhaled the icy cold before lifting his eyes to the deep grey sky.

"The storm's here," he whispered to himself as the first flakes of snow began to fall. The Lunar began to set up makeshift tents to shield themselves from the snow and the few Raspans followed suit.