Wonderland Ch. 13

"Wait." Talon caught my elbow and turned me to him again, his tail snaking around my right ankle and squeezing tight. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it a few moments later, swallowing whatever words he had been about to say. "You and I are to head the Raspans," he said finally. "We're in the forest."

I nodded in understanding and ran after him in the opposite direction of the crowd. As we passed through the camp, gradually the noise and presence of the Lunar faded. Soon all that could be heard were our footsteps and the distant clanging of the bells. An eerie feeling shot up my spine and my eyes went to the forest automatically.

Rows upon rows of red eyes greeted me, the Elites and their Guard prepared for battle. Silent and ominous, they stood in their half-human, half-Raspan forms, awaiting orders. Hoshkin stepped forward when we approached. Like the others, he wore no armor and bore no weapon. He didn't need to.

"Fuyher's army has split into two groups," he informed us. "One section of the force is coming here, around the back of camp. The main line is heading to the southern wall where the Lunar have control."

I swallowed hard at that news. We were the only ones standing between half of Fuyher's army and camp, where women and children and the old were hiding for safety. We had to make our stand here, and we had to make it count.

"How many?" Talon requested.

"Five hundred."

I eyed Talon quickly. We were outnumbered by two hundred. Our plan of attack had to be effective and our playing field was the forest, making the fighting in forcibly close quarters.

"We need to keep our line," Talon said finally, not showing that he was put off by the dire ratio. "If the army slips around and reaches the Lunar camp, not only do we lose innocents but the Lunar will have to watch their backs as well. Hoshkin, draw a second line back to guard the camp. They are not to enter the surge under any circumstances."

Hoshkin inclined his head. "Done. What of the dragons, Tze'sic? They are out in these woods."

Talon eyed me briefly. "I do not wish for Fuyher to discover them. Where are the scouts you had trailing them?" he asked Hoshkin, still not looking from me.

"Still out following the hunt. They are near the mountains, where the elk range is. They are waiting for orders at your command, Tze'sic."

Talon's brow furrowed in thought. "Make sure the dragons are kept occupied," he said finally. "I don't want to unleash them unless absolutely necessary, understood?"

"Yes, Tze'sic," Hoshkin answered dutifully.

"They're coming," warned one of the Guards.

"Right. Let's move into position," Talon commanded loudly so all could hear.

We slunk into the forest and followed the curve around the edge of the Raspan dens, using the large rocky hills as our barrier between the approaching army and the Lunar camp. I felt wary of fighting with a wall to my back, but I knew I had no other choice. It wasn't an ideal playing ground, but it would have to do.

I then mentally laughed at myself. What in the hell did I know about war or tactics? I just needed to focus on making it out of this fight with my limbs intact.

Talon silently signaled us to a halt. I instantly froze in place, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as we waited.

At first, there was nothing. The warning bells from the wall had long since died down during our march to the north end of camp, and the world had gone unnervingly still. The skies overhead were steel grey, the clouds unmoving and hanging low above our heads. The smell of future snowfall had me internally swearing at my clothing -- I wasn't dressed for a snowstorm and the color of the sky promised just that.

Then, suddenly, the air around me grew oppressively heavy and the hair at the back of my neck prickled.

That's when Fuyher's army came.

The fog that had woven itself between the junipers revealed large dark blotches that grew in number so quickly they blurred together, moving like shadows behind a curtain as they slowly approached. The heavy plodding and crunch of Raspan paws in the snow greeted my ears, followed by the heavy puffs of air being blown from their nostrils. The first line of Raspans broke through the fog and stopped just fifty yards away, as silent and still as the men on either side of me.

A chilly breeze blew from the north just then, bringing a soft smattering of ice and the smell of rotting fruit along with it. I was aware in that moment of how badly I was sweating, but I didn't want to draw attention to myself by wiping my palms or face. I glanced out of the corner of my eyes to see that Talon was as still as stone, looking thoroughly unruffled. Our bond gave me nothing but I wasn't surprised. These men surrounding me had grown up in war, had fought battles, and had taken lives. I was just a pretender; one Raspan death hadn't made me a fighter, I had just been lucky. Hopefully my luck would play out here, or this would all be for nothing.

Suddenly a low, haunting horn blew from deep within the woods, the sound sending goose bumps pebbling across my entire body. Talon tightened up beside me. After a quick glance I saw his grey eyes were shining eagerly with bloodlust. The look gave me chills.

Fuyher's army began to pound the snow under their large paws, tossing their heads and smacking their tails on the solid ground. They were intimidating us, hoping we would break rank. In my case, it was kind of working.

My grip tightened on the sword hilt and I withdrew it shakily as the Raspans at my side began to hiss and transform, their crimson eyes glowing in the monochromatic world around us. Fuyher's men began to hiss and sway in their places, their muscles rippling beneath their fur, taut with expectation and eagerness. One particularly large Raspan snapped its teeth in our direction, flashing the sharp yellowing rows of shark-like incisors that crowded its foul-smelling mouth.

The horn bellowed again in a rhythm, and this time the Raspans filled the air with their high-pitched cries before plunging towards us, unfurling their thick legs as they gained speed and ground. Talon drew up to his massive height and roared before racing off to meet them.

A strangled scream of both panic and relief escaped my throat as I ran with the Elites, easily being bested as they leapt over the snow instead of me who had to plow through it. I was just a few feet from my first Raspan when suddenly I was pulled back by my waist and tossed all the way back to where I had started.

I propped up on my elbows in the snow and stared at the lean dark form twenty feet from where I lay. Instantly all thoughts of bloodshed and fighting ceased to exist.

Warm brown eyes locked onto me with an intensity that never failed to take my breath away. His face, tanned from the warmer, sunnier climate was now marred by a crescent shaped scar that marked the skin from left eyebrow to the curve of his chin. His hair was longer than it had last been and was streaked light brown from the sun.

Thatcher's eyes went above me and he jerked his head slightly. "Take her to the camp. Don't let her out of your sight."

His eyes went back to me briefly before he turned back to the onslaught of Fuyher's army, his body rippling with the change. Soon he was lost in the mass of bodies, leaving only a trail of dead in his wake.

"Up we go," a male said in my ear, tugging me by the armpits as he pulled me up out of the snow. I was bodily turned towards camp and I blinked in surprise at the men who surrounded me. I knew the team Thatcher had left camp with, but these weren't the same men.

"Introductions later," said the male who had picked me up. He was neither Raspan nor Gargoyle, and he didn't appear to be Luna. A Drul maybe? "First we must get you to safety."

"Why can't I fight?" I blurted out. The shock of seeing Thatcher was wearing off and anger was quickly replacing it. "I'm not some damsel you lock up in a tower, you know! I can fight just like everyone else!"

"I'm sure you can," another man replied sardonically. "But we obey our orders, and our orders are to take you to safety and keep you alive."

"Thatcher said‒"

"Táxim-se gave us orders," the male holding me interrupted. "Argue all you want, but you're just wasting air."

I gave him a dirty look but he took no notice. Instead, he dragged me along beside him as we raced towards camp. The sounds of fighting surrounded us as we entered the seemingly abandoned stretch of huts, the noises of men yelling in pain or the Raspans' screeching after being dealt a deadly blow setting my teeth on edge. We arrived at my hut without seeing a single soul, something that both frightened and relieved me at the same time.

"I can't believe this," I hissed when the men shoved me inside, my raging emotions getting the best of me. "I'm a leader!" I shouted at them. "I'm supposed to be out there, fighting! What good am I here, under lock and key?"

"Save your energy," the Drul barked at me. "You have no idea how to handle a sword, let alone swallow the idea of killing another. Did you ever stop to think that your purpose was not to fight in battle but to protect those here at camp?"

I swallowed the words I was going to say, briefly remembering from the history books that when the lord of the castle was away the lady was usually in charge of affairs, including protecting those who lived within the castle from invaders. Suddenly contrite, I tossed my sword aside, the metal clanging as it fell like a dead weight to the ground. That's exactly how I felt in that moment, a dead weight, useless.

I sat on the mat and let out a huff of air, refusing to meet the glares of the two men who were watching me. The rest of the small team that had followed me here were outside, barring the door and keeping an eye on the camp itself, in case stragglers came through the line.

Waiting put me on a new edge that I had never experienced before. Through my weak bond with both Thatcher and Talon I could feel their rage, bloodlust, and strangely, calm detachment as they charged through battle. Both men unintentionally sent images of their slaughter through the bond, a sight that was easily as gruesome as it sounds. The Drul had been right -- I couldn't imagine doing the things that Talon and Thatcher did. I didn't have the stomach for it.

As the sounds of war began to intensify and grow, my guards grew restless. I started to pace then, unable to sit any longer. The itch came back, this time with force that nearly drove me mad. I rubbed at the damp skin of the back of my neck, gritting my teeth as I reminded myself not to use nails, but finally I had to give in.

Horror filled me as my skin began to peel away.

In the same moment, the itch grew seven fold.

With a soft cry, I dashed to my water basin, my shaking hands reaching for a cloth. I wet it and scrubbed at my exposed skin, tears filling my eyes as flesh gave way to expose soft coral pink scales beneath.

"Annis-si?" called a guard.

I shuddered as the cold winter wind blew in from the outside as the guards funneled into the hut. Shaking harder now I turned to face them, their faces blurred by my tears.

"She's...molting?" one of them whispered. "Like a snake?"

"No," said the Drul, taking a step closer. I blinked and watched the Drul take in my skin, making sure to keep his distance from me like I was some sort of leper. "Like a dragon."

The guards behind him stepped back, their fear almost palpable.

"Get the Gargoyle," the Drul told them.

"Not Táxim-se?" a guard asked.

"Táxim-se can be of no help here," the Drul replied. "And he will not appreciate being taken out of battle."

"But his woman is injured," said another guard tentatively. "He wouldn't like to be kept in the dark."

The Drul turned in fury and the men moved quickly from the hut. He stood at the door and watched them go before pulling the furs over the doorway once more.

"I'm going to assume that Táxim-se did not tell you what happened in the mountain," the Drul said quietly.

"What do the mountains have to do with anything?" I asked hoarsely.

"I'll take that as a no, then." The Drul sighed and turned to me, his blue eyes like chips of ice. "Táxim-se did very old magic to bring you back to the world of the living after the dragon attacked you. The spell was old, it was dark, and it has its consequences, as you can see."

"How do you know what Thatcher did?" I asked him, suspicions getting the best of me. "Did he tell you?"

"Yes," the Drul answered shortly. "As your personal guard, he felt like I had the right to know. Also, being a Drul, he felt that in case something went wrong with the spell and certain symptoms began to manifest over time, I would be able to detect it and prevent it."

"And cure it," I tagged on bitterly. I held up my peeling palms. "So, doc, why don't you get started?"

"Because this is not a symptom I can cure," the Drul returned sharply. "This is a consequence of drinking the life's blood of seven Ancient beings. You are now cursed with a half-life, but still a life nonetheless."

"H-Half-life?" I choked out, the bitterness in my heart becoming fear.

"Half human, half something else. Half dragon, in this case."

I felt my knees begin to shake. "T-That's not possible!" I stammered. "I'm just...I'm just human!"

"You were," the Drul acquiesced. "Now you're not. In any case, you're going through the mutations as we speak. It's a wonder that you aren't in any pain."

"Pain?" I repeated.

"The mutation is not just external, Annis-si," the Drul remarked, sounding a bit too amused for my taste.

"Not just external?" I whispered chokingly, as I slowly sunk to the ground.

"What are you, my echo?" the Drul scoffed. "Yes, it's not just external."

I touched my face in horror and felt the skin, now papery and wispy like onion layers, crackle beneath the touch. I had just peeled off my left cheek when the guards returned, their eyes meeting the Drul's purposefully.

"Take care to keep close to the fire," the Drul said in parting as he ducked under the furs.

Suddenly the furs parted with a ferocity that almost tore them off their bindings and Talon burst through, his gruesome battle worn frame catching my breath in my throat.

Blood splattered his face and body, and his hands were practically soaked with it. His hair and skin were saturated with sweat, melted snow, and the crimson life blood of those he had killed. His helmet was missing and his chest plate was covered in mud and other grime, the metal dented where Raspan claws had nearly got the best of him. His eyes were fierce with intent and his expression was as hard as granite, his body set like at any moment the enemy was coming to charge into the hut after him. Talon looked like hell. He looked like a warrior.

He took one look at me and stripped himself of his bloody armor and dropped his leather belt adorned with dozens upon dozens of Raspan tails onto the floor. He tossed his bloody sword aside but gently laid Thatcher's dagger on my mat before he lowered himself down beside me.

"I'm molting," I moaned, sobs beginning to build up in my chest.

"I can see that," Talon stated, his eyes looking over me. He shook his head as he sat down, his grey eyes hard. "This is from the dragons' blood." I nodded, even though he wasn't asking a question. Talon swore under his breath and caught my hand before I could touch my face again. "Let...let it happen naturally," he said slowly. "It may not be such a good idea to..."

Tears began to fall freely now and Talon's hardened expression cracked completely. "Tempest," he murmured soothingly. "Little one, don't cry..."

I cried anyway and like a child I reached for him. "Tempest, I'm not really..." He began again. "I've never comforted..."

I ignored his excuses and moved across the floor into the broad confines of his chest, burying my face in the curve where his neck and shoulder met. "Shut up and hold me," I told his chest.

Talon let out a sigh that sounded like a smothered laugh and wrapped his thick arms around me lightly. I tugged his right arm tighter and he obeyed wordlessly, his hold becoming gentle but firm.

"Is the war over?" I whispered a few minutes later.

"It's a battle," Talon corrected. "And no, it is not."

I swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Talon shifted a little. "Sorry for molting?" he chuckled.

I pinched his left pectoral in recant, only making him laugh and catch my hand with his own. I studied the contrast of our two hands, my eyes resting on his wicked claws as they gleamed like black diamonds in the firelight.

"I meant I was sorry for taking you out of battle," I said quietly. "I know you'd rather be out there, fighting, not coddling me."

Talon's warm breath feathered over the top of my head. "You are more important than any battle, Tempest," Talon replied softly. "You are my mate."

I closed my eyes, lulled into a sleepy trance by the flames in front of me. "I know, Talon," I mumbled. "And you're mine."

Thatcher

Sleet fell hard into his eyes and stabbed at his exposed skin, but at this point Thatcher was too numb to feel it. With eyes clouded by pain, he looked up from the useless limb of his right arm and into the face of a man that he hated more than he hated himself.

Despite Fuyher's rather grotesque conglomeration of animal and man, the similarities between father and son were indeed there. Whereas Thatcher was a bit more pleasing to the eye, the self-proclaimed Raspan King was not entirely without some redeeming qualities, though at the moment a person would be hard-pressed to believe such a thing.

Fuyher's eyes glowed crimson with victory and bloodlust as he studied Thatcher's weak, bleeding, and broken form, a fact that made Thatcher ill to think upon. His thin lips pulled back into a cruel smile, the sight making the wounds in Thatcher's right arm singe with pain. And the pain only reminded him of another sickening fact - he had lost, and he had been so very close.

The disappointment and shame were more of a blow to Thatcher than the reality of death. Knowing that he had not completed his life's work before taking his leave from this world was soul-crushing. He still had so much work to do, and now it would never be finished.

"Tell me, Thatcher," Fuyher said as playfully as his drone voice would allow it. "Tell me the final words you have for your little Kitten. What should I whisper in her ear before I rip open her pretty little neck?"

Thatcher smiled the best his torn, bleeding lips would allow. "Tell her to finish you," he rasped.

Fuyher's thin lips faded out of their wicked grin, covering his sharp blood-stained teeth that bore evidence of the victims he had fed upon as he wove his way through battle. That was how he had found Thatcher, by moving like a shark on land as he feasted upon whoever stood in his way. That was how his arm had become a mangled broken mess of meat and bone, and how Fuyher had discovered his bastard son fostered by his murdered mate in the heat of battle.

Fuyher snapped his teeth at him in irritation. "I'm disappointed, son," he hissed. "You're so weak."

Thatcher's eyes went up above his father's head and his smiled broadened before he returned Fuyher's gaze. "And you, father, are so fucking dead."

Thatcher watched the color fade from Fuyher's face as the dragons began to roar.

Edited by: mikothebaby