Filed to story: Tangled in Moonlight Unshifted Novel by Lenaleia
Her arrogance knows no bounds.
You don’t have wings, Grimoire points out.
A true hunter makes do with what paws and claws are at their disposal.
“But—” Tinker says from under the table, sounding suspiciously similar to a whine.
“No.” Magister Orion’s tone is harder than I’ve ever heard him speak to his servants. “No dragons, Tinker.”
Her resulting grumble sounds a little like she’s saying Fine, be that way, which must be how the large Fae takes it—he rubs his eyebrows with a sigh, smiling when he notices me watching.
“Tinker has a moderate obsession with dragons. They’re her favorite research subject.”
Ah.
“They usually are, for the young,” the Grand Sage agrees, his attention back on the watch in front of him.
My fingers trace the silver bracelet on my wrist. “So, dragons are out. But what about this? It hurt the dream-eater before.”
“It wounded the creature, yes.” Magister Orion strokes his beard as he leans forward to squint at it. “But that’s far from destroying it. The bracelet’s power is meant to protect, not destroy.”
Tinker pops her head back out, her wide eyes almost maniacal as words roll out of her like a tidal wave of excitement. “We could modify it! Add some explosive runes, maybe a touch of—“
“Absolutely not.” The Grand Sage and Magister Orion speak in perfect unison.
Kellan seems surprised. “Why not? If it’s possible, adding anything to Ava’s arsenal sounds like—“
“No,” the Grand Sage says, without expanding.
The beta blinks, and Magister Orion sighs. “When you add offensive magic to an inherently defensive artifact, things tend to go awry. If you want your Luna’s arms and legs intact, I suggest leaving it as is.”
LISA
The pyres stretch across the field like fallen stars, each one a testament to another life lost. Twenty-seven flames reach toward the sky, and my heart aches for every single one. There’s a sound barrier over the field, so wolves can howl and mourn.
It’s haunting.
Ava stands before the first pyre, her voice steady as she speaks the names. She’s grown so much. Even from my position at the back of the crowd, I can see how each name costs her, how she refuses to rush through them, even as her voice shakes.
My fingers find the familiar spot on my thigh, massaging the burning sensation that’s been growing worse over the past hour. The pain makes me shift my weight, trying to find a comfortable position.
A particularly mournful howl rises above the others. Wolves of all colors lift their heads to join the lament. Their grief is raw in a way human mourning could never be, and my heart aches.
This pack has been through so much, and it’s hard not to feel guilty as I remember my part in the first massacre.
Magister Orion is one of the few of us standing on two feet. Almost all the shifters are in their wolf forms as they grieve. Several of his Fae friends are clustered near him; they’re all helping to maintain the sound barrier, faces impassive, despite the clear distrust they’ve been treated with since arriving here.
I know that feeling well.
The burning in my leg spikes, forcing me to take a half-step back. Normally, I would be surrounded by guards. Right now, they’re in their wolf forms, mourning with the others, though only feet away.
None of the names Ava recites are particularly memorable to me, but my heart hurts for their families and this pack I belong to.
My eyes water, both from smoke and the emotions surrounding this place.
Another wave of pain shoots through my thigh.
The wolves continue their mournful chorus as Ava moves between the pyres, marking each one with a rune that glows briefly before fading into the flames. It’s something Magister Orion taught her, a rune he said was a blessing for the souls of the deceased.
Twenty-seven times she stops. Twenty-seven times she speaks. Twenty-seven times the pack’s howls rise in response.
A strange sensation tugs at my attention, drawing my gaze northeast.
There’s nothing there to gather interest, just the darkness of night and stars in the sky. My thigh burns so much. Maybe walking will stretch it out, help take the pain away.
So I do just that.
One foot in front of the other, taking me away from the rites, away from the guards who should be watching my every move.
No one turns. No one notices. The wolves continue their mournful song and the Fae remain focused on their barrier as I slip behind them.
One step.
Then another.
The pull grows stronger with each step, like an invisible rope tied around me, pulling me forward. My thigh burns, but it’s different from the usual ache—more like a compass pointing me forward, insisting the pain will disappear if I just keep going.
One foot in front of the other, drawn by something I can’t explain.
What am I doing? The thought floats through my mind, but it’s hazy, disconnected.
“Lisa?”
Magister Orion’s voice clears the fog in my head.
Suddenly, the sensation vanishes. The pain in my thigh recedes to its usual dull throb. I blink, awareness rushing back like a splash of cold water, disoriented.
Spinning around, I spy the huge Fae watching me with concern, the only one to notice me walking by.
“Is the smoke bothering you? I know human lungs can be quite frail,” he says, waving a hand in my direction. The air is suddenly sweeter, clearer, and my lungs grab on with greed. I didn’t realize I was breathing in such rapid, shallow breaths.
“A little, I guess.” Shaking off the strange feeling, I head toward the Magister, who pats my shoulder in an awkward cadence, too rough sometimes and barely brushing me the next. Like he’s scared he’s going to quash me into a Lisa pancake.
He’s strange, but nice, exactly as Ava had explained him to be.
“Stay by me,” he says, with his rumbling voice. “We don’t need you getting lost in the darkness on a night like tonight just for some fresh air.”
Why did I wander off? The pyres still burn in the distance, but everything feels fuzzy, like waking from an afternoon nap. I guess, like the Magister said, it was in search of fresh air.
Someone must have realized I walked away, because suddenly six wolves appear to flank me, no longer howling and mourning with the rest of the pack.
“The smoke is quite thick,” one of the Fae agree, peeking around Magister to smile at me. He seems nice. “I didn’t realize human bodies were quite so weak, but if you stay with us, we’ll make sure you can breathe.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. Yes, indeed—the air here tastes clean and sweet, nothing like the heavy smoke that must have driven me to seek better breathing room. “Thank you for clearing it for me.”
My hand drops to my thigh, expecting the familiar ache, but there’s nothing. Not even a twinge. The constant burning has vanished as if it never existed.
The sound barrier continues to ripple with the pack’s grief, and I return my attention to the rites.
My eyes scan the crowd, searching for that familiar silhouette. The wolves blend together in the darkness, their fur painted orange by the dancing flames, but I’d recognize his form anywhere.
There. Near the third pyre from the right.
Kellan’s wolf stands tall despite his obvious exhaustion. The way his shoulders slump makes my fingers twitch with the urge to comfort him. He’s been awake for what seems like forever, and I can’t even remember if he came to bed last night.
I shift my weight, stamping my foot absently, expecting to feel the now-familiar burning. But no; it’s still gone, and I’m pain-free. Strange. Probably a pinched nerve or something.
The flames lick at the night sky, consuming our dead. Each tongue of fire carries a name, a story, a life cut short. My wolves’ howls pierce the air, raw with grief, and the weight of their pain settles deep in my bones.
Selene’s voice is a clear bell through the haze of exhaustion. You need rest.
The smoke stings my eyes. Or maybe those are tears. “Has everyone returned to Wolf’s Landing?”
Most have. Only the families remain.
“And Lisa?”
Kellan took her home.
There was something about her tonight, something off. At one point she’d even wandered from her place; Selene was the one to alert her guards. Maybe I should have insisted she stay in her cabin for the night. “Did you notice anything strange about her?”
Humans react differently to pack grief. Selene bumps into my thigh. Even those who’ve lived among us struggle when hundreds of wolves channel their emotions at once. The energy can be overwhelming.
A memory surfaces—unwanted, unbidden. A crowd of shifted wolves surrounding me, their eyes bright in the dark of night. The fear that comes with such a sight… It no longer has the same effect on me, but I can still remember my days in Blackwood. “You’re right. I forget sometimes, how intense it can be.”
Turning away from the pyres, I walk toward Wolf’s Landing. My guards follow behind, and I wonder if they took enough time to grieve. They were silent for most of the ceremony, paying more attention to my safety than the rites.
Most of the Fae are already gone, probably seeking warmth. They don’t seem to like this cold. Only two remain to maintain the barrier, their magic containing our howls of mourning within these grounds.
The feel of their magic is different from mine, but familiar; it’s surprising to feel a wave of vague homesickness for the Fae Ward. Not a place that was home, but one of only two places I lived as Ava. Just Ava.
Life seemed so hard then, but it’s nothing compared to the responsibility weighing me down now.
You need sleep, Selene observes, keeping pace with me as her furry body keeps bumping into my thigh.
“What I need is—” My voice disappears, fading into a long sigh. What do I need? Lucas, safe and home. Our pack whole again. The ability to turn back time and save those twenty-seven souls. The strength to take over our future. “I need to be stronger.”
You are strong.
But right now, with the last of the pyres burning against the night sky, I can only clench my fists as I make my way home.
Stronger.
I need power. Enough to no longer feel afraid when a crazy monster attacks our home—to not feel the need to run away and sacrifice myself as the only other option.
Oh? Grimoire has been quiet all day; grief isn’t something he dabbles in much, and he’s found the emotions of today to be exhausting. How fascinating. Your will has been tempered.
She has always had a strong will, Selene retorts. It’s her self-respect that’s lacking.
Ouch.
My temples throb as Grimoire and Selene continue their back-and-forth. The lights of Wolf’s Landing pierce through the darkness ahead, but my feet slow on the path back to my cabin.