Chapter 2
Caraway always fancied himself a big fae. As a muskox shifter, he towered above most others at an inch over seven-feet tall. Taller than even the legendary Guardians in the Cadre of Twelve. Caraway’s big bones and large frame were stacked with slabs of hard muscle honed from decades of heavy training under the tutelage of the Order’s ruthless preceptors.
All manner of fae shrunk when he arrived in his black leather Guardian uniform. And most looked in fear at his sharp, curved horns as they flowed from the top of his head, then down and out to end at his cheeks. But it was truly the giant metal broadsword strapped to his back that incited the most knee-knocking terror. One cleave of his mighty blade, Justice, and any creature in Elphyne would be cut in half. Metal had the ability to not only halt magic in its tracks but pierce almost any manner of surface. Apart from the Guardians, who’d earned their endorsement through a painstaking ceremony, no other fae was sanctioned to carry metal. Touching the forbidden substance would cut their magic supply from the Well and cause a painful headache.
But not Caraway. Not the Guardians. They could decimate the enemy and use the full force of the gifts the Well had given them. This dual power made them nigh unstoppable in Elphyne.
So he should feel tall. He should feel big. Invincible. But standing where he was, on the Guardian training field at the Order, with the sun blinding him, and facing one of the Twelve, he felt like a four-foot-tall dwarf.
Facing him from about ten feet away was Rush, a wolf-shifter who’d recently mated with Clarke, a human who inexplicably had, and could use, mana. She’d been exposed to the Well over a two-thousand-year sleep, frozen in ice. She thawed a few years ago and brought with her news of an evil human who’d caused the destruction of the old world and had awoken in this time with the intent to reclaim Elphyne’s resources for himself.
Because Clarke was Rush’s Well-blessed mate, the silver-haired shifter in front of Caraway was not only lethal because he could rip Caraway to shreds with sharp teeth, or slice Caraway with his sword, but also blast him with endless offensive magic without running out of power. If his stores of mana were low, all he needed to do was siphon some from his powerful mate. Rush was indestructible.
How was Caraway going to fight that?
“You’re a disgrace to the herd,” Caraway’s mother’s voice filtered from his memories. “Us muskox don’t fight. We don’t spill blood. We live in harmony with the Well.”
And when a human raiding party had invaded his family’s territory, their pacifist ways could do nothing to protect their kind. Half their herd had been wiped out. But did losing so many lives make Caraway’s mother change her mind? No. She still looked on in disgust as he left on his way to submit to the Guardian initiation.
“Are you going to stand there all day staring into space, or spar with me?” Rush laughed, scratching his gray beard.
The Guardian hadn’t yet released his sword. The handle poked over his shoulder, taunting Caraway.
Caraway’s grip tightened on his own sword, Justice. He narrowed his eyes and then charged. Heavy feet thudded across the grass.
Rush pushed his palm out, the blue Well-blessed markings on his hand glowed brightly, and a gust of sharp, cold wind came at Caraway. Like a wall, the element hit and knocked him backward. He landed hard on his rear, jarring the senses out of him.
“Use your sword,” Rush shouted back. “It’s broad enough the metal will displace the mana I send your way.”
Gritting his teeth, Caraway planted Justice’s tip into the grass and used it to lever himself up. Well-damn it. This was embarrassing. Get him in hand-to-hand combat and he would come out on top. But he needed this. The extra training.
The human enemies emerging didn’t play by the rules, and he needed to be ready. He’d failed too many times already.
Anise’s smirking face came to mind and he almost lost his footing. Cute wolfish ears twitching in irritation, dark stain on her nose, big golden eyes with long sweeping lashes. Something squeezed hard in his chest. His old friend had moved away and hadn’t told him where, which meant she didn’t want to be found. He couldn’t blame her. He’d fucked up.
“Stop!” A male shout came from the sidelines.
Caraway squinted into the sun, shielded his eyes. The team leader of the Twelve, Leaf, a golden-haired elf with a superiority complex, waved him over. Leaf was also a council member. This could mean only one thing.
Caraway had a mission.
Wiping the dirt off Justice, Caraway sheathed the great sword at the baldric on his back and then strode over. Leaf, Rush, and his son Thorne almost converged to meet. Fae stopped aging at about the age of twenty years, so both father and son looked almost identical except for their eyes and hair. Rush’s eyes were golden, and Thorne’s were icy blue. Rush’s hair was long and silver, Thorne’s was buzzed at the sides and short on top. All three looked at Caraway ominously.
Why were they looking at him like that? As though he wasn’t about to like what they said next.
“What is it?” he asked.
Leaf folded his arms, his black leathers creaking. “Cloud has finished interrogating the human who worked with High King Mithras.”
“Oh?” Caraway raised his brow and did his best to hide his blatant disgust for both the Seelie High King and the human he’d conspired with. The same human who’d manipulated and worked with the fae who’d tortured Anise for two weeks. “Does that mean we can kill him now?”
Thorne shot Caraway a look with dark eyes and a feral glint. The pacifist in his blood wanted to shrink back. Oxen and Wolves were enemies in the animal world, but Caraway had found this one to be his greatest ally.
Thorne bared his fangs. “The prisoner is mine.”
Caraway folded his arms. “That human tortured Anise.”
“He tortured my mate first. If there’s anything left of him after I’ve had him, he’s all yours.”
Caraway bit back a retort, because Thorne was well within his rights to take revenge on the human. Laurel was Thorne’s Well-blessed mate. They shared not only mana but emotions. Thorne would have relived Laurel’s pain as though it were his own. Anise wasn’t Caraway’s mate. She might not even be his friend.
Not after she blamed him for failing to notice she’d been locked in a cage for two weeks. That tightness in his chest constricted again.
“I hate to burst your bubbles,” Leaf drawled, “but neither of you will get your hands on him yet. Cloud has failed to draw worthy information from the human. His mind is locked tight like a vise. Cloud is finished with his interrogation, but we have other methods we will try next. There is one lead we need you to investigate, Caraway.”
Caraway looked at the other three, more capable Guardians. All of them were part of the Twelve, the most feared and revered warriors of the Order of the Well. Each of them vicious and uniquely powerful in their own way, it was every Guardian’s dream to one day earn their place in the tight-knit cadre of brothers-in-arms. Not only were they powerful, but two of them had already attained a status all Guardians secretly wanted but denied they did—they had found love in this impossible world.
Up until now, it was assumed the life of a Guardian was lonely and empty when it came to mating. Long term relationships weren’t encouraged. Not only was a Guardian’s duty demanding, but dangerous. Lives were often cut short. Short dalliances were encouraged.