Kalina ~ Book Four

“Why didn’t you tell me about this pack up north? And this Fraser guy. What’s his deal?”

Rowan ate dinner at the table as Sylvie sat opposite him, chasing her spaghetti with a fork. Kian had made it especially to cure their hangovers and stood at the counter, scribbling something on a notepad, while Elias sat at the end of the table with a large cup of donor blood.

“I don’t have an excuse. I should have. I’m sorry.” Rowan looked genuinely guilty, but it was the dark bags under his eyes that made her light frustration halt and concern replace it.

“Well? You can share now…”

Elias leaned forward onto his elbows, seemingly intrigued, too.

“His pack started small, like the others across the continent, but with the disbanding of the western and eastern packs, most of the rogues headed there first. Now, their numbers are almost three-quarters of ours. But we still have the majority of tactically trained shifters.”

“We have all the children here to protect, too,” Sylvie added. Her chest tightened uncomfortably as thoughts of her students in danger swirled through her brain.

But Rowan shook his head. “Fraser is a good Alpha. From what I can tell, he wouldn’t attack us. But the pack isn’t succeeding with their mate bonds like we are.”

“Why?” Sylvie asked. It didn’t make sense. The mate bonds should have been returning for the born shifters as soon as the division ended. That’s what the Fates implied, at least. It all gave her a headache.

“He thinks it could be stress. The humans around them are far more aware of their presence and believe they are a cult that practices devil worshipping. They’ve had fifteen police callouts in the last six months.”

Elias shook his head while Sylvie just mulled his words over. “Stress can do that?”

“We don’t know. It’s unprecedented times. It could also be that none of their mates are in the Northern pack. Perhaps they are here.”

“So that’s why he suggested a mixer next Saturday.”

Kian hummed from the counter. “Another party. Aren’t we popular?”

Sylvie held back an eye roll and took a swig of her water. “Does he know who I am?”

“Yes. But only you,” he peered pointedly at her other two mates— his other two mates, adding, “And only by name, so let’s keep it that way. It might be worthwhile hiding your identity until we know we can trust them.”

Sylvie nodded, glad he was thinking along the same lines as her. She could get a better insight into the pack if they weren’t trying to impress her, like every other shifter she knew in her pack.

“What kind of shifter is he?”

Rowan’s face twitched, and an unfamiliar look entered his eyes. “Don’t know.”

Sylvie blinked. “What?”

“We don’t advertise our animal forms, Sylvie. And it’s rude to ask.”

She nearly choked on her tiny bite and frowned at him. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do.” Fair enough, but his tone had lots to be desired.

“Jerk.”

“Brat,” Elias and Rowan muttered at the same time.

Her cheeks flamed as she stood, her chair screeching along the tile. “I’m going for a run.”

“Sylvie-” Rowan stood, but she waved him away. She wasn’t mad. Their utterance of her brattiness made her ache in a way that couldn’t be fulfilled right then. Not while they were still recovering from the night before.

“I’m fine.” She rounded the table and beelined for the door when Kian stopped her with a hand on her lower back.

“You’ve hardly eaten.”

“I’m still full from the smoothie.” He shook his head at her, and she could tell what word was sitting at the tip of his tongue as he turned and fetched a few things from the cupboard.

“At least take these,” he said, pushing them into her hand.

“Insufferable,” she whispered with a downturned smile. He clicked his tongue at her, and she winked, darting from the house before Elias decided he felt well enough to give her the sexy punishment she was owed.

Sylvie ate a peach as she headed for their bunker, throwing the pit in the forest as the metal grate beside Amira’s healing came into view. She lifted the grate and jumped the two meters to the floor, landing with a faint metallic clink.

Without light in the bunker, she had to rely on her Dryad sight. Laced through the metal walls and floors were the roots of a neighbouring tree, which she clung to for night vision.

To her left, the wall was lined with shelves of guns and ammunition. All of which she ignored before turning to the right.

That wall displayed recurve bows, long bows and her favourite: the barebow. She shouldered a quiver with freshly made arrows and hooked the barebow over the other.

The back wall shimmered ahead of her, the glistening flash of steel knives drawing her in. She opted for two sleek steel throwing knives and strapped them to her thigh over her track pants.

She turned, about to leave, when a tranquiliser gun caught her gaze. “Ugh, fine.” Snatching it off the shelf, Sylvie strapped it to her other thigh before climbing out of the bunker and carefully lowering the crate. She didn’t want to bother-

“Come in here, M’eudail.”

Amira. Dammit.

Sylvie rounded the healing cabin and opened the door. “Yes?”

“Are ye alright?” Amira looked pointedly at Sylvie’s kit and raised a silver brow. “Ye havenae trained in months. What’s the occasion?”

“I’m just-” She paused and edged from foot to foot. “I’m worried.”

“And ye thought shootin’ wad help?”

“Maybe. There’s a Northern pack that’s asking for help. And I want to help them, I do, but-”

“But ye dinnae know who to trust.”

“No, I don’t.” Sylvie shifted the bow on her shoulder and leaned against the door frame. “I’ve spent years finding my place here. Making it safe for us. For me. But the world outside of these pack wards… I-”

She swallowed, remembering the Vampires and Magnus’ words. He had it handled.

“They hate me, Amira, the Vampires, and I can’t do anything about it. I can’t change what anyone thinks of me because I did those things. I took them from their home.”

“Aye, but ye also saved them. They may have forgotten that fact, but ye better not.”

“Sure, but they also think I control who gets mate bonds. How can I prove that’s not true.”

Amira brought over a steaming cup of something and placed it into her hands. As Sylvie sipped it, she said, “A dinnae know yet, M’eudail, perhaps its just time they need. Understandin. A bit o compassion. I know yer heart, Sylvie. It is bruised but no broken, an it loves more powerfully than ye know. Why dae ye think the Fates gave ye three mates? Have faith in them. Trust yer instincts. They havna steered ye wrong yet.”

“Well,” Sylvie scoffed before downing the rest of the tea and handing over the cup. Amira tipped it upside down on the saucer and lifted it away, reading the leaves.

“It’s the same, isn’t it? Kill the demon, or death will follow.”

Amira gave her a grave look and spat on the saucer. It was the same ritual every year after she ended the division and killed her psycho aunt, Lazuli. But instead of a new fate, she kept getting the one from her first-ever reading. They tried different teas, cups, and times of day, but it was always the same.

It never came true, though.

After she brought Elias back from the dead, no one else in her life had died, and no other demons or hybrids had even been scented with their telltale sulphur smell within a kilometre of her.

She guessed the Fates had done their duty and didn’t bother giving her a new fate. She thought maybe she wished so hard to be left alone that they finally did.

“It’s okay, Amira. I’ll be fine.” She turned to go. “Did you need any more herbs from the apothecary?”

“Nay, lass. Off ye go.” They shared a smile. One that held a deep understanding that Sylvie hadn’t fully deciphered, and she walked to the training field.

As she hoped, it was empty, the sun setting on the horizon. She’d have to use her fae sight, but it was as easy as breathing. She usually had to remember not to do it to avoid the questions about her pink iris’.

The shooting section was already set up and ready for the next session, so she stretched and lined up her shots.

“What’s wrong?” Claudine’s voice made her jump, and she almost punched the strawberry blonde.

“Don’t do that!”

“I can’t help it. It’s in my nature.”

Right. Lion shifters. Quiet as fucking mice.

“Mine too,” Rosie said, poking her freckled face from behind Claudine, her dimpling smile enough to quell her thundering heart.

“I just had this conversation with Amira. Would you two let me shoot?”

Claudine eyed the tranq strapped to her thigh and chuckled. “Shoot? You’re just gonna waste the potions.”

Shit, she hadn’t even thought of that.

“Here.” Claudine handed her a Beretta, and Sylvie swapped it into her holster with a grumble.

“I hate guns.”

“Trust me. We know.” Claudine jumped to the side lithely as Sylvie swiped at her and offered a toothy grin.

Rosie saddled up beside her and clasped her hands behind her back. “If it makes you feel any better, we accidentally eavesdropped on you and know why you’re sad.”

The brutal honesty drew a pained laugh from Sylvie, and she closed her eyes. “You dork.”

“We’re sorry this is happening, and we love you.”

Claudine hummed. “Who’s we?”

Sylvie laughed again and opened her eyes, tugging her bow off her shoulder and setting up the shot. Nocking the arrow, she inhaled, and she let the arrow loose with her exhale.

As always, it struck true in the first bullseye. And with the following five shots, she hit the mark on every other strawman target.

Rosie whistled, impressed and leaned against a nearby tree while Claudine hummed. “Now, let’s see the gun.”

She was just as good with the gun but still hated it. The weight in her hands, the power to take life so quickly with something so small, always nauseated her.

“Fine.” Sylvie handed the bow and quiver to Claudine and pulled out her handgun, aiming just to the left of her arrows. She emptied the clip with a controlled exhale and narrowed her eyes at the targets. All were where she aimed for except the last one.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. What would Rowan say?”

“Shut up. You two put me off.”

Claudine shook her head as Sylvie packed her things, yelling as she ran to the targets. “Nothing should put you off. One mistake, and you’re dead.”

Sylvie pulled the arrows from the rye straw and shoved them back in her quiver. “Drama queen,” she muttered.

Rosie scampered over, pulling the last arrow and clasped her hands together, rolling it between her hands as if she couldn’t stop the movement.

“What is it?” Sylvie asked, plucking the arrow from her restless hands.

“Are you gonna let us all go to the Northern mixer?”

When Sylvie’s brows furrowed, Rosie added. “Rowan mindlinked me. That’s why I came looking for you and heard you and Amira talking.”

They walked back to Claudine, hand on hip and continued as a Trio to the main path. “Yes. I don’t see why not, but I’ll be…” It sounded dumb, so she begrudgingly said, “Undercover. As Kalina, not Sylvie, until we know they can be trusted.”

Claudine snickered, but Rosie’s mouth pressed together, deadening a tight squeal. “This is exciting, Claude. We might find our mates!”

“Mhmm.”

Sylvie noted Claudine’s lack of enthusiasm and nudged her. “You could be undercover, too. Help me find out the pack’s dirty secrets.” She perked up a bit at that.

“Fine, but leave it to me. You’ll mess it up and get caught snooping.”

“Will not.”

“Will, too.”

They shared a mirrored look of concealed admiration, and Sylvie sighed. “Better start looking for gowns now if we’re gonna be ready for Saturday.”

Rosie’s eyes widened comically wide, taking the idea with absolute seriousness. “Leave it to me.”