Calling the Wild Read online

  In the nights before she’d cast, lying awake in the warehouse, she’d imagined the creature that the spell would bring. Like a little girl wishing for a knight in shining armor she’d wished for a strong and powerful being, one who would not only provide her with the power she needed, but offer assistance.

  Kiron was all that and more. He’d taken up arms in her battle and listened to her, the first person to do so in a long time. She trusted him more than she’d trusted any other being since she’d started to run.

  It was foolish to trust him, intellectually she knew that, but her heart, so long starved for the touch of a kind and caring person, provided no resistance. Sleeping with him, knowing that she was slowly growing more and more enamored of, and dependent upon, him, was courting disaster.

  She would take his friendship and camaraderie, she would use him and his power to protect herself and defeat those who chased her, and when it was over…

  She had no idea what would happen after. There was nothing left for her in the place that had once been home, her enemies had made sure of that.

  If she survived there would be time enough for new dreams, or to retool the old ones. One thing she could be certain of, Kiron would not be a part of that life. He would return to his home, his place in The Wild. Even if she were foolish enough to hope for it, there was no future between them.

  But for now, he was hers.

  Kiron stopped at the edge of the parking lot, and Moira flipped her leg over his back and slid down. She paused beside him and stroked her hand over his coat, smoothing the hair she’d pulled out of place sliding off him.

  His hide rippled beneath her fingers, but he did not tell her to stop, so Moira extended her strokes over his loin and rump to the top of his tail.

  “Other side.”

  “Hmm?” Moira was lost in the rhythm, barely registering Kiron’s words.

  “Do the other side please.”

  His request surprised a laugh out of her, and when she circled around he swatted her on the ass with his tail.

  Moira laughed again, “I see, less laughing, more petting?”

  “Petting?” his voice dripped with disgust, and when he looked at her over his shoulder his upper lip was curled. “This is not petting, this is grooming.”

  “Perhaps we should make a side trip to an equestrian supply store and pick up a curry comb.”

  She expected him to scoff, but instead he replied with, “That’s a good idea, a nightly grooming sounds lovely.”

  Moira smacked his flank. “Maybe I should pick up a riding crop too.”

  “If you want, you’ll look good bent over the bed getting a cropping, especially in those tight little shorts you had on at the club.”

  “Ohhh, the centaur likes naughty sex. Did you pick that up at a discothèque?”

  Kiron stamped his rear left hoof, perilously close to her toes. “No, not at a discothèque, but I wager I know more about human kinky sex than you do.”

  “Oh really? I say I’ve seen my share of things. That club in Jersey was tame compared to some of the places I’ve been.”

  White sparks showered down from Kiron’s head, skipping across his back until they coated the entirety of his massive body. The sparks dissipated and Moira caught her breath.

  Kiron took advantage of her astonishment and grabbed her, pulling her hard in to his chest. His big body was clad in low-slung black pants that hugged his hips. A row of heavy metal rings spilled down the outside of each leg and a chain dripped from the waist in big loops. Thick pieces of black leather wrapped around his arm just above the swell of each bicep, and a black leather cuff graced the wrist that didn’t have her cuff on it. Thin strips of softer leather crossed his chest in an X before curving over his shoulders. The leather X highlighted his heavy pectoral muscles and drew the eye to the temptingly soft skin of his belly.

  Kiron placed one hand on her ass and lifted, forcing her to her toes.

  Moira’s pupils dilated in arousal, and she tipped her head back, lips parting on a moan as Kiron ground their lower bodies together.

  “Twice now you’ve told me no, and I will not ask again, but I want you to know that I am willing.” He pumped his hips against her. She could feel the truth of that statement.

  “I want you too.” Moira curled her fingers into the straps that crossed his chest, tugging their upper bodies together so that they meshed from shoulder to knee.

  “Then why,” Kiron leaned his head to the side and breathed on her neck, “do you deny us the pleasure?”

  “Bad. Bad idea. I will fall—” she cut herself off, hissing in anger at what she’d almost said.

  “I won’t let you fall.” He wrapped his hand more securely under her ass.

  “You don’t understand. That’s not what I meant.”

  “Then tell me.”

  “Kiron, we can’t do this. It’ll only make things more complicated.”

  “Why do you think sex is complicated?”

  “Because it is.” Moira eased their bodies apart, forcing herself to calm down and ignore the way her pulse pounded and body fluttered in reaction to his touch.

  “We can make the positions as complicated as you want, but sex is not complicated. It is about satisfying a need, nothing more.”

  That was enough to shock her out of her arousal.

  “Gee, being told that you’re just a tool for scratching an itch is hot. I want to strip off my pants right now.”

  Moira planted the heels of her hands in his chest and pushed. Kiron held her for a moment, ensuring she knew that if he didn’t want to let her go, she would not get away.

  When he finally let go, Moira backed up a few paces. Moira was prepared to ride her righteous anger, but his next words took them away.

  “I meant only that sex is a physical need, as is breathing, something natural, not to be ashamed of or feared. It is not just any female that I desire. I desire you.”

  Like ice on a summer sidewalk, Moira’s anger melted. She stepped forward, hand raised. She wanted to take back her harsh words, to touch him, but the fall of white magic stopped her. This time when the sparks cleared he wore jeans and a soccer jersey, the quartz once more around his neck. His head was bent, and when he looked at her his black eyes were as sad and fathomless as the lonely night sky.

  “Kiron, I…” Moira shook her head, stopping herself from doing something stupid. Her line of reasoning was sound. Something between them could only end in heartache for her.

  “I don’t understand you,” Kiron said. “Just remember what I said. I’m willing.”

  “I will.” Moira would probably spend half the night awake thinking about it.

  Moira curled her hand around his wrist, over the metal band she’d placed there, and then slid her hand to his. He wrapped his fingers over hers. Moira squeezed his fingers and raised his chin with her other hand, tipping his face to hers.

  “You will never know how much you mean to me, how much I needed you. More than just your magic, I need you.”

  “You are very strong. You would have survived.”

  “Maybe, but I am stronger since you came.”

  Kiron closed his eyes, hiding those expressive black orbs from her probing gaze. When he looked at her once more a small smile played over his lips, and he cocked an eyebrow at her.

  “Are you expecting me to thank you for enslaving me, witch?”

  Moira slid her hand from his face and lifted her chin. “You should be honored to serve me, you great unwashed brute.”

  “Unwashed brute?” Side by side they turned and started across the parking lot. “I am not the one who smells like moldy river water.”

  “Are you going to tell me why you tried to drown me while I was unconscious?”

  “I didn’t try to drown you, and I did tell you. You were muddy.”

  “Why was I muddy?”

  “I put you in the mud.”

  “Why?”

  “You needed it.”

  “I needed to b
e doused in mud?”

  “Yes.”

  The continued their banter all the way to the room. Once inside Moira dug through her backpack for fresh clothes. Kiron went into the bathroom, and Moira quickly changed. When Kiron didn’t come out after ten minutes she knocked, and when he didn’t answer, opened the door. Kiron was in the bathroom, examining his chunk of quartz in the dubious florescent light.

  When Moira walked in, he lifted the emerald from between her breasts, examining it and then comparing it to his quartz.

  “They appear normal when not active with magic, but they are larger than any stones I’ve seen plucked from The Wild.”

  “Have you taken many people there?”

  “If by ‘people’ you mean humans, then no, I have taken no one there before, but I was sent to guide a mage into The Wild once. His stone yielded a single canary diamond.”

  “Diamond?” Moira looked at her emerald and tried not to pout.

  “Each stone of the earth is equally valuable.”

  “That is a dirty lie. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.”

  Kiron blinked owlishly, frowned in puzzlement, then rolled his eyes and let the emerald fall to her chest.

  In the light of the bathroom Moira was able to see the details of the jersey Kiron wore. Green with white stripes down the shoulders and sleeves, there was a small three-leafed clover emblem stitched in the center of the chest just above an Adidas logo. “Is this for an Irish soccer team?”

  Kiron snorted, then turned so she could see his back. Across his shoulders, where the players name usually was, was an incomprehensible word. Moira stared at it in consternation, trying to make sense of the letters, until she realized that the “O” with a line through it was not a stylized “O” but the Greek letter theta.

  “It’s Greek. Ohhh! You’re from Greece!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why were you so secretive about it?”

  “I didn’t think I had any reason to tell you. Most others I’ve met have guessed that I was from Greece, I am a centaur after all.”

  “It seemed odd to assume that just because you were a creature from Greek mythology you must live somewhere in Greece.”

  “My home is on Kefallinia, one of the Ionian Islands.”

  “That sounds familiar.”

  “Much of the forests, and all the human dwellings, were destroyed in an earthquake fifty years ago. I was sent there, to help the forests regrow, to calm the island.”

  “So, you have an actual centaur job. I had no idea, I thought you just…”

  “Ran around in the forests all day?”

  “No, but I didn’t think that you’d have an assigned post.”

  “Not all do. I was sent to the island when I was still a child, that I might grow with it, become a part of it. Now the island is healed, and though the quakes still come the island has healed enough to move with the quakes, rather than fight them.”

  “But people live on the island too, don’t they?”

  “Yes. Most left after the largest quake, but they have returned, and they have forgotten how the island shook them off. Not many years ago there was a fire, a great fire in my forests. It took two years to heal the scars.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “The fire was set by humans.” He spat the last word with vicious disdain. Anger swelled from him, so that he filled the small space.

  “What did you do?” she asked in a sotto voice.

  “I found them and sank their lifeless bodies to the bottom of the ocean.”

  Moira swallowed and looked away. Kiron pushed past her and out of the bathroom. She took a minute to compose herself then turned to the bedroom, standing with her hands braced against the doorframe.

  “Do you condemn me, for killing them?” he asked, back to her.

  “No. It’s who you are.” Moira said simply.

  “Yes,” he turned to face her.

  They stood in silence, gauging each other. Moira realized that the thought of the far-off people’s death did not bother her. It should, she was convinced that it should bother her, but having seen The Wild as she had tonight, she could not fault Kiron.

  Wanting to lighten the mood, Moira cocked her hip and settled a hand on her waist.

  “So how is it you ended up at bondage clubs when you live on a little tourist island in Greece?”

  Kiron smiled. “I made frequent trips to the mainland to visit friends.”

  “Centaur friends?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you all went to discothèques together?”

  “Yes.”

  “And are they as pretty as you are?” Moira fluttered her lashes. Kiron snorted and flopped on the bed. He rolled onto his side, propping his head on his hand. Lying there he looked like he could be any one of a thousand good-looking men, muscled enough to be well above average fitness, but a simple, normal soccer-hooligan guy. Then he looked up, and his inhuman black eyes, dark hallows in his face, obliterated the sense of normalcy.

  “Your eyes are black.”

  “Yes.” Kiron raised both eyebrows “You just noticed?”

  “No, but it is startling almost every time I see you.”

  “Are you frightened?

  “No, but I cannot read anything in your eyes. Sometimes it is as if there’s nothing in your eyes.”

  He looked away. “Did you want to find your museum?” Kiron indicated the brochures that were still arranged in their rows on her side of the bed.

  Nodding, she kicked off her shoes and climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged in front of the brochures. Digging her hand into the tight pocket of her jeans she pulled out the pendulum.

  “All right. What next?”

  “Extend your arm over the papers.”

  “How high?”

  “You must allow enough length so that the stone can touch the furthest edges of the item you are scrying.” Kiron helped her get in position, pushing the brochures closer together and then holding the obsidian to each corner of the square of brochures to be sure there was enough slack. The excess vine was curled into a ball in Moira’s palm.

  “Hold the lead between your finger and thumb.” Moira did as instructed and Kiron grabbed the gently twisting piece of obsidian. “You must hold your arm still, completely still. Use your power, think of The Wild, of the Earth.” Kiron sat up and then eased himself towards the top of the bed, leaning one shoulder against the headboard. “You are the Earth, the deep layers of rock, the unbending core. Feel roots through your body, tying you in place, feel your body melt into the rock, as the rock becomes a part of you. That stone extends, curving up to become your shoulder, your arm. Fatigue will not come to you, for the Earth does not tire, rock does not suffer from weakening muscles.”

  Moira slowed her breathing, focusing on her fingertips, on the point where the vine emerged from between her tightly pressed finger pads. Kiron’s words, like that of the most skilled sorcerer, spoke not to her mind but directly to her body. Her back straightened and stilled, her arm, raised slightly higher than shoulder level, immobile. Her right shoulder and arm were not a part of her, not flesh and muscle but unmoving stone.

  “Now, just as you did before, concentrate on what you want.”

  I need to find a list, a list of titles, titles of books, books that contain the Dark Prophecies.

  Her hand was rock steady, the long prism of obsidian unmoving at the end of its tether.

  I need to find a list of books, the Dark Prophecy books.

  The vine twitched. Then all was still once more.

  I need the list, I need to know the Dark Prophecies. I need to know my fate.

  The obsidian moved, swinging left. Moira nearly jerked away, startled as she was by the movement.

  “Steady, concentrate.” He warned, large, warm hand spreading over the small of her back.

  I need to know who I am.

  The obsidian’s side-to-side swing altered, moving in a small circle, the pace sluggish. The dull hotel room lig
hts caught its surface.

  I need to know what I am.

  The pendulum’s circle widened until the tip hovered over the corners of the square of papers.

  I need to know that my fate can change.

  Faster and faster it whirled. If the laws of physics had been allowed jurisdiction over this time and place the circle would have grown, flung wider by the growing force, but the circle did not grow. The stone circled the same circumference at an ever-increasing speed.

  I need to find a list of books, I need to know my fate can change. I need to read the Dark Prophecies.

  Her litany became a chant, her lips moving, though the words remained unspoken. The path of the swinging pendulum glittered, flecks of obsidian and reflected light hanging suspended in the air, until the circular route was traced in the air.

  I need to know who I am.

  Moira’s heart raced inside her chest, her eyes on the whirling pendulum, her breathing shallow.

  The pendulum stopped, jerked from the air, dropping onto one of the brochures. It clung to the paper, as a magnet does to metal, with sudden and immediate surety.

  Moira gasped for breath as her heart resumed its normal beating. Her arm dropped to her side, the muscles screaming from the prolonged use. She let her back relax into a lazy slump, planting her elbows on her knees and resting her forehead in her palms.

  She’d done it. Moira smiled into her palms. When she recovered, sitting up, Kiron asked, “Where are we going?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Are you trying to make me cry?”

  “—housing more than 300,000 works of art, including ‘A Sunday Afternoon on La Grand Jatte’—1884 by Georges Seurat—”

  “I’m glad you find this funny,” Moira growled.

  “‘American Gothic’ by Grant Wood, ‘Nighthawks’ by Edward Hopper—”

  “This will take years. What if it’s not even on display?”

  “—and thirty-three paintings by Claude Monet.”

  Moira curled her hand into a fist and socked Kiron in the shoulder. His nose was buried in the brochure, his big body blocking traffic on the sidewalk outside 111 South Michigan Avenue. He should have looked harmless, wearing jeans, a black stretchy T-shirt and a designer zip-up sweatshirt. But oh honey, he looked anything but harmless.