Chapter 10
Hemlocke
It’sthe first week of classes, and everything seems to have settled back into normal rhythms—the familiar patterns of lectures, training sessions, and stable work creating a comfortable routine. I take my general education classes in the mornings and spend my afternoons at the stables, providing riding lessons to the troops and students who need to learn proper mounted combat techniques. The smell of hay and horses has become as familiar as my own scent.
This morning feels different, though. The cafeteria has a tense feeling to it when I finally arrive for lunch, my stomach growling after a particularly demanding riding session. The usual buzz of conversation seems muted, replaced by an undercurrent of watchful silence. I grab my tray—loaded with protein-heavy foods to fuel my afternoon—and sit with my birth herd at our usual table near the windows.
I notice immediately that my brother Charron is on edge. His pink eyes keep darting around the room, and his long black hair falls forward as he hunches over his untouched food. His knuckles are white where he grips his fork.
Looking around the cafeteria to see what has him so rattled, I quickly spot the source. Isolde is having lunch with Orpheus and his mate across the room, her nightmare form visible in the way shadows seem to cling to her despite the bright afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows. Her laugh carries across the space—musical and carefree.
Raven soon arrives with Keir at her side, her black wings folded neatly against her back. She immediately hugs her siblings with obvious affection, and I watch them from where I’m sitting, a smile tugging at my lips. The love between them is palpable, warming the space around them.
I look at my brother and make a decision. “Want to go meet my mate’s family?”
I stand up, the chair scraping against the floor, and look down at Charron expectantly. He nods slowly and stands up with me, his movements uncertain. We walk over to their table, and I see him running his fingers nervously through his long hair—a tell he’s had since we were children. By the time we reach the table, Raven is smiling from ear to ear, her sapphire eyes bright with mischief.
Much to Keir’s obvious dismay—he reaches for her but misses—she launches up into the air using her powerful wings. The downdraft ruffles napkins on nearby tables as she dives into my arms with complete faith that I’ll catch her.
“Hemlocke!” she squeals with delight, purring loudly as she rubs her face all over mine, marking me with her scent. Then she moves to my shoulders, scent-marking them strongly enough that anyone within fifty feet will know I’m claimed. The jasmine and sea salt of her scent floods my senses.
“You’re so silly...” I set her gently on her feet and kiss her forehead, tasting the faint salt of her skin. “You remember my brother, Charron?” I arch a brow as I stare down at her, hoping she takes the hint about what I’m trying to do here.
“Oh, yeah!” She smiles up at him with that expression that means she’s plotting something. “It’s great seeing you again. Thank you for offering to help lead the war horses from the fort to my territory.” Raven has that dangerous glint in her eyes that makes me concerned about what she’s planning. “Isolde, didn’t you say you wanted to see the fort that Daddy Abraxis usually works out of? That’s where the horses are coming from.”
Raven turns toward her sister, stretching her wings slightly. The claws at the top flex with deliberate casualness—a predator showing just a hint of threat to anyone paying attention.
Charron pulls me back and away while Raven goes to talk to Isolde, his grip strong on my arm. “What is your mate doing?” He practically whisper-yells at me, his pink eyes wide with panic.
“Helping your dumb ass,” I say bluntly, keeping my voice low. “Isolde will trust whatever Raven says, and this is a good way for you two to get to know each other without the pressure of a formal introduction.” I elbow his side as Raven approaches with Isolde in tow, and he grunts at the impact.
“Hi, I’m Isolde Crosse, Leander’s daughter.” She holds her small, delicate hand out to my brother with perfect courtesy. He freezes like a deer caught in headlights, his entire body going rigid.
When Charron’s brain finally engages after several long seconds, he bows deeply—much deeper than strictly necessary—and takes Isolde’s hand in his larger one. He kisses her knuckles with old-world formality. “I’m Charron Voltaire, Hemlocke’s olderbrother. It is a pleasure to meet you, Isolde.” His voice comes out rougher than usual, thick with emotion. He stands to his full height, still holding her hand as if it were something precious.
Isolde’s eyes suddenly ignite—the burning red orbs of her nightmare staring up at my brother with shocking intensity. The surrounding temperature seems to drop several degrees as shadows gather at her feet.
She pulls her hand back quickly as if burned and backs up several hasty steps, never breaking eye contact with Charron. Her breathing has quickened noticeably. “Raven?” Her voice carries barely concealed panic.
Within seconds, Raven has her sister wrapped protectively in her wings, creating a private cocoon. I can hear her murmuring softly, though I can’t make out the words. Every once in a while, Raven pops her head out from the wing-shelter and looks back at Charron with an assessing gaze.
“That can’t be good,” Charron says softly beside me, his voice carrying defeat.
“I think she feels the tether but doesn’t understand it,” I whisper to my brother, keeping my eyes fixed on the girls. Isolde is young—she probably hasn’t been educated yet about what mate bonds feel like or how to recognize them. “Give her a minute.”
Raven opens her wings, and Isolde clears her throat with visible effort at composure. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have returned to their normal appearance, though they still carry that watchful wariness.
“What time do we leave?” She steps closer again with forced courage and reaches out to touch Charron’s arm. The contact makes him visibly shudder, and I see his pupils dilate.
“After classes. Maybe your sister can fly us out, or maybe Keir can get us there faster?” Charron looks desperate as he turns to Keir, almost begging for help with those expressive pink eyes.
“No problem—I can get you there in a blink,” Keir says with a wink, that wise-ass, clearly enjoying my brother’s discomfort. His stormy gray eyes dance with amusement.
“Thank you.” Charron’s relief is palpable as he turns back to Isolde and offers his arm with careful formality. “May I walk you to class?”
Isolde’s eyes dart to Raven for permission, and when Raven nods, she accepts. But not before my mate gives Charron a death glare from over Isolde’s head—basically telling him with her eyes alone that if he fucks this up, she’ll eat him for breakfast and use his bones for toothpicks.
“Yes, thank you.” Isolde takes the offered arm, her small hand resting lightly on Charron’s forearm, and they walk off together. My brother moves with exaggerated care, like he’s carrying something infinitely fragile.
