Page 19 of Consort

A few years back, two fae stumbled into our territory, bloody and wounded after being attacked by ogres. They begged for our pack to help them. They had no choice. It was shifters or death. Bock let them in and gave them what they needed before sending them on their way.

They were stunning to look at. Something about the lines of their faces and texture of their skin just grabbed my eyes and held on tight. They stayed on the outskirts of the camp, likely nervous to be around so many shifters who resent their kind. Arya and I had to sneak out and hide to watch them.

The two fae grew more and more beautiful as they washed the blood and grime from their faces. They spent just an evening with our pack, but I never forgot their striking beauty and almost shimmering skin after they were gone.

These fae are no less stunning, but the way they look down their noses at us as we pass reminds me how they see the rest of the realm. Like we’re beneath them. Unworthy of lively markets and careless strolls through the woods.

They aren’t any better than us because of their beauty or because they’re like the queen. She’s notourqueen. She’s just an evil, flat-faced ogre wrapped in a beautiful fae cloak. One we just haven’t found a way to get rid of yet.

The fae wander to the various stalls, sipping on wine that glows in swirls of gold and blue. They’re very forward, hanging all over each other as they talk and walk. Some are kissing, others are even half undressed, not caring who sees their intimate moments. They act like the own the realm, indulging in whatever they please just because they are the species they are.

Despite my bitterness, my confidence starts to fray as we join the crowd and walk among them. I’ve never been around this many fae before. My steps stutter, and I reach out to hold ontomy mother’s pack.

“Don’t worry,” Mother says, sensing my nerves. “Drunken fae are happy fae. And nobles don’t frequent this market. Right now, being here is safer than being out in the woods by ourselves.”

Unlike Alphas, who tend to get aggressive when they drink too much, fae become happy and aroused. Maybe it’s because they have nothing to be angry about. Whatever the reason, it’s working in our favor.

We make our way through the cackling and moaning fae without much trouble, heading toward a hut at the end of the line. I try to keep my eyes on my mother’s back, unaccustomed to nude bodies engaging in such intimate acts for all to see. I notice a few snarls as we pass, but most of them just carry on with their fun.

We stop at a small, pink hut covered with vials and charms. Some dangle from the awning, while others are neatly arranged on a counter at the front. An older fae is busy wrapping herbs into small bundles when we approach.

His hair is light blue, and he wears a thin, aged smile as he works. But there’s a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. I bet he’s glamoured himself to look older so he’ll seem more trustworthy. I’ve heard all about the fae and their tricks. The Alphas love to tell stories about them. I doubt all the stories are true, but I know many of them are. They match the tales of visiting shifters from other packs.

I know better than to trust a fae. They may be unable to lie, but their truths are cunning and twisted. They even manage to trick each other. Mother has warned me to stay quiet and let her handle things here, and I’m just fine with that.

The fae looks up and nods at my mother. When he notices me, he peers around her to get a better look. She steps closer to him, blocking his view, and clears her throat.

“Lasha, perfect timing,” he says, choosing not to push her.“I’ve almost run out of healing charms. How much do you have for me today?”

“Five,” she replies, pulling the simple, green jars from her pack and placing them in front of him.

Mother sews, but she also buys supplies for our pack in exchange for Alpha blood. Some fae have the gift of healing magic, but all shifters are fast healing. Especially the Alphas. Mother collects the blood to trade for things the pack needs but can’t easily get from the land.

This fae makes charms containing a small amount of the Alpha blood. If a fae is injured, they can open the charm and pour it on their wounds, buying themselves time until they can find a healer. It’s ironic how they find us distasteful but are just fine with rubbing our blood all over themselves when it suits them.

The fae grins and reaches for the jars, but my mother covers them with her hands. “Payment first,” she says firmly.

His smile remains in place as he pulls five silver coins from a box in the back–one for each jar. “Of course. How silly of me.”

He grabs some empty jars for the next batch and pushes them across the counter. Mother collects the coins and jars and turns away with no more words for the old fae.

He laughs at her dismissal and calls after us, “Ta-ta, Lasha! Bring more than five next time!”

“He’ll have to live with Beta blood from now on,” Mother mutters as she leads me away.

The thought of her draining her own blood into those jars for that greedy fae makes me want to slap the glamour off his face. I’ll help her with it. Omega blood heals faster than a Beta’s. She’ll need it to keep up with the fae’s demand.

“Now, let’s gather what we need and then find our new home,” she says with a smile.

I trail quietly behind her as she interacts with other fae,gathering seeds, supplies for baking, and other essentials we’ll need. When she’s finished, we head in the opposite direction from where we came, in search of an abandoned hut or cave to hide in. We’ll figure out the rest once we’re somewhere safe.

I’m nervous, but I’m excited to do something new. And relieved to be free of Alphas. We’ll live in peace, or as much peace as we can. I’ll do my best to make it enjoyable for my mother. I can be funny. I can be creative. Maybe one day, when we’re no longer being searched for, we’ll move on to a new pack.

I don’t need a pack, but I feel that my mother deserves a new start, and possibly a new mate, after all she’s sacrificed for me.

***

We’ve been walking for what seems like forever. It’s likely only been a couple hours, but with all the stuff we’re lugging around, each step feels like an eternity. The empty sack Mother brought is now strapped to my back and full of provisions from the market. I have to lean forward to keep the weight from pulling me down onto my ass. Stiffer contents dig into my skin as I struggle to keep up with my mother.

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