Page 3 of Heart's Flame

“Laiken, love,” Coren said, voice low and soothing. “I’ve come to take you home.”

Dark gray fur covered Laiken’s wolf body. Clean, he’d probably be sleek and handsome. Vian hated that such secrecy and fear had to accompany becoming a werecreature. Laiken hadn’t asked to be bitten, and if the magic that gave werecreatures life hadn’t taken hold, he’d probably be dead now.

Laiken stopped growling, lifting his head and staring at Coren.

“That’s right, love. It’s me. I’m here,” his friend said, lowering himself to a knee and holding out one of his hands. Laiken moved forward slowly, creeping on silent paws over the dying grass and leaves. This fall had been particularly cool so far, and the trees had changed colors and started shedding in earnest over the last fortnight.

Slowly, Vian stepped farther away, giving them space to reunite. Laiken went to Coren’s waiting arms, his wolf form swallowed up by the big man.

“Get him home,” Vian said quietly. Coren looked his way. “I’ll drag the remains deeper into the woods.”

“Thank you, my friend.” Coren rose, keeping a hand on Laiken’s head. As they started to walk away, the wolf stopped. He turned back, seeming to stare past Vian before trotting over to him and licking the back of his hand.

“Keep him safe on the walk home, Laiken,” Vian said to the wolf, which earned a snort from Coren. Once they’d departed, Vian turned around and stared into the shadowed darkness of the forest beyond. He knew well what could lurk in the depths of Ferron’s forests. The creatures that called this island home hadn’t taken well to the humans that had discovered their shores a couple hundred years ago, and the ones old enough to remember it still tended to hold a grudge. Vian was often tasked with showing them the error of their ways, but it wasn't a creature haunting him this night.

“Show yourself,” he said, raising his voice only enough to be heard above the wind.

The clouds above parted, revealing the moon’s face as the blond man stepped out from the shadow of a tree and into the light.

2

“You’re dead,” Vian said, staring openly at the man in front of him. Rain pelted his face, getting in his eyes, but there was no question—Marcellus the Null stood before him. “Are you a ghost? Come to haunt me?”

In the back of his mind, Vian thought he should be reaching for his sword. Instead, he took a step closer. He’d only seen Marcellus up close one time—the night of their final duel. One that Vian himself had barely walked away from. He’d awoken the next day blurry and confused with a stab wound in his shoulder, a slash down the right side of his face, and an empty pit in his stomach.

Marcellus is dead, his mother had told him, beaming with pride. When he’d been released from the healers’ care, he’d gone to the site of the mass pyre where the Null bodies from that night had been burned and paid his respects to the ashes. It hadn’t helped to fill the chasm inside him. Even months on, much of his past before he’d awoken injured remained shadowed. He thought perhaps Marcellus’s knife had done more damage than what could be seen on the surface.

“Not a ghost,” Marcellus said with a tilt of his head, eyes studying Vian from head to foot, lingering on the long scar on his face. “I see you’ve healed up well.”

Some strange magnetism held Vian steady. If this really was Marcellus, he should be attacking or sending up a flare to alert the city guards of trouble...yet he stood rooted to the ground, eyes and ears hungry to take in every detail about this man. “Aye. And you? If you’re not a ghost, I’d say it took a while to heal that gash in your belly.”

Marcellus shook his head, damp blond locks sticking to his cheek. “It did. Even with my accelerated healing. I had help though.”

Like a lightning flash, the blurred image of a man’s face hovering over him as he lay bleeding on the ground filled Vian’s mind. “Remember Marcellus,” the man had said before he’d disappeared into blackness.

Marcellus took a step forward, and Vian pulled himself back to the present. “That’s close enough.”

Raising his hands to show he meant no harm, Marcellus stepped back and licked his lips. “I’ve come to give you a message.”

Vian squinted. “From who?”

“Your father.”

Vian went still. “I don’t have a father. He died when I was a baby.”

“Who told you that? Your mother? I’m guessing she’s the one who told you I was dead, too.”

Vian knew his mother wasn’t the purest of souls. She was ruthless in her ambition and always had been. When the Nulls came out of the northern hills, threatening the people of Ferron, she had mobilized the mages to act with swift and brutal efficiency. They’d wiped out the Null forces, sending the stragglers back into the hills. Mages patrolled the northern boundaries now without ceasing, ready to execute any Null seen trying to sneak past Ferron’s northern border.

Which led to an important question, how had Marcellus evaded them?

“You think my mother lied about the death of my father just because she was mistaken about yours?”

Marcellus blew out a hard breath. “I know that it’s a lot to take in, and I honestly didn’t expect you to believe me. I am hoping you’ll believe Demitrius though.”

The sound of his old mentor’s name stopped him cold. Even hearing his name now, the image of the man was slow to dredge up out of the depths of his memory. He hadn’t thought about or seen Demitrius in...he couldn’t actually remember the last time. “What do you know about Demitrius?”

“Plenty.” Marcellus stepped forward again, but Vian's head was spinning too fast to protest. “He wanted me to tell you you’re late for training.”

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