Patricia Briggs - Silver Borne

“A great lord of the fae came,” continued Ariana. She didn’t seem to be listening to Samuel, but she waited for him to quit speaking before she started. “He required that she build an abomination—an artifact that would consume the fae magic of his enemies and give it back to him. She refused, but her father accepted and sealed the bargain in blood.”

She stopped talking, and after a moment Samuel picked up the story. “He beat her, and she still refused. His was a magic sort of like the fairy queen’s, in that he could influence others. It might have been more useful, but he could only influence beasts.”

“So he turned her into a beast.” Ariana’s voice echoed even though my office was full enough that a gunshot shouldn’t echo, and it was eerie enough that Jesse scooted nearer to me.

Ariana wasn’t looking at Samuel anymore, but I couldn’t tell where she was looking instead. I don’t think it was a happy place.

“In those days, the fae’s magic was still strong enough that it was harder to kill them unless you had iron or steel,” said Samuel.

He didn’t seem worried about Ariana, but Zee was. Zee had gradually moved off his chair until he was crouched between Jesse and the scarred fae woman.

“He used his powers to torture her,” Samuel said. “He had a pair of hounds who were fae hounds. Their howls would drop a stag in its path, and their gaze could scare a man to death. He set them at her every morning for an hour, knowing that as long as he went not one moment more than an hour, she could not die—because that was part of these fear hounds’ magic.”

“She broke,” Ariana said hoarsely. “She broke and followed his will as faithfully as his hounds. She knew nothing but his commands, and she built as he desired, forged it of silver and magic and her blood.”

“You didn’t break,” said Samuel confidently. “You fought him every day.”

Ariana’s voice changed, and she snapped, “She couldn’t fight him.”

“You fought him,” Samuel said again. “You fought, and he called his hounds until his magic failed him because he used it one time too often. I had this story from someone who was there, Ariana. You fought him and stopped, leaving the artifact incomplete.”

“It is my story,” she growled, and she turned those black eyes on Samuel. “She failed. She built it.”

“Truth belongs to no one,” Samuel told her. “Ariana’s father visited a witch because his magic was insufficient to work his will.” There was something in his voice that made me think that he knew and hated that witch. “He paid the price she demanded for a spell that combined witchcraft with his magic.”

“His right hand,” said Ariana.

Samuel waited for her, but she just stared at him.

“I think he wanted to call his hounds,” Samuel said. “But they had strayed too far for him to influence. He got something quite different.”

“Werewolves,” said Ariana, then she turned her back to us, hunching her shoulders. I saw that there were scars on her back, too.

“We attacked because we had to,” Samuel said gently. “But my father was stronger than we were, and resisted. He killed her father. We stopped, but she was so badly hurt. A human would have died or been reborn as one of us. She only suffered.”

“You doctored her,” I said. “You helped her heal. You saved her.”

Ariana crumpled—and Samuel leaped over all of us and caught her before she hit the floor. Her body was limp, her eyes closed, and the scars were hidden safely behind her glamour again.

“Did I?” Samuel asked, looking down at her with his heart in his eyes. “The scar on the top of her shoulder was one I gave her.”

Hot damn , I thought, watching him. Hot damn, Charles. I found something for Samuel to live for.

Samuel had been upstairs with Adam when the fairy queen called to tell us what she was looking for. Silver Borne. The mention of the artifact alone was enough to make it impossible for him to yield to his wolf. But it had been when Zee had called me and Ariana spoke that he’d come back to us.

“You saved her,” I told him. “And you loved her.”

“She didn’t know, did she?” said Jesse, sounding as caught up in the story as Ariana had been. “You doctored her up, and she fell for you—and you couldn’t tell her what you were. That’s really romantic, Doc.”

“And tragic,” said Zee sourly.

“How do you know it’s tragic?” sputtered Jesse.

The old fae scowled and gestured toward Samuel. “I’m not seeing a happy-ever-after ending here, are you?”

Samuel pulled the fae woman against him. It looked odd, a young man holding a woman who could have been his grandmother indeed. But fae don’t age, they fade. Her grandmotherly appearance was a glamour. The scars were real—but I saw his face and knew that he only cared about the pain they represented.

“Endings are relative,” I said, and Samuel jerked his head up. “I mean, as long as no one is dead, they get the chance to rewrite their endings, don’t you think? Take it from me, Samuel, a little time can heal some awfully big wounds.”

“Did she look healed to you?” he said, and his eyes were the color of winter ice.

“We’re all alive,” said Zee dryly. “And she didn’t disappear on us—which she still has the magic to do. I’d say you have a chance.”

SAMUEL STARTED TO SAY SOMETHING TO ZEE WHEN the woman he held opened her eyes, which were green again. She gave us all a bewildered look, as if she could not imagine how she’d gotten where she was.

I knew exactly how she felt.

As soon as he saw that she was awake, Samuel set her down with careful haste. “I’m sorry, Ari. You were falling . . . I wouldn’t have touched—”

I had never in my life seen anything like it. Samuel, the son of a Welsh bard, who shared his father’s gift for words, stammering like an infatuated teenager.

She grabbed Samuel’s sweatshirt and looked up at him in utter astonishment. “Samuel?”

He stepped away from her, but stopped short of pulling the shirt from her grasp. “I can’t give you space unless you let me go,” he told her.

“Samuel?” she said, and, though it hadn’t caught my notice before, I realized that her voice had changed sometime in the middle of her panic attack, and sounded way too young for the late-middle-age face she wore. It was also lightly accented, some combination of British and Welsh or a related language. “I thought . . . I looked but I never could find you. You just disappeared and left me nothing. Not a shirt or a name.”

He pulled away again, and this time she let him go. Free, he retreated to the damaged door that separated my office from the garage. “I’m a werewolf.”

Ariana nodded and took two steps forward. “I did notice that when you killed the hounds who had come for me.” There was a hint of humor in her voice. Good, I thought. Any woman I’d allow to have Samuel would have to have a sense of humor. “The fangs gave it away—or maybe the tail. You saved me again—and then you left, and all I knew was your first name.”

“I scared you,” he said starkly.

She gave him a half smile, but clenched her hands. “Well, yes. But it seems I scared you worse because you ran away for . . . a very, very long time, Samuel.”

He looked away from her gaze—the most dominant werewolf in the Tri-Cities, and he couldn’t meet her gaze. Didn’t he see that even if he scared her, she still wanted him?

She tried to take another step toward him and stopped. I could smell her terror, sharp and sour. She backed away from him with a little sigh.

“It is very good to see you again, Samuel,” she said. “Because of you I am whole and here all these centuries after my father would have destroyed me. Instead, his body long ago fed his beasts and the trees of his forests.”