Dex
“Owoooooo!”
Baby wolf howls echo in through my bedroom door, along with the click-clack of tiny paws racing across the outer hallway. I wake up and smile.
The shifter pups are holding another ‘running of the wolves’ in my part of the palace. Fifth time this week.
If this were any other morning, I’d shift into my wolf form and join them. The palace complex is far too medieval, empty, and cold—I enjoy the pups’ lively company. Plus, you haven’t lived until you’ve seen little wolves race around hairpin turns while on a marble floor; the pile-ups are adorable. I dare anyone not to smile.
Sadly, running with my pack isn’t possible. No question why, either. Today, I must journey to the annual viewing, a party that’s held by the most vicious elf in all of Faerie.
The Prism Master.
As alpha of the Wulfhelm pack, my attendance is required. I’d rather chew glass.
Even so, I put on my formals—black pants, boots, jerkin and cape—and begin the day-long hike to Refraction, the Prism Master’s realm in Faerie. My pack knows how I loathe this annual viewing. They’re careful to stay out of my way as I hike through the woods.
That said, the walk itself is soothing. Leafy elm trees arch over me. Long beams of sunlight cut through the canopy of leaves. The air is fresh and crisp.
Ah, Wulfhelm. It holds its own special magic, and in more ways than one.
As alpha, I can cast a few spells. Protective magic, mostly. Once I’m well away from my pack, it’s time to cast the one I use most often—it tests Wulfhelm’s security.
Kneeling down, I set my palm against the forest floor while pulling on the energy and magic within me. I press my alpha power into the ground. The earth trembles. Leaves cascade from nearby trees. The wind dies down.
When I next speak, I press my alpha power into my voice. “Show me what happens when an enemy steps on Wulfhelm land.”
A line of fire erupts from the ground nearby. It doesn’t burn anything that’s considered Wulfhelm. However, if an enemy were standing at that spot? They’d be encircles in a pillar of flame that reached six feet tall.
The pain and fire wouldn’t relent until the intruder left our grounds.
I watch the green flame swirl into its characteristic pillar. Only Wulfhelm holds this particular magic. It’s specific to my fairy tale life temple, the story of Brutus and Vita. In this tale, a shift couple found Great Britain. Their fledgling society is made up of orphans and those in need. Green flame protects the helpless from invaders.
It used to be one of the most popular stores ever, both here in Faerie and away on earth. Now few know the tale.
The pillar of flame shrinks a few inches. My heart drops as well. Only a few months ago, this column of fire stood ten feet high. According to legend, the pillar used to stretch hundreds of feet into the air. The very clouds glowed with emerald power.
That was a long time ago. For the fire to stay strong, the Brutus of the story must find his Vita. Together, they rejuvenate the protective magic of Wulfhelm and raise another generation of lost shifters.
Or that’s how it’s supposed to go.
No Brutus has found his Vita for many generations. Time is running out.
(covers link to Goodreads)
Thanks for hosting today, Jasmine!
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