Ch. 23

“Thrill”

I had to swear a pinkie promise, a shifter’s oath, and probably half a dozen others that I’ll tell Devlyn everything, mostly — once we’re out of this cursed, but alluring forest, and find some semblance of privacy once more.

But, the truth gnaws at me. Not my journey, stories I carry, or even Zanir. No, this is it. Devlyn found me, the scouts found me, and my glimpse of freedom is closing in around me. I always knew, deep down, this wouldn’t last. Mother wouldn’t let me slip away for good. The castle is waiting for me, to consume me once more, along with my duties, the eyes watching my every step, the whispers waiting for me to lose control like I have so many times before.

My chance to roam the world outside my window? Snapped, just like that. Was it all worth it? I wonder, am I deluding myself — thinking I could completely earn some validation from Mother, from the clan, by bringing a mortal vampire full of secrets, whose powers I stole. I’ll kill him if he ruins this for me.

A faint tremor settles in my chest, slowly seeping into my bones like a cold that won’t leave…My breath is short, tighter, as I think about returning to the castle. It was more than dread — it was a cage closing in again, one bar at a time. I can hear Mother’s voice already, cutting and commanding, slicing through my thoughts with doubt. There is no freedom there, only duty, and the weight of eyes constantly watching, waiting for me to fail.

The freedom I have tasted out here, however fleeting, made the thoughts of going back unbearable. The beast claws at the edge of my consciousness, not just my inner power, but something primal, a part of me that feared submission more than death.

A wave moves through my mind — I can sense something behind my mental door that I keep locked. It is not the beast, not the familiar scrape of its claws against the wood, desperate to break free. A faint sound slips through the cracks, along with a sensation that I can’t explain.

Is it the voices that sometimes echo to remind me of all my shortcomings disguised as the ones that fell victim to my fangs… or is it something else? I check every lock, latching them tighter than they are meant to go. Nothing in, nothing out.

—

Gaelira spends nearly an hour patching me up, carefully wrapping bandages around my right shoulder and neck. Meanwhile, Devlyn scrounges up some extra clothes and orders a scout to fetch more buckets of water, so I can finally rub off all the gore from my skin. I can’t wait for a proper bath. Oh… how long has it been since I had one? I probably smell like death — and look even worse.

With my smaller frame compared to Devlyn and the scouts — well, most people, really — the gray shirt she hands me is comically oversized, almost reaching my knees. Curse this small, powerful, hateful body. She also gives me a strap vest that tightens like a corset, which at least helps me not look like a child. The vest has slots along my ribs for weapons, and Devote also conveniently found daggers to fit. No surprise there. The pants are too big, of course, so I tie them tight and roll the legs up. At least the boots fit — thank the Goddess Nyx, for small favors. The last thing I need is to trip in front of these people. They probably already think I am a lost cause, struggling to find her way, or her footing. Falling flat on my face would be… I don’t even want to think about it. Ground 1, Mihaela zero.

The boys had the scouts and guard rounded up in the same amount of time it took a high far healer to work her magic — literally. By the time, I’m patched up, they are loading the supplies back into the wagons, attaching horses, and snapping shut their saddlebags in near—perfect unison.

Each of my companions has a horse trained alongside them for as long as I can remember. I have never needed a mount, though — Halfy has always been gracious enough to carry me when I tire. Such a good beast.

As I glance over at the horses, my eyes settle on Devlyn’s massive stallion, because, well, he is hard to miss. His long, flowing blacken hair trails down his muscular neck. His hooves dig into the earth with every step. His sleek black coat catching in the sunlight. He has piercing gray eyes that match Devlyn’s in every way, sharp and unyielding. Fitting — because he is kind of an ass, too. I have heard some of the stable hands are too scared to even mess with him.

My eyes move to Sadar’s tri-colored mare. Her striking sapphire eyes cut through scouts that pass by her, as she whinnies and kicks in their direction, full of restless energy. Only Sadar can handle her. There is something about the complexity of her markings that reminds me of the depth that is behind Sadar’s hazel eyes, a depth a few ever notice. His mare is a stock mare, big and bulky, a beast perfectly capable of carrying a pureblooded Varcolac.

Behind the two massive horses is Iamys’ mare. Her golden coat is glossy as her muscles twitch, waiting to leave. Smaller than the others, she holds a quiet authority, her amber eyes tracking the stable hands that are moving all the horses about.

Sadar’s tri-colored mare bucks playfully, her sapphire eyes shining, while Iamys’ golden mare watches the stable hands moving around with serene patience. Towering over them all is Devlyn’s massive black stallion. He is tugging against some stable hands, eager to reach his rider, Devlyn, who stands a few paces away talking to some scouts. My companions, my friends, are almost ready, saddling up and preparing for the journey through the valley between the Zis mountain ranges.

Someone is missing…

The camp, which was disassembled quickly, buzzes with organized chaos — scouts rushing to load supplies into wagons, guards shouting commands, horses stamping impatiently as they’re saddled and hitched to wagons. Stable hands dart between the movements, dodging hooves and reins while securing gear. It’s all a blur of motion, and through it, I almost miss him. But there he is, Zanir, lingering on the outskirts. He is helping a few scouts wrangle some horses for the wagons, barely noticeable yet somehow always in my peripheral vision. It is strange how I can spot him so easily through the chaos — probably because his presence annoys me so much. Or maybe it is just the way he always manages to be present but distant, just at the edge of everything… leaning toward the annoying part, though.

With a smirk pulling at my lips, I weave through the flurry of bodies and wagons, my pace quickening with a hint of mischief. Oh, I love it when the roles reverse. Zanir’s eyes flash to me before I reach him.

“You can ride Halfy if you want.” I say with a well-placed smirk on my face.

Halfy, who has been hot on my heels since I left the tent, grumbles behind me. The tent is probably already being dismantled, each piece of fabric and pole neatly loaded into the back of a wagon. I don’t need to know Halfy is watching me, his hulking from an ever-present shadow at my side.

“Well, if Halfy does not mind, that is,” I add with a playful shrug, casting a glance over my shoulder at the beast. He grunts again — maybe in protest, maybe just to remind me who really is in charge here.

Zanir’s eyes follow me, an amused glint sparking as I close the distance between us. He is busy, handing off the reins of a striking gray mare that has white-speckled markings like a snowstorm frozen mid-drift. The scout finishes securing the mare to a nearby wagon, but Zanir’s focus never leaves me.

“Says the person wrapped up like a sacrifice to the gods, Princess,” Zanir remarks, rubbing his hands together. His calm, almost smug demeanor grates me a little more than usual.

Princess. The word drips from his lips with infuriating smugness. He knows what that word does to me. How it ties me to the castle, to my clan, to Mother, with duties I never wanted.

There it was again. It was as if he knew I hated being called that, using it just to get under my skin. Just as easily as I could order any one of these guards to slowly cut all the fingers off his calloused hands that he is rubbing together, I could rip his throat out with my own teeth — something I have proven capable of many times before. Just another addition to my ever-growing throat count.

I can’t help but shoot him a glare, hoping he catches the underlying threat that I am, but he simply stands there, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. If only he knew what it was like to be a puppet in someone else’s game. No, he seems like the type that likes being the game master.

“You think you’re clever,” I mutter, glancing at Zanir. His smirk is infuriating, but it isn’t just the teasing that unsettles me. It was the way he looks at me as if he saw something I was desperately trying to keep hidden. For all my powers, all my strengths, he always seems to be in control of any situation while I am barely hanging on by the skin of my teeth. I shake my head and let my coping wit keep my mind from spiraling more. “One who is like a god herself. Not a sacrifice to any weakling gods…” is all I say before closing my eyes, trying to shake off the irritation he brings, and moving my focus elsewhere.

I dive into my mind, searching for something—anything — that can distract me from his presence. I sift through the countless folders that fill my brain, metaphorically running my fingers through the files stacked high like a cluttered library. One after another, I skim through them, hunting for a flicker of clarity amidst everything.

I stumble upon a distant memory that almost slips through the cracks.

A Marglider.

A fog moves through my skull, clearing enough for a memory to leak through.

I spot a Marglider climbing a tree, and I ran straight to Mother, bubbling with excitement. I explained every detail, how it looked like a piece of moss that clung to the tree, how its catlike face had big round eyes and tiny pointed ears. I described how it glided from branch to branch with that thin membrane connecting its legs. I was sure Mother would understand my fascination.

But she barely looked up, her attention fixed on a map between her hands. “And did it try to harm you?” she asked, almost as if speaking to herself.

I shook my head, emboldened. “No, it was just… so graceful. Could I — could I maybe have one?”

Finally she looked up, only to dismiss m question with a stern shake of her head. “Stop filling your head with such silly fantasies, Mihaela. We have more important things to focus on.”

My heart sank, but before I could turn away, a hand rested on my shoulder — a warm, reassuring grip. I turned, expecting to see one of the guards or even one of the wizards, but all I saw was a vague outline, a shadow. Then I heard the quiet murmur, like a memory held too close to the heart. “Show me, little stalwart.”

For the briefest moment, a feeling of comfort washed over me, a presence so familiar, yet so lost. But just as quickly, it faded, and I was left with only the sharpness of Mother’s words.

Now, I feel my body change — no, I feel it shift. Bones crack and reform as I spread my form, taking a deep breath. I am more comfortable shifting, in an open area with the sun shining down on me, surrounded by hundreds of scouts and guards sworn to protect me — my friends, and Halfy. However, none of them can truly shield me, not from myself. Not from the beast that whisper in my ears, its gravelly snarls echoing only in my mind. I exhale, letting the wind lift my new form up toward the clouds.

Glancing back at Zanir, I add with a teasing lilt, “Or you could walk…” A jab, a reminder of his earlier complaints about the burden of mortal feet.

Zanir’s calm demeanor remains intact, but his hands stop rubbing together as my body makes a final pop. I know the sound is gory, yet his expression now only reveals curiosity—those flames blazing in his eyes once more, analyzing me as if I were a puzzle to solve. It is strange the way his eyes change, and I resolve to track that curiosity later. For now, I embrace my temporary freedom, and intend to savor every second.

I move quickly, unable to bear the look he is giving me — how much it unsettles me. A shiver travels down my spine, but it doesn’t slow me down. Gliding to the tree, one after the other propelling by the wind, I soar further and further away from that piercing gaze. With each leap, it feels as though the walls I have meticulously built are trembling, threatening to crumble under the weight of his eyes.

The wagons are taking their time navigating the river channels before reaching the valley, providing me with the perfect opportunity to put this form to the test. I glide through the trees and branches, twisting my body in all directions, reveling in the exhilaration of movement. I am careful not to strain my shoulder too much — Devlyn would have my head for that — but hey, I can always shift into something with more than one head if I really need to, right?

I continue to soar, sailing through nature’s obstacle course, while the wagons remain stalled in the river channels below. Faint touches of the leaves brush against my moss-covered form, and little droplets of water transfer to my skin, awakening a long-forgotten sensation. Adrenaline courses through my cold veins, a rush of life that I have missed.

Eventually, the wagons, scouts, guards, my friends, and Zanir, who chose to ride on Halfy rather than slog through the muddy river channels, all come into view. Halfy’s ears are pointed backward and down, clearly unimpressed with his current rider, yet allowing it — for now. From my vantage point in the trees, the contrast between my exhilaration and the slow progress of those below brings a smile to my face.

—

Once in the valley between the Zis mountain ranges, I can feel the sun beaming down, hot and heavy, while the autumn breeze that Solomanri brought slices through, cutting down to the bone. After soaring for a while, I glide down toward Halfy and land on his giant skull. I can sense Zanir’s eyes following me, along with many others. Being watched is nothing new for a shifter like me, one who can transform into anything I have studied or seen. Still, that doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I hate being the center of attention. I just want to blend into the crowd, to observe, to watch, to be. But I am not very good at staying hidden — my curiosity and sense of wonder always seem to scream into the skies for all to see and hear.

Devlyn and the others ride behind Halfy, likely to keep an eye on the new stranger. I glance back at them and wave a small, stumpy, moss-covered leg, a playful gesture. I am met with the usual fierce and unfazed looks from Devlyn and Sadar as always — but Iamys. He gives me a stupid little wave back, and a grin stretching across his face. This is why I get along so well with Iamys, he is one of the few in the clan who treat me more than just their princess.

I glance back to Zanir, who wears a bored look on his face, the flames in his eyes extinguished. It is a facade I recognize, acting aloof in situations you have no control over. I can’t help but roll my eyes at his disinterest.

With a lighthearted flick of my moss-covered leg to get Zanir’s attention, my voice bright as it can be is covering my growing curiosity. “How about a question, for a question?”

I shift into a form I am more comfortable with — one that can rest easily atop Halfy’s head — I suddenly become aware of how sore and wounded I really am. The adrenaline from soaring through the trees fades, revealing my fatigue. I need to rest, though I am uncertain what that truly means. My bandages don’t show on my shifted forms, but the wounds do. Wings begin to unfurl from my back, and I feel something drips down them. I have pushed myself too far. A slight wince escapes me as my form completes its transformation.

As I wait for Zanir’s response, I catch his eyes lazily moving from the tree line, which is beginning to fade as we approach the valley’s entrance. Mountains rise sharply on either side of us, their towering presence framing our path. The sun shines brightly, warming the membrane of my wings, just as a gentle breeze sweeps through, adding to the sense of freedom I crave.

Zanir studies me with an amused expression. “You never rest, do you?” he asks, his eyes flickering with a hint of orange, as if igniting an ember of interest.

His question hangs in the air, and I can’t help but wonder, was it that obvious?

“Relax even?” He continues, his eyebrows raise, and a smirk moves across his lips. “But please indulge me, little bat.”

I grimace, the nickname irking me. As much as I dislike little bat — even though it perfectly describes my current form — it is still better than Princess.

“How does the sun feel?” I ask, genuinely curious. How long has it been since he could bask in its warmth after so long? Or could he be in the sunlight all along? The books I have read say vampires can’t endure it, yet they also mentioned nothing about an ability to control shadows. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that he might be hiding things, which I guess we both are.

“You have a very expressive face, even in different forms,” he remarks, I grimace as his words tease at my discomfort. Zanir’s lips curve before the smirk fades. “I could be in the sun within shadows or shade, but it has been centuries since I have been able to fully embrace it.” He gazes up at the sky, the sunlight moving across his sharp features. “It is a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time, much like the campfire — a sensation I have long forgotten.” His eyes begin to close, soaking in the sun’s rays. “What does shifting feel like?”

My eyes widen in surprise. I am taken aback that he didn’t inquire about my status as a princess or the group trailing behind us — neither the scouts nor the guards nor even Halfy. No, he asked me about me, about my powers…

“Shifting is a rush. It is like every fiber of my being is set and remade at the same time. My bones crack, reforming with each pulse of magic, of power, and my blood surges like ice through my veins. There is no pain, just pure exhilaration — like stepping off a cliff and feeling the air catch you. Untethered from everything. Free.” I lean closer to Zanir, my voice dropping to a whisper as I nearly lose my balance on Halfy’s head. “Do you control shadows? I mean, did you control them?

Zanir’s eyes are on me, but his attention turns back to the rising mountains, outright towering hundreds of feet above us. A terrible place to be trapped during the night or to be chased into. Jagged slate sleeves line either side, with caves dotting the empty drop-offs. The gaps between the ranges are about fifty feet apart, while a river flows through the valley, leaving only thirty feet for us to navigate. The wagons must file into a line, with lingering riders placed strategically among them.

Zanir’s eyes move back to me, a hint of nostalgia in his expression. “They are…were a part of me. An extension of who I am.” His words hang, and I wonder what it must be like to feel such a deep connection to a place, or to have memories to look back on and remember.

I began to think about the night we first met — how the shadows climbed the tree, closer and closer to me, engulfing everything in their path. They grazed my wings, sending warmth rushing through me. A feeling I haven’t forgotten. I am soon snapped out of my reverie by the pounding of Devlyn’s stallion’s hooves against the earth, closing the distance behind us. Being stuck in one place for so long, you learn people’s ways — their scents, voices, even the distinct rhythm of their footsteps, and the sound of their horse’s hooves.

“I’m owed a question, saved for later,” Zanir whispers next to me, having moved even closer while I was lost in thought. I scoff, trying not to shudder as his breath forms a small cloud beside me, mingling with the crisp air that surrounds me.

Devlyn is next to Halfy now, her stallion standing proudly beside the colossal beast. Though her stallion is larger than most horses in the clan — a special breed renowned for its power and cunning — it is hard to ignore the sheer size of Halfy. The formidable Akhlut dwarfs even the strongest of horses.

“Make sure it is a good one,” Devlyn says, glancing between Zanir and me, her eyes narrowing as she motions toward the end of the valley where a faint road begins to form. Her tone, authority and expectation, reminding me that our journey is just as important as the company we keep, but choice or force.

My eyes widen as adrenaline surges, and I take flight despite my shoulder screaming in protest. Pushing my winds against Halfy, I propel myself about ten feet above them, feeling an exhilarating rush of the surrounding air. I hear Halfy grumble below, and I catch a glimpse of Zanir’s dark hair flowing in the breeze I leave behind. With a quick adjustment, I bank toward the river next to us, eager to escape the tension and uncertainty lingering in the valley.

I increase the speed of my wind, the tips of my wings gliding across the water’s surface. The coldness of the water bites even under the midday sun, blending with Solomanri’s autumn gusts. Pushing against the water, I send ripples racing past me, relishing the feeling. As I rise and twist my body backward, my wings shift from the river’s embrace to solid ground. My back contorts, facing the hard earth below, and I release my wind, feeling the rush of falling. My body changes, transforming from a once-little bat into something new, leaving the weight of the valley behind.

Before my body reaches the earth, I make a final twist, boots hitting the ground with a thud. A jolt of pain radiates from my shoulder as my hands touch the ground on either side of me, stabilizing my fall, and I can feel a warm liquid drip down my side. My knees bend, and my hair — a vivid purple hue shining brightly in the sun — spills around my face, happily obscuring any stares that might undermine my confidence. Once again, I struggle to blend in — I am power, energy, a force — a single claw scrapes against the mental door of my mind.

No. You will not ruin this for me.

I whip my head, my hair cascading across my back, as try to ignore the chills rushing through my flesh. The adrenaline from my transformation still lingers, and I see Devlyn first. Her face is often unreadable, but the awe in her eyes speaks volumes. I haven’t always felt this comfortable with my powers. Devlyn is one of the few who helped me reach this point. I can never repay her for that.

Being trapped in a castle often led to dark nights, but she ensured I had something to distract my mind and body. Through long days of training — countless repetitions pushing me to the brink of exhaustion — I learned to quiet the beast within, so that when my head finally hit the pillow, there was no energy left for my thoughts to steal.

Even though I have recently felt my powers changing again, like when I was younger, I can sense something else in the air, but I can’t quite place it. Devlyn’s eyes move toward what I assume is Zanir, but I dare not look over. I can’t. I feel that exposed and open feeling, threatening to unravel me. I refuse to squirm in front of all these people, not now, not after everything I have worked so hard to control.

“Show off,” Iamys calls as he rides up to where I landed, jumping off his mare with ease. The sound of his bow and quiver, filled with arrows, clicking together as he hits the ground, pulls me out of my head. I can’t help, but feel a mixture of pride and annoyance at his teasing, a welcome distraction.