Whispers Waltz Around Our Dreams . . .
Stagnant. Losa could think of no other word to describe her life and that of the Arcus Irae she and her sister had led to freedom . . . although “freedom” proved just as dangerous as the danger they’d run from. On one side of the portal, maddened Tempests and cruel Duma hunted them; in Blossom Forest, vampires—the terrifying creatures who’d been relegated to campfire stories at home—stalked the night. How did that one saying go? “Better the evil you know,” or something like that? Oferweder ruled Dierne Hrof, making the insidious entry of leeches impossible, yet Losa could not shake the lingering anxiety that nipped viciously at her heels. At least in her kingdom, their enemy hadn’t wanted to eat them. She’d thought the price of liberty well worth her own blood, refusing to bow down and become Duma’s obedient marionette. Uncertainty and struggle seemed far more enticing than a chain and a cage. Except the rainbows’ choice was no longer “freedom and hardship” or “imprisonment and safety,” it was “slavery or torture.” To live a life utterly controlled by one’s keepers, or to forever fear the darkness? Were the Arcus Irae in Dierne Hrof truly liberated if they could not leave the pack without risking their souls? Were they still helpless prisoners if their wardens were kind?
Travelling without an Ofer or Hurricane as her guard would be suicide. And Losa could not, in good conscious, allow the other rainbows to explore the freelands without a guardian as well—not that any of the children had wanted to leave. She felt their grief and exhaustion every day . . . a heavy pulse that throbbed in time with her own, slowly healing but still raw at the edges. Especially poor, darling Zawyne. Her beloved sister. The sunset-painted princess had been deliberately shielding her emotions from the other Arcus Irae—including Losa—which could only mean that the young faeling’s suffering still stung her to the core. And there was nothing Losa could do. Nothing. In many ways she was glad she no longer wore a crown, because the cotton candy dancer did not deserve that privilege. She’d failed miserably as an heiress and a leader. And absolutely no action or punishment would undo or fix the damage her foolishness had wrought.
So . . . things stagnated. Sadness wove itself into their reality and became their norm. Losa could not remember a time when defeat and humiliation had not crushed her once fiery spirit. They did not get any worse, and they did not improve. Their days revolved around exploring the vast reaches of Dierne Hrof under the gentle guidance of their Tempests. Days and nights bled into each other . . . time slipping into a surreal and continuous dream . . .
Until they all felt it.
The start of a war.
Violence.
Savage horror woke Losa from where she drowsed. She bolted upright, every pastel hair on her pelt quivering with barely restrained energy. For the first time in moons it felt as if her vision was painfully clear, every detail in sight sharpened to impossible focus. Her heartbeat thundered. Her aura instinctively reached out, accounting for every Arcus Irae in the pack, touching up on the present Tempests and realizing what had jolted everyone into alarmed alertness. The vampires. The blood-drinking demons were making their move at last. A battle could not be avoided. And if the worst came to pass, and the Tempests were defeated, then there was nothing protecting the rainbows from the very beasts that desired the blood more than anything in the universe.
Losa would not force the Arcus Irae to flee to another sanctuary. She had no right to order them or even make suggestions for their safety any more. But she still sent a blanket message to all in Dierne Hrof before following on the trail of Vladimir and his daughter, Quiturah, hoping that maybe some of the rainbows would want to stick together in case the vampires cracked the territory’s defenses. Should their malevolent enemies overthrow the Tempests, she much preferred not waiting around like a sitting duck in the very kingdom the vampires expected them to wait in.
Delicate paws carried her effortlessly across the border and over the terra, limbs trembling slightly with sickening nervousness. Out in the freelands, Losa felt naked, exposed; with each breeze that stirred her rosy pelt, she expected to catch a whiff of blood. Her ears switched this way and that, sensitive to the tiniest noise. Vladimir and his daughter were well ahead of her, too far to see; the ex-princess had to rely on her sense of smell to follow their tracks—and when those disappeared, she reached ahead to sense the warmth of their Tempest energy. The Ofer prince was obviously intelligent; Losa attempted to match his path exactly in order to erase her trail, in case someone managed to hunt her this far. When Qi’s presence led the cobalt-gloved rainbow up the mountains, Losa smiled in relief. This could not be farther from Dierne Hrof’s heart. It would take the vampires days to root out this hiding place. And should the Arcus Irae join her here, they’d find abundant hiding places to secure themselves in. At last . . . I should greet little Quiturah, and see how she’s faring . . .
A scent brushed her nose. Male. A stranger. Concealed somewhere in the area. Losa paused—and that’s when she heard the small Tempest lass call out an angry challenge. Loping ahead, panic stirring her guts, Losa scanned frantically for any sign of the male, hoping against hope he was just passing through, not here to harm the pup. Just leave, whoever you are. Go. Go away. Strides lengthened. Breath punched in and out of tight lungs. At last her mismatched gaze fell upon the ginger girl, standing tall just outside the entrance to a cave—and in the corner of her sight—darting out from where he’d been skulking—a male the color of soot and storm clouds lunged right for Quitura as if to harm her, as if to maim her, and Losa was running at breakneck speed with hackles raised and lips peeled back to reveal her fangs and she knew she wouldn’t get there in time—
“HALT! DON’T YOU DARE TOUCH HER!”
☽Arcus Irae Princess | Sister to Zawyne | Chained to Duma | Bound to Hurricane | xathira☾