Chapter Thirty-Four

Moira froze, her eyes snapped open as a hand wrapped around her bare stomach. It all came flooding back; Torcull, the dwarven karaoke bar, Cyrus with his arms wrapped around her. The sex. Oh god, the sex. She covered her face with her hands. Don’t get her wrong, the sex was good, maybe great even, but crossing that line with Cyrus—bad idea.

She groaned. She should’ve found some stranger. Someone she didn’t have to face in the morning.

Moira peeked between her fingers, turning slightly to face him. His eyes were closed, long lashes kissed his cheekbones. The permanent wrinkle between his brows was relaxed. He looked younger, less serious.

She dropped her hands. The blanket only covered the lower half of his torso, leaving his chest free. His breathing was steady, still deep in sleep.

Her eyes darted down to the strange birthmark on his chest. It almost looked like a tattoo. The shape was too perfect, the lines too straight. A spear on his left pec.

Her eyes lingered there for a moment before they dropped lower. She blushed, now wasn’t the time for a take two. There shouldn’t be a take two, she never should’ve let herself cross that line with him.

With one last glance, she quietly snuck out of bed, gathering her discarded clothes from the ground. She flushed as she pulled on her pants, the memory of his teeth.

Moira shook her head, she couldn’t think of it anymore. He was just a distraction. Something to fill the void left by losing all hope of ever getting home.

She ran her fingers through the poufy mess of waves that her hair had become before giving up and pulling it into a bun. She’d need a shower and a bucket of conditioner to detangle it.

“Mo?” a quiet voice said at the edge of her subconscious.

Moira tilted her head, listening.

Pop!

Duke popped into existence next to her. She jumped back.

“Geez, you scared the shit out of me.” Duke wagged his tail. “That’s the farthest you’ve jumped.”

He shook his head and huffed. “You didn’t come home.”

“I know. I—I got some bad news.”

He sniffed the air. “You were busy.”

“Uh... why’d you come find me, bud?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Meeting. Everyone’s waiting.”

“Shit.” She turned; Cyrus was still sleeping peacefully in the bed. Well, she had to wake him up somehow.

She grabbed her shoe and lobbed it at him.

He bolted up in bed, scrambling for the knife that he usually kept sheathed at his hip. When he realized it was just her, he relaxed, dropping his hand.

“What was that for?” he asked, rubbing his head.

“Meeting. We’ve got to go. We’re already late.”

He cursed, yanking the blanket off and scrambled to his feet, pulling on his pants.

“What’s Duke doing here?” he asked, noticing the dog glaring at him.

“He’s the messenger.”

In less than a minute they were out the door, and on their way to meet the Council.

#

“Where were you two?” Ethan asked. “You’re late. We had to stall.”

Moira glanced at Cyrus. “We lost track of time.”

“Are you ready?” asked a thin stature harpy with a clipboard.

Cyrus nodded firmly and the two guards opened the stone doors into the Council room.

The chamber was impressive, with a vaulted ceiling and high resting chandelier made of yellow crystals that flickered yellow flashes of light throughout the room. A stone podium sat in the front of the room. Built into the back half of the room were three rows of seating, situated in a half-circle.

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A mixture of dwarves, harpies, and wyverns were seated in stiff chairs, backs straight. Looks of derision passed over several faces as their group entered the room. The Council had clearly not appreciated the delay.

Centered on the ground, on the lowest level, in chairs made of heavy stone sat the heads of the Council. Each a representative of the three races that resided in Mons Caput.

Sam had explained the night before that while the dwarves had built Mons Caput, they’d welcomed the harpies and wyverns after the great war. The dwarves’ numbers had dropped significantly during the war, and they reached an agreement to allow the harpies and wyverns access to the higher levels of Mons Caput, that they’d rarely used, if the two races helped protect the city. They’d agreed and were granted spots on the Council.

In the center seat was an ancient dwarf with pure white hair that was braided back against his scalp. His beard streamed down in front of him, dragging against the floor. A deargwood staff rested against his leg.

To his right sat a female harpy. She looked to be in her mid-sixties, with dark brown hair streaked with gray. Large white wings sat proudly against her stone chair, not a single feather grazed the floor.

The final head Councilor sat to the left of the ancient dwarf. He appeared much younger than his elder head Councilors, looking barely thirty. Moira would’ve confused him for another human, if it weren’t for his golden eyes. A wyvern.

Compared to his stiff-backed counterparts, he looked positively feral, with his leg half-resting on the arm of his chair. His fingers drummed against the stone in irritation.

The ancient dwarf adjusted in his seat. “Welcome. I’ve been told you have news to discuss.” He gestured toward the white podium at the center of the room.

Cyrus stepped forward. “Hello, Councilors. Thank you for the opportunity to meet with you today. I’d like to get straight to the point. Someone is summoning void beasts.”

The room erupted into noise as the councilors began arguing back and forth. The golden-eyed wyvern was particularly vocal. Shooting sharp-eyed looks down at Cyrus.

The dwarf stood, slamming his staff on the ground. “Silence! We will hear what they have to say.”

“Thank you, Councilor. If I may, I know it seems hard to believe. Void beasts haven’t been seen in a millennium, but as hard as it is to believe, they’ve reappeared. And the only explanation is that someone is opening a rift.”

“Do you have any proof?” The golden-eyed wyvern asked.

“Well—we.”

“So, no. You have no proof.”

“Daegan, let him speak.” The white-feathered harpy shot him a glare.

Daegan visibly bristled but gestured for him to continue.

“Thank you. We were staying in Parvus for a night on our way to Mons Caput, when a Quest was activated. A flood of dark birds attacked the town. The attack came out of nowhere. One minute, everything was calm, and the next, there they were. They could teleport through shadows, even beyond line of sight. But what confirmed it—their victims dissolved into dust when bitten.”

The ancient dwarf interrupted. “How do you know they were summoned? That it wasn’t a tear?”

Ethan stepped forward. “If there was a tear, it would’ve been left open. There was nothing. Whoever summoned the void birds closed the portal.”

The dwarf stroked his beard. “Hmm.”

“We believe the attack was a practice run for something bigger. Why attack a small village? We think Mons Caput could be the summoner’s next target.”

“And for proof beyond our own eyewitness accounts, Larry joined us. He’s a town leader in Parvus.” Ethan said.

Larry stepped toward the podium, nervously cracking his knuckles. “It’s true. I saw them void beasts with my own eyes. They’re real. They came through town like a plague, destroying everything they touched.”

“One supposed impartial eyewitness. That’s your proof?” Daegan scoffed. He faced the dwarf. “How do we know they haven’t just coerced this—Larry — so they could gain access to our vault? Men have tried weaker schemes.”

Sam coughed loudly. “I vouch for them, fellow councilors. They would not lie about this.”

Moira stood back, observing the room as the councilors dissolved into another uproar. She rolled back her shoulders as frustration brewed in her stomach. People would die if they didn’t do anything. If they ignored their warnings. There would be more families like Gemma’s.

She could hear it in their voices, their agreement to ignore the warnings. To believe that it wouldn’t happen to them. That Mons Caput had too many protections.

She scoffed; it was funny how politicians were the same no matter what world you were in.

“Is that it?” she asked, raising her voice above the chatter. “You’re not going to listen. Not going to increase your watch? Prepare people?” She met Daegan’s eyes, her lip curled into a snarl. “Then their deaths will be on your hands. Your friends, neighbors, children—if you’re wrong. It’ll be their blood on your hands.” She felt Daegan’s eyes piercing into her back as she turned and walked out of the silent chamber.

Sloane and Duke followed behind her. “So... rough night?”

Moira glared back at her. “Do I need a reason to be pissed that they’re going to ignore what happened in Parvus?”

“No. But you seem a bit more—on edge than normal.”

Everything bubbled to the surface again. All the pain. That there was no hope of going home. It felt like the wall she’d built up inside herself was overflowing.

She stopped, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to bottle it all back up. Building the wall even higher. Her stomach twisted, and tears started to escape.

She felt Duke lean up against her, pressing his muzzle into her hand.

Moira breathed deeply, biting the side of her cheek as she spit out. “I’m not going home. That’s what the expert said. I’m stuck here.”

Sloane threw her arms around her, squeezing her as though she was afraid she’d disappear if she let go. Moira stiffened slightly and then relaxed into her friend’s arms, sagging against her tall frame.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

She pulled back. “It’s fine,” she said, biting her inner cheek. “Let’s just get back to the house.”