Tempestuous Miracles (2 page)

Mirian now realized that this was because his grandfather had pinpointed his intelligence as both a sign of his superior Bearer genes and a potential problem. After all, there was no reason for a walking womb to have a brain.

Mirian sighed and rubbed his chest, trying to dispel his discomfort and morose mood. As of late, a feeling of melancholy had been gripping him more and more. His father and Ariel had noticed, and at first, they'd thought the suppressors were no longer doing their job properly. Their physician, Gonzalo, had assured them this was not the case and Mirian was in perfect health—at least physically.

Mirian didn't feel in perfect health. In fact, he felt pretty crappy. He needed a distraction, preferably something that would keep his mind off things he couldn't have.

Mirian rummaged through his pack and retrieved his notepad. He started a new sketch, drawing in inspiration from his environment.

It wasn't always the pond that he drew. In fact, more often than not the clear waters couldn't have been further from his mind. But beyond them, hiding somewhere deep beneath the surface, he saw different things. Sometimes, it was just a jumble of colors, other times, surfaces or textures. But on occasion, if he looked deep enough, he thought he could distinguish silhouettes. The first time it had happened, he'd been terrified, thinking an outsider had somehow found them. He'd fled that day, taking refuge in the mansion, trembling and terrified.

Now, he couldn't even fathom living without it. He didn't even know why it was so important, but he had stopped questioning it.

Today, he allowed his mind and his hand to work almost idly, not really thinking about what he was drawing. A question kept swirling in his mind. What now?

His father claimed he wasn't safe, and Mirian had no reason to believe that was not the case. However, Mirian also did not think he could live in fear forever. He couldn't stay on this island for the rest of his life. He just couldn't.

Sighing, Mirian set the notepad aside without looking at it. It was probably getting late. His father would soon notice he was missing. But maybe, just maybe, he still had time to take a dip in the pond.

The thought cheered him up and he quickly removed his clothes, setting them aside on the quilt. He slid into the water with a pleased hum. It was cool, but not excessively so, just enough to freshen him up after a day in the heat.

He was still swimming when the clouds started gathering in the sky, and the chill wind began to blow. Cursing to himself, Mirian rushed out of the pond and gathered his things as quickly as possible.

Storms didn't happen often on the island, but when they did, they struck fiercely and violently. He needed to get out of here and back to the house, before the weather took a downturn for the even worse—and before his father noticed he was missing and got just as angry as the incoming tempest.

****

"So what do you think of the new Bearer policies? I heard the Montblancs have been really pushing for Bearer rights."

"Of course they have. Their future Alpha's mate is a Bearer. Personally, I think we shifters should just mind our own business and not dwell on the affairs of pure-blooded humans."

Frey stared out into the distance, struggling to ignore the conversation between his father and Alpha Stephen Rax. He had not wanted to come on this trip, but his father had insisted. The older werewolf had become unbearable since Frey had made a trip to Florenza and had accidentally run into Roman Montblanc and his mate, Julian.

Frey and Roman knew one another quite well, although they weren't exactly close. The distance between their packs prevented a real friendship. Just the same, Frey had always respected Roman. He was competent and would be a good leader for his pack.

They'd met by accident, in a restaurant, where both of them had been entertaining other people. They hadn't talked much, but there was one thing Roman had told him that had stuck with him.

"We believe all Bearers are shifter mates," he'd whispered in Frey's ear as they'd been leaving the restaurant. "We can't actually prove it yet, but... Keep it in mind, will you? And keep it secret."

Frey had somehow managed to nod numbly and had watched Roman go, leading Julian away. All Bearers, shifter mates? If it was true, it could change the world as they knew it.

He could understand why Roman wanted to keep it a secret and was flattered that the other werewolf had trusted him enough to reveal it. He could only assume that Roman was trying to gather allies for what would undoubtedly be a difficult battle, and thought Frey would be amenable to join their cause.

Perhaps it should have irked Frey to admit it, but Roman was right.

Ever since that night, he'd been unable to think about anything else. What if there was a Bearer out there who was his mate? What if that person was waiting for him, only to be forced into something that amounted to sexual slavery?

Frey had never given too much thought to what it meant to be a Bearer, but now, he was doing it, and it wasn't pleasant.

The unfortunate end result was that he'd been unable to wiggle out of this supposed party, when as a rule, he managed to escape such arrangements. If only he hadn't been so distracted... Too late now.

Said arrangement was already making her way to his side and attaching herself to his arm. "What are you thinking so hard about, hmm?" she asked.

Frey stole a look at the woman next to him, just long enough to be polite. "Nothing in particular," he replied vaguely, once more glancing away.

"Oh come now." Adrienne moved closer to him, pressing her generous breasts against his side. "You can tell me."

Frey had no intention of revealing anything to her, of course, but he'd expected to be approached, so this time around, he wasn't taken by surprise without an excuse.

"It's just so peaceful here," he said. "I haven't been out with the yacht in a while."

It was actually not a lie. As a werewolf, Frey didn't particularly enjoy boating. It was something his family did mostly out of snobbishness, since it wasn't in a werewolf's nature to go out in the middle of the ocean.

At the same time, there was something relaxing about the ocean breeze that he simply couldn't find in the city. Or at least, there would have been, if Frey hadn't been forced to share the yacht with so many people.

He leaned against the banister, hoping against all hope Adrienne had gotten the message. She hadn't. Instead, she seemed encouraged. "It's also quite romantic, isn't it?"

If Frey had had romance in mind, it would definitely not be with Adrienne. It wasn't her fault, really. In all honesty, he wasn't surprised their families were pushing for a match between them. When he'd been younger and had less understanding of pack politics, he'd had a brief liaison with her, and while he'd been careful to avoid having any pups, there had still been consequences. Too bad he didn't plan on binding his life to anyone that wasn't his true mate.

He didn't reply, and Adrienne wrapped her arm around his shoulders. "Frey?" she prodded. "Are you sure you're okay?"

The question made him turn toward her and smile. They had been friends before this entire debacle, and he still liked her. It wasn't very fair that he turn away from her completely.

Unfortunately, in their world, there was very little space for shades of gray. Indeed, he would have liked to stay Adrienne's friend, but she had other things in mind, and suggesting anything different would simply offend her.

He was very grateful when his friend Callaghan stepped in, interrupting the conversation and saving him from having to provide a reply. "What's that there?" he asked.

Frey followed Callaghan's gaze and he saw that indeed, there was a tiny dot visible against the horizon. He was not surprised Callaghan had spotted it first. His friend was notorious for having senses and skills even stronger than that of a regular werewolf.

"I thought these waters were supposed to be clear," he mused.

"That is what every map states," Callaghan replied. "But there's clearly something there. It looks like a small island."

A strange and unidentifiable feeling stirred in Frey's heart. He couldn't quite pinpoint it, couldn't figure out what it was, but he somehow knew, beyond the shadow of any doubt, that he needed to get to the island.

"That's exciting," he heard himself say. "We should explore."

Callaghan gave him a narrow-eyed look, and Frey couldn't really blame him. He hadn't actually wanted to come on this boating trip at all—a fact which Callaghan knew very well—and he didn't usually suggest random adventures in the middle of nowhere. They were all shape-shifters, so they enjoyed the wild, but Frey preferred a more cautious approach rather than blindly rushing into something.

As it turned out, his suggestion was made irrelevant when black clouds began gathering up above. It was incredibly sudden. One moment, the sun was shining scorching hot, and the next, its rays were hidden and dimmed by the ominous-looking darkness. The ocean breeze turned into a strong wind that blew off hats and umbrellas.

Frey's father cursed. "So much for our outing. We're heading back. This might get dangerous."

No one argued with him—no one but Frey, of course. Werewolves had strong self-preservation instincts and also a good sense when the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan. But Frey had different incentive now, just as powerful, if not more so.

"Do you really think we can make it to port?" he asked. "Maybe we should try for the island instead."

His father shook his head. "It's too far, and the storm seems centered in this area. There's no telling if we'd even be able to find a safe place to anchor the yacht. We're going back."

The decision had already been made, and there was nothing Frey could do about it. Adrienne's parents were already ushering her inside, and Callaghan's father also came forth and took his son's arm. The staff had begun to turn the yacht around. And Frey knew they were all correct in worrying. He knew that this kind of storm could be dangerous even for them. He could smell it in the air, feel the gathering electricity, the wildness about to be unleashed.

He still could not turn away.

His gaze remained fixed on the island, as if the tiny dot was tugging at something in his heart. It was getting smaller—and Frey had never realized just how fast a yacht could go, damn it.

"Frey?" his father tried again. "Are you listening to me?"

Frey knew he should probably come up with an answer, but what could he possibly say?
Gee, Dad, I think the island hypnotized me?
Yeah, that would work well.

In the end, the solution came from an unexpected source. Suddenly, the storm exploded over them, the waves growing wild and out of control. Lightning split the skies, and it was like a knife slicing through the heavens, sending an outpour of angry rain onto the world.

Frey's father shouted at him, but Frey could barely hear it, and not because of the roar of the storm. It wasn't hard to make his choice. It was crazy, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to follow his father's commands and ignore the strange song in his heart.

Shoving aside anything remotely resembling doubt, Frey climbed over the banister and leaped into the tortured sea.

Chapter Two

It was worse than Mirian had expected. The forest that had welcomed him an hour before now lashed out against him, branches slashing furiously at his face. The ground was slippery, making him slip and clutch his bag more tightly. He didn't want to lose it—he had the notepad with his sketches there, damn it.

The pond wasn't that far from the mansion, but it seemed to be taking forever for him to get back. He hadn't realized it at first, but this could be really dangerous. At some level, he must have known it, but it hadn't really occurred to him that he'd have so much trouble getting to the mansion on an island that had been his home for the better part of his life.

Frustrated with himself and his rotten luck, Mirian shoved branches aside and made his way through the undergrowth. These days, even nature seemed against him. Rotten, rotten luck. Was it so much to ask to have one damn afternoon free of clouds, be they metaphorical or physical ones?

Apparently, that was, indeed, the case, because despite Mirian's longtime experience in this area of the island, his foot slipped. He tried to catch his balance, but the rain and wind were too strong and he stumbled back. His ill fortune didn't have him tumbling into a ravine, but that was likely just because there were no ravines around to tumble in.

He braced himself against the trunk of a nearby tree, having narrowly managed to avoid falling on his ass. In the process, he turned his gaze toward the beach, only to catch sight of something unexpected.

Despite the distance, Mirian's eyesight was pretty good and he could clearly distinguish a fallen man lying on the wet sands. Okay, that was a bit of an exaggeration. He wasn't even remotely sure he wasn't hallucinating or seeing things that were simply not there. For all he knew, the shadowy form could be a log, some strangely shaped algae or even driftwood.

But Mirian's stubborn heart refused to listen to his mind. It told him that what he saw was a person, and likely someone who needed his help.

Studiously ignoring the fact that he wasn't doing so hot himself, Mirian shouldered his pack—he'd worry about it later—and he started to trek down to the beach. It was a treacherous route, the wind now shoving him from behind instead of striking his face, but oddly, Mirian found it almost encouraging. It almost seemed like the tempest itself was urging him to tend to the fallen man.

Mirian stumbled again, righted himself, and thought that no, there was hardly any encouragement there. Jesus, he needed to get a grip.

It was probably a little worrisome that he wasn't in the least bit doubting his sanity or regretting his change in plans, but it was too late to turn back anyway. Besides, even if he did, he'd always wonder what had happened to the fallen man, and he'd never be able to forgive himself for just turning his back on someone he might have been able to help.