Compel (Rae Wilder #2)

Chapter Three

I landed with my back to Conall, no longer caring that we were sparring and watched as Breandan finished his fight by grabbing Alec’s jaw in his hands. He straddled the shifter’s back and forced him to lie down.

The Pride fell silent.

And this was it, the horror they had brought upon themselves. Alec had lost; his life was Breandan’s to claim.

My heart pumped double time in my chest. He would not do it. It was not in his nature. Oh gods, please. I knew I could not interfere this time. This was Pack law, no something I, Conall, or Breandan could override. The thought of leaving passed through my mind, because if we left, right now, this need not happen. We could try and track Devlin another way.

Was this boy’s life worth my revenge?

I pressed my eyes together and waited for the sickening crunch.

There was a soft, warm pressure at my mouth. My entire body relaxed and I wound my arms around the boy who teased my lips open with his. I breathed him in. Sunlight and soil mixed with the faint tang of salty sweat. The firm skin of his back burned under my palms.

I heard a fierce roar and my eyes flickered open.

Breandan smiled down at me, and I pressed my fingertips to his cheek, reverent. Words could not express how proud of him I was.

His face was animated with mischief and he jerked his head to where Byron stood, clapping a panting and weakened, human Alec on the shoulder. “We dance,” the Alpha roared.

His Pack took up the chant as I wondered if they had lost their minds.

Alec stumbled up to me with a dazed smile on his face. His dark hair stuck up in awkward bloodied clumps and his body was coated in a thick sheen of sweat. He looked as if he had enjoyed the tussle, invigorated. “You dance?” he asked me, breathless.

I scoffed, “No.”

He looked at Breandan inquiringly. “A fairy that does not dance?” He sounded doubtful.

Taking my hand in his Breandan followed behind the shifter-boy toward the bonfire in the centre of the Pride.

“Why do you think you cannot dance?” he asked.

Embarrassed, I wanted to tell him that I did not like to dance, and that it was dumb simply to save face. Instead, I said, “Two left feet with no rhythm. And it’s not like we had much chance. Most of my time was spent studying how to kill demons.” I shrugged. “We did nothing but learn how to become the best at what we did.”

He snorted. “The best? I have seen you throw a punch. That does not come close to the best at hunting other beings.” He slanted a look at me. “I will have fun showing you how to use your body.”

I stuttered, trying to think of some snappy response but only managed to totter behind him, lead by the hand with a absentminded expression.

That was how I came to be standing in front of the fire when the first drumbeat echoed into the night. A slow, leisurely pounding that had my entire body shivering. The sound seemed to sweep over my skin and ripple to the tip of my tail that flickered mischievously. The shifters danced, throwing themselves into the beat; ready to release the stress through laughter, music, and dance.

A hard hand caught my chin and turned my head. Breandan motioned me to watch him. Releasing me, he inclined his head and pointed downward to his feet. It was a simple thing, this dance. Booted feet a shoulder width apart, he rolled up onto the tips of his toes then back onto his heels.

The drums were loud, urgent, and insistent. Breandan rocked back on his heels then to his toes. He looked at me expectantly. I did the same. His lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile, and he matched the time of his movement to mine.