Page 47 of Hexes & Heartstrings (Shifters of Bastion Keep #2)

Sergiy stepped once again into the inky black wall that surrounded Wintersbane's demesne, and darkness befell him.

His footsteps were silent as he marched forwards, and he couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet, but though he worried that he wasn't making progress like the last time he'd tried this, he trusted his High Priest and was soon rewarded.

Much like how someone's eyes could slowly adjust to a dark room, details began to appear as he walked, and when his sight finally cleared, he beheld a land distinct from the rest of the Umbral that they'd been traversing.

There was light, and a bright sky. Sounds were no longer muffled, once again ringing pure. There was color again, just like the natural world.

And, somehow, there was also Bastion's Keep.

The familiar castle lay before him, a near-perfect duplicate, from its mottled stone walls to the dragon and shield banners that hung from its tenements.

Sergiy might have thought that he'd somehow activated his ripcord, except that one, the western wing was missing the newer additions that had been added in recent decades, and two, Bastion had never been near an ocean.

"The fuck?" Marka pointed out succinctly, and he nodded.

"If this demesne were created by a spirit king," Sergiy suggested, "then perhaps Lord Wintersbane molded this area after a place familiar to him. I can't say I approve of the ocean, pretty though it is. Doesn't feel appropriate."

Sergiy turned about, making sure that everyone had made it through the barrier, then hefted his spear.

"Steel Fang! I want you on a tight patrol, keep watch while we take stock. Packleaders and willworkers, to me."

Once he had his leaders gathered, he looked down to his witch, who'd journeyed all this way, just for him.

As Bruin doused the special lantern, probably saving what special oil remained, he seemed to still be on edge.

Sergiy would have to teach him to take rest when he could; there didn't seem to be anything immediately hostile in the area, and worry would only burn through mental energy.

Later, though.

"Any guesses as to what we're looking at?" he asked the group."Roland?"

His High Priest growled, giving the castle one last look before dipping his head.

"I overheard your guess, and it makes as much sense as anything else.

Strong spirits can reshape the land around themselves, but it's a rare and powerful one that can do so to this degree, unless it's a trick or illusion. "

"It feels real enough to me," Bruin said, sitting down on the ground and proceeding to casually take off his shoes and socks like it were the most normal thing in the world.

He then dragged his fingers through the dirt, picking some up and letting it fall from his palm.

"Actually, it kind of has the same feeling that I get from the light we gather during our anchor walks. The whole place feels saturated in it."

"Oh, aye, good catch, witch! We might be able to do something with that."

"Lux will be able to figure something out, I'm sure," Bruin said with all confidence, then hopped up to his bare feet. "Also, this ground is a lot more solid than what we've been walking though.My earthen charms are back on the table if you need them, Sergiy."

"Thank you, my mate, that's good to know."

Sergiy took a few steps towards the castle, casting out his senses. His warband's shock was wearing away, being replaced by a vibrant eagerness now that their destination was in sight.

He'd have to make sure he tempered his own emotions.

If he became as caught up in this as much as the others, it could lead to some reckless actions.

Beyond that, the land smelled clean, if a bit salty, and if he listened carefully, his ears could pick up the gentle rhythm of waves crashing upon a shore.

Turning back to the group, he looked at his witch who was taking the time to drop his rucksack off alongside the rest of the warband, keeping only the essentials. Inside of his chest, he could feel the worry and fear his mate held.

Sergiy needed to soothe that over before it affected his own self, and also because he loved his mate and didn't want him to feel that way.

"Bruin, be sure to hang back as we move, okay? Stick with Auguste, he has a god's own luck, and I don't want you to get hurt.You shouldn't have to worry so much about being in danger that way, okay?"

He heard Bruin make a displeased grunt as his witch fiddled with his bracelets, and it seemed like his words had somehow been the opposite of encouraging.

He sighed, then turned back to the castle.Best just to get on with it. The sooner they finished this, the sooner Sergiy could park Bruin's green ass back in the safety of the castle. The real castle.

With weapons drawn and kits doffed, Sergiy's warband moved at a light jog towards the castle. He himself was in his weredrake form, spear at the ready. Leaving his mate in the hands of Auguste and Roland, he took to the skies, flying low to the ground and alert for any unpleasant surprises.

None seemed forthcoming as they reached the front doors, however. No traps, no defenders. Just an eerie silence other than the sea, absent even of wildlife, birds and bugs. An overall stillness.

Once the packs were gathered, he opened the front doors himself, Marka and Lady Yi bounding inside with their packs, ready for a rude welcome.

Still nothing.

Now that they were inside of the castle, the differences between it and True Bastion were more obvious. Yes, the castle did resemble his own in overall makeup, but paintings and ornamentations were different, styled by someone with older tastes.

He saw Auguste poking at the door to the baths… no, to the dungeons, most likely, considering that Wintersbane predated the renovations.

"Now if I were an evil shadow cast by a former evil lord," Auguste said, putting a fist to his chin theatrically, "where would I be? His living quarters?"

Sergiy shook his head. "He was a warlord, same as me. So either the training yard, where I've shed blood, sweat, and tears, or more likely—"

"The Great Hall," Marka finished for him. "Awoo, let's bust a head in!"

Despite the collective eagerness he could feel from the packs, Sergiy insisted on taking it slow, using scouts to bound ahead of the main group.And as they neared the Great Hall, Sergiy could finally begin to hear sounds of habitation, boisterous voices in a multitude of conversations.

Sergiy looked at the packs, wondering how to split the troops. Against a weredrake with unknown powers… better to take the most adaptable.

"Marka and Yi, with me," he said. "Yacob, you and Summer stay in the hall, watch for an ambush. If it does come to a fight, we'll cycle out fresh guardians for injured ones."

As the doors were kicked open, all chatter stopped, and Sergiy saw dozens of men and women sitting at the long tables in the room, mid-feast. The scent of mutton and mead wafted through the air, disguising the familiar, sweaty musk of guardians caught just after training, and Sergiy could hear the crackling of bonfires in the wall hearths.

But no one moved. Some of the residents were mid-drink, others caught in the act of laughing or gesturing, but they were all frozen in place, like a three-dimensional photograph.

Though alert for traps as he strode boldly down the middle of the room, the butt of his spear rapping against the ground with each step, he trusted the room to his sister and the even more paranoid Lady Yi, all of his focus on the one figure seated at a singular throne where the High Table should be.

"Well," Lord Kerry Wintersbane said, his speech laden with a heavy burr and pitched with a growl, as if he didn't have the breath to speak and had to force each word to completion."It seems that you've arrived, cousin."

The fallen lord was hunched over in his throne with his arms on the rests, fingers splayed as if he were holding himself upright by fingertips alone.

He lifted his head slowly, and though he looked about forty, the lines on his face and the heavy drop in his eyes made him seem decades older, and it was hard to reconcile this defeated man with the raging drake that Sergiy had fought just months prior.

Light and shadows behaved oddly as the lord made his glacial movements, almost as if he were part of the room's frozen tableau himself.

"Lord Kerry," Sergiy said.

The man's gaze slid to the side, and with a lifting of the lord's finger, the thirty-something castle residents immediately animated and resumed their chatter.

Sergiy heard Marka growl, but though they had resumed their feasting, the castle's soldiers seemed to be entirely ignoring Sergiy and his warband.

"What brings you to us?" Kerry asked at last.

With his bond to his pack, Sergiy didn't need to glance to either side to sense Marka and Yi organizing their defenses with curt words and gestures, getting his guardians ready for a close-quarters fight.

In his chest, he could also feel Bruin's growing apprehension.

He wanted to take the time and steady his mate, but with a lord like this, he couldn't afford to let himself be distracted.

"Justice brings me to your doorstep," Sergiy said, "to repay you in kind for your visit to my home and the shadows you brought with you."

" Our home!" Kerry snapped, his visage abruptly wild, flecks of spit flying as he snarled. But then he seemed to grab hold of himself as he sank back against his throne again. "We had to. I had to. I had to, but it's too late to fix it now. I am sorry."

"You try to kill innocent families at Bastion Keep, and that's all you have to say?" Sergiy couldn't keep the steel and scorn from his tone. "That you're sorry? And too late for what?"