Page 3 of Misfit (Starshine)

V ian had very few rules for his Wolves, but they’d been beaten into Arlon over the years.

Rule number one, you protected the pack, and the pack would protect you.

Anyone outside of the pack wasn’t your friend or your family and never would be.

Rule number two, don’t ask questions. Vian handled the logistics, all you had to do was obey.

And rule number three, you kept your fucking mouth shut.

Talk to people outside of the pack only when you had to.

Arlon had broken that first rule when he helped Fawn kill the evil fucker, yet somehow, breaking the last two rules was far more difficult. But he’d promised Fawn he’d seek out the two non-bloodline wizards, and the only way to do that was to ask around.

He hated every second of it.

Approaching the beautiful highborns of the Crux was so awkward it felt downright painful. Doing it invited attention, and every time someone’s eyes widened as he walked towards them, he wanted to vanish. But he did it anyway, and to his surprise, people seemed… happy to talk to him.

“Oh, you’re looking for Garrett and Bridgette.”

Arlon looked down at the curvy Kenitkan woman, trying to decide if that was disappointment he’d caught in her tone.

“You know them?”

Her full lips flattened as she hummed. “‘Know’ is a strong word. They tend to keep to themselves.”

“Do you have any idea where I could find them?” Arlon asked.

“They go into town a lot,” she said as her eyes traced him. Like she was picking out every flaw on him. It made him itch. “But the weather’s nice. They might be out in the transmutation yard.”

“Thank you,” he said and quickly tried to make his exit.

“Maybe after you find them, you could come find me, too. My name’s Magda.”

Arlon whirled, and for once, it was his turn to stare. So many of his interactions with people outside of Vian’s pack had ended in an argument, a fight, or worse, but Magda looked at him with a very different sort of heat in her amber eyes.

She must have read his stunned silence as an invitation, because she stepped towards him.

Her hips swayed as she approached, and under his shock, a part of him recognized just how beautiful she was.

Her skin was like polished walnut, and though she was barely half his height, she carried herself like the tallest person in the room.

Her hands lifted to trail down his chest, toying with the collar of his shirt.

When she looked up at him, she held her lower lip coyly between her pearly teeth.

“I’ve been curious to see how the Wolf makes magic.”

His embarrassment flashed to shame before landing on a resigned sort of anger.

He suddenly understood what lay behind the stares, and he didn’t like it.

To any one of these nobles or highborns, he was an idea, and a titillating one at that.

A dangerous sort of conquest. A villain for their fantasies.

He grabbed Magda’s wrists, pulling her hands away from him before he lifted them over her head. Her eyes went wide, her smile turning hungry as he stepped her back. She let out a quiet gasp as her back hit the stone wall, her hands clenching to fists in his grip as he pinned them over her head.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” Arlon growled, but if he thought intimidation would make her back down, he was mistaken. It only seemed to stoke the fire of her fantasy.

“I think I do,” Magda said, breathless with excitement.

He sneered down at her before he roughly released her wrists.

“No, you don’t,” he said shortly. He turned to find the quickest route to the transmutation yard before he said or did something he regretted.

He could almost feel Magda’s baffled gaze following him and was grateful when he descended the stairs out of her sight.

The whole interaction made his skin itch, a sour feeling settling in his stomach. It left him in a poor mood he couldn’t seem to shake, but at least Magda’s tip paid off. As he stepped through the archway to the transmutation courtyard, he finally caught sight of the wizards he was looking for.

Among the well-bred nobility of the Crux, they seemed… familiar in a way that Arlon wasn’t expecting.

Garrett sat in the grass, skin as gray as a storm cloud, his face made of hard angles that were not quite human.

An orc, or at least part one like Arlon’s pack-mate Pashka had been.

He was a tough-looking man, his nose ridged like it had been broken more than once, but his slate-gray eyes looked fondly down at the woman whose head rested in his lap.

Small tusks jutted up from behind his smiling bottom lip.

Where he seemed made of rock and earth, Bridgette seemed to be made of starlight.

She was beautiful, skin as pale and smooth as marble with hair like spun silver.

She toyed with the end of Garrett’s long braid as she said something that Arlon couldn’t hear.

It made Garrett laugh, a deep, resonant sound that only dissipated when he leaned down to kiss the woman reclining against him.

It felt like a private moment. Something between lovers. Something not meant for him. The sour feeling that Magda had left him with solidified to stone. Arlon left before either of them even noticed him.

Yet days passed without so much of a glimpse of them, and Arlon began to feel like he’d lost his chance.

They didn’t take meals in the mess hall, didn’t seem to use the baths at normal times.

Arlon didn’t like lingering in the common areas, but Fawn had refused to even tell him which tower their rooms were in, so he didn’t have another choice.

Grudgingly, Arlon grabbed his loaned copy of Fundamentals of Magic and used it as an excuse to sit in the shade of the transmutation yard. It felt like loitering. It was loitering, and he had to remind himself that he was allowed to be here, dammit.

The Wolves hadn’t been welcomed anywhere. Trying to insert yourself into places you didn’t belong earned you contempt or worse. Arlon found a compromise and made himself as unobtrusive as possible, choosing a spot on the grass against the far wall.

A week later, his patience finally paid off. Well, kind of. Instead of meeting the two wizards as they entered the transmutation yard, Garrett and Bridgette had beat him there.

“Thumb on the outside of your fist,” the man’s deep voice rumbled. “Fingers tight. Yup, there you go. Now, throw it like you mean it.”

Bridgette scrunched her face up as she let her fist fly. It slapped against the man’s big palm, but the strength behind her attack carried the rest of her forward. It put her off balance, and she yelped as Garrett caught her around the waist to pull her flush against him.

“Love your enthusiasm,” Garrett chuckled. “But throw your fist , not your shoulder. Remember to keep those feet wide and drop your center down.”

“Poor instruction,” she laughed, face flushed before she caught sight of Arlon. She cleared her throat as she straightened her skirts out, though she couldn’t quite wipe the smile from her face. “Sorry. You can use the yard if you want. We’re not doing anything important.”

“No, it’s alright,” Arlon said. He felt so awkward that it was nearly painful, but he forced the polite question out anyway. “Are you two sparring?”

The gray-skinned man gave a sly grin. “That’s a strong word for it.”

“Ass!” the woman said through a laugh as she shoved him away. “You’re the one who insisted on this little lesson.” She brushed a strand of silver-white hair behind her ear as she turned to grin at Arlon. “I’m Bridgette.” She jerked a thumb at her companion. “This is my husband, Garrett.”

“Arlon,” he said as he studied her face. She was even more beautiful up close, but something about her tugged at a memory. Yet it wasn’t until Bridgette’s blue eyes sharpened to a glare that he realized where he had seen her before.

“I know you,” she said, voice hardening.

The realization dropped like a stone. It felt like a lifetime ago that Vian and his Wolves had paid their last visit to Frostcliff.

The brothel had been warm and welcoming, but like so many of the brothels in the mountains, it had an air of desperation about it.

One that had made Arlon take very little interest in the offerings.

But Vian had .

He’d gone upstairs with a beautiful, silver-haired woman and returned with a bloodied knife.

That same woman glared at him now. She crossed her arms over her chest and took a step away from Arlon. “You’re the Wolf.”

The title felt like a stain that he couldn’t get rid of, yet unlike the interest he’d garnered from Magda, the immediate hatred was familiar. It was the rejection he’d been bracing for the past two months, and hearing it so plainly in Bridgette’s voice made it easy to return to old habits.

He bared his teeth in a grin. “What of it? Afraid you’ll get eaten?”

He sounded like Vian. The man had always been a braggart, and even now, Arlon remembered every word of what he’d boasted as they fled the busy brothel that night.

Drew three lines down her thigh with my knife, and she never even screamed. Tough little whore.

The idea of taking one of Vian’s Wolves to bed may have been an exciting idea to these highborns, but the reality of all the terror and grief his former boss had wrought in the mountains lived on in Bridgette’s eyes.

Garrett crossed his arms over his chest, moving to stand between the two of them. “How’d a Wolf get an invitation to the Crux?”

It was as if the past year with Fawn had never happened.

Every lesson she’d imparted on him, every method she’d given to regulate his own temper, vanished.

Arlon’s hackles were already raised, and the only thing he could think to do was escalate.

Hit back harder and faster. “Funny, I wondered the same thing about a mutt.”

Garrett didn’t seem phased by the insult. As if he’d heard it before. He probably had. His storm-gray eyes sized Arlon up before a smirk crossed his face .

“Your pack ever teach you to spar?” Garrett asked, his tone south of friendly. “Or did you just ambush?”

Arlon’s grin felt closer to a snarl. “You want to find out?”

Garrett motioned him forward with two fingers. “Didn’t get to at Monika’s. Would have really liked to.”

“Garrett,” Bridgette said in warning.

As they locked eyes, an entire silent conversation seemed to take place. Bridgette raised an eyebrow, and a smirk tugged at her lips before she turned those piercing eyes expectantly onto Arlon.

Garrett flashed a toothy grin as he stepped forward to square off, and Arlon realized that for the first time in his life, he was about to fight someone his own godsdamned size.

Smaller opponents, no problem. Usually. Arlon had learned the hard way that size only mattered to a point with someone who knew how to fight.

And just looking at him, Garrett undoubtedly knew how to fight.

He was only a hair shorter than Arlon, but he made up for it in muscle, his Crux-supplied shirt stretched across a broad chest and bulging forearms.

Recognition hit him like a club. Garrett had been at the brothel that night, too. As security .

Garrett smirked before delivering a shove that forced Arlon back a step. “C’mon, let’s see what you got, Arlon.”

Some quiet part of him knew what a bad idea this was. Vian never taught anyone to fight. You learned on the job. If you didn’t, you ended up dead on the side of the road, just like his pack-mate Pashka had.

A thought that sounded very much like Fawn reminded him he was supposed to be making friends, dammit , but the Wolf had been summoned, and when it lunged, Arlon’s feet were the ones to move. A growl rumbled from his throat as he brought his fist around, aiming for Garrett’s braided head.

And missed. Badly.

Garrett stepped out of the way. One easy adjustment, like Arlon’s attack had come in slow motion.

Arlon lunged again and again, and as the man effortlessly sidestepped a third time, the Wolf suddenly cowered as Arlon’s own common fucking sense snapped back into place.

Get humbled, idiot. Hope he doesn’t kill you.

Pain flared from his ribs as Garrett’s fist connected like a boulder, knocking the wind clean out of him.

He barely had time to cough before he was on the ground, face pressed into the damp grass.

A weight descended on him, hot and oppressive.

His right arm was yanked behind him, and his shoulder screamed as the joint locked.

Panic flared hot, bile rising in the back of Arlon’s throat. His feet scrambled across the grass, searching for purchase and finding none. Memories stirred from a dark, recessed part of his mind, and for one horrifying moment, it felt like Vian was still alive.

Arlon’s voice emerged choked and afraid. “Stop. Stop! STOP!”

Garrett’s weight lifted off him in a heartbeat, and as that simple demand was met, Arlon snapped back to himself, already halfway to his feet. He staggered, wiping grass from his cheek. Something like concern crossed Garrett’s face, but Arlon barely saw it through his own shame and mortification.

“Are you al?—”

Without a word, Arlon fled for the atrium. A Wolf with his tail tucked.