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Bo

Pain. Fear.

Anger. Desperation. Remorse.

Panic.

Loop. All on a loop.

But also frozen. No sense of time.

In my cage, I am not exactly aware of the world around me.

That is the only way my mind can fathom what happened to me.

I was locked away somewhere.

Aware that I am alive.

Aware that I can’t move.

Aware that the world goes on around me.

But I’m not awake.

I am lost in a painful fog that froze my limbs and left me cold and angry.

And scared.

I am terrified that this is all there is left.

But then the world returns in a new kind of hot agony.

I gasp in a breath, realizing I haven’t inhaled in …

I don’t know how long.

Because I don’t know what happened while I was in that prison.

And I don’t know why I’m out now.

The last clear memory I have is the creak of an old staircase under my feet as I tried to move stealthily through the dragon’s house.

The wood shouldn’t have made a noise.

I was good at creeping.

It was one of the reasons I’d felt hope when I took on the task.

For her.

I thought I could keep her safe.

I thought I could do something meaningful in my life.

That I could be important to one other in this world.

But the house knew I was inside.

Or the dragon did.

Because after the stairs sounded an alarm, the world around me shifted and burned.

I smelled scorching hair, and I heard the ring of metal and my own shout of fearful surprise.

Then I was cold.

Now the chill is gone.

I’m covered in sweat.

Weak. Limbs shaking.

I blink, and the night is too bright.

My eyes burn in the light of multiple campfires as I try to take in the world around me.

Will I face Dimitri?

Will he be in his dragon form, ready to devour my insignificant life?

Because I might be fearsome in my beast shape, but I am no dragon.

Or will another monster be in front of me?

The one who had set me on the task that left me in that prison.

Will he deem my effort unworthy?

Do I dare hope that she will be in front of me?

Will she tell me that I saved her?

Or will she tell me that I failed?

When I whip my head upward, wrenching the screaming muscles in my neck, I find none of those I expected.

There’s a woman before me, but not the one that I long to keep safe.

This one is a stranger.

Skin is pale as the moon.

Fiery curls cascading around her flushed cheeks, lit by flickering fires of the same shade.

Eyes locked on mine and seeming to spark with magic.

Magic .

Is she going to use the magic against me?

Am I in a new danger that I do not even know about?

“Where … what …” The words tear at my unused throat, and I don’t know that they are worth speaking.

Will these people tell me anything?

“Hello.” The pale woman stands slowly, her fingers holding a bit of black fabric.

When she pulls it over her head, I realize it is a sweatshirt.

“My name is Mor. Mor Shelly. You were trapped in a curse, and I just broke it for you.” She holds her hands up in the universal sign of not intending any harm.

I have no response, still struggling to comprehend the situation.

“This is my sister, Ame. These are my two brothers, Anthony and Broderick.” She points to more people who surround her, each of them with hair as flaming as hers.

“And that is Jack.” She waves at a wolfish figure, crouched at the side of the smallest woman.

“He is part of our family. He is a werewolf, and we are witches.”

She imparts all these pieces of information in a clear, concise tone.

Almost as though she knows the more facts I have, the more grounded I will feel in this situation.

I appreciate this effort she makes for me.

Her words solidify the world around me as much as my fingers digging into the earth and the grass beneath my knees.

Mor reaches for the ground and grips a blanket, which she extends between us.

That’s when I realize nothing covers my naked form.

Hurriedly, I take the offering and wrap the soft material around my body.

And because I was never able to stop it, a blush of embarrassment creeps over my skin.

The fact that I am embarrassed in this moment is ludicrous.

There is so much more that I should be concerned with.

And yet my sensitivity to being vulnerable around anyone still rears its head.

“Can I ask what your name is? Do you remember it?” the witch prompts me.

My mouth opens, and it takes me two full breaths before I even recall that important piece of information about myself.

“Bo.” I cough, my throat feeling as though it needs to defrost as I attempt to regain my words.

Speech is all I have.

“My name is Bo.”

“Hello, Bo. Do you have any idea what happened to you? How you got cursed into the form of a statue?” The witch in front of me grimaces, the expression almost apologetic.

“It’s probably hard to talk about. But we just want to make sure you’re safe. That the danger is not still near.”

“Dimitri,” I rasp.

“His house. It cursed me.”

The witches all exchange a look, and I cannot read what’s on their faces, but it has my hackles rising.

“Is he here? Is he nearby?”

Will the old dragon be furious to realize that his prison on me has been broken?

How long was I trapped in there?

A day? A week? More?

Will a month of immobility make up for the wrong I did him?

“He’s not here,” Mor says, and a small knot of tension eases in my chest.

“Are you from Folk Haven?” One of the male witches asks this question, leaning forward, as if he means to move closer to me, but he stills his steps when I flinch away.

I do not like the fear that courses strong in my veins.

I’m not a stranger to fear, but this level has reached new heights.

“Yes.” I scan their faces again.

Each one unfamiliar.

Even the color of their hair would have them standing out in this town.

“But you’re not.”

Mor tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing.

“We are now. We all have lived here for two years. We bought the house that used to belong to Dimitri Novac. The dragon passed away.”

“He passed? When?”

Dimitri was just alive.

Glaring down at me from the top of the staircase as his house bound me in metal.

“I did nothing to him.”

Nothing other than take a step into his territory.

“We know. He died of natural causes. Three years ago.”

“Impossible. That’s … impossible.”

Three years?

How long … how long was I trapped in there?

Three years is not possible.

I would’ve died.

Or maybe not.

Magic does not always follow the rules, but the rest of the world does.

“Are you telling me that I was trapped for three years?”

The werewolf gives the slightest flinch at my question.

As if the words were a blow to him.

“I don’t know.” This answer comes from the witch in front of me.

From Mor. She remains on her knees across from me, her astute eyes seeming to both look at me and look at the air around me.

“Like I said, even though we live in Folk Haven now, we’re new here. But your statue has been in this garden since we owned the home. I don’t know if you have been in prison for three years, but you have been for at least two.”

Two years.

Three years.

What if my efforts were not considered enough payment?

What could he have done to her with me being away for years?

“Do you know …” My need for the answer is so desperate that it cuts off my throat.

The moment I ask the question, I might learn the devastating truth.

“Georgiana. Have you met a Georgiana since you’ve been here? Do you know … is she okay?”

The witch in front of me appears confused, and my stomach bottoms out at the thought that she might not have even heard of the woman.

“The siren? Georgiana Stormwind?” Mor glances at her siblings, then back to me.

“As far as I know, she’s alive and well.”

Relief rushes like ambrosia through my body.

Georgiana is safe.

But I can only enjoy that information for a short moment when my mind presses in on the facts I’ve been given.

Georgiana is alive and well.

I was trapped for years.

Strangers are the ones who freed me, and the siren is not here with them.

Dimitri is dead.

What in the hell dimensions has happened?