The Outlander Fae and the Tattered Wolf Prince

The Blood Oath

“I think we’ve waited long enough. Can someone please start explaining who this girl really is?”

I’m getting the feeling Symone doesn’t like me much. That tends to happen to me with women. My shyness is often mistaken for snobbery, and the male attention that I tend to attract usually alienates me from the women who seek it out. 

Which is pretty ironic, really, considering the last thing I want is male attention. It’s done me nothing but harm—literally—for years.

“Perhaps,” Jesse tells her calmly. We’re gathered around a small campfire. He’s been cleaning his wound for the past twenty minutes. I offered to help, but he politely declined, which is probably for the best; it’s a gnarly one, and I don’t do particularly well with blood. “But only if all three of you take the Blood Oath to keep her secrets safe.”

The Blood Oath?

None of them look half as confused as me; Ollie and Briggs both just shrug and whip out their knives. Symone, though, looks more hesitant. “What if she’s a servant of the queen? Or of the king, for that matter?”

I don’t get the sense that this king and queen are on the same side of things. When will it be my turn to ask questions, I wonder with an inward grumble?

“She’s not,” Jesse says shortly. “I’ll swear it in my half of the blood oath. Now, let’s get on with it.”

Symone doesn’t exactly look thrilled, but she pulls out her knife, all the same. The four of them slit identical, three-inch cuts into both of their palms, then rise to stand in a circle and join hands.

“I, Jesse Crimson of the Callade Barrel, upon the oath of my blood and my life, vouch for Mistress Echo…” He trails off, glancing carefully at me.

I guess it’s okay that I reveal I speak their language now? “Davis,” I tell him hastily.

My speaking earns a few raised eyebrows from my other companions, but Jesse goes right back to speaking before any of them can get a word in. “…Mistress Echo Davis. Should we learn that she is, in fact, a spy or member of the Queen’s or King’s Men, then may my life be taken as penance for my mistake.”

My eyes bulge as I realize the significance of this “blood oath.” I mean, I’m not any of those things, so obviously the guy’s safe. But is he really this sure about me?

I guess he did see me materialize out of thin air in an outfit and saddle that aren’t of his world, but even still.

“And we,” says Briggs, “the Tattered Companions, do hereby swear to protect the life and secrets of Mistress Davis. May our lives be taken as penance for our lies if we forsake this oath.”

The Tattered Companions? Wonder what that’s about.

I expect to see some sort of magical pop or burst of smoke, but nothing really happens. They release each other’s hands, then sit right back down around the fire.

“Right,” says Symone. “Can we get on with it now? Clearly the girl speaks Shiftran, so perhaps I should just start asking her questions?”

Jesse shoots her a glare, then smiles politely at me. “Just start from the beginning.”

I consider saying I'll only talk if they promise to tell me about their world when I’m finished, but decide to hope for the best rather than push my luck. I start with my journey on Apollo through the woods—not going into any specifics about why I was out there—then explain the bit about the boy with green eyes, the wolf chasing me, Jesse chasing me, the bear, and, finally, the changing of appearances.

When I’m finished, they’re all looking at me like I’m an alien—which, I guess, technically I am. 

“You didn’t mention the part about the boy before,” Jesse finally says, frowning. “He sounds Fae.”

“We were in a bit of a rush,” I remind him. “And he couldn’t have been. Right? He was on my half of the universe. And green eyes are perfectly common where I’m from.”

Even as I say it, I have my doubts. There was definitely something different about the boy. 

“It sounds like a test to me,” says Briggs. “They write about them in the old fables. A young boy or an elderly woman comes to you asking for a favor to test your morality. Should you deny them, they curse you.”

“So, instead of cursing her, he blessed her with a free trip to another world?” snorts Ollie. “Not sure it’s such a blessing.”

“Tell us more about your world,” Symone says to me. “Is ours an improvement from yours, or worse?”

I’m not sure what the answer to that question is, but one word I’ve heard here stands out very clearly in my mind: “Well, I wouldn’t say slavery is a commonly accepted practice in my world. At least not my part of the world.”

They exchange glances; Jesse is the next to speak. “Perhaps you could just… describe it to us in detail? Who rules it? How it looks? The warfare, or the peace?”

It’s strange, trying to describe the entire planet Earth in a matter of words. “Well… it consists of seven continents, most of which are filled with dozens or even hundreds of different countries, each with their own rulers and sets of laws. I’m from America, which… Well, it’s supposed to be one of the wealthiest and more prosperous countries, but it’s not without its flaws.”

“Does it look like this?” asks Ollie. “Like Beatton?”

“Some of it. The forests. There are also huge cities with skyscrapers; deserts with casinos; canyons; mountains; pretty much everything. Our sun is different—yellow, technically, or sort of an orange, fiery color… And our sky is a light blue, not… whatever yours is.”

That part seems to enthrall them. “Are there Shifters there?” asks Briggs. “Fae?”

I shake my head. “There’s no magic. No spells; no people turning into animals; none of that. I guess you could say it was only… Normalia.”

They all seem equally disgusted by that prospect.

“Is there war?” asks Symone.

“Yes. There’s plenty of war.”

“War without Shifters,” breathes Ollie. “Crazy. Do they use swords? Bows and arrows?”

“They used to. Now, they use guns.” When I see their perplexed expressions, I explain, “Handheld mechanisms that fire small, metal projectiles at very fast speeds with just the squeeze of a trigger. Often lethal.”

They all seem to shudder at that one. I consider telling them about bombs and missiles, but decide that this world is better off not knowing.

“Did you fight in these wars?” Jesse asks me.

I shake my head. “No. In my lifetime, all the fighting has been offshore—far from where I lived.”

Symone doesn’t seem to like that. “Let me guess. You lived in a castle, with servants and underlings to fetch your every need.” She scowls at Jesse. “She should have showed up in Signa.”

“She’s bruised,” points out Briggs. “And far more fit than Signa’s Normalia.”

Jesse scans my face carefully. Back in Buffalo—another lifetime ago, it feels like—I did my best to cover up the fresh wounds on my face, knowing that they would raise eyebrows from the people I passed at the stables before running away. But I’m no makeup expert, and the bruises are deep; besides, it stands to reason that the makeup faded with all the chaos of the last few hours.

“If not war,” Jesse asks me, “then how were you hurt?”

I know I have to lie—I’ve never told anyone the truth about Hunter’s abuse, let alone four virtual strangers—but I have a surprisingly hard time with it. After all, Jesse just vouched for me with his own life, and I’m repaying him by lying?

Still, I don’t see much of an alternative. I need to appear strong in this new world if I want any chance of survival. “I just… trained. Martial arts, you know, fighting. That kind of thing. They’re just practice wounds.”

I did train, though not as often as I would’ve liked. Hunter never liked me going to the gym, let alone going to a martial arts studio. I only ever went when he was out of town on business (if I didn’t mention this already, he was a bit older than me).

The three newcomers seem to buy it, but I can tell from the way Jesse’s gaze lingers on me that he doesn’t.

Eager to change the subject, and equally eager to find out what the hell this place really is, I ask, “Is it my turn to ask questions yet?”