Wonderland Ch 08A

Author's Note:

Y'all may have noticed it says "Chapter 8A" in the title. That's because this chapter was split into two sections. The second half of this chapter (8B) will show up a few days after this one. Please note that the story goes back and forth between time periods, starting at the skirmish between Fuyher and Talon from the last chapter. I marked the time changes within the story, so pay close attention to that so you don't get lost.

I want to thank everyone for their comments and feedback, as you guys are the only reason why I keep posting! =)

Lastly, I want to thank my editor, mikothebaby, for taking the time to tidy up my work. I made substantial changes after her editing, so any mistakes you see in the story are mine.

Enjoy!

+ + + + + +

Bayothet watched as the Raspan King speared the Ancient Gargoyle into the face of the mountain with the speed and strength that he was legendary for, but did not dwell on the sight for long. The mangy mutt that had drawn blood on her face was cackling at the sight of the fallen Gargoyle, his back to her.

That would have to change.

With the speed and silence she was known for, she dove between the Raspan's back legs, withdrawing the short sword from its bindings at her waist and angled it upwards into his belly, disemboweling him as she slid from one end of the beast to the other. When she emerged at his head, she decapitated him with a single swipe, his black blood coating her uniform from the neck down.

Kicking the dead scout's head off her boots she turned to Fuyher and crouched low, sword arm extended to the side. Fuyher lashed out angrily the instant her feet were set, spitting venom at her. She dodged the projectile and jumped awkwardly to avoid his tail, but it was too late. Bayothet fell face-first to the cavern floor, her sword clattering as it flew out of her grip and skidded across the rock.

She flung herself at it but Fuyher's tail batted it aside as easily as he had brought her down. Bayothet was not perturbed. Leaping to her feet, she drew out another blade and advanced. Fuyher snapped at her with a warning hiss and swatted off her crowning, the sword flying from her grip – yet again. Cursing herself for her clumsiness, she rounded him again, not allowing herself to drop his crimson gaze lest he believe she was aching for help – which she was.

"It is futile, child," he growled at her, his voice thick within his throat. Bayothet ignored him and advanced yet again but this time, he struck back. With a low blow to her waist, he used one thick forearm to pin her by the throat to the cavern wall, just feet from where Tze'sic lay still. Her eyes drifted to him when the Gargoyle groaned, relief passing through her that the Ancient had not met his demise. Relief that Fuyher felt.

"You fight for

him?

" Fuyher spat, digging her deeper into the wall. "He is our enemy," he hissed, eying her with scorn.

"I fight for peace," Bayothet corrected, her tone clipped and strained by his crush on her windpipe.

Fuyher grinned, flashing his sharp teeth, admiring her briefly. "Is he your master?" he asked her, changing tactics. "Are you his Pet?" he chuckled, examining the high collar of her soiled uniform before reaching up with his free hand and ripping the fabric.

He chuckled again, his dark eyes meeting hers. "Concubine," he corrected as he ran a single sharp claw over the fading tattoo on the left side of her throat. It took every ounce of Bayothet's will to not squirm beneath his petting, her pulse racing as the rage began to make its way through her. "I have never met a concubine with swords before," Fuyher chuckled, dragging his eyes up to her. In a second, his boorish attempts at playing coy faded back into his usual cruelty.

"I will not be killed by a whore," Fuyher murmured into her ear, his large body suddenly bearing down on her from his gargantuan height. "And I will not die today."

Bayothet met his eyes and smirked. "But you will die soon," she vowed, lowering her eyes to the horrid gashes where Tze'sic had bitten him. "And your power is already weakening," she told him.

Hastily flinging her arms down towards the ground, two swords at her wrists popped free of their bindings. With a battle cry, Bayothet thrust the swords hard into the King's torso, the impact taking her breath away.

Fuyher roared in pain and immediately tore at her, digging his claws into any part of her flesh that he could reach, desperate to be released from the blades. Bayothet gritted her teeth and dug in further, thinking of the faces of her dead family, brutally murdered at the hands of the so-called "King" that stood before her. She thought only of the peace, of the comfort that the world she had been a part of so long would continue to exist.

Then, like a whisper,

his

voice ran like a soft breeze of summer through her mind.

"Let go, Bayothet. Let go."

As her prince willed it, it was done.

Dragging the swords out from the bloody torso of Fuyher's chest, she watched through someone else's eyes as she was tossed from Fuyher's side and to the floor, the great Raspan King fleeing the cavern leaving heavy splotches of black blood in his wake.

Her vision grew black around the edges as she touched a stinging pain in her side, her fingertips coming back with blood. Rolling her head over on the uneven floor, she saw the Drul, Damien, rushing to her side, the young white male Gargoyle following close behind.

As soon as the Drul fell to his knees beside her, she gripped his shirt and tugged him close. "Heal the others," she wheezed, unaware of the blood spraying from her lips and onto her shirt and the Drul she held captive. "Keep the Ancient safe. I will still be here when you're finished."

The Drul and white Gargoyle exchanged glances but both nodded, swallowing hard in unison. Bayothet released the Drul and let her arm fall heavily to her side, her eyes closing.

Soon she was far gone in her own hallucination of being beachside in the notorious Key West, Florida; her hands behind her head and a smile on her face as her waiter brought yet another margarita, her favorite human beverage. The man at her side leaned over her waist with a bottle of oil in his pale hands, his dark eyes laughing as he smiled down at her.

"Táxim..." she breathed, reaching up to grasp her secret lover's hair, her fingers gripping air instead.

Seconds later, she was gone in a sea of black comfort, her pain nothing but a distant memory.

+ + + + + +

"Tempest."

I opened my eyes slowly and peered at the large mug in Thatcher's hands labeled "THE WORLD'S GREATEST SECRETARY" before looking up at him.

"Another one?" I groaned, reaching out from my cocoon of blankets to take the mug, appreciating the warm vapors that washed over my chilled face.

"It's keeping you warm," he reminded me as he lowered his body onto the couch beside me, drawing up his own blankets.

I rolled my eyes and said nothing, just took a sip, before staring down at the murky brew in surprise. "Did you add sweetener? Like...honey or something?"

"Or something," Thatcher told me, his eyes not leaving the TV as he turned up the volume. I burrowed down further into the couch and followed his gaze, my heart leaping in my throat at the pictures flashing up on the screen.

NASA images of the entire North American continent revealed that everywhere from the far reaches of Canada to the southern recesses of Mexico was covered in snow. I put down my mug before I dropped it and turned up the volume further, listening to the various weather reports particularly from the southern Mexico region on the border of Guatemala. There, in the high altitudes of the north and western areas of the country, snow and ice were falling. In the southwest, torrential downpours were flooding villages and valleys.

"Are the Raspan's there?" I whispered, dragging my eyes from the sight of the flooded villages to Thatcher's face.

Thatcher swallowed hard and nodded once. "They're everywhere, Tempest," he said quietly in a terse voice. "I highly doubt that there isn't a continent they haven't touched or an island they haven't laid claim to. It's just a matter of time before they wreak havoc."

He eyed my still-full mug of tea. "Finish that," he told me, tightening his hold on his blankets. "It's helping that cold of yours."

On cue I took a drink to appease him, watching the corners of his lips curve up slightly before the next slideshow of images on the TV took the humor from his face.

This had been going on for almost a month now. Ever since our "talk", Thatcher and his dry sense of humor had all but vanished and had been replaced with this robot who never smiled and who rarely spoke. He had even stopped referring to me as "Kitten."

I finished the mug of spiked tea and adjusted the pillows around me before lowering my head down on the couch arm. I watched him briefly before looking at the TV again.

My eyes glazed over a few minutes later once the news went to a commercial break and as they have been for the past month; my thoughts went back to over three weeks ago when this wall between Thatcher and me began.

+++

I rushed out of my mother's car and into the house, bypassing my dad who had just recently returned from work and the silent, still frame of Thatcher who didn't move an inch from his spot at the kitchen island.

I raced up the stairs and into my bedroom, throwing my jacket and scarf on my bed before taking out the white prescription packet from the waistband of my jeans, where I had hidden it before leaving the car. I balked when I heard footsteps on the stairs and raced to my bathroom, shutting the door swiftly behind me.

As I tore open the paper and plucked the folding packets of colored pills from inside, I felt heat rush to my face. My mom had decided for the first time in our mother-daughter relationship to embarrass me beyond the norm.

We had the sex talk.

Me, being blissfully unaware of why she was driving around in dangerous, icy conditions, had only thought to cling onto the edge of my seat as she navigated us through town, explaining to me that girls and boys at my age got "urges" and had "needs" they felt like they had to express. It wasn't until she asked what "base" I was on with Thatcher that I understood her implications. And by then, it was too late for me to throw a temper tantrum, as we were already in the hospital parking lot.

Sighing heavily, I stuffed the prescription packet into the trash and opened one of my cabinets to stow away the pills, tossing them in quickly before something caught my attention out of the corner of my eye. I opened the cabinet doors wider and felt my heart skip a beat as I tried to process what I saw.

The moment it clicked, my mouth fell open in horror. I was staring face-to-box with a varied assortment of Trojan condoms, the colorful box hidden tactfully behind an unopened package of toilet paper rolls. Shutting the cabinet doors quickly, I swallowed hard and tried to ignore how mom's "sex talk" had been planned in advance. The idea of it made me sick. I exited the bathroom to find Thatcher sitting on the edge of my bed.

Our eyes met and he quirked an eyebrow.

I fidgeted slightly, instantly aware of why my mom had gone to such extremes. "Well, I'm going to check on lunch," I told him, desperate for an escape.

"Your dad just spent the past hour talking about how special his little girl was and how lucky I am that you would give me a second glance," Thatcher said slowly, his tone a little bit awed. "If I hurt you..." Thatcher pantomimed snapping scissors, cringing afterwards.

Whoa.

I turned back fully to Thatcher and watched as his eyes went to the bathroom. "What did you hide?" he asked when his gaze turned back to me.

"Nothing," I blurted quickly, twitching when he sat up a little.

Like a blur, he was off the bed and we collided in the bathroom doorway before I had tangled him up enough to where he couldn't get through. I managed to shove him out and pull the bathroom door shut behind me, my hand keeping a hold on the doorknob.

"It's nothing," I told him firmly, watching as his eyes flickered from black to gold before settling on a warm brown. He pushed away from the door and retreated a few steps, a strange look on his face. I started to ask him what was wrong, but when he raked long black claws through his hair instead of his human hands, I got my answer.

"You okay?" I asked curiously, gesturing to his hands. "You've been doing that a lot lately." Just this morning at breakfast while we had been reading different pages of the Sunday Funnies together, Thatcher's tail had wrapped around my shin to tickle my ankle bone. After Thatcher and my dad had met each other for the first time over breakfast, dad had made a joke in his usual obnoxious manner about Thatcher's tinker toy car – and Thatcher's eyes had turned red in anger. It was almost like he couldn't control his transformation. Which was weird, because Thatcher was the epitome of control.

I watched as Thatcher eyed his claws now, irritation crossing his features as they instantly returned back to the human digits.

"I'm fine," Thatcher grunted, sitting down in my computer chair. "A lot on my mind."

I leaned against the bathroom door, still not giving him a chance to use his speed again to find the pills – or the box of condoms. I swallowed hard when his brow quirked up at our prolonged silence and hastily thought of something else to say.

"So my dad gave you the 'she's my little girl' speech, huh?" I asked, smiling a little.

Thatcher snorted and nodded his head once, his eyes their usual black now. "I kept waiting for him to pull out a gun and polish the barrel before he started comparing his hormonal teenage years to mine," he joked dryly. "Instead he just made a veiled threat to my manhood. Your old man is to the point about a lot of things," Thatcher noted with a dry chuckle.

I made a face and nodded. "He feels that because he's always away from home that when he returns from a job he needs to make up for the lost time. He still thinks I'm eight and need my scratches and bruises to be kissed so they feel better."

Thatcher smirked, his eyes going distant for a second. "He just wants to protect you. That's what fathers do." His eyes cleared and he leaned his elbows on his knees, his eyes not leaving me. "You seem to have a lot of men willing to protect you," he teased.

"According to you, you're the only one is protecting me," I returned with a snort, giving him a dirty look. "Apparently Talon had other ideas."

Thatcher stood then, closing the distance between us with just three short strides. One hand leaned against the bathroom door, the other rested just above the flare of my hip. I blinked in surprise before looking up into his face. "Tze'sic is protecting you," he admitted slowly, as though the words pained him to say. "I just didn't want to give him that satisfaction."

I watched his eyes light up brown as his head lowered closer to mine. I felt the hand on my waist slide slowly up, his fingers spreading a little as he did so. My breath caught as he passed up my ribs and stopped short of my elbow, his thumb close to beginnings of my bra. A smile flickered over his lips briefly when he felt my heart began to pick up its speed.

"I'm...confused," I admitted slowly, swallowing dry spit. "Why didn't you want to?"

Thatcher's hands moved again, both of them coming to rest on my wrists, the backs of his fingers brushing over my chest. I started to back away from the touch but he caught me and pulled me away from the door and closer to him. "Because then I would have to admit he was your mate. I am loathing admitting that even now."

Instantly it hit me. I looked away from his chest and into his face, watching him as he watched me.

Was Thatcher suggesting what I think he was?

"As a mate, you'll be second-in-command," Thatcher murmured. "You will be in charge of the children and the women, of protecting the nests and gathering resources for your people to exist upon. During war those who aren't fighting will turn to you for direction."

"Do you want to take my place instead?" I asked him, blushing when I realized what that question implicated. Thatcher laughed and shook his head as he cradled my hands in his.

"As much as I respect Tze'sic, I do not want to be his mate," he chuckled before resting his forehead against mine. "My point is Tempest; in the future you'll be the mother of the clan...and the mother of his children. As a guy who likes you just as you are, it's a hard pill to swallow. I don't want to think about..." his eyes drifted down to my stomach, his jaw tightening.

I swallowed bile and tried to pull away, but Thatcher held fast. "Well, if it's any consolation, Thatch, I don't want to think about it either," I admitted quickly. "I guess in the olden days there wasn't such thing as contraception, huh?" I joked half-heartedly.

"No," Thatcher admitted, his eyes meeting mine.

Then they widened and he looked over my head into the bathroom. "Is that what you're hiding?" he asked, his voice dropping the gloomy tone from earlier and replacing it with barely suppressed laughter.

I felt my face turn red from my feet to the roots of my hair. I guess I had been naïve in thinking that Thatcher would never figure it out, but I had been hoping for a few hours to ease the sting of my humiliation. So much for hoping, huh?

I dropped his gaze sheepishly. "Maybe," I mumbled.

Thatcher used our hands to lift up my chin. I was surprised to see that he was cringing instead of laughing.

"I guess maybe we should have the talk."

I stared up at him in mortification. "Twice in one day?" I breathed in horror, shaking my head. "I don't know if I can take another series of euphemisms to explain 'that which comes naturally'."

Thatcher sighed. "Don't worry. I never thought I'd have to educate anyone about this either." His eyes went over my head once more before he looked at me. "Simply put, there isn't such thing as contraception. Either you have a baby or you won't. Because you're mated, Tze'sic will never think twice about it. Part of being a mate is willingly bearing children."

"This is the twenty-first century!" I exclaimed, my mortification quickly turning into simmering anger. "I will not-"

"When the Raspans attack this city, do you honestly think your pregnancy will be the talk of the town?" Thatcher interrupted me dryly.

I balked and shook my head, confused all over again. "But why-"

"Human conceptions on childbirth and parenting are the complete opposites of ours, Tempest," Thatcher said, adopting a bit kinder tone. "Bearing children is an important honor, especially during war."

I shook my head and dropped his gaze, my head beginning to hurt again. "That's not how I was raised," I said finally, glaring at his boots. "I will have kids when I'm ready, not because Talon said so."

"So you will disappoint your mate then? You will jeopardize your place at Tze'sic's side because of your human hang-ups?"

I met his gaze swiftly as something snapped within me. With a growl, I shoved him away hard, taking pleasure in watching him stumble away from me, barely catching his balance. He eyed me in surprise before straightening up.

"I

am

human. I will

not

change who I am because a big overgrown lizard with wings expects me to! So get it through your thick skull that I will not do what everyone keeps telling me to! I'm sick of hearing that I'm Talon's mate! I'm sick of hearing you rag on and on about how I'm going to be an obedient little puppy doing whatever is commanded of me! I am going to do things

my

way, alright? I don't want to have a kid at eighteen and I'll be damned if I'll let my entire life be dictated by rules and society's expectations because that's just irritating!" I exclaimed. I took a deep breath to calm my breathing, my adrenaline beginning to wear off.