16 Arch 1 Chapter 16

Arch 1

Chapter 16

"Experts are still baffled by the strange weather that occurred over a small town here in Maine two weeks ago, and even more baffled by the fact that it left just as quickly as it appeared…" the news anchor on the small TV on Max's kitchen bar was saying as Max almost accidentally added bourbon to his cereal instead of milk.

He had looked…better, certainly. His facial hair had grown unkempt, and he had deep circles under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had gone back to work for Barlowe for the money he'd need to go find his wife, and every second he wasn't doing that, he was doing research at the college and in the Study. He also probably could have not been drinking quite as much as he was. It wasn't a thing that overtook everything about him, but there was a marked uptick in the amount of alcohol he consumed. It was like his summer ended when she left, and all he could feel was the cold of winter.

She had been wild for a little less than 4,000 years when they'd met. What if she came down from it, in even a few decades, and he was already dead? What would she do? What would happen to her? He had a feeling it wouldn't be good for anyone alive at the time. No, he had to find her.

A knock came to the front door.

"Come-" he cleared his dry throat. "Come in."

Barlowe shuffled in with a huge binder in his hand, closing the door behind him.

"How're ya, lad?" he asked, clapping him affectionately on the shoulder.

"I probably look about as good as I feel." he said, making small circles on his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He brought his hand down and blinked a couple of times, looking at the binder. "Wuzzat?"

He flopped the binder on the bar with a resounding smack and a grand flourish.

"All that I could find in reference to monsters or demons or what have you with purple eyes."

Barlowe looked tired, too. He was working just as hard as Max to try and find her.

"Did…did you find anything that could help us?"

Barlowe flipped the binder open, and there was page after page of ancient drawings depicting who was very obviously Eira, all of them showing her destroying and razing villages to the ground, eating people and killing them in grotesquely creative ways, slaughtering cattle…

Max felt ill. Eira had been right. He had never seen that side of her before, and part of him wanted to believe it wasn't true, not his Eira, not his sweet, loving little mate who made him laugh, who snuggled so close and affectionately to him at night. Even the part of him that knew it was wanted to believe his love was enough to rid her of it all together. But…that was far from fair. This was her past, part of what made her, well, her. He had seen the havoc she could call down, but even that was nothing compared to what he was seeing depicted in front of him now.

"Oh, Barlowe…" he groaned, slumping down into one of the seats at the bar, laying his tired head on it. "Do you think that's what she is now? Everything in me is telling me to go and find her, but…if she's this bad off…if she hurts me or…" he trailed off. "There'll be no getting her back at all. Should I just…?"

"Unfortunately that's no choice I can make for ya, Max. I think if she was this bad, it would be all over the news. Though that would also depend on where, exactly, she's gone off to. I can tell you that all these instances are reported in cold climates, and they say she comes down from the mountains around the place. I don't know why."

"I do." Max said. It made perfect sense to the one person who was always physically closest to her. "She's always ridiculously warm, I assume, from the fever she had when she was born-it's like a part of it just stayed with her. She told me it felt like her mind was on fire, too, that whole time she was wild. She's trying whatever she can to cool herself down again." he sighed. "Not that that actually narrows it down any. What are we supposed to do? Scour every snowy mountain peak in existence? Cause I would, but it would be a lot better if I had even a…general mountain range. Damn. This is hopeless." Max said, lifting his head only to slide his fingers into his hair and clench his fists. "I'm losing it without her, Barlowe. It's like I can't compute that she's out there and not with me. I know why she isn't, but my body and instincts feel so confused that my one true love isn't…" he looked forlornly at the empty seat behind him.

Barlowe took a seat on the opposite side of where he was looking, and slung an arm over his shoulders.

"It's alright, lad. It'll be ok. We'll find her, we'll find her."

Max broke down into tears and Barlowe tightened his arm around him, and just let him.

Poor kid. Barlowe thought.

He had remembered all too well the pain of losing his Tess. It must have been an odd combination of tentative hope and crushing despair for Max to know his mate was still out there somewhere, and choosing to separate herself from him, no matter the reason. What kind of raw, bleeding agony must that have been? Plus, he had no idea of knowing when she'd come back. What if it was too late?

Max spent all of the tears he had, and caught his breath, wiping his eyes.

"Thanks, Barlowe." he said in a weak, shaky voice.

"Not at all, lad. Don' worry. I'll nay say a word." he said, smiling at him kindly.

Max took a steadying breath and stood, checking his phone and squaring his shoulders.

"We'd better get to work. I still need to figure out how what I'm going to do with this new information before I act, anyway."

"Ya didn't eat, kid."

"I'm really not even hungry." he sighed.

Together, they made their way to Barlowe's car. Barlowe had sort of insisted on playing chauffeur until a time when he was entirely sure of Max's complete sobriety.

They rounded the corner of Barlowe's garage, and caught a snippet of conversation being had outside the next house by the main source of trouble he'd had to keep Eira from: Cal Harland. He was 19 and big, not quite as tall as Max, but close, and obviously worked very hard on his Jersey Shore abs, which he showed off by wearing almost exclusively white or gray tank tops with black jeans and boots hung with chains. He had dark brown hair cut choppily across his forehead and bright blue eyes, and he was obviously the top dog of his little group of lackeys.

"Yeah, no wonder she ran away." one of Cal's friends agreed to whatever he'd just said with a laugh.

Max and Barlowe locked eyes.

"Maxwell…" Barlowe said with caution, but it was too late, as Max had already rounded the corner, and Barlowe charged after him.

"You got something to say to me, Harland, say it to my face." Max said with a growl, his eyes glowing dangerously. "Do I really have to make you eat dirt again?"

It was true, Max was generally a laid back, gentle dude. But Cal in particular had been nothing but a continuous thorn in his side, and he was in no humor for him right then.

"MAX!" Barlowe said, grabbing his arm.

"Psh. Chill old man. If he wants to vent because his woman ditched him, let him. Maybe if he had let a real man take care of her, she'd still be around. Betcha I coulda. I'm not scared of drunk-ass alpha wannabe bitch."

Max looked at Barlowe and raised an eyebrow, and Barlowe just let him go, sending a quick text to one of the students in his first class that he was going to be late.

"So cocky for someone who's about to get their teeth kicked in AGAIN!" Max lunged with a roar and tackled Cal to the ground, where they grappled and tore at each other.

Cal's little cronies circled like they were about to help Cal, but Barlowe stepped between them.

"SIT!" he barked, and they actually did. It was natural for wolves to obey an elder, and especially one of higher rank.

Barlowe knew, though, that he could not help Max, just as much as he was preventing the others from helping Cal. This was a battle for Max and Cal, and them alone.

Cal managed to roll Max onto his back and reared back with his fist, heading right for his face. Max jerked his head to the side at the last minute, meaning Cal's fist made contact with the ground instead.

"GAH!" Cal howled in pain, and Max used the distraction to shove him off of him, and send him sprawling onto his own back, the air being evicted from his lungs. Max stood over him, growling, eyes glowing, and gave him a good sock in the nose that left Cal bleeding.

"Next time, I swear, Cal. No warnings, no screwing around. Do you understand me? You cannot possibly be this dumb." Max waited a few seconds. "ANSWER ME!"

"I…understand."

Max growled and shoved his head into the ground a little for good measure before he got up.

"Come on, Barlowe. Let's get out of here."

As soon as Max slipped into the passenger's seat, he dropped his head into his hands.

"I hate having to do that. And it makes me even angrier because he makes me. I didn't have a choice."

"I know, lad." Barlowe replied, patting him on the shoulder. "There's a pack of Wet Wipes in the glovebox. Wipe the little whelp's blood off of you. Unfortunately, I don't know that this is the last…kerfuffle you'll have with him."

Max opened the glovebox and found the little pack of Wet Wipes, and got rid of the blood on his knuckles.

"What's his problem, anyway?" Max grumbled as Barlowe began to drive.

"Ya don' know? He's one of the descendants of the alpha line that existed before your family took over. Apparently that really stuck in his craw."

"Oh. Duh. How could I have missed that?"

"In case ya haven't noticed, lad, yer not quite yourself. I dunno. If his great-to-whatever-extent granddaddy hadn't been such a nilly leader, then your great-to-whatever-extent granddaddy wouldn't'a had ta usurp him."

"He thinks he's got something to prove." Max groaned. "He's gonna be trouble."