Sorceress Awakening by Lisa Blackwood Page A

speck of darkness within them, were serving these Riven. It
became clear later what the Riven’s true motives were: to consume all the magic
of this realm and rule over what remains. I fear some of the traitors may not
have had a choice. We caught one of the traitors, a dire wolf. He seemed
relieved when we put him to death. It was as if he was at last freed from
intolerable servitude.” Gran shook her head. “I don’t know what was done to
that poor creature, but granting him death was the kindest gift he’d received
in many years.”
    “What is a dire wolf?” Lillian’s head was
full of cotton.
    “Ah,” Gran cleared her throat. “You’ve
heard the legends of werewolves, no doubt.”
    “Yes. You’re saying a dire wolf is a
werewolf.”
    “No, and don’t ever call a dire wolf one.”
Gran started to chuckle. “That’ll make them cranky. Like many of the
fae-bloods, dire wolves are shapeshifters, but their natural shape is that of a
large wolf. Instead of a human changing into a wolf, it’s the other way around.
The fae-blood wolf learned to shapeshift into a man.”
    “Oh.” There was so much Lillian didn’t
know, and by the set of her grandmother’s shoulders there was more to come.
“Tell me the rest. My parents…” She stopped and chewed her lower lip. “They
didn’t die in a car accident, did they?
    Gran spun her wedding band around her
finger in slow, measured turns. “My son and daughter-in-law were on the
Council, members representing the Northern branch of the Coven. They were at
council when it was attacked.”
    Lillian glanced down. The glossy hardwood
floor reflected the morning light. Her gaze tracked the stream of sunlight back
to the window, and beyond to the beauty of the world outside. The sight of her favorite
tree usually brought a sense of peace, but today it couldn’t fill the hollow
ache in her heart. So much of her life was a lie, and much of what was real
felt like fantasy. She glanced at the gargoyle. At least he hadn’t vanished
into the shadows. “Why bring me here?”
    He remained silent.
    “Even fed, you’re still not much of a
talker.” Lillian crossed her arms over her chest and glowered.
    Gran patted her shoulder. “I think he wants
me to tell you the rest.”
    “There’s more?”
    “Lillian, by now you must realize you’re
not what you thought. You’re Clan, not Coven. You’re not human.”
    Lillian wanted to deny her grandmother’s
words, but after all that had happened, she knew there was something different
about her. She inclined her head to her grandmother and asked as calmly as she
could, “If not human, what am I?”
    “I, too, wondered that at first. Your
gargoyle was injured, as were you. I think he used a lot of his power to heal
you, and didn’t have enough left over for healing his own injuries. His time
was limited. He was already turning to stone, and he couldn’t tell me much
about you beyond the fact he didn’t want you familiar with magic. I didn’t even
know what race you were at first.”
    Lillian nodded her head. “Go on. I can
handle this.”
    “I found a clue clenched in your hand—a
small cutting from a tree, its leaves still fresh like it was newly picked. I
put it in water and within a day it had sprouted roots. That it rooted at all
would have been enough to signal that this was no ordinary cutting, but there
was also a trace of magic in its leaves. You are a dryad. A tree spirit.
Guardian of the forests. I didn’t know enough about dryads to know how to look
after one, but I knew a sick child when I saw one. There was an unhealthy look
about your skin I didn’t like. Your little tree sickened until just a few
needles remained. Fearing I’d lose you, I contacted the sisterhood of the
dryads and told them about you, your tree, and your gargoyle. They were here in
less than a day. You’re alive because of them. I don’t think I would have
thought about giving your tree gargoyle blood.”
    Lillian absorbed what her