"Julian!"

Scrambling to my feet, I stare in horror at the space between the stones.

He's gone.

Fear tingles in my chest, and I scream his name again. My cry rings out, but a mocking echo is the only answer I receive.

I'm alone.

The air between the stones still shimmers, though; the Passage open enough that I can see the way.

I hesitate. For Wolf to enter Faerie uninvited is to ask for death.

The shimmer fades and then, rash with fear, I decide: I'd rather face Fae justice than Dane's wrath.

Taking a breath and holding it, I walk forward and pass between the makeshift arch.

Cold, heavy air washes over me like freezing water and I gasp and then fight a sense of panic as it fills my lungs, feeling almost too dense to breathe. Then, with the abruptness of an ended dream, I'm on the other side.

In Faerie, it is night, and Julian is nowhere to be seen.

"Julian?" I whisper.

The stones look almost the same, except more carefully arranged, but otherwise I only just recognize the shape of the land.

Instead of an open field, I stand in a forest of ancient trees, their trunks so thick that three or four men with arms outstretched would barely encircle them. The ground is covered in tangled, moss-clothed roots, and overhead a roof of boughs hides the stars beyond.

"Julian?" I call again, daring a louder voice, but there's no sign of him. He was only seconds ahead of me, and I can't see where he could have gone.

A slight breeze stirs the trees, and I catch an otherworldly fragrance on the air—flowers and aromatic leaves, living earth, and something warm and sweet, like honey and butter and fresh-baked bread.

There's a hint of sound, too: a whisper of song and light voice laughing on the wind. It makes me shiver, but I have little choice but to steel myself and make my way towards the source.

I Shift my ears and creep forward through the trees, noiseless and keeping to the deepest shadows I can find. Soon I see a flicker of light ahead—the orange and yellow glow of fire, and the scent and sounds grow stronger as I near.

I can almost make out words and distinguish between several voices—one of which might be Julian's—when the tip of a sliver spear slides like a lancing moonbeam from the dark and comes to rest against the base of my throat.

A Fae woman holds the other end, tall with white-gold eyes and hair, and features made sharp by shadow. When she speaks her voice is cold as the metal touching my skin.

"Give me a reason not to kill you, Wolf."

"I'm looking for the half-Fae, Julian," I say, holding still. "He came through the Passage at the stones. I just want to find him and bring him home."

"Find him?" she asks and lowers her spear, but only to place the point above my heart.

"Please, I—I'm the brother of his mate. I'm Astrid Hunter's son."

Her expression flickers at these last words, but she remains still a moment longer, eyes glinting. Then she relaxes and lowers her weapon to her side, regarding me with a keen, piercing, and humorless gaze.

"There was a time—not so long ago, in our reckoning—when I would have slain you where you stand, Wolf," she says. "Your mother is the reason you still breathe. You may thank her for that."

"I—I shall," I reply, and swallow.

She nods. "This way. The Faeling converses with Eirnín."

Turning, she leads the way towards the flickering light through the trees, and after a slight hesitation, I follow.

The Fae-Wolf Conflict was over long before I was born, and like all Wolves, I heard the stories growing up. Unlike most, though, I'd heard both sides, and I knew about the horrors of the Hunt—the terrible end faced by any Fae taken captive by Wolves.

I also knew that a Wolf who fell into Fae hands could expect little better, and if anything, worse: a slow, painful, and humiliating death.

Prevented from Shifting back to human form, the Wolf would be skinned alive, and only once his pelt had been entirely removed would he be allowed to die. The Fae warriors then wore the furs as trophies of war.

My mother's father had faced that gruesome fate. She had offered herself as a trade, to save him, and the Fae queen had agreed. Rather than kill her, though, she'd kept my mother as a sort of hostage-guest, and through her learned about Wolves and our ways.

This had been the first step towards peace, and in part through my mother's continuing work, both races remained on that path.

Even so, I knew that a Wolf and a Fae falling in love would not be a welcome idea to some; it had surprised even me, when I first learned what Julian was.

Reaching the edge of a clearing, my guide stops. Beyond a last line of trees, I see a fire with long low benches made from the trunks of fallen trees arranged around it. About a dozen figures sit or stand, all dressed in the flowing style of silk-like clothing favored by the Fae.

"You'd best hide those," the Fae warrior says, indicating my ears, and I cover them with my hands, realizing they're still furry and wolf-shaped. "I didn't know Wolves could do that," she adds.

"Most can't," I say, Shifting them back to human-form. "I'm...an exception."

"You come from a family of...exceptions...it seems." From her raised brows and tone, I gather she understands that by 'exception,' I meant 'freak.'

"My brother can't help who he loves," I reply, keeping my voice even and low. I'm not the one holding the spear, after all.

"True," she allows. "I think if it were not for the history between our kinds, no one would find fault with it. We freely mix with other races, as the Faeling himself proves. Come, I will announce you."

She sets her hand on my arm and leads me forward into the light, and I keep my back straight and my head up, trying my best not to feel like a sneak caught creeping about in the dark; which, from the Fae perspective, is what I am.

"What's this, Daerin? Another one?" a male Fae asks as we approach. "How many strangers will wander into our realm tonight?"

"He seeks the Faeling, and claims to be the brother of his mate."

"Mate? A Wolf, you mean?" The man's eyes widen and he looks me up and down.

The woman nods. Turning to me, she asks, "What is your name?"

"Noah," I answer, glad that for once my voice sounds steady and relatively calm.

"Aeslir, take Noah, son of Astrid, to Eirnín. I must return to my post."

The man frowns, but nods. Daerin releases me and melts back into the darkness beneath the trees—a shadow among the shadows there.

"This way," Aeslir says, beckoning, and leads me around to the fire's other side. There, seated on a bed of fragrant boughs, sits Julian, laughing and smiling, and drinking something from a cup carved from wood. At his side sits a Fae woman with long, silky brown hair and violet-hued eyes, whom I take to be Eirnín. From what Julian told us of his first visit to this realm, she's his great-grandmother, though she looks hardly older than he does.

Looking up as we approach, Julian's eyes go wide with surprise.

"Noah? How did you get here?"

"I followed you, obviously," I snap, annoyed that he looks so happy and relaxed, like he hasn't given me several heart attacks.

"Really? I figured the Passage would have closed by now."

"What do you mean 'by now?' I was only a second behind you."

He looks at Eirnín, clearly confused. "But...I've been here a couple hours, at least," he says.

She sighs. "Time is strange, between our realms. During the first half of the year, while the days lengthen, it moves more slowly here. An hour spent in Faerie may be months in your world. During the second half of the year, however, as the days grow short, it is the other way. An hour spent here is mere seconds on the other side."

"Oh, well that's good," Julian says, settling back and smiling up at me. "Dane won't even realize we've been gone!"

I'd like to strangle him right now, but I figure that a Wolf attacking a Fae in front of a bunch of other Fae would not reflect well on my mother's legacy.

"Julian..."

Eirnín holds up hand. "Peace, son of Astrid. He is not himself. The tea is helping, though." She nods towards the cup he holds. "Julian, drink."

He obeys, then shakes his head and blinks.

"Noah?" he says again, looking up at me as if seeing me for the first time. "How did you get here?"

Ignoring him, I turn to Eirnín. "What's wrong with him?"

She shrugs. "Nothing. At least, not as far as we're concerned."

"What does that mean?"

"Julian is...unique, even among us. A child of a human and a Fae, and now mated and bitten by a Wolf... It seems the Wolf-bite has awakened something in him—something of our most ancient and mysterious magics. His father's mother—my daughter, Rhiannon—was a leanan sidhe, you know."

"A Faerie-lover, yes," I answered. "I gathered that from the book she left with her son."

Eirnín nods. "Leanan sidhe are unfortunate creatures, really. They are bound to grant their lover his or her heart's desire, by whatever means they may—and often to the ruin of both. Fortunately, in Julian's case, I think we have caught things early enough that we can find a remedy."

"I don't get it," I say. "Why would Dane want Julian like this? He can't even touch him."

Turning to Julian, Eirnín asks, "What does you mate desire, dear? What does his heart crave?"

Julian frowns and takes another sip from his cup. "To build his Pack, I guess. Noah's the first. Other's will come, in time."

"Is that the usual way of it? When a Wolf builds a Pack?" she asks gently.

Julian lifts a shoulder. "No. I mean, I dunno. If I were a girl, I guess..." He trails off and then looks up abruptly, his eyes wide with shock and with sudden recognition. "I guess he'd want kids," he whispers, lips pale.

"Whether he does or not, if that is what you, at your heart of hearts, thinks that he desires, then that is what you will strive to give him—even if it is impossible."

"But it is impossible, right?" I ask, grimacing with distaste at the idea.

The Fae woman tilts her head, eyeing Julian. "Unusual, but not impossible, no. What has taken root in Julian is...a potentiality. Of course he lacks the proper physiology, but..."

"But what?" Julian demands, looking on the verge of panic.

"Well...we have our ways. You would have spend time here, of course, in Faerie, and either you or your lover would suffer the pain of that separation. In the meantime the tea you drink now—and I will give you a hefty supply of it—will keep things in check."

"So wait..." Julian gasps. "I'm not... I'm not actually..."

"Pregnant? No, dear," Eirnín says, laughing. "You're not. However, this...state...will persist as long as you believe, at the heart of you, that a child is what your mate desires most. You must decide between yourselves, and make a choice. Let this 'potentiality' go, or..." She raises her brows. "...return to us, and bring it to fruition. It seems you understand how to open the Passage, at least. When, or if, you are ever ready, we will await you, here."

Julian seems to be struggling for breath and, hesitantly, I reach out lay my hand lightly on his shoulder. He reacts, but only by laying his own hand over mine, grasping it tight. Whatever the tea contains, it works.

Eirnín takes his face between her hands, gently turning it towards her own. "You have time, child," she says, "but eventually, it will run out. If you do not choose, the potentiality will destroy you from within. Let it go, or let it be—but decide. Speak with your mate—be sure of his heart. You may be wrong, but if you are not..." She shakes her head again. "Your nature will decide."

She stands, pulling Julian to his feet as she does.

"Come now, it is time you both returned home. Aeslir," she calls to the male Fae who had brought me to her, "Escort them to the Passage, please. And Julian," she adds, turning back to him with a pinched, motherly expression, "don't forget to drink your tea."

~ ☾ ~

On the other side, it's still mid-afternoon. The wind has kicked up, brushing over the open meadow with a rough hand, and making the withered grass shiver beneath its touch. Julian seems half dazed, and leans on me, the pouch of herbal tea clutched tightly in his hand.

I shrug him off and gather up our discarded things—the apparently useless ritual bowl, bell, and candles, and Julian's backpack, which lies abandoned where he'd dropped it in the grass.

Then, together, we trudge back towards where I'd left my car.

When I start the engine, I see that a mere hour has passed. Just long enough for us to have walked to the stones, performed the ritual, and walked back—at a leisurely pace, too.

Julian's eyes fix on the clock, and I see him swallow, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"You have to tell Dane," I say, reading the conflict in his expression. "He'll understand. He knows what you are."

"Yeah, I guess," he agrees. "How much of that 'tea' shit did they give me?"

"I'm not sure," I reply warily. "Enough to last a few weeks, at least."

He nods. "Good. Once this case is finished, then... maybe."

"Julian..."

He turns on me, eyes shining violet and sharp teeth bared, faster than a cat with a trod-on tail. "No! This is my business, Noah—my life. If you speak of a word of this to—to anyone—I will never forgive you. Do you understand?"

I blink at him, taken aback. "Sure, Julian... Sure," I agree.

He stares at me a moment and then buries his face in his hands. "Sorry," he sighs. "This whole thing is so fucked up. I'm so fucked up. I don't know what to think. Why can't I just be a normal dude, with a normal werewolf boyfriend?"

"I don't know," I tell him. "But I'm sure it'll be..."

Actually, I have no idea what it will be.

I rest my hand on his shoulder for a moment, and then I drive him home.