2005
Forward Operating Base
Iraq

Tristan Wolfe dunked his head into a nearby water barrel, a futile attempt to escape the desert heat. The sun shone down brightly upon his pack of Wolfhounds as they prepped their gear, waiting for the final word from command on where they were going and what their target was. Tristan pulled his head up and shook it, steam already rising from where the water had touched skin.

Tristan Wolfe: Bloody ‘ell, I’d take a tour in Siberia at this point just to get away from this damn heat.

Brayden Quinn, Tristan’s best friend and reason for joining up with the Exiles Task Force, looked up from his spot under the tent, pausing on his letter to his family to chuckle at Tristan’s expense.

Brayden Quinn: Has the “Mighty Tristan Wolfe” finally been brought to his knees by a little sun?

Tristan laughed off the insult as he grabbed a towel and wiped his face clean, placing his helmet back on and joining Brayden Quinn in the shade.

Tristan Wolfe: Whacha got there? More love letters to the wife?

Tristan made a reach for the letter but Brayden was quick to cover it up.

Teague O’Connell: Leave ‘em alone Tristan, you know how sensitive he gets about those letters.

Teague, nicknamed TOMA for “The One Man Army”, stepped out from their barracks, carrying a load of ammunitions over to the table and setting them down next to the two. Opening up the case, Teague begins to sift through to make sure that they have everything they need. Brayden, tentatively, went back to writing his letter as Tristan took out a cigarette and lit it up.

Colin McMillian: You know those things will kill ye, right…?

Colin, the unit’s medic, walked over to the trio with a pair of bottled waters in his hand, plopping them down on the table and sitting down next to Brayden.

Tristan Wolfe: Considering how many other things that are out here trying to do just that, I think my odds are pretty good I’ll survive this one.

Colin McMillian: Whacha writing?

Colin turns his attention to Brayden as he, too, makes a grab for the letter but, again, he is too fast for his comrades as he pulls the piece of paper off the table and stuffs it into his pants pocket, drawing chuckles from the group.

Brayden Quinn: Bad enough I have to share bunks with the likes of you badzers, can’t even get a feckin’ moment of peace.

The group laughs together again, drawing a little smirk from Brayden as he grabs one of the bottles of water and takes a drink. Tristan raises a hand to his forehead in an attempt to shield his eyes against the glaring sun, his gaze going across the sand-blown fields at the main command tent.

Teague O’Connell: You think we’ll find him this time?

Tristan Wolfe: (taking a drag from his cigarette) He’s an elusive badzers, for sure. But we’ll get him, sooner or later.

Colin McMililian: Looks like it’s going to be sooner…

Colin nodded to the command tent as their demolitions expert and 1st in command, Fintan Brannigan, emerged with his younger brother, Jamie, on his heels. Fintan shared a few words with his brother, gave his younger sibling’s hair a tussle, and then made his way towards his unit as Jamie headed off in a different direction. Colin tossed Fintan a water bottle as he grew closer to the tent, who nodded his appreciation.

Tristan Wolfe: What news from up high?

Fintan Brannigan: Got Intel that Alisander Cullen is holed up in the nearby village of Al-Qa’im so… night raid, get yer shit together… we roll out at 2300.

Fintan took a drink of his water as the group sat in silence for a moment. Tristan didn’t bother finishing his cigarette as he tossed it to the ground and stomped it out.

Tristan Wolfe: This is feckin’ bullshite…!

Fintan Brannigan: Tristan, don’t…!

Tristan Wolfe: Ye know I’m right. A night raid… on a village… we can’t control that kind of damage! I didn’t sign up so that I could go around killing a bunch of innocents-

Teague O’Connell: None of us did, Tristan. But this arsehole knows what he’s doing, hiding behind people like they’re nothing more than a shield. Eventually, we got to make a move…

Brayden Quinn: Don’t worry, we’ll be ready. Just get him in my sights, boys… I’ll take care of the rest.

Later than evening…

The armored transport rolled across the wasteland, the Wolfhounds making their final preparations before their stealth assault on the village of Al-Qa’im. Having already checked and re-checked the calibrations on his sniper rifle, Brayden was back at work on his letter home as Tristan sat next to him, lost in thought. He looked around at the group of individuals that made up the Wolfhounds, a unit he had been with since completing his training. They were a band of brothers if ever there was one in the Exiled Task Force, and Tristan couldn’t help feeling that their family was about to get a little smaller tonight. Tristan’s eyes eventually fell on Brayden as he saw his best friend writing on his letter with purpose, wondering if he felt like these would be the final words he sent home.

Tristan Wolfe: Ye know, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this… but you’re my friend, I care about you… and you deserve the truth…

Brayden paused long enough to look up at Tristan, praying there was a punchline.

Tristan Wolfe: … yer kind of a shite shot, lad… clearly, you should’ve taken up writing as your past time.

Brayden simply shook his head and gave his friend a quick elbow jab to the side as Tristan laughed off the joke. As the transport slowed to a crawl, the group did their final checks, knowing their night was just about to begin.

Brayden took up a high vantage point overlooking the village, getting a sniper-eyes view as he scanned for any hostiles. Having declared the area “safe”, the other four Wolfhounds moved in on their target. As they moved from building to building, relying on stealth and shadows as much as possible, their eyes scanned every possible area for an ambush. A few locals were out and mingling amongst themselves but quickly scattered back to their residence or safe haven as the group proceeded through the village.

Fintan Brannigan: (through coms) How we lookin’ Brayden?

Brayden Quinn: (through coms) Green as grass, sir.

With no hostile presence detected, the group came across a central clearing in the village, an elaborate marketplace with a beautiful fountain in the middle, water spurting from a series of columns built up like towers. The group took up defensive positions as Fintan pointed to the house that was believed to be harboring the known fugitive. Tristan and Colin held the position on the fountain as Fintan flanked to the left and Teague went to the opposite side.

Tristan Wolfe: It’s quiet…

Colin McMillain: A little too quiet…

Before Tristan could criticize Colin for that cliché of a joke, an audible splash was heard in the fountain behind them. Tristan glanced over the edge to see a live grenade floating to the bottom of the shallow pool.

Tristan Wolfe: Grenade!

Tristan grabbed Colin and pulled him of harm’s way as the explosion sent water and porcelain flying in every direction. Tristan and Colin landed hard on their stomachs, knocking the air out of themselves as sounds of gunfire rang around them. Exposed in their current position, Tristan grabbed Colin and threw him over one of the marketplace counters, diving behind it as well. Hours ago, this had been a market place full of people buying luxurious clothes and exotic foods, now… it was a warzone.

Tristan Wolfe: (shouting over the gunfire) You okay!?

Colin gave him the thumbs up as he withdrew his pistol from its holster. Tristan pulled his M13 assault rifle from his back and mounted it on the counter, looking for enemy contact. The house that had been their primary target now had its door wide open, multiple targets filing out in a panic. Teague made quick work of those, mowing them down with his heavy machine gun as Fintan called out orders over the coms. Tristan was unsure if the people fleeing the house were hostiles but he had little time to ponder this as more gunshots rang out from the first and second floor windows of the building. Tristan turned his attention to the second floor windows, firing shots back.

Fintan Brannigan: (over coms) We need to breach!

Jamie Brannigan: (over coms) I can cover the door!

Brayden Quinn: (over coms) You got multiple hostiles, flanking

Tristan turned to his side as multiple enemies came into his line of sight. Pulling the assault rifle from the counter, he fired frantically as he fell onto his back so as to limit his exposure.

Tristan Wolfe: (over coms) I’m pinned down!

Tristan began inching his way backwards to safety, stopping only when he bumped into Colin, who was lying on the ground in pain.

Colin McMillan: (over coms) I’m hit!

Tristan turned to see more enemies flanking from Colin’s side of the market. A loud explosion shook the marketplace as Teague fired grenades in, sending body parts splattering every which direction. Tristan turned onto his stomach, looking over Colin to see where he was hit. As he was doing this, more enemies poured into the clearing, one of them spotting the two behind their cover. As the hostile advanced on their position, he was quickly struck down from a shot by Brayden.

Tristan Wolfe: (shouting) Where you hit!?

Colin McMillan: (shouting) Vest!

Tristan Wolfe: (shouting) You good!?

Colin responded with the thumbs up again as Tristan helped the medic up to a crouched position. Peeking over the counter once more, the two returned fire, covering the backs of their comrades as Fintan and Teague had already moved up to the base of the house and were waiting to push through. Grabbing a smoke grenade, Fintan threw it down so Tristan and Colin could move from their positions and rejoin the team. As they hit the house, Tristan moved in first as his group followed close behind.

Brayden Quinn: (on coms) You got movement on the second floor…

As the group cleared the remained hostiles on the first floor, they turned their attention to a stairwell that rotated up to the next level.

Fintan Brannigan: (whispering) Remember… we need him alive…

Tristan pushed upwards as Fintan and Colin followed, Teague covered their backs. As they began clearing the second floor, they came across the final bedroom, its door closed. Breaching through, the trio of soldiers come across a young child standing before them, tears streaming down his cheeks. The forceful entry was enough to make him jump back as he grew closer to the window. Lying at the base of the window was one of the soldiers who had been shooting at the group, an assault rifle still clutched in his hands.

Brayden Quinn: (on coms) I have the shot…

Fintan Brannigan: (on coms) Hold fire…

Having surveyed that there was no other immediate threat in the area; Fintan lowered his weapon and slowly moved over to the dead body, raising his hands to indicate he was no threat to the boy.

Fintan Brannigan: We’re not gonna hurt ye…

Kneeling down, Fintan pried the rifle from the lifeless fingers of the soldier and tossed the rifle into the hallway. Standing back up, Fintan slowly approached the boy, his hands remained up.

Fintan Brannigan: We just have to make sure ye’re not gonna hurt us too…

Tristan Wolfe: (disapproving) Sir…

Fintan Brannigan: Hold yer fire…

As Fintan drew closer, he noticed that the boy wore a heavy-set jacket, one that appeared to be too big for such a small child. Tristan kept his gaze, and his gun, on the boy as Colin shifted uncomfortably behind him.

Colin McMillian: I don’t like this…

Teague O’Connell: (shouting from the first floor) I need a sit-rep…!

Now standing directly before the boy, Fintan gently placed his hands on his shoulders. The boy remained shaking uncontrollably but seemed to relax a bit at Fintan’s touch. Smiling softly, Fintan slowly lifted the jacket off the boy and let it fall off his shoulders. Tristan’s eyes went wide as he saw the IED strapped to the young boy’s chest. His finger pressed up against the trigger as Fintan stood still, unflinching.

Tristan Wolfe: Sir…!?

Fintan Brannigan: Hold yer fire…!

Teague O’Connell: (shouting) What the bloody hell is goin’ on up there!?

Colin McMillian: (shouting) IED, stay back!

Brayden Quinn: (on coms) Sir, I have the shot…!

Fintan Brannigan: Everybody stand down! That’s an order!

All this yelling between the squad had unnerved the boy as he withdrew from Fintan’s touch, unsure of what was happening. Fintan put his hands back up again, trying to calm the boy once more.

Fintan Brannigan: It’s okay, none of us are gonna hurt ye. But that… (points to the IED on the young child’s chest)… is a nasty piece of business, ah? Let me help ye.

Teague O’Connell: (shouting) Whatever ye badzers are doin, hurry up about it!

Fintan Brannigan: We’re not here for ye, ah?

Fintan took another step closer towards the boy as the boy, once again, seemed to respond to his compassion.

Brayden Quinn: (on coms) Sir... you’re in my line of sight… I got no shot…

Fintan Brannigan: Let’s get ye out of here…

The boy smiled up at the soldier before his head suddenly lurched backwards, blood splattering across Fintan’s face. Fintan staggered backwards as Tristan lowered his weapon, smoke still billowing from the barrel. Colin looked on in horror as Tristan turned away from the scene and began descending down the stairs, a blank expression on his face. As Tristan brushed past Teague, he was aware that words were being said but they fell on deaf ears. Tristan pushed his way out of the house and into the open clearing, where he fell against the side of the house and retched. Upstairs, Fintan sat next to the corpse of the young child, seeing for the first time that the boy’s hand was clasped firmly around a kill switch, his finger inches from the trigger.

 

2005
Mobile Escort
Iraq

2 Months and 4 Days Later….

Over two months had passed since the events at the village of Al-Qa’im. Their Intel had been sound, Alisander Cullen had been there, but it appeared they missed him by just a few days. However, not all left unscathed. The young boy that Tristan had shot and killed on that fateful day was none other than Alisander’s son, Tadhg. The Wolfhounds found themselves sidelined following an investigation into the massacre at Al-Qa’im, which meant Tristan had no way of distracting himself from the events of that night. They haunted him, tormented him, and ripped his soul to shreds. He had seen dead children before, that was bad enough – but to have one die by his hand. Tristan knew he had done the “right” thing, he had saved his unit after all… but it still didn’t stop the nightmares. Once the Wolfhounds were put back into circulation, they were stuck with relatively uneventful patrol missions… until today, that is.

Tristan Wolfe: So where are we goin’?

Fintan Brannigan: Command says we’re to escort a “package” to Basra for extraction.

Teague O’Connell: Careful Fintan, that almost sounds like an actual assignment.

The group of soldiers share in a laugh as Brayden sits in the front-side passengers seat, writing once again one of his many letters home. As Fintan drove the Humvee over the rough terrain, Tristan – who was positioned directly behind the driver – turned to look over his shoulder at his friend.

Tristan Wolfe: Jayzus Christ, brother… you got your nose buried in those letters every time I look at you. I hate to break it to you Brayden, but you’re not all that interesting… what could you possibly be writing to your wife all this time?

Brayden Quinn: Just asking my wife to try and find you an honest and decent women Tristan… turns out, they all want nothing to do with the likes of you.

Tristan slaps his friend on the arm as the group laugh once again.

Tristan Wolfe: Yeah, well… what can I say, I’m an acquired taste, just ask Colin’s sister.

Colin McMillian: Whoa, hey… not cool, Tristan.

Teague O’Connell: Pretty sure you got that all wrong Tristan; I don’t think she’s exactly your “type”.

Tristan Wolfe: It’s not fun unless it’s a challenge, mate…

Colin McMillian: Guys, come on… I’m right here.

Fintan Brannigan: Heads up, boys.

Fintan pulled over to the side of the road as a few other military vehicles were waiting for them at the designated check point. The soldiers filed out as Fintan headed over to talk to those in charge, while the others gathered around their Humvee. Tristan used this time to take a cigarette out and light it up, surveying the scene before them. A few other armored Humvees were parked alongside the road, soldiers mounted on the gunner’s position, scanning the area. A few other military trucks were parked, those troopers patiently sitting in wait for this convoy to get rolling again. Everywhere Tristan looked, it seemed like everyone was aware of their surroundings at all times.

Brayden Quinn: Jayzus, this seems like a lot of muscle for one “package”.

Teague O’Connell: Wonder what’s got them all spooked…?

Tristan shrugged his shoulders as he took a drag from his cigarette and then turned and offered it to Brayden, who took it in stride. Tristan moved forward to where Fintan was speaking with his commanding officers. Sensing his second-in-command approach, Fintan cast a sideways glance at Tristan, a warning for him to hold his position. Tristan did as he was instructed, looking across the burning sands. It was at that point that he saw a figure standing by one of the military trucks, two soldiers on either side of him, a brown cloth mask draped over his head. Before he could investigate any further, Fintan was standing next to Tristan.

Tristan Wolfe: I’m guessing that’s the “package”…?

Fintan followed Tristan’s eyes over to the man who was in chains and under heavy guard.

Fintan Brannigan: Aye, that’s the badzer.

Tristan turned back to Fintan.

Tristan Wolfe: Alisander…!?

Fintan nodded his head as Tristan turned back to the man who was oblivious to his presence. Tristan made a start to walk towards him before he felt a firm grip on his arm, Fintan holding him back. Tristan whirled back towards his captain and, for a moment, Fintan wasn’t sure if he was considered friend-or-foe.

Fintan Brannigan: Aye-aye-aye… I get it, I want to bury him too… but we have our orders. He’s get intelligence that cripple the Idolatrous once and for all; can help us end this whole thing.

Tristan, still heated, tried to focus on his friends’ words and calm himself.

Tristan Wolfe: Feck, man!

Tristan paced back and forth, Fintan standing his ground.

Tristan Wolfe: You saw what I had to do back there! That’s his fecking fault! (Tristan points to Alisander) His own fecking son!

Fintan stepped forward, placing his hands on Tristan’s face and getting him to look at him directly in the eyes.

Fintan Brannigan: Aye-aye-aye, look at me… eh? Look at me...

Tristan, still seething, obliged his friend.

Fintan Brannigan: I would not be here, if it weren’t for you. We… (points back to the rest of the Wolfhounds)… would not be here, if not for you. You made the tough call, and I know it took something from ye… took something from all of us. That badzer will get what’s coming to him… believe you me… but not now…

Tristan Wolfe: … I can’t do this Fintan.

Tears began to well in Tristan’s eyes as Fintan pulled his friend in close, wrapping him in a tight bear hug. By this point, the soldiers were beginning to escort the blindfolded Alisander towards the Wolfhounds Humvee.

Fintan Brannigan: Look lad, I got to let the others know what the plan is. I want ye with me, but if you’re not ready… I understand.

Fintan gave Tristan a tough-love slap on the cheek and turned, heading back in the direction of their Humvee. Tristan stood there for a moment, looking at his group. As the soldiers escorted the prisoner past Tristan, his attention turned to Alisander – whom he swore turned and returned his gaze. Tristan watched from a distance as they loaded the terrorist into the back of their vehicle, pondering what he should do. When it appeared that the Wolfhounds had finished their meeting, they all looked to Tristan to see what he was going to do. Tristan lowered his head, swore under his breath, and trudged forward. The rest of the group got situated in their rightful positions as Brayden waited for his friend to rejoin them.

Brayden Quinn: Are you okay?

Tristan Wolfe: Far from it, lad…

Brayden put a reassuring hand on his friends shoulder.

Brayden Quinn: You always ask me what I write about, day-in and day-out…

Tristan Wolfe: Ah Brayden, I’m just fecking with ya-

Brayden Quinn: (interrupting) I write about being home, with my family, and all the things that we’ll do. I know the only reason you’re here is because of me and I’m grateful to have my best friend watching my back… and I’m damn proud of the things that we’ve done. He’s a terrorist, Tristan… a fecking terrorist. We go put this bollox away, we wipe out every one of these fecking Idolatrous badzers, and we get to go home, heroes… who saved the fecking world.

Tristan slowly nodded his head, trying to calm his nerves so that he could resist the rising urge to go into that Humvee and slit Alisander’s throat right now.

Brayden Quinn: Think of Skye, Tristan… she needs you.

The mention of Tristan’s younger sister seemed to bring him back to reality, as tears welled in his eyes again. Once more, he nodded his head, his fists unclenching and the rage seeming to pass – if only for the time being. Brayden patted his friend on the shoulder again and went to his passenger-side position. Tristan took in a deep breath and opened the door, entering into the Humvee.

The plan was a simple one, to send multiple Humvees in multiple directions, hoping to throw off any terrorist pursuers that were looking for their leader. For the first few hours, everything seemed to pass by without incident. Alisander had remained quiet throughout the majority of the trip, only opening his mouth once to ask for water. Teague had quickly quieted him with a fist to the face, drawing some ire from Fintan, but it had done the job and Alisander remained quiet… until now.

Alisander Cullen: I know who you people are…

His words cut through the silence like a knife, a sense of dread falling over them.

Alisander Cullen: You were there, at Al-Qa’im…

Teague O’Connell: Shut your fecking mouth!

Alisander Cullen: You have no idea how long I’ve been looking for you…

Tristan had heard enough as he unbuckled himself and crouched over to where Alisander was strapped in.

Fintan Brannigan: Tristan! Get back in your seat!

Tristan pulled the cloth off of Alisander’s face, looking into the eyes of the terrorist for the first time. He blinked away the brightness, his eyes eventually falling on Tristan.

Alisander Cullen: Ah… so it was you, then…?

Tristan Wolfe: Yeah… I did it…

Fintan Brannigan: Tristan! I gave you a fecking order!

Tristan Wolfe: And I’d do it again… if only because it led me to this moment right here…

Tristan reached down and gripped the handle of his knife as Alisander looked down at the weapon, a smirk on his face.

Alisander Cullen: Going to add “killing a defenseless man” to your resume, are ya?

Colin McMillian: Tristan, come on, he’s not worth-

Colin never had a chance to finish his sentence as an RPG struck the side of the Humvee, the force hurling the vehicle into the air and sending it tumbling off the road. Tristan slammed hard against the side of the door, knocking himself unconscious. When he came to, blood flowed freely from a gash across his temple and his breaths came in short, painful rasps. He felt the heat of a fire somewhere close to him and traced it back to where Colin had been sitting. The parts that remained of his friend were indistinguishable. Tristan turned to locate his other comrades, unable to find them in the wreckage. Good, they had gotten out. Turning, he gripped the handle of the door and forced it open, falling out of the Humvee to the sand. The sun was beginning to set, leaving a red-hue across the horizon. Tristan’s head was ringing as he was vaguely aware of the sounds of gunfire and the spinning of mechanical blades nearby. He heard his name cut through the commotion as he tried to trace where it had come from.

Fintan Brannigan: Tristan! Get yer ass over here!

Tristan shook his head, seeing that Fintan and the rest of the group had set up behind a pile of rocks, taking whatever cover they could find. Tristan began to crawl, dragging himself across the desert as weapon fire raged over head. It was only then that he felt the searing pain in his shoulder, a bullet tearing through flesh and bone. Tristan screamed out in agony, drawing the attention of his comrades. Brayden looked over from his sniper position, seeing his friend in peril. Seeing that look in his eyes, Tristan shook his head.

Tristan Wolfe: Brayden… no…!

Brayden dropped the rifle and ran out from cover, rushing forward to save his friend.

Fintan Brannigan: Brayden! Get your arse-

Brayden made it all of 5 steps from the rubble before he was gunned down, his body riddled with bullets. He was dead by the time he hit the ground and all Tristan could do was watch.

Tristan Wolfe: Noooooooo!

Tristan ignored the pain in his shoulder and began crawling, inch-by-inch. He was unaware of anything else around him, only his friend. By the time he got to his body, Brayden’s eyes were frozen open, blood dripping from his mouth. Tears streaming down his cheeks, Tristan subconsciously grabbed for the letter in Brayden’s pocket. The paper was stained with blood and ripped in places where the bullets had passed through but Tristan held it firmly in his hands, gripping onto it tightly as if it was his friend itself. By the time Tristan made it behind cover, he found Teague O’Connell sitting prone, one hand over his stomach as blood cascaded out, his other hand holding it tightly to the collar of Alisander’s shirt.

Teague O’Connell: Glad you could join us…

Teague tried to manage a smile as his struggled to remain conscious. Alisander had cuts across his wrists and ankles from where the chains had met flesh when the vehicle flipped. It looked like his right leg was bent awkward and he was desperately trying, yet failing, to keep the blood from flowing into his eye, a result of a deep laceration just above his eyebrow. Fintan continued firing at their assailants as Tristan crawled next to him, tucking the piece of paper into his pocket.

Fintan Brannigan: I’m almost out! Teague… what we got left!?

Fintan ducked back down behind the poorly made rock bed and turned to Teague, who was fading before their eyes. Teague seemed to try and answer his captain but couldn’t find the breath to do so. Tristan looked over at Fintan, seeing blood flowing from a bullet wound in his neck.

Tristan Wolfe: Jayzus… Fintan…!

Fintan followed Tristan’s gaze to his neck as he put a hand up to the wound, almost shocked that he had been hit. At the revelation that he had, indeed, been shot, Tristan watched as the blood drained from Fintan’s face, all his strength seeming to leave his body in an instant.

Fintan Brannigan: Finish it, Tristan. Don’t let our deaths be-

A bullet ripped through Fintan’s brain, silencing him forever. Tristan looked over to see that Alisander held the smoking gun in hand, having taken the sidearm off of Teague’s now motionless corpse. Alisander shrugged off Teague’s hand, forcing the body to slump to the ground as Tristan stared a hole through Alisander.

Alisander Cullen: Well… that didn’t really go as planned.

Allisander forced himself up to his feet, aiming the sidearm at Tristan.

Alisander Cullen: The things I need to go through to arrange a meeting these days.

Alisander blinked away the blood in his eye as he slowly approached, favoring his right leg. Tristan tried to push himself up but Alisander waved the gun in his direction, as if to remind him that he held all the power.

Alisander Cullen: I’m very sorry about your friends, Tristan… they seemed like a real good sort. Not worthy of you, though.

Alisander laughed to himself as Tristan now found himself surrounded by a half-dozen Idolatrous soldiers. A few pointed their rifles at Tristan while another group moved to Alisander to check on him.

Alisander Cullen: Who in the hell fired that rocket…!?

The soldiers seemed to look from one to the other, before one stood forward. Alisander lifted his gun and shot him in the head, killing one of his own instantly. The other Idolatrous soldiers didn’t flinch at this, almost as if this was a common occurrence in their circle.

Alisander Cullen: (addressing his troops) Rescue mission… remember… R-E-S-C-U-E… not recovery.

Alisander turned back to Tristan once more, who was anxiously awaiting his death.

Alisander Cullen: You think I’m going to kill you, don’t you? No… death would be too easy for you. I want you to SUFFER, Tristan… as I have suffered. I want you to know loss, like I have known loss. I want you to wake up every night, screaming in agony, because you will have lost EVERYTHING and EVERYONE you care about. And then – and only then – when you have nothing else left to lose, then I will grant you the death you deserve.

Alisander motioned for his men to grab Tristan as two soldiers closed in. Only then, when he saw them pause, did he look behind to see Teague O’Connell miraculously standing, two grenades clutched in his shaking hands.

Teague O’Connell: Isn’t this… a twist… of fate…

Alisander ordered his men to “fire” but Teague was faster, popping the pins from the grenade. Giving Tristan a wink, Teague dropped the grenades to the ground. Tristan, acting quickly, grabbed Fintan’s body and pulled it over his. He heard the sound of feet scattering away from the area as fast as they could before the explosion went off, showering sand and blood down upon Tristan, the majority of the shrapnel embedding itself into Fintan’s lifeless body, a few shards raining across Tristan’s exposed left arm and face. Gritting his teeth, he pushed the body of his former captain off and grabbed the nearest rifle. Forcing himself to his feet, Tristan emerged from behind the rock bed, opening fire at anything and everything that moved. In the distance, he watched as Alisander was safely placed onto a helicopter. Tristan was able to take out a few more of the Idolatrous soldiers but was too late in stopping Alisander’s escape, as he watched from the ground as the Idolatrous leader ascended into the air and disappeared out of sight…

Angel Wolfe: Tristan!? Tristan!!?

Hours had passed as Tristan Wolfe sat unmoving next to what was left of his former squad mates. He had gathered their bodies (or what left of them) to the best of his ability as he sat stoically among them. Hearing his name, Tristan looked up to see his brother, Angel, standing before him, trying to shake him from his trance.

Angel Wolfe: Are you alright!?

Tristan had done his best to take care of his injuries, crudely cauterizing the bullet wound that had gone through his shoulder and applying bandages to his arm and head, but he was still in need of serious medical attention.

Tristan Wolfe: Angel…?

Angel Wolfe: I’m right here, brother… I’m right here.

Tristan Wolfe: … I want to go home.

2005: 6 Weeks Later
Airport
Austin, Texas

 

Skye Wolfe: Remind me why I had to come along, again…?

Tristan and Skye walked through the terminal, tired and exhausted from their 10 hour flight from Ireland. After Tristan had been cleared to travel by their medical personnel, Angel had granted his brother his honorable discharge from the Exiles. Tristan returned to Ireland to say his goodbyes to his fallen comrades one last time, each visit to their respective friends and family reopening the wounds. It wasn’t until Tristan saw Brayden’s four-year-old daughter, Aoibheann, that he fully broke down. His best friend - her father - dead because of one split-decision he made on that fateful night in Al-Qa’im. Skye was detrimental in the weeks that followed, keeping Tristan from falling completely apart. Once he was of sound mind, Tristan deemed it best that they get as far away from Alisander’s grasp as possible. So here they now found themselves, in the United States.

Skye Wolfe: Tristan? Are you even listening to me?

Skye poked at Tristan’s arm, forcing him to grimace as he clutched the arm close to his body. Weeks of having his arm in a sling had familiarized his muscle memory with keeping it close to his chest, to the point where it seemed to naturally gravitate into that position all on its own.

Tristan Wolfe: … ow.

Skye Wolfe: Oh hush, I barely touched you.

Tristan Wolfe: You’re stronger than ye think, lass.

Skye scowled at Tristan as he smiled back at his sister.

Skye Wolfe: So… are you going to answer my question?

Tristan Wolfe: You know why, Skye…

Tristan had thought it best to not tell Skye about the price on his head, or… more importantly… hers. He had made the mistake of telling Angel, which only got him up-in-arms about keeping her safe. So that was Tristan’s new mission now, to make sure no harm befell his sister. Tristan knew Angel was a better soldier than he was, still… he couldn’t help but feel like he had been forced to choose one sibling over the other.

Tristan Wolfe: … I wouldn’t know what to do with myself without my little sister tagging along. Besides, a change of scenery could do us both some good.

Skye Wolfe: (teasing) You’re only saying that because you found out Liam wanted to run away with me…

Tristan Wolfe: Aye, you can do much better than that little arse.

Skye laughed as she hooked her arm around Tristan’s injured arm, forcing it free from his side.

Skye Wolfe: Well… first things first… we should find you a job!

Tristan Wolfe: How ‘bout we just try and make it to the hotel in one piece, ya?

Skye Wolfe: (pouting) Fine… but then you’re treating me to some of this World Famous Fried Chicken I keep hearing about.

Tristan Wolfe: Fried chicken… really?

Skye Wolfe: What? It’s “World Famous”!

Tristan Wolfe: Oh sweet Jayzus.

2010
Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas

5 Years, 1 Month, 15 Days Later…

Tristan stood in the barn, his hands taped up as they made impact with the punching bag in front of him. His chest was bare and sheen with sweat from his afternoon workout, his feet shuffling as he used the bag like an actual opponent, dodging to the side from time-to-time. Almost three years had passed since the HWA closed its doors, leaving Syren and Tristan unemployed. The closure had hit Syren harder; she was clearly the more skilled of the two inside the ring. She seemed to retreat into herself, weighing her options, as Tristan picked up more of the slack on the ranch. Eventually, it wasn’t enough as they had to substantially down-size if he she wanted to keep her home. Those had been a rough few months but a business opportunity struck gold for Tristan’s sister, Skye, who seemed to always thrive – no matter what twists and turns life threw at her. She had found her path quicker than Tristan since they had arrived state-side, in large part to Tristan constantly feeling the need to look over his shoulder. He knew the price on his head was still out there, his brother – Angel – had all confirmed that just as recently as a few months ago. It seemed like no matter what he tried to do, his past just wouldn’t let him move on. Standing in the doorway, a tall figure watched Tristan, patiently waiting for him to notice. Tristan was lost deep in his concentration and, with the earbuds in, had not heard the man approach. It was only when he heard the continuous barking of one of Syren’ s huskies that he ceased with his workout. Turning around, Tristan pulled the ear buds from his ears as he whistled to the dog, a command for him to cease. The pup did as instructed, trotting over to Tristan to receive his reward of petting for being a “good boy”.

Walther Herzfeld: Cute dog…

Tristan took his eyes off Cosmo, noticing the man stood tall, proud… like a soldier would. When the man spoke, he spoke with a thick German accent, meaning he wasn’t “from around here”.

Tristan Wolfe: Can I help ye with somethin’, lad?

Walther Herzfeld: I hope so…

The man took a few strides forward, reaching into the inside of his jacket pocket. This action, whether it was meant as threatening or not, put Tristan and his trusty side-pup on alert.

Walther Herzfeld: Your brother sent me… (he handed Tristan an envelope)… said you might be able to help…

Tristan hesitantly reached for the envelope, every fiber in his being suspecting that the news inside was not something he wanted to know. Tearing the sides of it off, Tristan pulled the letter out as Walther knelt down to the ground, extending his hand towards Cosmo but the dog barked loudly, telling him to “back off”.

Tristan Wolfe: Cosmo is very particular about the people that touch him, if ye value your hand…

Walther held his hands up as if to say “you win”, rising back up to his feet as Tristan scanned the contents of the letter. Muttering a curse under his breath, Tristan crumpled up the piece of paper and threw it to the ground. Pacing around the barn, Tristan balled up his fist, slamming it into the punching bag one last time.

Tristan Wolfe: (with his back to Walther) How long have they been missing?

Walther Herzfeld: A few weeks now.

Tristan ran a hand through his sweaty hair, thinking about his options. Though his primary concern was for those that were in danger, there was an anger surrounding him as things had just started to return to “normal” around here.

Tristan Wolfe: Why bring this to me? I’m not even in the service anymore…

Walther Herzfeld: Because we both know what he’s really after.

Tristan turned to face Walther, confused.

Tristan Wolfe: You mean to use me as bait?

Walther Herzfeld: You’re our best option of finding them again, alive… your brother said as much.

Tristan Wolfe: So this is his plan, then… to throw me to the wolves?

Walther Herzfeld: Alisander’s getting sloppy, Tristan… this has not tactical advantage to his cause what-so-ever. It’s personal; we both know that, and when things become personal…

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting)… people die.

Walther Herzfeld: I was going to say, they make mistakes but…

Tristan considered his options, none seeming to be all that appealing. Tristan walked past Cosmo, giving the dog a quick pet, before picking up his shirt off a nearby hay stack. Pulling the fabric on, the material seemed to stick to his sweaty body, soaking a few places through with perspiration. He walked past Walther without saying a word, instead turning his attention to the two women who rode on horseback down one of the trails, their laughter carrying through the afternoon breeze. Things were just starting to get better! Why does this always seem to happen to him; to them?

Walther Herzfeld: Look… (walking up to Tristan)… I know you have everything to lose here, but you may be their only hope.

Tristan Wolfe: He won’t kill them, not yet… he wants me there; wants me to watch it happen.

Walther Herzfeld: I’m not going to lie to you, if you do this…

Tristan already knew how that sentence ended.

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting) When do we leave?

2010
Abandoned Mill
Killarney, Ireland

A Week Later…

Tristan had made no secret of his return to Ireland, knew that was the best chance that they had – to make sure Alisander knew he had “taken the bait”. Almost immediately after landing back in his homeland, Tristan found himself forcefully escorted to a black van, the Idolatrous soldiers gracious enough to render him unconscious. When he came to, he found himself in what seemed like an abandoned warehouse. It was nightfall, the dark room he found himself in only illuminated by the moon that hung high overhead.

Alisander Cullen: (emerging from the shadows) Hello Tristan, so good to see you again. How long has it been… five years?

Tristan pushed himself up to his feet and attempted to rush at Alisander, only to trip and fall forcefully to the ground, a chain clasped tightly around his ankle. Alisander simply laughed at the young Irishman’s brash nature as Tristan glared up at him, his lip bleeding from where he had bitten it upon impact.

Tristan Wolfe: Where are they!?

Alisander Cullen: I see you got my message…

Tristan Wolfe: Ye know I did, why else would I be back?

Alisander Cullen: (pacing around him) Ah yes… “back”. You have been a hard man to track down Tristan, why is that?

Alisander knelt down beside Tristan, lifting his chin so he could look directly into his eyes.

Alisander Cullen: Where have you and your sister been hiding, hmmmm?

Tristan spit blood into Alisander’s face, wiping the smug smirk from his lips. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he simply dabbed the red substance off. Rather than get angry, Alisander simply smiled again, rising back to his feet.

Alisander Cullen: I’m glad you still got some fight left in ye, otherwise… this wouldn’t be fun.

Alisander snapped his fingers together, some sort of indication to his soldiers to “proceed with the next stage of their plan”.

Tristan Wolfe: They have nothing to do with this, Alisander… let them go! Ye’ve got me now, I’m all that matters.

Alisander Cullen: Ye do remember what I said to you during our last meeting, right?

Tristan had never forgotten, his words haunting him no matter how many miles he tried to put in between him and his past. He knew what Alisander planned to do and yet was here all the same… praying that he could somehow stop it. Tristan heard the shuffling of more feet as two soldiers appeared from the darkness, dragging two females with them. Their eyes strained against the dim lit room until they fell on Tristan, a moment of hope sparking to life within them.

Alisander Cullen: I do believe you’re all acquainted…?

Eliza Quinn, the widow of Brayden Quinn, looked from Tristan to her daughter, Aoibheann, fear in her eyes. Tristan tugged against the chain around his ankle, trying to free himself as Alisander pulled out a revolver, emptying all the shells save one in the chamber.

Tristan Wolfe: Alisander, don’t…

Alisander Cullen: Now then, we’re going to play a little game.

Alisander put the barrel of the gun up to the nine-year-old girl’s head as Eliza and Tristan looked on in horror.

Eliza Cullen: No, please!

Tristan Wolfe: Alisander…!

Aoibheann sobbed uncontrollably as Alisander held the gun to her temple for a tense few seconds, before finally pulling it away. Eliza breathed a sigh of relief as she tried to crawl to her daughter, but the soldiers forcefully grabbed her and pulled her back to her spot, a few feet away. The soldiers attached a crude restraint to Eliza’s ankle, before doing the same to her daughter – ensuring the two wouldn’t be able to reach other if they tried to again.

Alisander Cullen: I don’t know how ye did it, Tristan… to take the life of a child like that…

Tristan Wolfe: Ye didn’t give me any choice you sick son-of-a-bitch!

Alisander looked at Tristan quizzically, as Tristan glared back at him.

Alisander Cullen: You know what… ye’re right!

Alisander snapped his fingers again, as a few more soldiers emerged, this time bringing with them a pair of vests with explosives on them, much like his son, Tadhg, had been wearing that fateful day. Tristan looked on in dread as the soldiers quickly strapped them to his best friend’s widow and daughter. He tugged on the chain as forcefully as he could, his ankle beginning to bleed and swell up from the chaffing around the skin and bone.

Tristan Wolfe: Alisander… please, I’m begging ya…

Alisander went to Tristan, back-handing him and putting the gun to the Tristan’s forehead.

Alisander Cullen: Did my son beg, hmm? Was he crying and whimpering like a little bitch; like you!? Or did he die a hero!?

Tristan Wolfe: Just let them go, you already have me.

Alisander seemed to ponder this option for a moment, before shaking his head.

Alisander Cullen: I’m afraid that’s not how this “game” works, Tristan. But tell ya what… I’m a fair man…

Alisander rose back up to his feet and walked back over to the two, looking from one to the other.

Alisander Cullen: (with his back to Tristan)… I’m going to let you choose.

Eliza and Aoibheann looked at each other, and then to Tristan, whose eyes went wide with surprise. Alisander snapped his fingers one last time as his men began to depart, disappearing into the shadows once more. Turning to Tristan, Alisander slid the revolver across the ground to the bound Irishman.

Alisander Cullen: The game is simple, Tristan; choose who lives… and who dies. You have sixty seconds, if you have not made you choice by then, well…

Alisander lifted his hands into the air, making a “boom” expression with his fingers. He laughed as he slunk back into the darkness, a timer of “60” beginning to count down on the bomb vests.

Aoibheann Quinn: Mom…!?

Eliza Quinn: (fighting back the tears) It’s okay, honey… it’s going to be okay.

Eliza turned to Tristan as the counter ticked down to “55”.

Eliza Quinn: Tristan?

Tristan seemed to be lost in a nightmare, his memory taking him back to that day in Al-Qa’im over five years ago. This couldn’t be happening again, not again!

Eliza Quinn: Tristan!

The counter ticked down to “50” as Tristan looked up to see Eliza looking back up at him. He followed her gaze to the revolver that was inches from him. As the timer hit “45”, Tristan crawled over to it, gripping it in his hand.

Eliza Quinn: Can you free yourself?

Tristan looked back at the chain around his ankle, taking a real look at it for the first time. He would need to cut it, or his ankle, off if he wanted any hope of escaping… and there was nothing sharp enough to do that near him. Shooting the chain would do no good, likely ricocheting and wasting his only bullet. The clock hit “40” as Tristan turned back to the two.

Tristan Wolfe: I’m sorry…

Aoibheann Quinn: Mommy…!?

Tears streamed down the young girl’s face as her mother turned to her, struggling to free herself from the chain around her ankle so she could hold her baby girl once more. Eliza broke down into tears, screaming out in anguish as she strained herself against her restraint, her fingers inches from touching Aoibheann as the counter hit “35”. Tristan looked down at the revolver in his hand, opening the chamber and seeing the one bullet present.

Aoibheann Quinn: I’m scared…

Eliza Quinn: I am too baby girl… but it’s going to be okay, I promise you!

The timer hit “30” as Eliza turned to Tristan, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Eliza Quinn: Tristan, you need to shoot me.

Tristan looked up at Eliza, unable to comprehend what he had just asked.

Aoibheann Quinn: Mom, no!

Eliza Quinn: Do it, Tristan… shoot me!

The clock hit “25” as Tristan shook his head, refusing to believe this was the only option.

Tristan Wolfe: No, we’ll find another-

Eliza Quinn: There’s no time, Tristan! Shoot… me!!!

The counter hit “20” as Tristan looked from Aoibheann and Eliza.

Tristan Wolfe: He wouldn’t risk me dying… not like this. He wants me alive…

Eliza Quinn: Tristan, do it! I will not let my girl die! I will NOT take that risk!

Aoibheann Quinn: (hyperventilating) M-mom… n-nooo… p-please…!

The timer hit “15” as tears flooded down Eliza’s face.

Eliza Quinn: Please, Tristan…

Aoibheann Quinn: No, Tristan… don’t…

Tristan watched as the clock hit “10”, his hand closing the chamber and slowly raising the revolver.

Eliza Quinn: I love you so much, Aoibheann…

“9”

Aoibheann Quinn: I love you, Mom… please don’t…

“8”

Eliza Quinn: This is the only way my daughter, I’m sorry.

“7”

Tristan Wolfe: Eliza…

“6”

Eliza Quinn: Do it, Tristan…

“5”

Aoibheann Quinn: Mommy…!

“4”

Eliza Quinn: Look away honey, you don’t want to see this!

“3”

Tristan Wolfe: I’m sorry…

“2”

A gunshot rang out, echoing off the walls of the abandoned warehouse. The timer remained still at “2” as a blood-curdling scream left Aoibheann’s mouth, crying out in agony, her mother – Eliza – lying dead a few feet from her. Tristan lowered his head, the smoking revolver slipping from his numb fingers. Though it had only been minutes before the Exiles arrived on the scene, it had seemed like hours. The hidden tracker they had planted on Tristan leading them to this exact location… only not in time to save Eliza Quinn from her untimely demise, nor find Alisander Cullen. Was this to be Tristan’s fate… to be the death of innocence? As they freed Tristan from his bonds, he wanted to rush to Aoibheann’s side, tell her how “sorry” he was, but he doubted that it would matter. He was now responsible for getting both of her parents killed, one of which was directly by his hand – there would be no forgiveness for that, not for him.

 

2013
Exiles Base of Operations: Ireland
Dublin, Ireland

3 Years, 4 Months, 12 Days Later…

Tristan sat in the briefing room, leaning over the table as he wrote feverishly. Three years had now passed since the events that had unfolded in Kilarney, forcing Tristan to go “all-in” on bringing Alisander Cullen to justice once and for all. He would not run from his responsibilities again, nor would anyone else pay for his sins. That night had changed him and not for the better, his soul twisted by vengeance. In the years that followed, Tristan had become a merciless soldier… killing any and all he believed to be associated with the Idolatrous. Angel had witnessed his brother become nothing more than a shell of his former self first-hand, many times struggling to pull him back from the abyss that consumed him. The only time Tristan seemed to be “at peace” was during these few moments where he found time to write back to Syren, sparing her any such details of what he endured, but – like his best friend had done years prior – promising her all the things he would do when he got back; if he got back…

Angel Wolfe: Tristan, did you hear me?

The operation-meeting seemed to come to a halt as all eyes fell upon Tristan. He heaved a sigh as he glanced up from his writing, annoyed at the interruption.

Tristan Wolfe: Aye, I heard you… I’m just wondering how “credible” this information is…

Angel Wolfe: The Idolatrous has been building up to a public display like this for years; we believe the time is now…

Tristan Wolfe: (annoyed) As opposed to all the other times?

No one would dare speak to their superior officer like this, and everyone knew it. But this was Tristan Wolfe, the Dullahan of Dundalk, a nickname he had earned for his unethical torture and slaughter of what many in the organization believed to be innocent civilians in this war on terror. They were never able to truly prove that these townspeople didn’t have ties to the Idolatrous, however, so Tristan was never formally charged with any such war crimes.

Angel Wolfe: I know you want to catch Alisander as bad as-

Tristan Wolfe: (slamming his hand down on the table) None of ye badzers want him as bad as I do!

Silence enveloped the room as tensions began to rise.

Tristan Wolfe: Ye just find me that fecker and I’ll be the one to put his arse down!

Tristan, declaring the meeting over – at least for himself, anyway – rose up from the table and stormed off, bringing his pen and paper with him. Angel waited for his brother to leave the room before continuing the briefing. As Tristan made his way through the halls of the base, he knew he had crossed the line – again – but his rage was seemingly irrepressible at this point. Needing to blow off steam, he headed to the training room, where he would be allowed to punch something and NOT get in trouble. Changing into his workout gear, Tristan stepped between the ropes of the boxing ring, matching up with a spar partner as he threw all his fury behind his punches, as if that would somehow help him alleviate his anger.

Angel Wolfe: Mind if I cut in…?

Angel stood on the outside, having changed into his own workout gear. By this point, Tristan wasn’t sure how long he had been sparring, noting only that his body seemed to be gleaming with sweat and he was slightly out of breath. Tristan nodded Angel into the ring as the partner graciously abandoned it, needing to immediately go ice down his hands. Angel put his hands up as Tristan, in a sign of respect, pressed his gloves into his brothers. The two began the dance, shuffling around the ring, taking shots whenever they saw any openings. Angel was the more skilled of the fighters but Tristan made up for it with his scrappy nature, never willing to back down.

Angel Wolfe: You know, we have a real opportunity here…

Tristan Wolfe: I’ve heard this all before Angel, it usually ends up being nothing more than a waste of our time.

Tristan threw a fast punch at Angel as his brother easily dodged out of the way.

Angel Wolfe: I know you don’t want to be here…

Tristan threw another quick punch, Angel just getting his gloves up to block it.

Tristan Wolfe: Ya? What was your first indication…?

Angel countered with a few blows of his own, some of them landing in Tristan’s side and knocking the breath from him. Angel backed off, to give his brother a chance to collect himself, which seemed to anger Tristan even more.

Angel Wolfe: I know you miss her…

This was a mistake, especially in his current state of mind. Tristan didn’t want to hear any mention of “her”, especially now. He charged forward, taking Angel’s feet from him and slamming him to the ground. He was relentless, positioning himself over his older brother and slamming his fists down as Angel covered up as best as he could, a few blows getting through his defenses and connecting with his face, drawing blood from his mouth and nose. Other soldiers, who had been busy in their own training, had to turn their attention to what was happening in the ring, sliding in and pulling Tristan off his commanding officer. Angel sat up, spitting blood onto the mat as Tristan wrestled his way free from those that had detained him. Though he, once again, felt shame and guilt over his attack on his brother, he was too angry to apologize, and so left the ring, throwing his boxing gloves down in a fit of rage.

The hot shower washed over Tristan, calming his nerves and relaxing his muscles. He looked down at his knuckles, bleeding from the amount of force he had thrown into his punches during his strenuous training exercise. He held his hands under the faucet, watching as the water as it mixed with his blood and sent it in puddles to his feet. As he closed his eyes, his mind escaped to a small ranch thousands of miles away. He could feel it then; her delicate hands on his chest, the feel of her soft skin on his back, the smell of her sun-kissed hair.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy…

When he opened his eyes, she was gone… nothing more than just a distant memory. As he left the shower, Tristan wrapped a towel around his waist and preceded into the locker room, finding his brother waiting for him, a bruise already appearing on his cheek. Tristan scanned the room, finding it empty… looks like no one would be interfering this time if there happened to be a “Round Two”.

Angel Wolfe: We going to talk about this.

Tristan couldn’t tell if his brother meant that phrase as a question or not. Rolling his eyes, he went to his duffel bag and began to pull out some clean clothes.

Tristan Wolfe: Just blowing off steam, I’ll be ready…

Angel Wolfe: (interrupting) You’re not coming.

Tristan stopped unpacking, turning back towards his brother.

Tristan Wolfe: The feck ya say to me?

Angel Wolfe: You’re a liability, Tristan… loose fecking cannon. I’ve put up with your shite long enough, you’re off this one.

Tristan Wolfe: (irritated) I’m the best soldier you got…!

Angel Wolfe: No, you’re the best “killer” I’ve got… there’s a difference.

Tristan swallowed hard, Angel never having been this abrasively blunt with him before. He looked away from his brother, that shame and guilt washing over him once more. Was Angel really that surprised with who Tristan had become? He had lost so much and sacrificed so much more. Tears began to form in Tristan’s eyes as he couldn’t fight the memories of those that had been taken from him. It was in their memory that he had sought retribution but, somewhere along the way, this journey for vengeance had turned into something… sinister.

Tristan Wolfe: (pleading) Please… Angel… I know I’ve made mistakes…

Angel Wolfe: This isn’t up for debate, Tristan. You’re off this mission.

2013: 21 Hours
The Capstan Bar
Dublin, Ireland

Barmaid: Another one, hun?

Tristan nodded as he kept his focus on the pen and paper before him. The bar was a blusterous one tonight, the patrons enjoying the viewing of a local football match. Still, Tristan didn’t seem to notice, tuning everything out as he looked through a haze at the words before him. He had written countless letters to her, never once hearing a word back. He assumed she hated him and he didn’t blame her, but he felt the urge to write nonetheless. After Tristan’s best friend, Brayden, had been killed in that ambush attack, Tristan had visited Eliza – Brayden’s widow – to ask her about all the letters he wrote daily to her. In addition to all of the “future plans” he had hoped would come to fruition, Eliza had stated that just the act of receiving a letter was enough to give her reassurance that Brayden was alive and well. The day the letters stopped was enough notice for her to know what had happened to her husband, even days before the Exiled forces had showed up at her front door, confirming her fears. So even if she didn’t read them, he hoped Syren still found some a similar type of reassurance that Tristan was alive. Tristan traced over the four letter word again and again, until it was a bold statement, popping off the page. Had he ever said the words to her? Before he could answer his question, a large eruption shook the building, the shockwave breaking windows and glass all around. It took a moment to realize what was happening, before Tristan was running out the door… his destination a few blocks away.

As he came running up to the Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, he saw it ablaze with people struggling to file out of the church. Angel had been right, the Intel had been correct, and the Idolatrous had made a terroristic statement by targeting one of the most holy of places in all of Ireland. Tristan reached behind his back, gripping tightly his pistol, as he rushed into the burning building.

The air was dark and thick, making visibility very difficult. He had to hold his shirt over his mouth in order to block his lungs from the smoke. He proceeded further in, finding bodies strewn about in a type of pattern that resembled some sort of explosion. He recognized some of these men and women as Exiled agents, but others were unfamiliar to him, leading him to believe that some sort of encounter had occurred here prior to the blast. Tristan didn’t see his brother among the dead, something he was grateful for but he knew he was here… somewhere. Tristan pressed forward, finding a staircase that lead down. As he came into a long hallway, he found more dead bodies… these seeming to belong to the Idolatrous. Tristan wasn’t sure how long he was making his way through the catacombs before he came across a man anxiously tinkering with an explosive device.

Tristan Wolfe: Angel!?

Angel spun on his heel, his gun raised and aimed at Tristan… but this was done more out of reflex, as he relaxed once he saw his brother.

Angel Wolfe: What are ye doing, here!?

Tristan Wolfe: Ye know me, could never get enough of church.

Angel didn’t have time to humor his brother as he went back to work on the bomb. Tristan glanced around them to make sure they were secure, before kneeling down next to Angel.

Tristan Wolfe: Do ye actually know how to defuse one of those things?

Angel Wolfe: No fecking clue… you?

Tristan merely glared at his brother, as if to silently ask him “did you seriously just ask me that?”. Angel had expected as much as he continued to test his luck with the device while Tristan looked down, to see Angel was bleeding from the side.

Tristan Wolfe: Angel… you’re hurt…!

Angel Wolfe: (forcing a smile) It’s fine; you should see the other guy.

Tristan Wolfe: Pretty sure I passed a few of those “other guys”…

The bomb suddenly clicked to life, forcing the brothers to look at it, then each other.

Tristan Wolfe: What did ye do!?

Angel Wolfe: I didn’t fecking touch it!

Alisander Cullen: I’m afraid that’s my doing…

Angel and Tristan turned around to see Alisander Cullen standing a safe distance away, holding a remote detonator in his hands. Flanking Alisander was a few of his Idolatrous soldiers, their guns raised and pointed at the brothers. Angel’s gaze went from Alisander quickly to his brother, seeing the rage starting to boil over in Tristan’s face.

Angel Wolfe: Tristan… don’t…

Angels words had very little calming effect on him as Tristan gripped his pistol tightly in his hand. Alisander simply smiled and shook the remote, as if to remind him “who had the power”. Had they not been caught completely unaware, Tristan and Angel may’ve had a fighting chance but as it stood, their odds for survival were very low.

Alisander Cullen: I can’t believe my luck, two Wolfe’s for the price of one! We really must stop meeting in these “explosive” type of situations…

Angel Wolfe: You blow this bomb; you’ll kill yerself in the process, Alisander!

Alisander Cullen: Yes… well… nothing lasts forever, I suppose. Still… I must confess… my one regret will have been to not have gotten the chance to kill that sweet sister of yours!

Alisander stared intently at Tristan, deriving a twisted desire from seeing him squirm like a worm on a hook.

Alisander Cullen: Oh well… I guess it’s like they say… “Better to burn out-“

Tristan moved quicker then Alisander, raising his pistol and shooting him in the shoulder, the wound forcing him to drop the detonator. Tristan aimed at the Idolatrous guards next, hoping to at least take one of them out before he fell to their fire. Flashes lit up the dark corridor, and then all was quiet. When the dust settled, the Idolatrous agents appeared to be eliminated as Tristan lay motionless on his back, Angel crawling over to his brother.

Angel Wolfe: Tristan? Tristan!?

Tristan let out a gasp of air as he looked down, seeing his shirt was riddled with bullet holes. Angel ripped the shirt open, surprised to see that Tristan had a bullet-proof vest on underneath, a “borrowed” gift from one of the dead Idolatrous agents upstairs.

Angel Wolfe: (smirking) You’re one lucky son-of-a-

Another gun shot rang out as Angel collapsed onto his brother, the bullet having ripped through his shoulder, nearly piecing his heart. Tristan looked from his wounded brother to down the hall to see Alisander trying to make his getaway.

Angel Wolfe: (choking on blood) Go… Tristan… you got… to stop… him…

Tristan Wolfe: No, I can’t leave you…!

Angel Wolfe: (interrupting) Finish… it…

Tristan gently rolled Angel off of him, fearful that this would be the last time he would see his brother alive. He wanted to say something, anything, but Angel would have none of it.

Angel Wolfe: Go… now…!

Tristan was sprinting down the hallway then, racing after Alisander. Years of pent-up torment flooded out of him in that moment as he used that as fuel to make him move faster than he had ever moved before. As Alisander made his way through the burning church, Tristan was on him, tackling him to the ground, the remote detonator slipping from his grip once again. Alisander threw his elbow back, catching Tristan in the head and forcing him off. He reached for the remote detonator once again, but the young Wolfe recovered enough to grab Alisander and pull him back. Alisander kicked at Tristan, catching him in the chest and knocking the air from his lungs. He was then on top of Tristan, his hands wrapped around his throat.

Alisander Cullen: (choking the life out of Tristan) This isn’t how I wanted to do this, Tristan… but, it’ll have to do!

As Tristan grasped for air, he clawed at Alisander’s hands, arms, face… trying to find a way to break the hold, but to no avail. The life was fading from Tristan as Alisander squeezed tighter, reveling in this moment. Tristan’s eyes began to roll back into his head, his brain beginning to shut down from the lack of oxygen. In a last ditch effort, he grabbed a hold of a piece of burning debris, the flames licking his hands and fingers in the process. Ignoring the pain, Tristan slammed the fragments into Alisander’s face, scorching half of his flesh clean off. Alisander shrieked in pain and rolled around next to Tristan, clutching at his burns as Tristan used this time to catch his breath. Staggering to his feet, the wounded Wolfe turned to face the bane of his existence once more. Alisander slowly pushed himself up to his feet, just in time for Tristan to charge in, leaping at him and tackling him once again, this time their momentum taking them crashing through the fire-weakened floorboards of the church. The too toppled down into the catacombs once more as the flames and debris enveloped them, burying them underneath. As Tristan lay trapped, his eyes began to close as he drifted away… his last thought being of a woman with whom he had sent his last letter to.

International Title. Tag Team Title. X-Treme Title. World Title. She had held them all. Gloried in her journey to the top within the ranks of the HWA. She had met many people along the way, and her life had taken a series of twists and turns she could never had expected. Being inside the wrestling ring had given her a rush, one that could never be duplicated anywhere else. She was in her glory. The lights, the fame, the thrill of looking out over the sea of fans. And then it had all come crumbling down around her. Not only did the man who meant the world to her walk out of her life, the HWA fell apart, essentially sucking the soul from her body. She felt lost, adrift in a sea of boredom as she retreated back to her ranch to figure out just what the hell to do with her life. Throwing herself into working with the horses and tilling the land, she tried to keep thoughts and memories of the ring from consuming her.

The years pass.....

The familiar growl of a high horsepower car echos through the parking lot. The Boss picks its way slowly between potholes and rubble, slowly coming to a stop before the main doors of the dilapidated building. The lights cut out and the throaty purr of the engine subsides into silence. The drivers side door opens, and a pair of legs encased in tight denim emerge, followed by the rest of the woman. The blond pauses, her eyes raking over the sorry state of the building before her. She moved to the door and eyeballs it. It appears to be falling off its hinges, but a few sharp tugs proves that its still holding in there. No matter, her lips curve into a smile as she pops her trunk and hefts out a crowbar. A few minor adjustments, and she was slipping through the door frame. She stops a moment, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimness. A musty smell permeates the air, while dust practically rolled by like the tumbleweeds of her beloved home state of Texas. The long hallway stretches before her, littered with junk. She gingerly steps forward, down the formally hallowed halls, keeping a close eye to the ground to be sure she didnt land on her face.

A rush of familiarity washes over her as she walks along, nudging piles with the toe of her shoes as she goes. The majority was junk, her or there she found something that made her pause. The remnants of paperwork, shattered signs, an overturned desk chair, a ukulele... That brings a chuckle forth. Who knew where that came from... Mental Mark most likely. Although she wouldnt put it past Ron Royalty to do some unusual things in his spare time. She looked into what was once the gym... the machinery was all there, coated in a thick layer of dust, much like the rest of the place. She picks her way to the locker room and peers in. Doors hang open, some fallen completely off. A pair of tights hang, moth eaten, like a sad flag on one of the benches. She sighs, this had been her home away from home, and seeing it in such a state hurt her more than she cared to admit.Making her way back through the gym, she heads back up the hallway and turns the corner, what she sees nearly takes her breath away.

Pictures... they lined the hallway, somehow untouched other than the ever present dust. Each of the wrestlers that had entered the HWA, were lined there, seemingly a mile long. Sucking in a deep lungful of air, she starts to move again. Eyes, familiar and not, look back at her from the walls. She stops here and there, memories assaulting her. The names flowing through her mind like a river. Judge. Grimjack. Bigg Money. Sett. Decado. "Awesome D" Anderson. Kevin Connor... and on and on. She reaches one that makes her pause. "The Sensation" Danny Starr, a man she had just been getting to know when the company nosedived. Both feared and reviled, he was one of the originals, and had made a huge impact over the years. Moving on she came across Nate "The Phenomenal One" Hartman. She couldnt help making a face. His cocksure attitude had turned her stomach and made her hackles rise. He had set his sites on her, and had never taken his loss well. And nevermind that obnoxious Flames who clung to him like a tick. Here was another winner... Ryan Maxem. She paused. It had not always been like that. There had been a time where there was affection and caring between them. She shakes her head... what a mess of drama that was. In the end, he detested her, and the feeling was fairly mutual. The next photograph stops her cold, like a slap to the face.

Tristan Wolfe. They had enough history to fill a few novels. Laying eyes on him was still enough to make her heart lurch in her chest. Her fingers reach out, trailing along the Irishmans cheek. She heaves a sigh. From the beginning it had never been boring. He intrigued her, infuriated her, made her who she was today. What a story she had to tell, but that would have to wait for another day. With a lingering look of regret she moves on, coming to yet another familiar face. It was like gazing into a mirror of times past. Her own eyes, filled with the fierce determination of youth look back at her. Her hand comes up to rest on the wall next to the framed photo. How much she had enjoyed wrestling, it had filled her life with meaning. Given her a purpose, goals to shoot for. So much was different now... Her ranch was smaller, friends and pets alike were long gone. And her? Older, maybe a little wiser, and bored as hell. Nothing she had tried had consumed her like the passion for being in the middle of the squared circle. But that was all over now, for good, wasnt it?

Syren- Why not?

It wasnt like she was that old. Certainly, she wasnt the little 18 year old bright eyed newbie that had joined HWA, but she wasnt ready to push up daisies either. She was still in shape, perhaps not in fighting shape, that would take a little extra work, but nothing some hard training couldnt fix. The passion... the passion still pulsed through her, coursing through her blood like fire. What was stopping her from joining another fed and doing what she loved? Before, it had always been something. HWA had her loyalty. She didnt feel like making new alliances. This and that... excuses, all. She looks around with true regret. It was time to give up on the dream that the HWA would make a comeback, and that she would make her triumphant return to glory like the old days. It was time to start thinking realistically. The fresh faced divas just out of school would have the advantage of youth, but she had the experience to back her up. What harm could be done? A few broken bones... aches and pains... running home with her tail tucked between her legs if it didnt work out. That gave her pause. The thought rankled. What if she could not succeed anymore? It was something, she could not allow. She would join, train, and rise to the top again. Nothing less was acceptable. The thought of it all sent a rush similar to an orgasm pounding through her body.

Not too many people remained from her past, Stryker, her former manager was long gone, and good riddance. She was a little leery of finding another one. Likely shed be better off on her own. Somewhere at home, she had a little black book, but not of numbers for booty calls, but old numbers and contacts from the former members of the HWA. Maybe, just maybe some of them would still be in service. Perhaps somebody would know of a good company that would be willing to have her, despite her 'advanced age'. At least her history in the business would give her a minor boost. She hoped anyway. Other than that, her resume was sadly lacking. She was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to get things started. She ran nimbly through the halls, back towards the parking lot, leaping obstacles like a steeplechaser. She skid on the gravel as she reached her car, grabbing for the cool metal to maintain her balance. Her eyes gleamed with renewed life. It was time to bust out all her gear and hit the gym.

Well that was an epic failure. She had tried, really tried. It wasnt like she had done bad, on the contrary she did well in the first indy fed she had joined. It just had failed to spark the same sort of passion that the HWA had. Thinking it was the company, she had quit and joined a different fed. The results had been the same. She was now officially retired, and bored out of her skull, in mourning for the life she had left behind so abruptly. In a fit of melancholy, she sold off the majority of the acreage of her ranch, as well as her livestock, unable- and unwilling- to care for it all anymore. She spent many a melancholy moment brooding over what she had become. A hermit who had no desire to socialize or do much of anything. If it hadnt been for Skye, she was sure she would be in worse shape than she already was. Tristans sister had refused to let her friend sink to the bottom, and stubbornly kept forcing her to spend time with her each night. She also tries to encourage Syren to open up and read the letters from Tristan, instead of throwing them out like she has been after all the promises to come back were never fulfilled.

Eventually she realizes Skye is right and decides to assist her in opening up a bar, Reach for the Sky. At first, Syren is strictly behind the scenes, helping with the cash aspect needed to get things moving. Eventually though, unable to stand the boredom of her everyday life she decides to try her hand at both tending bar, and bouncing. Some nights, when short staffed she pitches in with the clean up at the end of the night. Glamorous? No... but something to help keep her mind occupied and she enjoyed helping her friend. One night while ushering the last of the patrons out, she was having a lively conversation with a woman who was blatantly gay. Syren enjoyed her, because she always made her laugh with her quips and off color humor. She locks the door behind her, and heads back over towards Skye, still smiling.

Skye- Whats so funny?

Syren- Just my favorite resident lesbian and all her jokes.

Skye- I thought I was your favorite?

Syren laughs again, preparing to make a comment when she sees Skyes nervous expression. She blinks, silence stretching between them for a few beats. Syren shakes her head sharply, as if to clear it. She was thrown off guard, having had no clue despite being around Skye so often, even living with her for years now.

Syren- You... you are?

Skye nods her head, hesitantly not sure what Syrens reaction would be. She need not have worried, because in the next moment she in enveloped in a warm hug from her best friend. She hugs Syren back, squeezing as hard as she could. They two pull back and grin at each other.

Syren- I cant believe you were scared to tell me of all people.

Skye- Not everyone would react the same way you did Sy.

Syren- You can tell me anything.

Skye- You got a let...

Syren- Except that!

Time rolls on, Skye eventually moving out to be closer to her bar in case she is needed. Syren slowly spreads her wings again, learning to enjoy life one activity at a time. From feeding her chickens, riding one of her horses, to even strolling through the local antique market... she started to live her life again. There was only one place where the past still clung, and that was within her dreams. Tristan Wolfe invaded those, with his easy smile and charming personality. Flashes of what they had, the feelings, the love, tore through her until she woke up.. everything so vivid it seemed like it was really happening... until stark reality washed over once more with the thumping of old Cosmos tail. She would affectionately rub the elderly Huskies head, and pull out a book. There would be no more sleeping after one of those episodes. On days a letter would arrive, she would promptly toss it in the trash but knew that night would be particularly hard.

Most nights, after closing Skye would come over to the ranch, so the two could talk about their days and spend some times with each other despite the late hour. Syren was grateful for it, it meant less time she would be subject to the dreams that haunted her. She always did her best to act nonchalant when Skye mentioned Tristan, but each syllable was like a knife stabbing through her heart. Even all these years later, her heart belonged to him. But he would never come back... she had to accept it. She had resigned herself to a lifetime alone, because nobody would ever take his place. One pleasantly balmy night, the two are enjoying a cocktail, laughing over Skyes stories from a bachelor party that had stumbled into her bar that night. Skye was pushing herself back and forth on one of the rocking chairs, when her gaze fixed on something behind Syren, her laughter dying abruptly. Syren, leaning on the column by the porch stairs, immediately straightens up, concern for her friend on her face.

Syren- Skye!? What is it?

 

2013
Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas

Two Weeks Later…

A black SUV drove down the dirt path, its headlights shining brightly on this mild evening. Tristan Wolfe had the window down, letting the cool air hit his face; taking in the once familiar smells of the ranch, bringing a smile to his face… he was finally home. A few weeks had passed since his deadly encounter with Alisander Cullen in the Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. He hadn’t quiet expected to survive that fight but when he had woken up in the hospital, the pain his body felt was all too real to assure him that he had – indeed – survived. Tristan had a few broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, smoke inhalation, and second-degree burns on his right hand, but he was alive and the threat of Alisander Cullen and his Idolatrous agents was finally over. Tristan took the last turn on this familiar path, coming to a stop just at the Ranch’s perimeter. The sign still read the same, she hadn’t moved on like he thought she might have. Parking the car, Tristan exited the vehicle, looking up at the night sky. The stars seemed to shine brightly out here, as if illuminating his way. Laughter broke through the silence as Tristan turned to see two females on the front porch. At noticing him, one of them rose to her feet, her alcoholic drink slipping from her fingers.

Skye Wolfe: (in shock) Tristan!?

Skye ran to her brother, embracing him in a big bear hug. Tristan grunted uncomfortably against her weight, his wounds still very tended and her squeeze reminding him of that very fact… still, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He wrapped his arms around her, closing his eyes as he did so. After a few moments, Skye pulled back from him, tears in her eyes.

Skye Wolfe: What are you doing here!? Are you… back!?

Skye looked behind Tristan, as if expecting there to be more people with him.

Skye Wolfe: Where’s Angel?

Not even back five minutes and his little sister was bombarding him with questions that last one a little bit more difficult to answer.

Tristan Wolfe: Skye… I don’t know how to tell you this…

Skye Wolfe: (shaking her head, tears in her eyes) No… no Tristan… he’s not…!

Tristan kept a straight-face as long as he could, before finally cracking a smile.

Tristan Wolfe: … Angel is a just few days behind me; he’ll be here when he can.

Skye, not amused at her brother’s joke, smacked him hard in the arm, re-aggravating his injured shoulder, but totally worth it.

Skye Wolfe: You arsehole! That was NOT funny, Tristan!

But, as the emotion had passed, Skye was able to laugh at least a little bit, relieved more than anything else that her family was – finally – going to be back together.

Tristan Wolfe: Ye look great, Skye… (hugging her tightly again)… it’s so good to see you.

Skye Wolfe: (the tears streaming down her cheek) You too big brother… you are back now… right?

Before Tristan had a chance to answer, his eyes finally fell upon Syren, who had remained frozen in place on her front porch. Skye’s eyes fell upon her best friend, realizing just what this moment meant for them. Skye turned back to her brother, gently patting him on his arm.

Skye Wolfe: I’ll give you two some privacy.

Skye disappeared into the house, leaving Tristan standing before his beloved… the cold breeze between them not the only chill in the air.

Tristan Wolfe: Hello Sy…

Syren had turned to see what Skye was staring at, just at the same moment that her friend dropped her bottle, its contents spilling out over the porch. Syren’s world turned over, her heart lurching in her chest. It couldn’t be, her hand reaches out, groping for purchase as her knees threaten to buckle on her. She braces herself against a column as Skye rushes by, throwing herself at the man standing in her yard proving that he wasn’t simply a mirage.

She watched the siblings, still struggling with what she was feeling. Excitement warred with other emotions that she couldn’t even put a name to. She had never expected him to return. He had said he would so often but then never had. She was overjoyed. She was furious. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hug him. She wanted to punch him in the face. She was so confused. She has little chance to collect herself, before she sees Skye look back at her, then promptly take her leave.

Syren was left alone with the man who meant everything to her. The silence stretched out between them as she looked into Tristan’s face. He speaks, such a simple thing... words she’s heard so many times before, but never as meaningful as now. She involuntarily closes her eyes, her head bowing forward as tears spring to her eyes, as the reality washes over her. He was home. He had come back. But would he stay? The doubt hung over her, a black cloud shrouding the joy. She lets go of the column, shakily standing on the top step. She can barely coax the single word from her vocal cords.

Syren: Tris....

Just hearing her name escape from her lips was almost an overload of emotions for Tristan, a maelstrom of happiness, sadness, love, guilt, passion, anger swirled within him. He slowly moved towards her, reaching out his hand to touch her face – her skin as silky smooth as he recalled. Though years had passed, she looked exactly like he remembered – a bit older, maybe, but still as beautiful as he recalled. She felt Syren’s face warm at his touch, as he wondered if this was a welcome gesture or not… still, she did not pull away, just returned his gaze.

Tristan Wolfe: (breathing out) God… I missed you…

She could only watch helplessly as he moved towards her, her feet rooted to the spot. The rest of her world imploded when he touched her. She struggled to breathe, her lungs feeling as though they were constricted by metal bands. Her eyes close as his knuckles brush over her cheek. How many times had he done this; a hundred… a thousand… tens of thousands? She had no idea, but it had never failed to melt her down into a puddle. This time, was no different. She swayed towards him, unconsciously seeking out more. Her hands come up as if on their own volition, and settle on Tristan’s chest, causing a strangled little noise to escape from Syren’s throat. His words, wrap around her heart and squeeze, pushing all her emotions to the top. She stares into his eyes and a whimpering little laugh escapes. She couldn’t believe this moment was happening

Syren: You’re home…

Syren barely had time for the words to escape her lips as Tristan crushed his mouth onto hers, his desire being the primary emotion that won out in the end. The momentum of his forceful kiss brought the two up against the edge of the house as his hands were all over her body, lifting her up off the ground so that her legs wrapped around him as he kept her pressed up against the wood siding. The kiss was long and hard, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth as he if had not tasted anything so sweet in years. Their attraction had always been primal in nature, but something about this embrace seemed different to Tristan – deeper. He hadn’t realized just how much he had truly missed her until just a few moments ago. He wanted her, right here… right now, but something was holding him back. Tristan’s heart on the verge of eruption, he had to practically force his face from hers, breathing heavily as he looked into her eyes.

She was rocked by the force of his kiss. Helpless under the intense wave of heat that rolled over her, she surrenders completely to it, pushing her body forward against his even as he moved them backwards until they hit her house. Her arms weaved around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair refusing to let his mouth move from hers even if he wanted to. She tightens her thighs around his hips as their tongues duel, heat levels rising. As he pulls his mouth from hers, she makes a frustrated sound of protest. Their hearts beating in unison, blood pounding in their veins, she wantonly sinks her teeth into his neck with a greedy little sound. Her mouth skims its way up his neck to press kisses along his jawline. She opens her eyes long enough to stare into his and give him a sultry smile before leaning in and nibbling on his bottom lip. She couldn’t believe he was home. Couldn’t believe after all these years she was finally pressing her body against his. Finally tasting him. After all these years. All... these... years... of him being away. Away from her. She tears her mouth away from his and gives a little shove on his chest, all the time lost, the pain, the desolation returning to taunt her. How quickly she had forgotten. How quick she always was to forgive and forget. What a fool! And here she was doing it again. She squirms, slipping from between him and the house, her feet thudding on the ground as she stepped back. She wanted nothing more than to say fuck it and leap back into his arms... the power he had over her. Her emotions at war, she opened her mouth, struggling to put everything she had been through, and felt, without him over the long years and failing except...

Syren: How could you!?

Do this to her? To them? She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to rein her emotions in that were threatening to explode. Tasting her kiss, their fire seemed to burn hotter and brighter than ever, who knows how far they would’ve taken this reunion if their world hadn’t come crashing back down to reality. It had been three years since he’d seen Syren; Tristan didn’t know where to start. He tried to compose himself, fighting his instincts to reach out and take her in his arms again.

Tristan Wolfe: I’m truly sorry Sy, I never would’ve left had it not been imperative. This was just… something I had to do…

He had deduced at this point, judging by how hurt she still was, that she had not read his letters, the ones he had poured his heart and soul into every day – the only thing that seemed to keep him from going completely insane. Maybe she just hadn’t received them? Or did she throw them out with the rest of the trash?

Tristan Wolfe: (trying to explain) My past caught up with me in a bad way Sy, and I know I’ve never really talked to you about all that – never gave you the chance to understand and that wasn’t fair of me. I was embarrassed to show you that side of me; a part of myself that I just wanted to have buried deep where no one, not even me, would see it again. But ye know what they say about “skeletons” and “closets”…

Tristan tried to laugh it off, as if it was just a joke that would make everything better. It didn’t work, not even on himself.

Tristan Wolfe: I’m back now though lass and I’m not going anywhere… ever again.

She trembled with emotions, her heart thudding painfully in her chest as she tried to sort herself out. Happiness warred with her frustrations at being alone for so long. If he only knew how much his leaving had cost her. Part of her soul had gone along with him that day, and she had never quite been the same no matter how hard she had tried. His letters... the ones she had read had filled her with hope, false hope as time rolled along and he never came back... so she had started throwing them away to protect her already damaged heart. His past... he had hinted at it all the time but never had trusted her with it.

Syren: Maybe if you had...

Her voice trails off. Even if he had trusted her with it, would it have made a difference? Likely not. He had left her the first time, and then left her again. What was to say he wouldn’t do it again? His promises were empty, and she hated to admit that. She could tell by the way he acted that he had done things, things that were eating him alive just as her own self-doubt was eating her. She was at a loss. She was thrilled to have him home and yet... her world was now turned upside down. Could she live with everything that he had done, to her and the unknown? It wasn’t something she could quickly decide. This was the man she loved, but did he feel the same about her? The one problem that loomed over them all?

Syren: How can I trust you again?

A world of hurt emerges with the whispered words. She rakes an anguished hand through her hair, tears springing into her eyes as she tries to blink them back.

The fire that burned within Tristan’s soul for Syren began to dissipate as he knew, now, that this was not the right time. He thought himself almost naive, thinking he could just come back and they’d be right back to where they were – like they hadn’t missed a single fucking beat in three years. It wasn’t going to be easy, but he knew that he would do whatever it takes to make this right with Syren… or, at least, he would try.

Tristan Wolfe: No amount of apologies will ever undo what I did to you, Sy… and I know it’s not fair of me to think that ye waited for me this whole time…

Tristan seemed to warily scan his surroundings, making sure no muscular boyfriend was going to come around the corner and beat him to a bloodied pulp… would be a shame for him to survive the hell that was the Idolatrous only to come back and die here and now.

Tristan Wolfe: All I’m asking for is a chance with you, a second “second” chance… I know I don’t deserve it Sy but I truly do…

Tristan paused, believing her to have not read his many written letters after all. He had never said the words aloud, but had written it down many times. Somehow, it was so much easier for him to just write it then say it and now, here he was, at the precipice and he faltered. Was this something that she even wanted to hear right now? Would it even matter? He knew what he had endured these past few years, but he had no contact with Syren directly – had no idea what she had gone through, where she was at with her life right now.

Tristan Wolfe: … I do want to be with you, in whatever capacity that means.

Waited for him… oh had she ever waited for him. There had been a single potential... but no. Not even Wade Fischer, if she was being honest with herself, had been a prospect for her. She had hoped, but she couldn’t muster up any kind of feelings for him no matter how hard she had tried, so she did her best to let him down easily. They were still friends – though – and he, being a vet, would still come out to the ranch every once and awhile to treat the animals. That was as far as they went. No single human had ever touched her soul like Tristan had. Nobody had done the same amount of damage either.

She lowered her head wishing for words that never came. Never had; maybe never will. Tristan seemed terrified of the word, and that was something she had been okay with, believing it would come in time. Now she didn’t know what to believe. If she was a smart woman, she would send him packing and never see him again. After all, she had survived three years… what was a few decades? Syren almost laughed… who was she kidding? She never was particularly smart when it came to Tristan Wolfe. This time though, she would have to step in slowly, with eyes wide open instead of a headlong plunge into passion.

Syren: Nobody could ever replace you to me Tris… you were my “everything”…

She stops, hesitates. Once she crossed this line, there would be no going back. Her world, just starting to come to life again would be changed once more. For the better, for the worse... only the future could tell. She could be setting herself up for more heartbreak. He said he was here to stay, but she had heard it so many times before. He had left her. Could the third time really be the charm? Her reckless heart screamed at her to just give in and allow him another chance; a last chance for love and a last chance for a future together.

Syren: … and you still are. I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever could. (her voice cracks a little) I just don’t want to get into something that I’m not entirely sure is possible. I want to believe you will stay this time.

She gestures aimlessly with her hand, unable to put into words just what she means. She looks at him, aching to forgive all but unable to forget just what an impact it’s had on her. She couldn’t forget, but she could forgive... and she couldn’t give up on the prospect being offered to her. She smiles then, her eyes roaming over the Irishman who had caused her life to become a roller-coaster.

Syren: But I’m willing to take the chance…

2014
Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas

1 Year, 7 Months, 3 Days Later…

It had been a peculiarly cold winter this year, especially in Texas… where they were used to such mild and hot climate weather. Tristan had just finished seeing off their dinner guests, closing the gate behind him as he made his way back to the house. What a difference a year had made in Tristan’s psyche, his heart and soul slowly mending being around those that he loved. “Love”, a word he could still not find the courage to say to Syren. He had never felt such a strong emotion, but knew that was what this was – his sister Skye having confirmed just as much. She, too, had found love in the form of Raenia Campbell, a Texas Ranger who walked into “Reach for the Skye” one fateful night and done just what the bar name suggested… the two never looking back. Skye had been anxious to tell her brothers about her sexual awakenings but they both had been so amazingly supportive, even the usually stoic Angel seemed to get emotional over it. Luckily Cosmo had been around Angel at the time and he was able to just blame it on those “damn allergies”. Speaking of Angel, he had all but recovered from his wounds and had pursued a career in mechanical engineering, finding it was very much less stressful to work on car and engine issues then the kind that could, literally, blow up in your face. Syren had hosted a little get together for their ever expanding “family” tonight, a pleasant reminder of how much things continued to improve. When Tristan had shown up on her doorstep, he knew that there was still a fire that burned between him and Syren… but it was a slow burn, as they tried to navigate through all these feelings and history between them. Opening the door to the house, Tristan was greeted by Cosmo – Syren’s faithful huskie dog that had outlasted the litter, his white fur beginning to turn grey in some patches, a sign of his age. He wagged his tail excitedly as Tristan gave him a few friendly pats, before looking up to see Syren cleaning the dishes off the table.

Tristan Wolfe: That Adlynn sure was cute, eh?

Syren nearly dropped one of the dishes at the reminder of Raenia’s two-year-old-daughter. For whatever reason, she had never really been that comfortable around kids… always finding herself feeling awkward around them.

Syren: Yeah… she was… I know Cosmo loved her, didn’t you boy!?

Cosmo turned towards Syren, bounding happily over to her. She knelt down and gave him a treat as he licked her face happily before accepting his prize. Tristan helped her clean up the rest of the table and dishes as the two stood in silence, this behavior becoming more of a pattern between them. There were times where their passion would take ahold of them and they would burn the world down, if they could. Then there were times were all they did was talk, laugh, and drink for hours, as if they were the only two people on this whole world. That too, usually ended up with Tristan and Syren entangled within each other… only that type of love was more sensual. But then there was times like this, where – for whatever reason – neither knew what to say to the other, so silence was all they had. Though Syren loved Tristan’s siblings, there was something about seeing the three of them all together that served as a reminder that this had all happened once before… and then fell apart. She didn’t know how to stop it from breaking again, and that feeling of helplessness made her retreat back within herself.

Tristan Wolfe: (breaking the silence) Sy… you okay…?

Syren forced out a smile as she looked over at Tristan.

Syren: Of course, just tired… I’m going to start getting ready for bed, you’ll lock up?

Syren didn’t really wait for Tristan to respond, heading out of the kitchen and making her way up the stairs. He finished cleaning up and made sure everything was locked up downstairs. Cosmo lay down near the fireplace, nestling up next to its warmth as Tristan shut the lights off. Making his way upstairs, he found Syren already in bed, nonchalantly flipping through pages of one of her magazines. He walked into the bathroom and changed into his pajama bottoms and went about his bedtime routine of brushing his teeth and washing his face. Looking into his reflection, Tristan’s eyes closed, his mind triggering another one of his memories from years ago… his brain reminding him that no matter what he did, he would never forget. The Dullahan of Dundalk, that’s what they had called him. His actions that day were reprehensible, having killed, slaughtered, and tortured many of the townsfolk in an attempt to ascertain the location of the Idolatrous leader, Alisander Cullen. Tristan’s soul had been twisted that day in Killarney, where he was forced to kill Eliza in order to save her daughter, Aoibheann. Years later… on this day in Dundalk… he had lost himself completely to the darkness, crossing lines that should’ve never been crossed – all in the name of revenge. Tristan forced his eyes open, seeing his visage had now changed to one drenched in blood, his eyes as dark as his soul.

Tristan woke in a cold sweat, clutching at his chest and breathing heavy. It took him a moment to remember where he was… that he was safe… that he was home. He hadn’t even recalled going to bed, tried to remember just how he had got here. Before he had a chance though, he heard a low growling coming from downstairs. Guess he wasn’t the only one having nightmares tonight. Tristan turned to Syren – seeing that Cosmo’s soft snarling had not yet woke her. Quietly rolling out of bed, he was surprised how unnaturally cold the the house felt, like he had left a window open somewhere. Drowsy, Tristan made his way out of the bedroom down the stairs, just as a loud “yelp” emanated from the living room.

Tristan Wolfe: Cosmo!?

Tristan was awake now, rushing down the steps and making his way into the living room to find Cosmo lying on his side, blood beginning to pool around his body. For a moment, Tristan thought this to be just another nightmare, tried to blink himself awake, but nothing he did would stop the blood from flowing. The dog looked to Tristan, silently pleading for help, as Tristan tried to process this. The wound was from a bullet hole, but he had not heard any gunshot. As the pieces began to fall in place, Tristan’s eyes turned wide as he turned to look towards the stairwell leading up to the bedroom.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy…-!

No more words escaped from Tristan’s voice as he saw, standing before him, Alisander Cullen.

Alisander Cullen: Hello, Tristan.

Syren rolled over in the bed, not quite all the way awake, not sure what had brought her into this state of semi consciousness. Her hand slides across the mattress, seeking the comforting warmth of Tristan’s body. Not finding it there, her eyes pop open and she sits up… confused. She slips to the edge of the bed, her feet just touching the floor as she hears Tristan yell for her. The tone of his voice truly alarms her and she rushes from the room and down the hall, calling out to him. As she hits the landing her mind not quite processing the scene laid out before her. Who was that with Tristan? Why was he in their house? She descends the stairs swiftly, her steps faltering as she catches sight of the fluffy white bundle on the floor, blood spreading underneath him. She lets out a strangled cry.

Fury colors Syren’s vision red. She is running towards her precious pup when she is grabbed from behind. Her years of training kick in and she flings an elbow back, connecting with Jason’s face. She pivots on her heel, slamming a foot into his midsection with all her fury vented behind it. Jason staggered away, fighting to get his air back. For a moment, he looked like he would puke, but he managed to straighten up. Pure rage crossed his face. Syren snarls, recognizing her opponent. She hisses his name as he comes at her again. He charged Syren, fists flailing but she was ready. One fast straight punch to Jason’s unprotected jaw and his head whipped back, his body arched backward, all of his momentum snapping back on him like a broken rubber band. He lifted right up off his toes, clearing the ground. For one long moment his body hung in the air. Then he landed with a thud that shook the pictures on the walls.

She leaps at him and they grapple on the ground, each fighting for dominance. Jason – stronger and heavier – gains the upper hand, flipping Syren so her back was on the floor. He smashes his first into her face as payback. Blinding white light flashes before her eyes as she struggles to get out from her vulnerable position. She manages to get her arms free, bringing them around Jason’s neck, hauling him forward at the same time her knee comes up to partially connect with his groin. This disables Jason long enough for Syren to toss him off her and struggle back to her feet. She licks her lips, tasting blood. Breathing raspy, they warily circle each other, each aware of the separate battle going along beside them.

Syren moves first, her anger making her a little too reckless. Jason essentially clotheslines Syren and she goes down in a heap. She leaps to her feet, adrenaline pounding through her veins. With a growl, she lunges in on him again, reduced to clawing and scratching any flesh she can get ahold of. Jason slaps back at her, trying to fend off the whirlwind of nails. Finally he grabs her and heaves her up and over her head, tossing her like a sack of potatoes across the room. Syren slams onto a glass coffee table, it shattering on impact. Pieces of glass dig their way into her skin, a particularly bad gash on her thigh spurting blood. She scrambles among the shards, desperation coloring her moves, instinct telling her she has to get to her feet. A hand fists in her hair, yanking her up. An arm comes around her throat. As she begins to struggle, she feels the cold kiss of steel on her temple. She freezes, her blood turning to ice in her veins as the implications hit her. Her eyes fly to find Tristan…

Alisander Cullen’s side of his face was heavily scarred, a result of Tristan hitting him in the head with a flaming piece of debris during their fight inside the Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. As if remembering that encounter, Tristan’s right hand clenched and unclenched, his palm and fingers still baring those markings of that day.

Tristan Wolfe: Looks like ye’ve had some work done, lad…

Alisander Cullen: (touching his disfigured face) I guess I have you to “thank” for that…

Tristan had heard Syren come down the steps as the fear began to grip at his heart, remembering Alisander’s words very clearly. He wasn’t here for Tristan… not totally, he wanted Syren! The sounds of struggle are heard as Alisander simply laughs to himself.

Alisander Cullen: This time, I brought back up.

Tristan charged Alisander in a flash, tackling him to the ground, his silenced gun sliding from his grip. The blood-rage flowing through him once more, Tristan threw punch after punch, trying to go for the face while Alisander covered up as best as he could. When the moment was right, he jabbed an elbow into Tristan’s side, catching him in the ribs and knocking the air from his body. Alisander followed this up with a brutal head butt to Tristan, busting him open right above his left eye. Tristan staggered backwards, dazed, as Alisander pushed himself to his feet, throwing a stiff right, connecting with Tristan’s jaw and sending him to the ground. Tristan spit blood from his mouth as he felt Alisander’s come up from behind him, his arms wrapping about his neck, trying to choke him out.

Alisander Cullen: It’ll all be over with soon, Tristan…

Tristan struggled against Alisander’s strength, trying everything from throwing elbows into his stomach to clawing at Alisander’s face, but nothing would break the hold. As Tristan could feel himself fading, the sounds of Syren still fighting against her aggressor gave him the will to continue on. If she wasn’t going down without a fight, neither was he. Tristan bit down on Alisander’s hand hard, breaking skin and drawing blood. This was enough of a distraction that he need as he managed to push himself to his feet and grab ahold of Allisander’s head. Falling back down to the floor, Tristan snapped Alisander’s head back with a variation of his Celtic Cutter. The force of impact was enough for the choke hold to be broken, as well as send Alisander crumpling to the ground, his nose broken and bleeding. Tristan pushed himself to his knees, gasping for breath, as Alisander tried to stagger to his feet.

Tristan Wolfe: (between labored breaths) Don’t ye… ever… fecking die!?

Alisander Cullen: Not when I have unfinished business!

Alisander rushed in, grabbing Tristan and picking him up, his momentum carrying the two into the wall as Tristan’s spine cracked against the hard surface. His breathing was coming in shallow gasps now as Alisander continued to slam his fists into Tristan’s midsection, blood spitting from his mouth with each hit. Knowing that if he continued this assault, his fun would end too quickly, Alisander finally pulled back as Tristan slumped to the ground. Admiring his handiwork, he knelt beside Tristan as the young Wolfe struggled to lift his head.

Alisander Cullen: Did you really think you were “safe”, Tristan… that I wouldn’t find you? I was in a coma for over six months because of you! But that’s not the worst of it, oh no. You see, I wasn’t “asleep” Tristan… do you know what that feels like!? To be trapped in your own body, seeing and feeling everything, unable to do anything!?

Alisander rose to his feet, delivering stiff kick after kick into Tristan’s side, re-breaking the ribs he had broken just a year ago. Tristan spit blood from his mouth as Alisander grabbed a fistful of Tristan’s hair and dragged him back towards the hallway. Tristan’s eyes fell upon the lifeless body of Cosmo as tears welled in his eyes, realizing that Syren was likely next. Recollecting his silenced pistol, he placed it to the back of Tristan’s head as Tristan looked across to see Jamie “Jason” Brannigan holding a gun to her head.

Tristan Wolfe: Jamie…!?

Jamie Brannigan: So you do remember me then!

Jamie was the younger brother of Tristan’s old squad commander, Fintan. He, too, had been a part of the Exiles but had left abruptly after his brother’s death… a decision no one could blame him for. How he had become tangled up with the very group that had killed him was beyond Tristan.

Tristan Wolfe: Why…!?

Jamie Brannigan: You killed my brother, Tristan… that’s why! In Al-Qa’im, when you decided to pull that trigger and shoot that boy, that moment… that was the moment you killed him!

And there it was, a part of Tristan’s history that he never truly wanted to share with Syren, especially this way. He couldn’t worry about that now, had to keep them talking, had to figure out a way out of this. Full of rage, Jamie dug the barrel into Syren’s head as she closed her eyes, fearing what came next.

Tristan Wolfe: I saved your brother that day, Jamie… he told me as much! It’s because of badzers like this (nodding back to Alisander) that people like your brother even enlisted. If he could see what you’ve become, it would break his heart…

Jamie’s resolve seemed to wane; his eyes falling on Tristan… the mention of the type of man Fintan was seemed to strike a chord with him.

Alisander Cullen: This is what you wanted, Jamie… take it! Take your revenge!

Tristan Wolfe: Blame me for your brother’s death if you want, Jamie… but Syren had NOTHING to do with that! She’s an innocent in all of this and you fecking know it!

Alisander Cullen: Jamie… we talked about this! First the loved ones, then…

Tristan Wolfe: (interrupting) Come on you piece of shite, I’m right fecking here! I killed you brother! I pulled the trigger! He’s dead because of me! Take your fecking shot!

Like an angel and devil on his shoulder, Jamie’s mind raced. Looking back at Tristan, his dark eyes staring back at him, it was instantly decided what he wanted to do. Jamie pulled his gun from Syren’s head, turning to aim it at Tristan. Alisander was quicker, however, pulling the trigger and putting three into his chest before Jamie could “ruin his fun” with Tristan. However, the distraction was enough for Tristan as he slammed his elbow into Alisander’s right knee, remembering the crippling injury he had sustained during his rescue mission. As Alisander cried out in agony, Tristan made his way to his feet, wrestling with Alisander for the gun. After a tense few moments, a “phut” sound could be heard as the gun went off again. Tristan gritted his teeth in pain as his hands slipped from the gun, falling backwards to the ground, blood pouring from his side. Alisander stood over him, disappointment on his face.

Alisander Cullen: You’re getting off easy, Tristan… but know this, if I can’t make you suffer…

A wry smile formed across his lips as Alisander’s sinister gaze wandered up to Syren. Just then, a loud gunshot echoed throughout the house as Alisander staggered backwards, aghast. Syren, now with Jamie’s gun, repeatedly pulled the trigger… even pulling it well after the empty “click” sound was heard. Alisander lay dead in her hallway as Tristan crawled his way over to her, one hand on his wounded side in a vain attempt to keep the blood from leaving his body. With a weak and shaking hand, he took the gun from Syren, sliding it away from her.

Tristan Wolfe: It’s okay Sy… you’re safe now.

And with that, Tristan passed out…

Syren sat quietly on the exam table, head back against the wall, her eyes closed. She could barely remember the ambulance ride to the hospital. Her body screamed all over. She shifts, the new stitches in her thigh complaining at the motion. It reminded her of days gone by, back in the HWA when she was constantly getting patched up from a rough bought. She was still in shock over what had happened in her home, and everything that had been revealed. Tristan had killed a child! The moment she had heard that she had been shocked and appalled but now that she had had some time to absorb and reflect on things when her life wasn’t hanging in the balance, she realized a few things. He had hidden this away from her because he was afraid of her reaction. He was afraid that she would be disgusted and push him away. The thought was sobering. She understood as terrible of an act as it was, it was him, or the boy. She was thankful that she had never had to make a choice like that. Her heart ached for Tristan. SHE had killed someone. She had not even hesitated, she had seen the threat to her and her loved one, and reacted. How could she fault Tristan for doing the same? She shifts impatiently again, wanting nothing more than to go home and curl into a ball. Against doctors’ orders, she refused to be admitted. She just had to be signed out and go make sure Tristan was okay. As if conjuring him, a knock sounded at the door a moment before it opens to admit the doctor, a pleasant smile on his face.

Doctor: Okay well, everything seems okay, although I think you should spend the night...

Syren: (emphatically) No.

Doctor: … but since you won’t, we need to at least get some ultrasounds and make sure that the baby is doing alright.

A buzzing sounds in her ears, and she suddenly feels violently ill. She retches, the doctor reacting with concern, jumping towards her so that she didn’t fall off the examination table. She waves him away, tucking her head down, eyes closed until the world stops spinning. She sucks in a breath, the doctor’s words pounding in her skull. Baby? A baby!? She was carrying a child… Tristan’s child! She swallows hard, almost retching again as the shock heaps on top of all the other things she had been through that night.

Doctor: I’m going to guess this wasn’t planned?

She could only shake her head mutely, and follow the nurses docilely back into the room where the ultrasound was performed, all the while hoping there had been some mistake with the lab tests. Maybe they had switched hers around with someone else’s. That happened… right? She held her breath as the gel was squirted onto her abdominal area, the wand following soon after. The tech sweeps it around. Syren feels a false sense of relief, seeing nothing until... bam! There it was… a tiny little human, heart beating perfectly. She stared at the monitor. So it was true! How could this have happened!? Well... she knew HOW and with how much they... never mind! How could she have missed the signs was the real question? She had just shaken it off as stress related. She gives a short laugh, making the tech smile at her, thinking she was happy to see the baby was alive and doing well by all accounts, despite everything that had just happened.

The tech made some comment about the baby being a fighter, and Syren could only nod dumbly. She nodded her way through the admonishment to take better care of herself, and instructions to start prenatal vitamins. She signed the release papers and took the pictures the tech handed her. She looks at them a long quiet moment, and then stuffs them into her pocket. She moves like a zombie down the hallway, heading toward the waiting area. She had been back there much longer than expected getting glass picked from her wounds, stitched up and now... this. Maybe Tristan was out there already. She stumbles through the doors, eyes glassy, not really seeing anything in front of her.

Tristan leaned against the wall, the pain of his gunshot wound causing him too much discomfort to sit. It had, luckily, been a through-and-through and didn’t require any surgery. His ribs, though broken, would heal – but the pain of every breath right now was excruciating. Only thing left for them to do to completely patch Tristan up was to stitch up the gash on his head. All things considered though, he and Syren had been rather lucky, to avoid this encounter without any life-altering consequences. He watched her walk through the doors, a little surprised that her visit had actually taken longer than his. Seeing her pale demeanor, her face void of any color, Tristan began to worry that something was very wrong.

Tristan Wolfe: (concerned) Sy…!? Are ye okay?

Syren could only nod her head, shock still flowing through her veins. Without saying a word, she made her way to the exit as Tristan followed behind her.

Arriving back at the ranch, Tristan saw the police cars still outside, their home nothing more than a crime scene. Tristan looked to Syren, the two of them not having spoken a word to each other since leaving the hospital.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy… we don’t need to do this…

Syren turned to Tristan, glaring at him. Did he already know!?

Syren: Do… what?

Tristan Wolfe: Go in… we can go get a hotel…

Syren exhaled deeply and then, as if in a daze, turned her attention back to the house. She hadn’t even realized they had made it home.

Syren: No… it’s fine…

Tristan had seen this kind of thing before on the battlefield; Syren was in state of complete and utter shock. He didn’t think going back in there right now and seeing the scene of her trauma was good for her. He made up his mind that it might just be better to leave but, by that point, she was already out the car door before he could do such a thing. The officers on scene had pleaded with the two to leave the premises but Syren would have none of it, reminding them that this was her home. Feeling defeated, the officers merely instructed them of the areas they had to avoid as the “home invasion” was still under investigation. As they entered the front door, the scene of chaos and destruction was still very evident. The bodies of the two men and Cosmo had long since been removed, blood stains and white chalk outlines all that remained. The two slowly moved through the house, almost as if afraid to step on a random land mine that had been left behind as a souvenir. She wasn’t sure how she got there, but Syren found herself standing in the upstairs guest room, looking it over as if she was contemplating making some cosmetic changes. Eventually, Tristan’s voice cuts through the fog, unaware that he had been repeatedly saying her name.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy… are you okay?

She shook her head as if in a daze, not really sure how she had already gotten in her house. She vaguely recalls arguing with people, and somehow getting her way. As for the ride home... they could have flown in on a unicorn for all she knew. She stood in the guest bedroom, looking around. It wouldn’t be a guest room for too much longer. In a matter of months it could house a baby. Her stomach lurches again, panic overtaking her. She couldn’t do this! She didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a child! And Tristan, how would he respond? She doubted he wanted to be tied down, it might make him turn tail and bolt, after everything they had managed to piece together, and what they now had, how could she let that happen? But how could she take the life of an innocent being? She didn’t think she had it in her. Rock… meet hard place.

It was all too much with the events of the night. Her home, her sanctuary, being invaded… a battle for life and death, knowing that she could have lost everything in the blink of an eye. Learning about Tristan’s horrific past from strangers. A vision of her emptying a clip into Alisander played over and over in her head. She had shot someone! It didn’t really click until now just what she had done. She had done it for all the right reasons but… how could she live with herself? Her emotions were at war once again. She slowly curls in on herself, trying to go to a place where she just doesn’t have to think at all anymore. Slowly, Tristan’s voice sinks into her subconscious. She turns to face him. How easy it would be to lie… to pretend it was just the horrid events that had taken place in the house; those were bad enough. She couldn’t lie to him though, she had to tell the truth… and she dreaded it. Knowing that this could be the end of her relationship she takes a shaky step forward. Her eyes look over his battered and bruised body, as if committing it to memory.

Syren: Tristan...

She reaches her hand in her pocket and pulls out the slightly crumpled ultrasound pictures. She stares at them for a moment before taking a deep breath and holding them out to Tristan with a shaky hand. She swallows hard, her voice quaking with fear and emotion.

Syren: … I’m pregnant…

Tristan staggered backwards, as if he had been shot… again. He had heard the words come out of her mouth, had confirmed what she had said by looking at the pictures, but still didn’t believe it. Their rollercoaster of a night seemed to just continue, no end in sight. He had thought she had been traumatized by the events of this evening; instead… she seemed to be processing this new development in their lives. How strange it was that on the night that his past caught had up with him, their future was just beginning to unfold.

Tristan Wolfe: (stammering) So you’re… I mean… I’m… we…

Very articulate Tristan, care to try that again?

Tristan Wolfe: We’re having a child…!?

Tristan was overwhelmed, rushing forward and lifting Syren up into the air and spinning her around the room.

Tristan Wolfe: We’re having a fecking child!?

Tristan put Syren down, his mind racing a mile a minute.

Tristan Wolfe: Sorry, I probably can’t lift you like that, can I? Did I just hurt the baby? Did I hurt you? I need to buy a crib! We need to paint this room! What are we going to name her…?

It was at that moment that Tristan, remembering the ultrasound pictures, recalled that the word “female” was written on them. He looked at Syren, a big smile on his face.

Tristan Wolfe: Her… we’re having a girl…

Well, that was not the reaction she had expected. She wasn’t quite sure what she had thought he would do, but picking her up and spinning her around the room was not one of them. As he places her down, she staggers a little, reaching out and catching her balance by hanging onto his shirt. He was so excited about the prospect of becoming a father that she couldn’t help but allow a little whisper of a grin to cross her features. His happiness was catching. She felt a wave of guilt crash over her because she had thought the worst of him. Not only that, she herself was not finding too much joy in the thought of bringing a child into the kind of world she lived in. Look what had happened tonight… to poor Cosmo, who had been the closest thing to a child she had had.

Syren: I think, after tonight it’s safe to say this little one is made of tough stock Tris…

His concern warmed her. She places a hand on her belly, not feeling too much of a change. Maybe it was a little bit more convex than usual but she had just thought it was the result of eating rather well the last couple weeks. She had been hungrier than usual. She could slap herself in the head for not realizing what that had meant. She had accounted it to the fact of her… erm, increased physical activities.

Syren: We don’t know yet... that’s my gender.

She smiles at him, eye crinkling at the corners amused by his little mistake if only for a moment. The smile vanishes quickly as the reality comes back to her. This was a real little being, which would change their whole world, when they had only just started to piece things together. Everything was so delicate; the trust... the trust wasn’t totally where it should be. And he still hadn’t said the words... could she bring a child into the world under these circumstances? Could she be a single mother should he bolt? Too many questions, and not enough answers. The weight of everything that would need to be done presses on her.

Syren : So you’re... happy about it?

Tristan was beyond happy about it, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He never even had considered it before, being a father… starting a family. Was he just hitting some sort of exuberant state as a result of all the shit they had just gone through tonight; some way of his body trying to offset all the emotions that came with the fact that, mere hours ago, the two could easily have been killed? Or were all the drugs and pain meds they gave him at the hospital just hitting him now in some beautiful, blissful concoction? He tried to take a deep breath to calm himself, forgetting about his ribs and grimacing in pain at the reminder that taking in big mouthfuls of air was – actually – hazardous to his health. Tristan looked into Syren’s eyes, wishing at this moment that he could read her mind. He reached his hand out, placing it against her belly. He didn’t feel anything kicking or moving, was that normal? He was going to have to do a lot of research to familiarize himself on the “what to expect while expecting” subject.

Tristan Wolfe: Happy about it? I’m fecking excited! And we’re definitely having a girl, I know it…

Tristan looked at her now, truly seeing her for the first time. There was something about this moment that didn’t feel… right.

Tristan Wolfe: Are… you not happy? I mean, it’s sudden… unexpected… and of all the things we talked about, we never talked about something like this…

The moment Tristan reached out his hand, and placed it on her belly almost broke her. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as all her hopes and dreams flew around her mind. She should be excited, should be happy, but instead she was allowing all her doubts to ruin the moment… again. It wasn’t only the fact that they had just started to really find what they had been missing all the times prior, but the sheer weight of responsibility motherhood was. She had never been good around children, feeling awkward and never knowing quite what to do with them. She had no doubts Tristan would make a wonderful father, it was herself she had concerns about. She had raised plenty of babies of the furry kind, but one of her own? She places a hand on the back of her neck and rubs.

Syren: I... don’t know.

It was hard to admit, knowing that she might be hurting him with her words. She struggled to figure out just how to explain it to him. It wasn’t the thought of having his child at all… in fact, the thought of being a true family with him made her heart scream with happiness. It was all her. Her shortcomings, she would never forgive herself if she failed Tristan’s child. She looks away, unable to keep eye contact.

Syren: What if... I’m a terrible mother?

She blurted it out but once she had… she felt lighter, less stressed. It was as if she had cracked open a dam. The floodgates broke down, and all her thoughts came pouring out all at once.

Syren: What will this do? To us I mean? Will you stay? Are you sure you’re ready? I want everything to be… alright Tristan… for the baby: OUR baby.

A warmer rush of emotion goes through her, calming her racing thoughts for the moment. This was a little piece of Tristan growing inside her. She looks back up at the Irishman who looked so damn concerned. He was the brightest spot in her life, and he was happy about this. This gorgeous, lovable, stubborn, infuriating man had given her a little piece of himself albeit unplanned. She smiles, truly happy in the moment and steps forward to wrap her arms around him. She whispers it once more.

Syren: Our baby...

Tristan shook his head, brushing her golden hair from her face so he could stare into those enthralling amber eyes. They had been through so much, not just tonight, not just this past year – but throughout their entire history and, yet, they had survived it; they would survive this.

Tristan Wolfe: You couldn’t possibly be a terrible mother, Sy… not even if you tried. And yeah, I’m freaked out, of course I am… I don’t know the first thing about being a father. But ye said it yourself, this is OUR baby… and I made a promise to you when I got back, I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, whatever you decide to do… I’m right here…

With his hands upon her face, he pulled Syren into him, pressing his lips gently against hers.

Tristan Wolfe: … I’m with you.

Pure pleasure thrummed through her at his words. It might just be his Irish charm talking, but he sure knew how to win her over. Her fears and self-doubts calmed for the moment, she returns Tristan’s kiss and then presses her cheek against his chest, listening to his heart beating. She runs her hands down the hard planes. There was one side effect of pregnancy hormones that she wasn’t going to complain about... Syren tilts her head up and gives Tristan a saucy grin.

Syren: You know there’s a bed over there... it’d be a shame to let it stay all neat.

Tristan looked down at Syren with a sly grin, wetting his lips as he cocked his head to the side.

Tristan Wolfe: I mean Sy… when have we ever needed a bed?

Tristan pulled Syren into him, forcing his mouth onto hers as his arms wrapped around her, gently lifting her into the air. He passionately kissed her, teasing her tongue with his as he kept his hands firmly underneath while she wrapped her legs around him. As if suddenly remembering something, he stole away, looking at Syren once more.

Tristan Wolfe: We can do this… right? I mean, it doesn’t hurt the baby or nothin’…?

Syren couldn’t help but laugh. His concern filled her with a joy she couldn't even begin to describe. Maybe, just maybe things would be okay after all. After everything they’d been through, they certainly deserved this moment of happiness at the very least.

Syren: No, Tristan... now shut up and take me to bed!

Syren waddled along in companionable silence with Tristan, taking one of their near daily walks around the ranch. She reflected on everything that had come to pass in the last few months, pretty much all for the better. Tristan had taken up a job with the Texas Rangers and was currently in training, putting real roots down. That simple act had helped assuage Syrens fears immensely that he was indeed, making a real home here with her. After that shocking night, they had done a lot of talking, and she had done a lot of soul searching. Tristan had agreed to tell her some more about his past, but glossed over some details, which she was okay with. She would not rush him, if he wanted to tell her in time he would, if not that was fine as well. He had opened up a little, and that was all that mattered to her. The fact that she had taken a life, regardless if he had been trying to kill them, had haunted her for weeks afterwards, her sitting up in bed in a cold sweat the clicking of the gun sounding over and over in her mind. She had finally come to terms with, and forgiven herself for it. Wounds and souls had healed for both. As for the baby...

Syren placed a hand on her massive bump and felt a hard kick in response. She still wasnt one hundred percent sure about it, about being a mother and taking on responsibility for a human life. She had to make sure this little one turned out to be an upstanding citizen... given the events in her life, she wasnt quite sure she was up to the task. However, the baby was a little piece of her and Tristan, and she felt a vague sort of fondness for its antics. The times when the couple just laid in bed and both watched and felt their child doing what amounted to acrobatics inside her, those were some of the happiest moments in Syrens life. She had never felt closer to Tristan than that. Not that it was all fun and games. The baby, who Tristan swore up and down was a girl, seemed to have a fondness for trying to break one of Syrens ribs. Nevermind using her bladder for kickball practice. Her back had been aching all damn day. Feeling Tristans hand close around hers, she turned her smiling face on him. It was really amazing to her, that this man still found her attractive, even though she was lumbering around like Shamu on dry land. He never failed to show her that, and she would forever be grateful. Their relationship seemed to have thrived, contrary to Syrens expectations.

It happened as they rounded a bend, the house coming into sight before them. Syren felt a weird twinge, when a flood of liquid cascading down her thighs. She stopped dead in her tracks, utterly mortified, not really processing what had just happened. Tristan turned to look at her questioningly when it clicked. The back pain, the twinges... the rush of water. The baby was coming. She spoke the words out loud and no sooner had they left her mouth she was unceremoniously whipped off her feet and Tristan was running with her towards their SUV. The ride to the hospital passed in a blur, and before she knew it Tristan was squealing into the parking lot. She barely had time to open her door before he scooped her back up, ignoring her protests that her legs were working just fine. They entered the hospital in such a fashion they had nurses running towards them before the doors even closed. Soon they swept her away and got her checked out, confirming she was in labor, then settled her into a room hooked up to moniters. It didnt seem so hard. The twinges were more frequent, and stronger but nothing she couldnt handle. She smiled reassuringly at Tristan who hovered over her. His concern warmed her heart. And this didnt seem so bad really.

It was hell. Pure, unimaginable hell. Syren hung onto the sides of the hospital bed, biting her lip and struggling not to cry out. She was drenched with sweat, she was tired, and all the nurses were standing around yelling at her. She would rather be in a barbed wire lumberjack match, than be doing this. As another contraction ripped through her body, and a nurse yelled at her to push, she couldnt help but bellow right back. Didnt they realize she WAS pushing? This little demon just stubbornly refused to move. Stubborn like its father. Syren turns a baleful eye onto Tristan, who in all fairness was trying to encourage her, which pissed her off even more. Easy for him to say! All he had to do was just stand there! She snarled at him.

Syren: You! You did this to me!

She continues on a rant, telling Tristan just what she planned to do to him once it was all over. None of it sounded pretty. Syren wished she could let go of the damn railings and whack him over the head, but another contraction was upon her and she was hanging on for dear life, bearing down as the nurses commanded. Tristan under the onslaught of words, eyed Syren warily. He had spent years dodging bullets in war zones, almost losing his life countless times. That was preferable to dealing with Syren in her current state.

Tristan: I'm sorry, I didn't know... do you need drugs!? I feel like I need drugs!

He picks up a cup of ice chips, approaching her like he was trying to hand feed a tyrannosaurus. What he got for his trouble was a glower, and a suggestion on just where he could place that cup.

Tristan: Get that thing out of her!!!

He yells at the nurses, who continue to yell at Syren to push, who in turn threatens to end Tristans life if he ever comes near her again. Her threats soon turning to a wail as an intense pain engulfs her. And it is among this chaotic scene that their child makes its entrance into the world. The baby is dumped on Syrens chest, and her arms come up and around it automatically. She stares at the messy little thing. It looked like a wrinkled, red potato. She was instantly infatuated. Vaguely the doctors announcement of 'Its a girl!' registered in her mind, but she never took her eyes off the babies face. All the doubts of motherhood in her mind vanished, as she pulled her daughter (her daughter!!!) closer. She would gladly give up her own life to protect her. Although, she would probably never hear the end of it from Tristan who always loved it when he was right. Speaking of...

She looks up at Tristan, who was standing a little away, warily eyeing Syren, waiting to see what other venomous things might spew from her mouth. Instead, he gets a smile that could light up a room. He blinked. It was like somebody flicked a light switch. He approached, looking down into the sleepy eyes of his daughter.

Syren: Shes perfect...

He leans down and wraps an arm around both of them. Syren rests her head on his shoulder and they both just stare in wonder at the tiny little being they had created together. The babys eyes were gray, giving no indication of what color they would turn as she got older, but there was a tuft of blond hair crowning her head, showing that she had taken after her mother in at least some aspect. The stubborn nature though, that was alllll Tristan in Syrens opinion. She presses a kiss to his cheek, before looking once more at their daughter, who needed a name. They had talked at leisure of the ones they liked and she knew exactly which one she wanted. It suited her perfectly.

Syren: Niamh.

Tristan: Niamh?

She nods. It meant radiant and nothing could be closer to the truth. Their daughter was beautiful and had, Syren hoped, a bright future in front of her. She gently hands her over to Tristan, who cradles the newborn in his arms like he had been doing it all his life. Syren felt her emotions melt into a puddle at the sight. She truly was blessed, and didnt think she could ask for a better father for the child she didnt even know she had wanted so badly. Tristan looks at Syren and smiles. In this moment, it seemed life couldnt get any better.

2015
Sirenum Ranch
Spur, Texas

11 Months, 19 Days Later…

A few months had now passed since Syren had given birth to their baby girl, Niahm. Tristan had no idea just how much their lives would change that day, he felt as prepared as one could be with all the research he had done leading up to this miraculous moment. The delivery itself had been as intense as any gunfight Tristan had ever been a part of but his training had prepared him in this moment, as he kept his head down until Syren ran out of ammunition to throw at him. When she was finally here, the mood went from warzone to pure bliss. And the moment he got to hold her for the first time? He had never felt anything like that. Syren had given him that, the women he… geezus, he still hadn’t said it! He seemed to be waiting for these “perfect” moments but they either passed him by too quickly or the words caught in his throat. What was it about this word or emotion that got the better of him? Was it that he didn’t know if she felt the same? Was it that he didn’t feel he deserved to be loved, in return? Tristan pulled up to the ranch and got out of his truck, wiping the sweat of his brow as the hot afternoon sun burned down upon him. He pulled his gear from the back of the truck and proceeded into the house, waiting for any signs of life within the home. No death-curling screams, no banshee-level crying, no heart-melting giggling… nothing. Tristan placed his bag down in the living room, proceeding up the steps and into the nursery, where he saw Syren swaying back and forth, Niahm in her arms.

Syren gently swayed back and forth, crooning a lullaby to Niamh, trying to get her to go down for an afternoon nap. If you had told her a year or so ago that she would be singing to her daughter, Syren probably would have laughed at you. Yet here she was, embracing motherhood in all its exhausting glory. The labor and delivery were all but forgotten once she had gotten Niamh in her arms, pure happiness taking over. When they had gotten home with her, the real test had begun…

Syren: Over in Killarney, many years ago
My mother sang a song to me in tones so soft and low
Just a simple little ditty in her good old Irish way
And I'd give the world if I could hear that song of hers today

It was not easy, and she had worried that it might cause tension between her and Tristan, but he had stepped up and took on his role in a way she had never expected him to. He was a doting father, and she never tired of just staring at him with his daughter. He was there for diaper changes, bath time, play time... you name it. He even occasionally got up with her for the night time feedings, although he didn’t complain when she sent him, and his useless nipples back to bed.

Syren: Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Hush now, don't you cry

Syren knew she couldn’t sing very well, but Niamh seemed to enjoy it anyway. The baby made a small noise in her throat as her eyes drooped. She moved her way over to the crib as her daughter drifted off to sleep. It was much easier now, the newborn stage over and the infant stage well underway. She slept through the night, and was a true joy to be around. Stubborn streak a mile wide, just like her father. Syren smiled to herself at the thought. Couldn’t possibly have gotten any of that from her mother.

Syren: Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
Too-ra-loo-ra-li
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral
That's an Irish lullaby

She sets Niamh down in the crib and holds her breath a moment. A little snort and her baby curling up with her tush in the air was her only movement. Syren lets out a small sigh, one hand going to gently run her fingers through the soft blond hair of her daughter. She had thought when she met Tristan she would never love another being as much as that. She had been wrong... sensing motion in the doorway; she glances over and sees him standing there. She can’t hold back a sparkling smile.

Tristan Wolfe: God, I love ya…

And then, there it was, just like that… he said it. It took him a moment to realize what he had actually said, Syren a few more moments after that. The two stood in stunned silence as Tristan tried to rack his brain for what had just actually happened. He had been there watching her with their daughter and he had gotten swept up in the emotion of it all. The two had second-guessed everything they had done up until the point their baby girl had been born but when she was finally here, it was like all the worry had washed away. Even when they had tried to leave the hospital after their stay and Tristan struggled to get the car seat to “click” just right, he felt his Irish temper floating to the surface. But one look over at Niahm and Syren – who, herself, was struggling to keep from breaking out in laughter – and his anger floated away as he allowed himself to laugh at his misfortune. Tristan’s hand instinctively found his way to the front of his pants pocket, his fingers nervously fumbling over something concealed within. Maybe she hadn’t heard him; maybe he could play it off as a joke? He took a step into the room, approaching her, his eyes looking deep into hers. No, she had definitely heard, otherwise she wouldn’t be looking back at him like she had suddenly been turned to stone.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy… I’ve wanted to say that to you for feckin’ ever… sorry, shouldn’t swear around the baby…

Tristan turned to look over at Niahm, who appeared at rest and content in her own dreams, unaware of the two even in the room.

Tristan Wolfe: (looking back at Syren) … but I do… I loved you the moment I met you, it just took me awhile to figure out what I was feeling. Every time that I left and went back to Ireland, all I could think of was you… coming back to you. Sy, I know I should’ve said it sooner… was always looking for “that right moment” but I never seemed to get it right. I can’t wait anymore; I need you to know… I love you.

Syren wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. All she could do was blink. She had to have been mistaken, after nine long years... her ears had to be deceiving her. But no, he was coming closer and confirming that she had indeed heard the big four letter word. She had said it to him frequently, long ago giving up on ever hearing it back. She had just accepted that it was the type of man he was. But now... she lets out a strangled giggle over his concern over cursing around the baby, she slept like a stone. Wasn’t he worried about his girlfriend hitting the floor from fainting from the shock of it all? She had no idea why humor bubbled to the surface, she must be delusional, she was stunned... shocked. Rocked to her absolute core. Her head buzzed, her vision swam before her eyes as she stared at him. And still, he spoke on, bringing her dreams to life with his words. This was happening. After all they had been through, the good, the bad... she had never stopped loving him, learning that he felt the same was overwhelming. Tears pooled in her eyes.

Syren: (whispered) Oh Tris...

She wraps her arms around him, burying her face in his shirt. Her mind chanting along with the beating of his heart. He loved her. HE loved her. He LOVED HER. Her heart swelled with emotion. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any better than what they had been, she was proven wrong. She would never forget this moment.

Syren: (mumbling against the front of his shirt) I love you too. I always have, and always will.

For a moment, all he could do – wanted to do – was hold her. He breathed in her summer scent, realizing that as happy as he was, there was still one thing he hadn’t done yet… something he swore would be his one-two punch to Syren’s heart. She had already reacted in the best possible way to his words, so the hard part was over… right? A moment of hesitation struck him as he reluctantly pulled her away from him, his hand going to her cheek. His senses were all on fire, his heart ready to leap out of his chest. His fingers traced their way down from her face to her neck, down her shoulder and to her hand, as he stepped back, falling to a knee. As he held firmly to her hand within his, his free hand fumbled into his pants pocket, pulling forth a small square object as his eyes floated up to meet hers once more.

Tristan Wolfe: Sy… when I left that first time, when Angel recruited me into the Exiles, I knew what I was doing was important… that I was making the world a safer place. At the same time, it didn’t matter to me if the world was safe if I didn’t have you in mine. I knew then, even if I was shite at saying it, that you were… and you are… my everything. I had bought this little number during my first tour, hoping I’d get the chance to give it to you. But when I finally came back a few years ago and said to ye that all I wanted was to be in your life no matter the capacity, I lied. I wanted you… I wanted her (nodding to the sleeping baby)… I wanted us… I wanted all of this…

Tristan popped open the box, revealing a diamond ring with its band woven with crystals that weaved together to form a type of Celtic design.

Tristan Wolfe: … and I want it forever. Sy, will you marry me?

Syren enjoyed the warmth of the embrace, her heart settling into a steady rhythm as she leaned on his chest. She begrudgingly stepped back a little as he disentangled himself from her. As his hand comes to her cheek she tilts her head up, the familiar gesture usually being followed up by a kiss. Instead his hand moves slowly down, to grip hers. Wrinkles appear on Syrens brow as a confused look crosses her face. The moment Tristan drops to his knee before her, the confused look turns to one of complete shock. Her heart skips a few beats. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. Then he opens his mouth and nearly brings her to her knees. Her heart, beating once more, thumps erratically in her chest. She is moved to tears by his words. All this time… all this time she had wondered what he had been thinking, how he felt, and now she knew. It was overwhelming to say the least. She was shaking like a leaf as her free hand came up to cover her mouth, tears filling her eyes. She tugs at his hand, trying to get him to his feet before she explodes. She practically drags him out into the hall, carefully closing the door behind her before launching herself into Tristan’s arms. She could only helplessly giggle and nod in stunned happiness, her arms wrapped around his neck, before finally spitting out the word he was probably waiting to hear.

Syren: Yes!

Getting dragged from their daughter’s room, Tristan wasn’t sure if he was going to like the response she was about to give him. Obviously he could see the emotions in her face, but emotions have a funny way of being misconstrued… the story of their lives. When the response finally hit him, he felt as if he may never be able to wipe the smile from his face. He vaguely remembers slipping the ring onto her hand as he found his arms wrapping around her, lifting her into the air and spinning her around – much like he had done when he first found out that she had been pregnant with Niahm. Placing her down before the two got too dizzy and wouldn’t be able to stand anymore, Tristan placed his hands upon Syren’s face, using his thumbs to brush away any tears that had fallen from her eyes. He had no idea such happiness was possible and it was all because of her… his Syren, the woman who – much like the mythical creatures of lore – had called to him when he was lost, brought him into her world, and never let him go. How strange life can be, to have met someone like Syren in such a fleeting way while apart of the HWA – a relationship he couldn’t have ever imagined would have ever advanced beyond such a physical passion. They had connected in a way that he had never felt before; left his head spinning until all that was left was her. Tristan leaned in, pressing his lips to hers as his joy overwhelmed him.

Tristan Wolfe: (in between kisses) My only regret… is that I waited …this long… to tell you…

Tristan pulled away, for just a moment, so he could lose himself in the dark amber pools that were her eyes.

Tristan Wolfe: … but I won’t ever let you forget.

She felt as though she was walking on air, even more so when Tristan picked her up and started twirling with her. A twinkling laugh erupts from her as she holds on for the ride. If this was a dream, she never wanted to wake up from it. NOW things couldn’t get any better, right? Wrong! As his lips descend down, pressing to hers in a series of kisses as he speaks, she feels the familiar flare of desire ignite inside of her. She couldn’t help it, he was quite irresistible on a normal day, tonight though, was a whole new version. Her heart was full to exploding. Everything was so perfect in her world right now. She stares back into his eyes for a few moments, feeling giddy with the love she sees reflected back at her. Her hunger for him burns even hotter, slowly overtaking the sweetness of the moment.

Syren: Show me.

She reaches up and gets her hands tangled in his hair, hauling his head down and claiming his mouth with a fiery kiss that she felt down to her toes. He was hers, and she was going to make sure he knew it. With a low growl, she nips at his bottom lip, drawing it out then releasing. Her mouth skims down his neck to the hollow where it met his shoulders, always one of her favorite spots. She plants kisses there, moving around to the front of his throat, giving a little bite there for good measure. Not sure he was getting the point; she takes charge even more and pushes him back until he thumps loudly into the wall, her mouth already hot on his before he can even make a sound.

Tristan savagely accepted her mouth on his, their tongues lashing together in a dance to establish dominance. Breaking free from her embrace, he turned Syren away from him and rotated their bodies so she was pressed against the wall, her back to him. With a fistful of her hair, Tristan pulled her head back so he could gain access to her neck, roughly kissing his way along her collarbone. His other hand roamed her body, squeezing and grabbing one breast… then the other. Finally, it found its way to her waist line, pushing its way into her pants and inside her. She gasped at first, though it seemed to be out of a combination of lust and surprise. As she settled into his rhythm, the two found themselves lost completely in their passion, Tristan moving in synchronization with Syren’s body as each wave of pleasure pulsed through her.

Tristan Wolfe: (growling into her ear) You are mine… forever…

Syren had little time to do anything but draw a ragged breath before she is pushed against the wall, his body like a wall of hot steel behind her. Her hands come up, as her nails try to dig their way into the hard surface before her as he pulls her head back and attacks her neck, her weak spot. Her knees tremble as his fingers enter her, her nerves as taut as a bow string. She allows him to dominate her, her breath hitching as he works her body. She shudders as she tumbles over the crest of her first orgasm, her throat constricting on a loud moan. She gasps for air, struggling to regain control of her senses. Determined to torment him in the same way, she leaned back against him, her palm connecting with his thigh; she moved it upwards, seeking.

She found her prize, a feral smile coming over her lips as her finger trace him. She slid in his arms, turning so she was facing him. Her mouth sought his once more, demanding he give in. Her fingers slide to his fly, nimbly unfastening it. She releases his mouth, only to give him a cocky smirk as she sank down to her knees, taking his pants and boxers along with her. She purrs with satisfaction at what springs out to greet her. She starts out by using her tongue to torture him, reveling in the noises she wrung in response to her actions. Her nails skim over his thighs to cup him reverently, before wrapping her hand around giving an experimental stroke. Her eyes, hot with promises look boldly up at him before claiming him in her mouth, settling to her task with a contented little hum.

Tristan groaned in pleasure as his hands fell to Syren’s hair, twisting and pulling with every action as she moved faster. Every once and awhile, her eyes would float up to his, teasing him further. Lust overtaking him, he pulled her from her knees and smashed his mouth into hers once more, licking… biting… kissing. He wrapped his legs around her as he carried her from the hallway, into their bedroom. He dropped her rather aggressively onto the bed, his body falling with hers, as he lay atop her, his eyes tracing over her body. His hands ripped the fabric of her shirt from her body as Syren moved with him, slipping her bra off. His hands were kneading one breast while he took the other in his mouth, hearing her moans of pleasure enticing him to continue. Again, his fingers found their way inside Syren, her body tightening around him as she let out a sharp cry of ecstasy. It was loud enough that she clasped her hands over her mouth while Tristan froze in place, the two listening to see if their insatiable desire had broken the calm and quiet of Niahm’s sleep. Hearing no such thing, Tristan cocked his head to look up at Syren, teasing her nipple once more with his teeth. Syren kept her hands over her mouth, doing her best to muffle her playful giggling.

Tristan Wolfe: (mischievously) Now, now Sy… we don’t want to wake the baby.

His admonition caused her to giggle even harder. The giggles turning to gasps as he played her body. He always seemed to know just the right thing to do, their bodies in tune with one another. Her body arches off the bed, encouraging him to keep up with his torment. Her nerve endings were on fire, every touch exquisite anguish to her. Her hands traced across his back, over his shoulder blades to trace the muscles corded in his biceps.

Syren: Shhhh

She knew exactly how to keep him quiet. Her fingers tightening around his dark locks once more, she urged his head downwards. Her thighs wantonly parted, demanding satisfaction from him. He didn’t move at first, and her pushes grew more desperate as she writhed underneath him. She whispered a hoarse entreaty.

Syren: Please?

She really didn’t have to ask, but Tristan still felt like teasing her more… payback for her cruel, yet appreciated, torment in the hallway. He pulled her pants down, gently kissing her hips and thighs, his eyes looking up to see if she was watching. Syren’s body squirmed and he could feel her breath quicken, confirming that she was on the verge once more. He dare not deny her any further, fear of what wrath a woman like Syren would rain down upon him if he did. He slid her panties off, caressing her legs as he did so, before he finally succumbed and gave Syren what she wanted, devouring her.

Her world exploded into a vortex of sensations. She shamelessly took all Tristan was offering and then some. Shivers passed through her body as she twined her legs around his head, rendering him immobile even if he wanted to move. Syrens second peak hit her with the force of a freight train, and she bit her lip, to try and stifle the cry the threatened to escape. Feeling sated, she slides from under him, going to her knees. She slides over to Tristan, drawing him to his knees as well. She slowly unbuttons his shirt, sliding it from him and tossing it out of the way. She lazily took her time exploring his chest with her fingertips, soon following it up with her mouth. She could never get tired of him, each time she traced over a familiar ridge here, or a dip there, a thrill ran through her. A surge of authority ran through her and she shoves him down onto his back. She felt the thrill of power as she slowly straddled his body, leaning over his chest to sear his lips with her own; her tongue dips in, tasting her own essence on him. She sits up, tossing her flaxen hair over her shoulder. She settles herself above him, boldly smirking at him. She lowers herself ever so slightly then stops... waiting.

Syren: (commanding) Say it again

Oh this woman, how she could torture him so… keeping him on the brink only to pull away, teasing him further. He had patience for most things, but not her, not this. His hands found their way to her hips as he could feel her just hovering above him. He would arch his body up, only for her to pull out of his reach. Tristan narrowed his eyes, fighting his every desire to simply pull her into him, wanting to play this game as long as he could… but he knew he was losing and he wouldn’t be able to deny himself much longer. His eyes met hers once more, her sultry look giving him enough reason to swallow hard and force the words from his mouth.

Tristan Wolfe: (in a hushed exhale) I love you…

Her eyebrow quirks upwards playfully as she denies him, waiting patiently to hear the words she desired. Finally, they come. Victory gleamed in her eyes as she put Tristan out of his misery, slowly sinking down and taking him into her body. She sucks in a deep gulp of air, eyes closing. It was like coming home. No matter how many times they had done this before, it never failed to be like this for her. She slowly rotated her hips, trying to draw this out for as long as she could. She shifts her weight, going from grinding to long, slow, easy strokes. She looks down at Tristan, the man who would be her husband (husband!!!) the fact that he still had his tie on strangely arousing to her. She moves faster, in charge and loving every second of it.

Syren: Now… you’re mine…

She rose and sank, tossing her head back, eyes closed with abandon, panting with pleasure. She braced her palms on his chest, the feel of the fabric giving her ideas. With a low rumble in her throat, she grabs the tie and pulls him to her, fastening her mouth over his once more. Her sweat slicked body slid against his as she continued her ride, nothing else mattering but the feel of him.

He was hers, always and forever. No one ever made him feel the way she did, whether it was in this moment or any other. Their bodies moved in unison, their breaths coming at the same time. With Syren’s hands around his tie, which he hadn’t even realized was still on his person, he felt her tug him to her, her lips clasping over his once more – their tongues fighting a never-ending duel. In the moment of his climax, his whole body shuddered as he gasped for air, falling back to the bed, breathless. After a moment of reveling in her victory, she collapsed onto him, tracing her fingers along his chest as he wrapped an arm around her.

Syren: So… round two?

Syren seductively bit her bottom lip as Tristan looked over at her, his chest still rising with each intake of air he desperately tried to suck in. He managed a smirk as she batted her eyes at him, pleading with him.

Tristan Wolfe: The things I do for love…

She snickered again as Tristan rolled on top of her once more, passionately kissing his soon-to-be-wife.

 

 

PROLOGUE PART II