by R. Lee Smith
Nona was so accustomed to watching the two of them knock birds out of branches with ridiculous ease that she never even considered that the reason for their poor performance this morning might actually lie with them. She simply put it down to Basharo’s constant whining scaring off the birds and everyone being too polite to say so, since Ararro was doing the best she could to quiet him. It didn’t occur to her until much later that her clumsy human feet made just as much noise on her previous hunts and besides, the birds didn’t really seem that put off. There were still plenty of them around for Nona to try and fail to hit, anyway.
And the more she thought about that, the more Nona realized that Basharo really wasn’t a fussy puppy, generally speaking. He might kick up some noise if he was hungry or, in theory, if he was hurt, but most of the time, he kept quiet. The only other times Nona had personally seen him act up like this was when Ararro herself was upset about something.
Which, she realized belatedly, was exactly the case here. They were all upset, all four of them. And once she knew to see it, it was embarrassing that it had taken so long. All their hackles were up, all four tails bristling like there was an actual electric charge in the air to put their fur on end. They carried their ears low, except when whipping them up to listen at every snap of a twig or thud of falling snow. Their whiskers quivered. No one snapped at anyone, but she sure saw a lot of fang, even from Sangar, who was surely as close to a pacifist as any lycan could ever come.
Something was very wrong and Nona had the sinking feeling it might be her. Kruin had once said that the call to High Pack was an honor reserved for the very best lycan. Not only had he given it to a human, but she’d received it with all the enthusiasm and respect she might have shown a steaming pile of actual shit. Of course they hadn’t been falling over each other to congratulate her on joining the pack; why would they waste congratulations on someone who so obviously did not want to be here?
She couldn’t help the way she felt and couldn’t bring herself to lie up an apology, but she could understand how they felt too, seeing the stranger in need they’d made welcome piss all over their lord’s generosity. She knew she should say something, but even in her head, everything she could think of sounded petty and defensive. She ended up walking in silence behind them, not even pretending to hunt anymore, just passing time and thinking ugly thoughts.
They kept walking long after the last birds stopped singing and flew off. Gef and Madira lowered their slingshots. Sangar held up her pretense a while longer, but for all her scratching and plucking, Nona couldn’t help but notice how little she actually gathered.
No one seemed to want to be here. No one seemed to want to go back.
The grey morning dragged on into an overcast day. The pale smudge of the sun circled them, prowling behind the trees at first, then peeking over them, and finally crawling down into them again. So it wasn’t just her imagination stretching out her sense of time, they really had been out here for hours.
And while Nona was trying to muster the courage to ask if they could go back, or at least point her in the right direction because she was a useless human who had no idea where she was in relation to High Rock, she heard the howl.
Not just any howl. Kruin, calling the pack to witness.
To hear that particular howl twice in as many days for two different reasons was a coincidence so great as to pass absurd and go directly to stupid, so someone was getting werewolf-married, which meant the mood hanging over the ‘hunting party’ wasn’t about Nona after all. She felt more than a little embarrassed for ever thinking it was. The world—neither Earth, nor Arcadia—did not revolve around her and her mostly made-up problems.
Kruin’s first call ended. Yesterday, Nakaroth had howled next, staking a claim on her and warning off rivals with a little lycan poetry. If that was what was going on here, she honestly couldn’t tell. She couldn’t even figure out who was howling, let alone what he was saying. It didn’t sound like there was only one.
“What’s going on?” Nona asked.
They looked at her, all four of them with identical expressions that told her nothing and everything.
“I meant, who is it?” she amended. “I hear Kruin, who’s that howling with him?”
“Fringe-wolves,” said Ararro, while her cub wiggled and whined in her arms. “Mostly.”
“Mostly, huh? How many are we talking about?”
“It is difficult to tell,” Madira said, ears twitching. “More than three. Perhaps even more than we can hear.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we hear only those who bring meat to offer for her. There may be others without. I do not know if Kruin will hear their claim without meat,” she added, sending Sangar an inquiring glance which her co-mate answered with an equally uncertain tilt of her head. “He will want a hunter for her.”
“For Heather, you mean. They’re already chasing after Heather.”
“Did you think they would not?” Sangar asked.
“Of course I did. That was the whole point! But the next day?”
“The sooner she’s mated, the better for her. For all of us.”
And hadn’t that been the whole crux of Heather’s own argument when she’d been begging, actually begging Nona to let Nakaroth have her? And still Nona couldn’t bring herself to agree. Whatever it was between her and Nakaroth…that was one thing, but at least he wanted her. He wasn’t just a horny Fringe-wolf looking for a trophy or perhaps a little payback for years of groveling or even just a better fuck than his hand could offer. And yes, she knew that wasn’t fair. She’d lived her whole life on the ‘Fringes’ of society and she’d turned out just fine, apart from her total lack of friends or social skills (and oh yeah, killing those ten guys, but they had it coming). Being a Fringe-wolf did not automatically make one a threat to every unsuspecting female, and if it was true that there were many who might take Heather as a mate just to gain entry to High Pack, it was also true that Nona had done the exact same thing and had no right to condemn anyone else for it.
“So how does this work when there’s a lot of competition?” she asked, trying hard to sound merely curious and not accusatory. “Whoever bagged the biggest deer…?”
“No,” said Sangar. “No longer.”
“Every female has the right to choose her mate,” Madira agreed with far more confidence than showed in anyone else’s face. “Our lord may even allow her to choose a wolf who brings no meat at all…although that would be foolish of her. She needs a good hunter.”
“More than a nice guy?” Nona asked.
Madira averted her eyes, but Sangar stepped up and gave her exactly the look that tone deserved, considering the circumstances. “High Pack breeds strong wolves,” she said, “and strength is not always kind. Neither is it always cruel. You must trust our lord to make a good match for her.”
Nona nodded, but snorted. “Your idea of what makes a ‘good match’ is very different from mine.”
“Not so different, I think. I have been a young bitch, mated without choice to a wolf who did not choose me. To be opened by him, bred by him. It was a loveless thing…and a good match,” she concluded with a soft smile. “If I could go back to the bitch I was on that fearful night and speak to her, I would tell her she could choose no better mate than the wolf whose claiming filled her with such dread.”
Nona tried to hold her gaze and couldn’t. “It’s just so soon,” she muttered. “I knew they’d go after Heather next, but I thought they’d at least…I don’t know, flirt her up a little first! Nakaroth’s been working on me practically since I got here. I thought…”
Thought what? That they’d take turns asking her on dates? Bring her flowers? Invent the film industry so they could invite her to the movies? Even Nakaroth’s odd style of romance had included a lot of stalking her from the shadows. And these lycan didn’t want to woo Heather. They just wanted to win her.
Sangar brought her out of this depressing reverie with a gentle t
ouch along Nona’s arm. “Trust our lord,” she said again. “Your packmate will have a strong wolf to feed her and protect her. And her cubs will be born in High Pack, ranked highest over all packs of this land.”
And her cubs…
“Oh shit,” Nona blurted and clapped a hand over her face. “Sorry. That wasn’t aimed at you. Or High Pack. I’ve just got to talk to Heather before…well, there’s just something she really needs to know.”
25. Claiming Heather
The walk back was much shorter than the hike out had been, but it felt even longer to Nona. The lycan did not allow her to trail behind. They surrounded her, passively forcing her to keep pace with their swift stride, close enough to catch her on her frequent stumbles, but they didn’t speak. Alone with her thoughts, if not alone in actual company, the journey took years.
When they came back into the clearing at High Rock, the sky had taken on that bruised color of a cloudy winter sunset, throwing a grim filter over the scene awaiting her. There was too much happening all at once for her to focus on the right things, but one thing was immediately clear: The mood was not the same as it had been yesterday.
Oh, the stage had all the same set-dressing. There was Kruin on the raised rock, standing tall over his pack. Where Nakaroth had stood below him yesterday, there was now a crowd of wolves, shoving and snapping at each other as they jostled for the center position, and yes, Vru was with them, impossible to miss. Mika, Samatan and Laal sat together again, but up on the slope by the mouth of their shared den, where they could watch events unfold without getting close enough to be part of it.
Nona could understand that—she didn’t want to get any closer either—but it wasn’t just a matter of physical distance. Yesterday, Nakaroth alone had come to claim Nona and the entire pack had watched. Today, at least a dozen wolves were literally fighting for the chance to claim Heather, but apart from them, hardly anyone seemed to care. Kruin had sent out the same call to witness and yet, most of his pack was merely in attendance, and Alorak, his own son, appeared to be boycotting the big event. He, his mate, and most of his friends were grouped up at the farthest edge of the clearing with their backs to their chief, ignoring and being ignored by him.
The rest of the pack formed a loose knot around the firepit and even there, the usual camaraderie shared by a party of hunters was nowhere to be seen. The few meager kills roasting on the coals or being spitted in anticipation of their turn were closely guarded from those who watched with hungry eyes. Tonight, it was every wolf for himself, it seemed. Even Burgash, who had an entire deer laid out in front of him, showed no signs of sharing it. That much, Nona could understand; it had been short rations for him and Ararro both for far too long as he’d been forced to stay home and human-sit instead of hunt. All the same, it bothered her that Burgash butchering a deer was of so much more immediate interest to the lycan than what was happening at the raised rock. Wasn’t Heather a better piece of meat than that?
As these indignant thoughts tumbled hot through Nona’s mind to sit cold in her stomach, Ararro passed in front of her and went to sit beside her mate. They exchanged licks around their squirming cub. Burgash gave her the deer’s liver, already cooked and cooled beside him. She settled against his side to eat, nursing Basharo, the three of them forming a closed circle of perfect peace within the growing storm.
Watching them, Nona felt…something.
“Your skin.”
Nona managed not to let out a silly little scream at the unexpected sound of Nakaroth directly behind her, but it was a damned near thing. “Don’t sneak up on me,” she said, belatedly adding, “Hi.”
“I don’t think you should be that color.” Nakaroth took her arm, then cupped her cheek when she tried to push him off and ran a critical eye over her. “Or this cold.”
“Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed, it’s winter.”
His gaze dropped to her sweater. He released her only to pluck at a fold of the fabric and rub it between his thumb and foreclaw. “This is not warm enough.”
“It’s what I have.”
He grumbled to himself, glancing behind him and up the slope to where the bitches sat. “Not anymore,” he said decisively. “Tell Mika to make you coverings.”
“I’m working on it,” she said, fighting to keep her rising temper under control. This was relevant right now? “I don’t have anything for her to make them out of.”
“Then use what she has given you.”
“I have. I gave them to Heather for a bed and I am not taking them away. Not tonight!”
“Yes, tonight. Heather will have another bed tonight and a mate to warm her in it. She has no more need of those furs. Tell Mika you require coverings.”
Nona opened her mouth, made herself close it before it got her into trouble, then opened it again and this time calmly and quietly said, “I know you lycan do things differently, but you still have feelings, right? I am not going up to the girl who thinks I stole you away from her yesterday and tell her to outfit my wardrobe today. That’s first. Second, I am not giving Heather one more reason to feel trapped into making a decision she’s not ready to make. Tonight, of all fucking nights, she needs to have her options open. And to be perfectly honest with you, I couldn’t care less about the cold right now. I need to be here for Heather, do you get that at all?”
“Yes,” said Nakaroth, just as calmly and even more quietly. “Now go and tell Mika you require warmer coverings. You will choose one of their furs to make them from. Yes, you will,” he said, even as she pulled in a furious breath to protest. “You are mine. Only the chief’s mates are higher. Mika will obey or answer for her refusal. She knows this and will submit, but she is proud. She will tell you to fetch out whatever fur you desire. Then you will go into their den and convince Heather to come out.”
All the argument Nona had been saving up, just waiting for him to stop talking, fell away at once. She turned around, squinting into the wind as she scanned the clearing. There was Kruin at the raised rock and Vru at his feet, towering over the others…so many others…but not Heather. She wasn’t wrapped in a fur at the base of the tieneedle tree, where she spent so many of her days. She wasn’t sitting with Burgash at the firepit hoping for a handout (and Nona wouldn’t expect her to be, given the close proximity of deer guts). She sure wasn’t anywhere near the raised rock.
Disbelief became exasperation became fury, just that fast. So many variations of “What the hell, Heather!” and “This was your idea, damn it!” and “Get out here and deal with this shitshow!” flooded her throat that she choked on them. As she struggled to swallow just enough to allow her to vomit the rest out, one of the lycan at Kruin’s feet lunged at another and the whole group of them instantly devolved into a savage dogfight.
It didn’t last long—a few seconds, half a minute at the very most—but it didn’t really end either. The combatants merely separated, blood freezing into beads on their fur, and continued their restless milling. Most of the gathered ‘witnesses’ hadn’t even looked around, although Nona finally began to see the tension in their deceptively casual postures, the alert set of their ears, and especially the way those with mates positioned themselves between their females and the brewing violence at the center of the clearing.
“This is not about Heather, is it?” Nona said at last.
Nakaroth tipped his head slightly to one side, his left ear twitching as he considered his answer. “It would simplify things if it was. Therefore, go and fetch her out. Quietly.”
“I have a better idea. Why don’t we cancel tonight and you can tell your friends not to come back until they can act like grown-ups, or at least until they promise not to act like a bunch of goddamn animals!”
She hadn’t meant to raise her voice, but she must have. At the firepit, Burgash sent her a brooding glance, then looked over at the raised rock. Ararro said something. His reply was short; the way he tore a chunk of meat out of the deer and threw it into the coals said more.
“
Know this,” Nakaroth said, close to her ear. “Kruin’s law of choice is not yet one year old. It is not heard in the Endless. It is not heard in every pack of this land. And where it is heard, it is not always loved. Our lord, with the best of intentions,” he added in a growl, “has made it known that Heather must have a mate and has promised high rank to any who takes her. Be assured, she will be claimed, if not by the one she chooses here today, then by the one who takes her choice away.”
“And Kruin will just allow that?!”
“No,” said Nakaroth grimly. “He will not. He will defend her. With his life, if necessary. Do you understand what that means?”
Yeah, right. She understood just fine. She understood that the lives of a couple humans meant fuck-all compared to a lycan’s. And yeah, okay, she knew that wasn’t fair. Kruin wasn’t just any lycan, he was the chief, but still—
Or the lord, rather. The lord over all the packs.
The lord of this entire territory and all its people.
Oh.
“Kruin has made many changes in too short a time,” said Nakaroth. “His law is good and for now, it holds, but it is young yet. There are some who see the good in it and some who only accept it out of loyalty and some who do not understand what these changes mean. And there are wolves who understand well and want to see it bitten out and buried so they can go on being wolves of the old way.”
“All of this over Heather?” demanded Nona, knowing better.
“It did not begin with her. She is but one stone…but you can only stack them so high before they fall. I know she fears us,” he said, looking over at the raised rock. “I wish she did not have a reason. The wolf in us has made us strong, but the wolf is an animal still. In a thousand years, these ways may finally be forgotten. Here, now…Go to your friend. Be her chief one last time. Be her courage. And have this done.”
Nona went, her mind a constantly unfurling ribbon of profanities. When she reached Mika and delivered her lines, it played out almost exactly as Nakaroth predicted: Laal and Samatan gaped at her untimely display of petty assholery, while Mika flicked her chin up in icy submission and told her to take her pick, but proved she may not be entirely ignorant of the real reason behind Nona’s demand by adding, “You are wise to make a choice now, for you shall be covered sooner or later, by your will or another’s. She who does not make use of her choice, loses it.” She followed this with a sidelong stare, head cocked to the smallest angle that still showed throat. “Tell Heather this. And tell her if she brings me a fur tonight, I shall make her a coat. If she doesn’t, she must take whatever coat comes to her.”