by Eva Harper
I heard footsteps approaching, and I didn’t care if they were the hunters or if they were Rush’s. Isla’s eyes closed slowly, her brown irises sliding into her head.
“No,” I sobbed, shaking her shoulder roughly. “Isla, no. I need you, please, please don’t do this. Isla! Isla! Isla, I love you, please don’t go. I’m so sorry. Isla. Isla.”
Arms wrapped around me and hauled me back away from Isla’s body. I knew instantly they were Rush’s, but it didn’t matter. I swung my legs and grabbed his arms painfully, trying to get to Isla.
Rush whispered into my hair, holding me around my stomach, quickly pulling me back to the packhouse.
“No, we can’t leave her,” I begged, reaching out into the open air.
“She’s gone, sweetheart. The hunters are still out there, I need to get you safe.” His voice was gruff, emotionless. His grip was secure but not bruising as he carried me awkwardly inside. He swung the door shut with his foot and walked directly up the stairs.
He walked into our room, into the bathroom where he set me on the counter. He brushed the hair away from my face with both hands, grabbing my face to steady me.
“I will be right back,” he promised, staring into my eyes. He kissed my forehead and let me go, stepping out into the hallway and calling Beckett’s name painfully loud. I could hear him tell Beckett the situation and to put the pack on lockdown.
I looked down at my pale hands, dreadfully still, a stain of red on my index finger. There was another streak on the underside of my palm, and droplets under my nails. I swung my legs off the counter and slid down, turning the water on in the sink fully. I grabbed the bar of soap and roughly rubbed my hands under the water, scratching my skin until it turned red.
Before I was aware of it, I was in hysterics, trying to breathe as I scraped layers of skin off my hands. Rush opened the bathroom door again, taking a moment to see what I was doing. He stood behind me, turning off the water and grabbing both of my hands, pulling them to his chest and therefore pulling me to his chest.
“Shh,” he murmured, bending down until he was sitting on the ground with me between his legs. “You’re okay, Sloane.”
“I’m not,” I sobbed, my words barely understandable. My chest heaved, and Rush struggled to keep me contained in his arms.
“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.” He kissed my hair, leaning his head against mine afterward. “I’m here for you. Whatever you need, I’m here. You aren’t alone.”
“She’s gone,” I said hollowly.
“She’s not gone. Your sister was loved, she will be loved, she isn’t gone,” he promised, stroking my hair. I breathed in, cringing at the rawness of my throat. “Just breathe, sweetheart. I’ve got you. I’ve got you now. I’m here. I love you, you aren’t alone, you’ll never be alone. Just breathe.”
“She’s gone.”
This Body
Rush’s fingers gently traced his mark on my neck, his body curled on the outside of mine. I stared at the same spot I had been staring at for days, the tiny nick in the wall Isla made from knocking over a sharp-edged picture frame.
That was all that was left of her here.
“Sloane, we need to get out of bed. Your parents are waiting downstairs, it’s almost time,” Rush murmured lowly. I allowed him to help me sit up and slid my legs over the edge of the bed. “Come on,” he urged, desperate to get me out of the room I had been holed up in since Isla was killed.
I glanced down at my clothing, Rush’s shirt, and a pair of his boxers, and knew I needed to change. I pushed myself off the bed, wobbling on my unused legs. Rush grabbed my elbow to steady me, and his lip jerked up in an apologetic grin.
I tore a white dress off one of the hangers in the closet, ignoring the hanger that came tumbling down with it. Rush picked it up tenderly and hooked it back on the rack. He looked at the ground as I slid his clothes off my body and slipped the dress over my head.
I wandered to the bathroom and opened the many drawers in the vanity, looting through them anxiously. I slammed one of the drawers too loudly, and Rush appeared in the doorway, clouded face, hand on the doorframe. I threw some of the items on the ground and in my frustration, began breathing faster and faster.
Rush grabbed my hands, turning me to look at him.
“What are you trying to find?” he asked. I breathed in a few times, sniffling.
“My hairbrush.”
He let my hands go and opened the second drawer, where my hairbrush always was and closed it softly after him. He pushed me to the bed with wavering hands. I tumbled onto the bed clumsily and sat on the edge, allowing him to run the brush through my hair, top to bottom.
He was deliberate in his movements, holding my head with one hand as the other brushed the three days of tangled knots out of my messy hair.
He set the brush on the bed, holding my head in both of his hands and planting a firm kiss on the top of my hair, his forehead resting where he placed the kiss a moment later. He helped me stand and put on plain tan shoes before we went downstairs.
My mother sat on one of the antique couches Cordelia had collected for the main room. Her pale, veiny hands nervously ran through her brown hair every three seconds, shaking as she did so. My father was gazing out of the picture window, hand leaning on the glass, statuesque.
My mother’s eyes locked with mine, and quiet tears leaked from her eyes. My father turned but didn’t have any reaction.
We all walked to the backyard of the packhouse where the funeral was taking place. Rush had appointed extra guards along the border for the funeral, more than the thirty additional guards he added after the incident with the hunters.
The pack gathered in the backyard, circled around the traditional burning platform which was made of rope, vines, and tree branches members of the pack have woven together. Isla’s body sat proudly on top, raised upon an altar of birch trees, surrounded by piles of delicate white and pink flowers. Her throat had been wrapped in a white cloth, matching the flowing white gown she was dressed in.
Rush was required to say something at the funeral of a pack member, and although Isla was not a member of our pack, he decided to perform the ceremony himself. He held my hand tightly as he recited the sacred words, “corpus redit ad terram redit anima caeli,” which means “this body returns to Earth, this soul returns to the air.” It was a sacred script to shifters.
He glanced at me after he said the words, gaging my strength as he took the first branch of hawthorn wood and touched it to the flame one of the pack elders had lit. He handed me another piece that I lit off his, and eventually, my family, his family, and the pack’s officials each held a branch.
As we said our goodbyes to Isla, we touched the flames to her alter, allowing the fire to burn harder and harder until it eventually was consumed. I was the last one to bid her farewell, and as I approached her flaming alter, my frozen exterior faltered for the first time in days.
Rush knew immediately and came to my side, guiding my hand upward to light the wood, extinguishing the flame with his fingers. He held my waist tightly, allowing me to rest my weight on him.
We stood and watched until the flame died down, the sweet smell of birch and hawthorn masking the deprecating smell of Isla’s burning body. The flowers that were pinned to the wood floated into the air along with the ashes and smoke.
“Sloane?” I turned a little to look at my mother. Her eyes were completely devoid of any light, skin too pale, nose red. “Sweetheart, come home.”
“Mom.” I shook my head. “I can’t, you know that.”
“Please,” she said with simple directness.
“Mom, my mate is here. This is my pack now.” I reached for her hand, she pulled it back.
“I need you,” she bellowed. My father grabbed her by her upper arm, not as harshly as I thought he would. “Please, I promise it won’t be like before.”
“No, Mom.”
Her knees collapsed under her, my father still holding onto her arm as
she wept on the ground. No one said anything; she had just lost her daughter.
“Ravenna,” my father hissed. “Get up.” She didn’t. His smile was grim as he hauled her to her feet, pulling her away from us. “We’ll be leaving now.”
“Dad,” I called. “You aren’t going to stay?”
“What for? Your mother is my family now, and we’re going home.”
I stepped towards them, the pack now watching as the rest of my family left. Rush put his hand on my shoulder.
“Luna,” a deep voice said. I cocked my head to Beckett, who stood remorsefully behind Rush. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“Well, at least you know I wasn’t working with the hunters,” I spat, a new fire sparking in my bloodstream. “Because that would be pretty twisted, right? To kill my own sister to prove my worth to you.”
“Luna, I’m sorry for what I’ve said before.” He bent his head.
“You’re only sorry because she’s dead. Nobody cares what they say to you until someone dies.” My cruel words couldn’t come out fast enough. It was a culmination of things, Isla, my parents, the hunters, and Beckett was the martyr.
“Sloane, I know I haven’t been the kindest to you since you came here,” he winced, his thin eyes cringing. “But I’d like to try to make it up to you.”
“Then bring me the hunter who killed my sister,” I challenged.
“Luna, I don’t know if we can do that, but we’ll try. No one knows who killed her, and I doubt the hunters will give one of their own up.”
“Then there isn’t any other reason for you to talk to me, is there?”
He remained silent and bowed his head.
“Sloane,” Rush said empathetically, a fake smile grazing his eyes. “We should go inside.”
“No,” I shook off. “I think I need to go for a run. Alone.”
Rush sagged his shoulders and watched me quietly run past everyone. I shifted as soon as I was inside the tree line, shredding the dress in the process. I shook out my deep brown fur, allowing my other form to stretch out.
It had been weeks since I had shifted, busy with changing packs and becoming Luna, I had neglected my other form. It felt freeing to run through the woods. I knew Rush had doubled the number of guards for the event, so I was safe in the open woods.
I ran through the woods with no destination in mind, enjoying the sweeping wind on my face, muscles aching with joy as they weaved through the trees. Unless there was a battle, most wolves didn’t shift regularly. There was no way for us to communicate with each other, apart from one person at a time. Being in an animal’s body was intoxicatingly freeing, but it was also devastatingly lonely.
The border guards watched me as I passed them, bowing their heads slightly, acknowledging me. I didn’t pay them much attention, intent on running out my frustration.
Soon, I was at the edge of our border and following it around, miles to the edge of the garden. I paused, stilled. I closed my eyes, moving one step closer to the blood-stained grass between the carnations and hollyhocks. Someone had tried to pour water over the spot and clear the blood, but it had only diluted the color and spread it out.
I stepped in front of it, bending my head down to sniff Isla’s scent on the grass, a faint aroma of grapefruits and lemon zest. My wolf whimpered, dropping down into the grass, rolling in the remainder of my sister. When I stood, her scent was coating me like a cloak, keeping everything else away from me.
I lifted my head and bellowed, my heartache echoing through the woods. The trees shook at the power and a squirrel scattered around a bush. The sound continued until I ran out of breath, panting, and whining.
In the distance, one, two, ten, and hundreds of howls added onto mine, my pack standing in solitude and remembrance of their Luna’s sister. Rush wolf, a sharp gray and tan mixture, appeared at the edge of the woods. I walked into him, rubbing my head against his chest, under his head. He nuzzled my face, breathing warmly into my fur.
As the howls subsided, so did a piece of the weight on my body. Isla may have been gone, but I wasn’t alone; that and Rush were the only two reasons I followed my mate back to our home.
Glory
The sympathetic looks and apologies from the pack stopped a week after the funeral. I was glad that people no longer associated me with Isla’s death. I was their Luna; I was supposed to be strong. I didn’t want them to think of me as a victim, even if my own sister was.
Beckett had been uncharacteristically quiet and agreeable, taking every insult I said to him with humility, even if it was cruel. Rush grabbed his shoulder like he was thanking him, allowing my anger to dissipate as I spat insults at him. He sat in our meetings about pack safety, helping Rush with their plans to keep the pack safe.
Cordelia had not been back to the packhouse, except for Isla’s funeral, and I was thankful she didn’t put up a fight, I didn’t have the energy to battle her.
I opened Rush’s office door, he was on the phone, so I sat quietly in the circular chair and waited.
“No, it’s been a week,” he said, rubbing his fingers back and forth over his eyebrows. “Nothing has happened since.” I heard the voice on the other end of the phone murmur something back. “The Paladin pack? Isn’t that Alpha Sorelean’s pack? I’m surprised the hunters even got that close; his borders are impenetrable.”
I stopped paying attention and closed my eyes, leaning my head uncomfortably against the wooden edge of the chair. Rush set the phone in its cradle and scooted his desk chair towards me. His hand stroked my hair soothingly, my eyes peeled open, he grinned. His fingers continued to stroke and play with my hair.
“Have you ever been to a gathering?” he asked. “Maybe with your father?”
“No, but my pack held one a few years ago. I was little, but I wasn’t allowed to go to the packhouse for it.” I yawned.
“Well, Alpha Trissur, my friend, is concerned about the hunters as well. His pack lost two members to bear traps last week. There are no bears near his territory, the traps were meant for them. The neighboring pack was also attacked, although they didn’t lose anyone. Packs across the world are being attacked, threatened; they’re scared.”
“And Alpha Trissur wants to hold a gathering?” I asked, shifting in my seat.
Rush’s hand left my hair and dropped into his lap. “I don’t want what happened to your sister to happen to anyone else.” His eyes were clouded, mouth dipped in a disgruntled frown. I lowered my eyes. His hand grabbed my cold one. “I think we should go.”
“You know how I feel about fighting,” I told him, trying to follow my beliefs, but my thirst for revenge was also scratching at my subconscious.
“If it means keeping you and this pack safe…” he drifted off.
I nodded, squeezing his hand. “When do we leave?”
“Two days from now, his pack is about six or seven hours, so we will leave early in the morning. Beckett is coming with us as well as Kenna’s father, Ander. My father will be in charge while we are gone.”
The two days passed rather quickly, and I was woken up in the dark by Rush’s loud voice.
“You better be getting out of bed, or I’m going to throw you in the cold shower,” he threatened from the bathroom. I rolled over and tried to motivate myself to move. Rush tore the blankets away and picked me up in his arms.
“No, no, I’m up,” I promised, cringing at the thought of the cold shower.
He paused and laughed loudly. “Are you sure?”
I nodded and kissed his cheek. He grinned at the kiss and set me on my feet. I quickly fixed my hair and put on a minuscule amount of makeup. I knew I needed to look presentable, but Isla was always the one to dress me up and tell me what to wear; I couldn’t do it on my own.
Rush was slipping a chestnut belt around navy blue pants, tucking a white shirt into the waistband. His shoes matched the color of the belt, and his blazer was hung on the mirror, awaiting his departure.
I stripped my pajamas off, the white b
ra and black panties I had worn to bed were the only things remaining. Rush purred behind me, and his hands grabbed my waist, fingers digging into the curve.
“This may as well be rocket science because I have no idea how to put an outfit together. I should ask Kenna.”
“You’re pitiful,” he teased, letting go of my waist. “Wear a dress, or nice pants and a blouse.”
“Where did you learn all of this?” I questioned, searching through my drawers for nice pants.
“I’ve taken a lot of blouses and dresses off in my glory days.” He smirked. I dropped the khaki pants in my hand and growled lowly. I stalked towards Rush, pushed his shoulders against the full-length mirror, his eyes widened.
“Don’t ever talk about whatever girls you entertained before me,” I spat, arms shaking, trying to hold him in place. He smirked, flattered that I was jealous, and grabbed my waist again, pulling me into him.
“Okay,” he promised. “I’m sorry. I’m all yours, pretty girl.”
“Beautiful,” I ground out, relaxing into him.
“What?”
“If you’re going to talk about your previous conquests, the least you can do it call me beautiful, not pretty.”
His chest shook with the laughter he held back. “Okay, beautiful girl, let’s get you dressed.”
Rush eventually stopped trying to take off my bra and underwear and helped me find me tightly fitted, ivory pants, in the bottom drawer. While I looked through my pile of shoes, Rush searched for a shirt.
He tossed a shirt to me, the same color as the pants, that was structured and suit-like. The top showed quite a bit of my chest, although my breasts weren’t big enough to make it inappropriate. The ensemble wasn’t girly, but it was feminine and strong. I slid a pair of dove gray pumps on my feet. Isla would always make me practice walking in high heels, claiming it was a skill every woman needed.