by Cheree Alsop
“I left the Lair same as you,” he finally said.
I watched him closely. “You didn’t return after Virgo, James, and I killed so many of the others. I know that.”
He shook his head. “I left before the Masters,” he swallowed, then corrected, “I mean Master, sent the others after you.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He let out a breath that told me just how hard it was to admit what he wanted to say. “After you took off, some of the other werewolves started to talk. The Master shut it up pretty quickly, but not before it made me wonder about my part in everything.”
“You didn’t like your part in it?” Alia asked, her voice compassionate.
Mitch glanced at her as if he had forgotten she was in the room.
“Don’t mind me,” she said. She shook her head. “After what I saw and what Zev told me of all you guys have been through, I know you were just trying to survive.”
Mitch lowered his gaze and rubbed his forehead. “That was the problem. After Zev left, I realized surviving was all I was doing, and I was tired of it.”
“So you left?” I guessed.
A slight smile touched his lips. “Yes, but before that I tried to get the others to do the same.”
Surprised, I asked, “You tried to get them to rebel?”
He nodded. “But it didn’t work. They were going to turn me into the Masters, uh, Master, so I ran.”
“And now you’re afraid they’re going to be mad you abandoned them?” Alia asked.
“They’ll probably want to kill me, and I can’t blame them,” Mitch replied, his tone mild. “At least Zev fought back. I just turned tail like a coward and ran.”
“You don’t have to face them,” Alia said. She turned her green eyes on me. “Right, Zev?”
Mitch bristled. “I’m not going to hide out.”
“I’m not telling you to,” Alia replied. “I’m just saying that it might be better to talk to them when they’re not riled up after all that happened at the Lair.” Her brow furrowed and worry showed in her gaze when she said, “They were pretty mad when they left the Lair. You should’ve heard them.” She leaned over to touch Mitch’s arm like she had done in the kitchen. “I think you should stay in here tonight until Zev has a chance to talk to them.”
Mitch hesitated, but finally nodded.
As I carried the huge pot of spaghetti toward the forest, I couldn’t help thinking about how Alia was just fine with me facing the werewolves even though they definitely had more cause to kill me than Mitch. I couldn’t get the image of her hand on the werewolf’s arm out of my mind. The smile that had been in her eyes whenever she talked to me had turned to the other werewolf. Perhaps I should have killed him when I had the chance.
At least I had the decency to feel guilty at the thought, but the wolf side of me agreed wholeheartedly. It would have been nice to have another werewolf guard my back given the hostility I approached. I hadn’t been out there since we returned to the Willard home to find the forest populated by the escapees from the Lair. Their obedience to my request backed by Borig’s threat filled me with a different kind of tension.
I didn’t want them obeying me out of fear; I didn’t want them obeying me at all. Yet I needed them if we had any hope of defending Brickwell. The entire situation made a bad taste in my mouth that refused to leave even with the aroma of the spaghetti that drifted into my nostrils from the covered pot.
The evening breeze blew at my back, ensuring that the werewolves knew we were coming long before we reached the white fence that separated the lawn from the trees. James opened the gate and Virgo and I made our way through. By the time we reached the first saplings that were beginning to grow past the Willards’ managed tree line, all of the werewolves from the Lair had gathered. Each was in human form. I didn’t know if that was a bad thing or good. Their tattered clothes, borrowed from who knows where, hung from thin frames that spoke of too many skipped meals.
“What’s that for?” one of the werewolves asked when Virgo began to spread the quilt on the ground.
“This is for somewhere to eat,” the warlock said. “It’s more civilized than eating with your hands in the dirt.”
I fought back a small smile at the fact that none of the werewolves knew enough to even take offense at the warlock’s words. To them, he was stating a fact, and it was one they had never thought about before given the way they were staring at the quilt as thought it might bite them.
“And these are to put the food in,” James said. His voice shook slightly and he looked furtively at the werewolves as he set the bowls and forks on the blanket. He stepped back quickly.
“What food?” another werewolf asked. He eyed me with suspicion. “Would you poison us, Third?”
I had to struggle to keep from baring my teeth when I replied in a low voice, “My name is Zev. The next one who calls me Third gets my fangs. Understand?”
He appeared to weigh the situation, then nodded. “Fair enough.”
I set the pot in the middle of the blanket and removed the lid. “This is Mrs. Willard’s famous spaghetti. She would like you to use bowls and forks to eat like civilized—”
I regretted not telling them about the bowls and forks before I removed the lid to the pot. The starving, desperate werewolves couldn’t deny their animal need to survive, which included gorging when they needed sustenance. It was the same way wolves in the wild ate, overfilling their bellies to last through the famine times that came with hunting for their food.
Virgo and James were shoved aside as the werewolves clambered toward the pot. Any thought of me was forgotten as they grabbed handfuls of the spaghetti and shoved it into their mouths. I couldn’t help staring at the savagery, the growling, the snapping, and the fighting that had not so long ago been a normal part of my life. It now appeared completely uncouth.
Virgo shouted something at my side and the werewolves closest to the spaghetti pot froze. Hands appeared locked halfway to open mouths while others were frozen in the middle of fighting for a better position amid the fray. Only their eyes could move, and terror filled them as they stared at the warlock.
He put his hands on his hips, his dismay written across his expressive face. “Mrs. Willard was very clear about what she expected when she cooked for you.” He pointed at the spaghetti that was now spilled across the quilt, the red sauce seeping into the cotton fabric. “She made that spaghetti in order to fill the bellies of men and women who were in dire need of food, and her one request was that you would eat it with manners that included bowls and the use of utensils.” He glared around at the group. “How do you think she would feel if she saw the mess you’ve made?”
“Did you know he could do that?” James whispered when Virgo stopped talking.
I shook my head. “I had no idea.”
“S-sorry,” a werewolf near the pot managed to say.
“Sorry,” another echoed.
Virgo gave a sigh that sounded genuine. “I didn’t want to do that. Trust me. I want you to eat as much as the next warlock.” He threw me a quick smile that said he was enjoying the werewolves’ predicament far more than he let on.
I gave him a straight look. “Let them eat. They need it. Trust me.”
He snorted. “You’re no fun.”
He said another word in Latin that sounded similar to liberty. The runes on his hands glowed blue for a second and then he snapped his fingers. The werewolves were released from his hold. Several tumbled to the grassy ground while others let go of those they fought. The werewolves looked from the spaghetti to the warlock and to me, but nobody moved toward the pot.
Virgo nodded with a pleased expression. Grabbing up the bowls, he held one out to the closest werewolf. I remembered him as Sixteen from the Lair, a ferocious, slender werewolf that was quick to take an advantage where he saw it.
To my surprise, the werewolf took the bowl and the proffered fork.
“Go ahead,” Virgo urged.
Virgo offered a bowl to me. “Want some?”
I shook my head even though my stomach growled at the offer. “They need it more than I do.”
“Th-thank you, Zev,” the first werewolf said. He took another careful bite with his fork. “This is really good.”
“It’s amazing,” another werewolf agreed. She glanced at Virgo. “I apologize for our lack of manners.”
“It’s understandable given what you’ve been through,” Virgo replied. “But there’s more than enough food to go around. Mrs. Willard has a second pot of spaghetti on the stove, and my mother is bringing a vegetarian manicotti she’s been excited to share.”
“Is your mother a witch?” a werewolf with a patch over his left eye asked.
Virgo nodded. “Yes, but trust me when I say her cooking could use a few spells.” He glanced in the direction of the house, then said, “But don’t tell her I said that.”
Several of the werewolves laughed and the tension fled. Others stepped forward and scooped up spaghetti with a greater display of conduct than I had ever seen from the group. I backed off to give them their space and was about to return to the house when one called my name.
“Zev?”
I met the gaze of the questioning werewolf. I recognized her mismatched eyes, one blue and one green. We had fought together at the Lair several times. I knew her to be trustworthy and fast with a blade.
“How did you get your name?” she asked.
I saw a few nods from the other werewolves. It was easy to read their faces. I made a mental note to tell them about hiding their emotions. Their human form gave so much away.
“Mitch asked me the same thing,” I began.
“Mitch?” another werewolf asked.
“His name was Twenty-two when I left the Lair,” I replied.
Sixteen’s hands clenched into fists. “You mean to tell me that traitor is here?”
He stormed toward the house. The moment he got within reach, I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the ground. I glared down at him.
“Mitch is my friend and is under my protection,” I growled. “Each of you will have the same protection unless you mess with Mitch or anyone else in that house. Do you understand?”
The wolf inside me writhed beneath the surface, begging to be set free. It felt like it had been years since I fought the felguls to save Isley. I wanted to phase and fight him. I wanted to prove that I was the strongest, to remind them that they followed me not because a demon told them to do so, but because I had earned my place at their head.
The older werewolves that had once been One and Two were nowhere to be seen. I could only assume they had been killed off at the Lair. I wondered how long ago that had been. I thought through my last months at the Lair and couldn’t remember seeing them. Had the Master killed them off, then left me to keep fighting for a position he didn’t want to give me? The thought rang true. No wonder he had pitted four werewolves against me in the ring. He had no intention of letting anyone be One or Two.
A pang at the thought that I had never had a chance to fight them for my rightful spot was quickly followed by guilt. Why was it that humans felt so much guilt? It was my place to fight and earn my rank; yet the short time I had spent around humans had also impacted my thoughts so that I actually felt bad about wanting to beat the werewolves when they were probably already dead. Guilt had no place in the mind of a werewolf.
Guilt makes you soft.
The remembrance of words the Master had spoken to me long ago surface.
Compassion makes you soft. Empathy makes you soft. Mercy makes you soft. If you want to be a good leader, those beneath you must know that you will not go easy on them. Fear is leadership. If they fear you, they will respect you.
Looking down in the wide eyes of the werewolf I held captive beneath my hand showed that fear. He knew I could end his life if I closed my fingers. The burnt wood smell of fear filled my nostrils.
I glanced up to see Alia, Virgo, and James watching me. They didn’t interfere, though Alia’s mouth was open as if she wanted to say something to stop me. They had learned enough about werewolves to know that they should stay out of it. Yet the fact that they still viewed me as one of the Lair werewolves instead of one of them struck me to my core. Perhaps I was too much of an animal to really be human enough. I shouldn’t care. The voice in the back of my mind whispered that I had nothing to prove to anyone, and that I was what circumstance had made me to be.
But the truth was there in the way my hand both ached to close and to let go. The wolf inside battled my human heart that said mercy was the true way to lead despite everything I had been taught. The power that surged with adrenaline through my veins combatted the soft whisper in my mind that every life should have a chance. I didn’t know if I was becoming weak or growing stronger. Confusion filled the muddled mass between my contradicting thoughts. I didn’t know what to do.
Chapter Fifteen
I let the werewolf go and backed away. He climbed hastily to his feet, his eyes lowered respectfully.
“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “You invited us here. I have no right to challenge those you choose to protect.”
I studied him closely. If he retaliated, the humans behind me would be in danger. But sorrow showed in the slope of his shoulders and the way his hands trembled. He had been to the edge, and he knew it.
“It’s alright,” I replied. “I just ask that you respect the boundaries I’ve set.”
I lifted my eyes and found the rest of the werewolves watching us. Forks hovered above bowls, the suspended spaghetti forgotten. Lines were changing, ranks shifting, and everything we knew had been completely blown to pieces. I was very aware at that moment how much my words would impact the werewolves who watched me.
I sucked in a calming breath and hoped for some sort of guidance as I did so. When I let it out again, I said, “Your lives have changed far beyond anything you’ve ever known. You no longer have Masters, a Lair, or rules and regulations. You will no longer fight for ranks that really don’t matter. For the first time since you opened your eyes within those gray walls, your life is your own.” I allowed myself a small smile. “And I understand how very scary that can be, but it is also freeing. Every step you take is one into a new future that you get to create. You are in charge now. Your life is now what you make of it.”
Murmurs ran through the werewolves, questions, excitement, and a few exclamations of awe followed my words.
I gestured toward the house behind me. “All I ask is that you respect those who fought to free you and who saved me so that I could make it happen.” I met the gaze of each of the werewolves who watched me. “And I ask that you choose to live a life protecting humans instead of harming them.” I shook my head. “We did plenty of harm in our past. We have hurt people, torn families apart, and been the means to end lives that didn’t deserve such a termination.” Answering nods followed my words. I took it as encouragement. “So here and now, pledge with me that you will make it up to humans who are weaker than us, and therefore, deserve our protection.”
“I pledge,” Sixteen said immediately.
“I pledge,” the girl with mismatched eyes said.
Other pledges followed until every werewolf beneath the trees agreed to obey my words. It was more than I had hoped for. I hadn’t meant to give them an ultimatum. My one wish was to protect the world I had just turned them loose into. At least there was hope that it could actually happen.
The door to the house opened and every werewolf turned.
“We’re bringing more food!” Mrs. Willard called from the yard.
“Is it safe to come over there?” Mrs. Stein asked.
Virgo looked at me. At my
nod, he raised his voice and said, “Come on over! They could use more food.”
Sounds of anticipation flowed through the werewolves. I gestured toward the pot of spaghetti. “Keep eating,” I said. “I know you need it, and Mrs. Willard is an excellent cook.”
“She’s fantastic,” someone said.
“I heard that,” Mrs. Willard replied as she followed James’ lead through the trees. She set the second pot of spaghetti on the blanket. “There will be plenty more where that came from.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Stein said, joining her. “And enjoy my butternut squash manicotti. It’s a new recipe!”
The werewolves around the blanket eyed the casserole dish wish suspicion. The squash aroma that rose from it wasn’t like anything I had ever smelled at the Lair, and I couldn’t decide whether that was bad or good.
“I’d like to try it,” a werewolf with red hair who I knew had excellent bow staff skills said.
He was known for eating anything, so his offer didn’t deserve the beaming smile Mrs. Stein gave him, but the zeal with which she dished up the manicotti made the other werewolves rush forward.
“This is great!” the redhead said.
Soon, the evening was filled with sounds of contentment from werewolves who had finished seconds, thirds, and even fourths of the spaghetti and manicotti. Everyone lounged beneath the trees, and the contentment I saw on their faces gave me a feeling of satisfaction as if I had cooked the meal myself.
Mrs. Stein and Mrs. Willard had gone back to the house after ensuring there was enough food. James and Alia had eventually followed, leaving Virgo and I to keep an eye on things.
I sat on the ground with my back against the trunk of a tree. The last rays of sun were beginning to fade from the sky. A sigh escaped me as the first light of the moon eased away the last of the pain that remained from the felgul claw marks and the Master’s bite on the side of my neck. I removed the bandages and wadded them into a small ball. It was nearly dark enough to send out the werewolves. As anxious as I was to begin, I didn’t want the town raised to high alert by the presence of an entire pack roaming the boundaries.