by Laura Taylor
“Let the introductions proceed,” Caroline announced, kicking off the next section of the ceremony… but then another voice interrupted.
“No one has performed the Chant of Forests,” Mark said, loudly and clearly. “Should we cast aside honour and tradition because Dee was brought to us in unconventional ways?”
A murmur went through the crowd. “The Chant of Forests,” Silas seconded the idea, a few other voices agreeing with him.
Caroline looked almost embarrassed. “Of course. Thank you, Mark, for reminding us,” she said, sounding pained by the admission. “Dee? If you would stand over here, please?”
“What’s going on?” Dee whispered, as Caroline led her to the centre of the patio. The rest of the shifters gathered in a large circle around her.
“The Chant welcomes a new wolf into the world,” Caroline told her quickly. “It’s usually performed at a shifter’s conversion. But for you, we’ll do it now.”
A quick check-in with Faeydir reassured Dee as Caroline joined the circle. The wolf wasn’t familiar with this particular ritual, but similar ones had been performed throughout history, she informed Dee, sometimes chants, sometimes dances, sometimes a presentation of gifts, but all with the same purpose – to affirm the birth of a shifter into their unique world and culture. And it was an honour to be a part of one now, she asserted with a sense of satisfaction.
A heavy silence fell over the Den as everyone stood still, hands clasped behind their backs, heads bowed, and Dee felt awkward and conspicuous as no one had told her what was expected of her. She waited, trying not to fidget.
A single voice broke into the silence. “Hama Yukú Laethi-Ká.” Dee realised that it was Tank who was beginning the chant. He had the most beautiful baritone voice she’d ever heard. And then everyone else joined in, their voices creating a rich, haunting harmony. “Hama Yukú Laethi-Ká. Hama Laethi-Kaánah. Veeshee ahnis sendigah. Hama Laethi-Kaánah.” The words were in a language Dee had never heard before, but unspeakably beautiful nonetheless. But the most astonishing thing was that, as she looked around the circle, every single person was looking her dead in the eye. Still, focused, seeming to mean every word from the bottom of their hearts, even if Dee couldn’t understand them. Even those who had voted against her – Raniesha, Simon, Caleb – seemed to take the chant as a solemn vow, and Dee knew she was going to have to find out what it meant.
After long minutes, the voices ended, the last notes of the chant drifting off into the cool night. “Let’s move to the introductions, then,” Caroline said after a moment’s pause, and that, it seemed, was that.
Dee watched as the entire Den formed a single, orderly line, with no fuss, no question as to who would go first or last. Caroline had told her that she was to be personally introduced to each and every member of the Den, in both human and wolf form, but had failed to mention that it would be done in order of rank. The head of the line was Tank, and down the end was an elderly man who Dee could only assume was George. It was fascinating and informing to suddenly see where each and every member stood. Natural wolf packs had a pecking order, from alpha down to omega – the lowest ranking wolf – with food, mating rights and other privileges decided based on the individual’s rank. It made an odd sort of sense to see it carried over into their human lives as well. After all, humans were equally known to care about rank and status, it was just less obvious in modern times than it had been in the past, when kings and nobles held sway over peasants and commoners.
“May I introduce Henry Grounder, aka Tank,” Baron said. It was a formal introduction despite how often he and Dee had met before. Tank grinned, shook her hand, and then stepped back. He shifted into a huge white wolf, and Dee couldn’t help but smile. He was a beautiful animal, with bright blue eyes, thick, snowy coat, and a look on his face that promised mischief. He eased forward and gave Dee a thorough sniffing, then huffed and moved away along the patio.
“Caleb Anderson,” Baron said next, and the ritual was repeated.
As they worked their way down the line, Dee made careful mental notes on each name and each wolf. She tried to identify characteristics that would be easy to remember – a dark patch over the eye, one foot a different colour, an ear that flopped instead of standing up straight.
She tried to control her surprise at the ranking of each member of the pack. Silas was near the head of the line, just behind Caleb. Skip was fifth from the bottom, though Dee had assumed her outgoing personality would have let her climb higher up the social ladder. Heron was just below Silas, the woman’s age apparently no barrier to her holding a high rank.
But John was a surprise. She’d expected the small, reclusive man to be near the bottom, but he was fifth, just after Heron. Small but fierce, Dee supposed, as she shook his reluctant hand. And then, when he shifted into his wolf form, Dee took an involuntary step back. The wolf was savage – that was the only way to describe him. Scars covered his face and chest, a bald patch over his left shoulder that looked like it had been burned, then scarred over. And his eyes were a dark grey, cold and steely, dark loathing pouring out at her.
And she surmised she was right to be nervous when Baron took a step forward, keeping his eyes firmly on John. John raised one lip in a silent snarl, then lowered his head and edged forward. He took a cursory sniff of Dee’s leg, then hurried away, retreating to the far end of the patio.
Raniesha was next, surprisingly calm and composed given her earlier outburst. But while Dee was willing to bridge the gap between them and attempt to make peace, it seemed that Faeydir had taken exception to her insinuations. The wolf rose suddenly and sharply, and Dee fought her down, knowing that to shift now would be completely inappropriate. For all the casual air of it, this was a sacred ritual, one that had been performed for each and every new member of Il Trosa for hundreds of years.
Caroline noted her distress – she could hardly miss it, the way Dee was swaying and turning green – and took a discreet step closer. One small electric shock was all it took, and Faeydir was retreating with a snarl and a promise that tomorrow, there would be a fight.
Something else for Dee to look forward to.
She shook Raniesha’s hand, stood to be sniffed by her wolf, then tried to concentrate on the rest of the ceremony.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
In the living room of the Grey Watch’s training house, Genna sat on an antique sofa, her back ram-rod straight as a group of shifters filed in the door. There were the three women who’d been training her – Rintur, Feriur and Vash, all looking grim and severe – along with two others whom she hadn’t met before who had arrived just minutes ago. And trailing after them, head down, eyes on the floor, was Sven, the shifter male who was to convert her.
She tried to keep her eyes off the man, having been lectured at length about Grey Watch protocol when it came to males. They were fit for only two things, she had been told firmly. One was converting women into shifters – an unfortunate glitch in shifter biology meant that members of one gender could only convert the other gender – and the other was sex. A handful of males were kept in the camp for the sexual pleasure of the women, though the opportunity to mate with them was determined by rank and seniority, so it would likely be years until Genna herself got the chance. In the normal, day to day running of the pack, however, males were to be ignored.
But the Watch chose their men well, she had to admit. Sven was tall, muscular and blonde, the sort of man who would usually be found on the cover of a sports magazine. He wore buckskin trousers and a black jacket over his bare chest, the males of their pack denied the right to wear the usual grey robes of the Watch, and he had a collar around his neck.
“My name’s Lita,” one of the newcomers said, an ageing woman who walked with a slow, shuffling gait. “You’ve been told what is to come?”
“I have,” Genna replied. The conversion itself had sounded terrifying when Rintur had explained it to her, but the night to follow would be far worse. “I’m ready.”
“Let’s get this over with then. Sven, present yourself.”
Without a word, Sven came forward, removing his jacket to reveal a hairless, muscular chest. Then he stripped off his trousers with the same cool disinterest and stood before her naked.
It was not the first time Genna had seen a naked man, but the sight of him now left her trembling. And not from desire. He stood in the middle of the living room, accepted a knife from Lita and, without any preamble whatsoever, cut a long slit into his own wrist. He handed the knife to Genna, handle first, and she took it, pushing down the wave of fear she felt.
She stood up and removed the grey robe she had been given just an hour ago. Beneath it, she too was naked, and she felt the disapproving eyes of all the women upon her.
Determined to prove her worth as a shifter, Genna lifted the knife and pressed the tip into her own wrist. She had been expecting pain, had been bracing herself for it ever since she’d been told her conversion was to happen well ahead of schedule, but it was worse than she had anticipated. She pressed deeper, drawing blood as she tried to cut a line up her wrist, but she had to stop, clamping her jaw shut to keep from crying out. From the side of the room, Rintur made a sound of impatient disgust.
Taking a deep breath, Genna decided that she should treat this like ripping off a bandage. She took a moment to gather herself, then cut her arm quickly, a strangled sound of pain escaping her as her blood welled up.
Sven stepped forward, ignoring her pain, and took her arm, pressing the two cuts together.
Lita came forward next, holding an electric cord with a bare wire at the end. She plugged one end into a power socket on the wall, then flicked a switch halfway along. Electricity was the key to conversion, Genna had been told, and this device, crude as it was, got the job done. Part way along the wire was a heating element, designed to prevent new converts from being electrocuted, but that was the limit of the niceties. Lita stepped over and Genna braced herself again, every muscle taut.
Lita jammed the live wires directly into her and Sven’s joined wounds, and she screamed as a sharp current shot through her. Genna felt her body convulse, muscles jerking uncontrollably as she hit the floor. Loud complaints, words flung out with disdain echoed around her as she tried to get her bearings. There was something different about her body now, a tightness, a tingling sensation as a new presence seeped in from her arm, up into her chest, electricity crackling along her skin though Lita had already started packing the cable away. Genna struggled to stand up, knowing that weakness in any form was not tolerated amongst the Watch. Sven was still standing, she realised, and wondered dimly how often he had been through this. There was blood on the wooden floor, thick drops dribbling down her arm, through her fingers, and Genna fought to still her shaking. The night was far from over yet.
“Complete the ritual,” Lita snapped, and that was all the recovery time Genna was going to get. Sven came forward, his penis already erect, and Genna, overwhelmed and off balance, simply let him. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her down onto the floor, spread her legs and put his hand between them, and began what would, in other circumstances, have been called foreplay.
Genna had been told that this was part of the ritual, a mandatory mating with one of the Watch’s males, and when she’d been told, she’d been excited about it. Sven was a masterpiece of male perfection, chiselled jaw, rough stubble on his chin, powerful thighs, narrow waist, and for the month since she’d started her training in earnest, she’d been looking forward to the chance to get it on with the kind of man who would never have taken an interest in her in the normal course of things.
Now, though, her body was still thrumming from the near-electrocution and the conversion, her attention taken up with the baffling sensations of having a wolf invade her mind, and any romantic expectations she’d had about a gentle and beautiful initiation into a world of hedonistic pleasure vanished.
But this was necessary, she reminded herself, feeling the off-putting sensation of Sven’s wet mouth on her breast. This was the rite of passage she must endure that would allow her entry into a world of wonder and mysticism, an escape from the cold drudgery of life as a supermarket checkout girl, and she submitted, telling herself that the reward was worth the indignity of it all.
Long minutes later, as Genna was still trying to fight off the wolf pressing for its first shift, Sven thrust inside her, and she registered that he must have used some sort of lubricant, as she was not the slightest bit aroused herself. But, to satisfy the demands of the pack, she spread her legs, wrapped her thighs around him and clung to his shoulders as he thrust into her again and again.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the fact that there were five women watching this, trying to ignore the sick feeling of being used, not by Sven, but by the women, by the Grey Watch, by a degrading tradition that served to bind her more closely to the shifter world.
Finally, it was over, Sven climaxing without a sound. He climbed off her, retreating to stand at the side of the room like the trained dog he was.
Genna stood up, her legs fighting to keep her upright, and registered that she was smeared with blood, the wound on her arm still seeping, and with other fluids. But cleaning up right now was not an option.
“The wolves are waiting outside,” Lita said, and for the first time, Genna recognised the undertone of malice in her voice. Her trials for this night were far from over.
Outside, once more dressed in her grey robe, Genna looked out into the darkness and saw dozens of pairs of eyes glowing in the dim light. The Grey Watch, in wolf form.
“Behold Genna, the omega,” Rintur called loudly, the women having followed her out of the house. Genna tried to hold herself up tall, attempting to appear strong and confident. “If she has the strength to reach the camp before dawn, she will become one of us. If not…” Rintur turned to Genna with a leer, “then she will return to the dust from whence she came. Let the run begin.”
The wolves came out of the darkness, a horde of black shadows, and Genna reached inside herself desperately. Her first shift, unassisted, on a frightening deadline, and she had no idea how to proceed. She held the image of a wolf firmly in her mind, imagined her limbs shortening, her muzzle lengthening… and bloody hell, it seemed to work. She felt static crackle over her skin, and then she was no longer Genna, the non-descript supermarket worker, but a wolf, small, bedraggled, and struggling to manage her four legs rather than the two she was used to.
The instant she was in wolf form, the wolves were on her. Their task was simple – to harass, to intimidate, to wound, but not to kill. They were to do anything in their power to stop her from reaching the camp before the night was over.
Weakness, Rintur had told her again and again, was a liability. A weak link was the one that was going to allow the Noturatii to wipe out their pack, if not their entire species. So new recruits had to prove from day one that they were worthy of the gifts bestowed upon them.
Genna had been given a map of the local streets, the forest, and the location of the camp, and had had no more than an hour to memorise the entire thing. The rest was up to her.
Death was not an appealing option. Genna felt suddenly angry about the brutality that these women seemed to think was so necessary in their daily lives. She had been short changed five of the six months of her training, converted in a rush, mated just as quickly, and now they wanted to bully her into giving up?
Not too fucking likely. With a snarl and a show of teeth, Genna threw herself at the nearest wolves, charged through the ring of bodies surrounding her… and she was off.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It took Dee nearly half an hour to meet the entire Den. After the round of introductions in human form, she was asked to shift, and everyone had the chance to meet her wolf. She’d been worried that Faeydir wouldn’t cooperate, but the wolf had come out easily at her request, and had taken a genuine interest in her new pack. She’d memorised everyone’s scent, had snarled at Raniesha �
� an entirely appropriate challenge, Baron told her later – and she’d bowed her head to John and the higher ranking members of the pack. That had intrigued Dee. Apparently Faeydir saw something in the boy that Dee herself had yet to pick up on, offering him unquestioning respect and deference. The only slight incident had been when Faeydir had nipped George on the leg. As the newest member of the pack, Dee was automatically the lowest ranking member as well, and Faeydir was clearly impatient to start moving up the ladder. A stern growl from Caroline had set her straight, and she’d whined an apology, licked the man’s hand and wagged her tail.
After that, there had been a few more formalities, speeches made, incense burned and a prayer to Sirius spoken over a bowl of burning herbs, but finally, the rituals of the night were over. Baron shouted for everyone’s attention, welcomed Dee to Il Trosa one last time, and then declared that the feast had begun.
Dee found herself quite hungry, so she made up a plate of salad, potatoes and roast chicken with a heavenly scent to it. She followed Skip across the patio to where the chairs were set out and they sat, watching as the others ate, drank, squabbled over bones in wolf form, or ran off to play on the lawn. Skip had helped herself to a plate twice the size of Dee’s, but she set about ploughing through it like she hadn’t eaten in a week.
As usual, she was wearing a collection of childish jewellery, a necklace of bright pink and yellow, an electric blue bangle around her wrist as thick as her thumb, studded with plastic diamonds. As she ate, she fiddled with the beads in between each bite and seemed to draw comfort from their presence. Perhaps one day, Dee pondered, she would know the girl well enough to feel comfortable asking for the reason behind her obsession with the jewellery.