Eclipsed Legacy (Sentinels Book 1)

by Alex Stone

  Once Ricky is inside, I put my car in reverse and sharply pull out of his driveway, wanting to get as far away from this place as possible. The dirt stirs up into the air as I speed away on the dirt road. What the actual fuck, Ricky? Now of all times, I should not have to worry about whether I can trust my family not to literally stab me in the back. But would he really? Sure, Ricky has been great during the last two days that we have reconnected, but we haven’t been close since we were little kids. And there is no way he could’ve known those intimate details about our Grandmother’s death. I never said a word about her wounds. To anyone. Was he there? Could he be in league with her killer? I can’t really trust how well I know him. I honestly don’t anymore.

  I almost turn off onto Grandma’s road just out of habit, but once I realize what I’m about to do, I continue forward. I can’t bring myself to go there, not yet, anyway. The image of her body, of her eyes, still haunt me. Going back there would likely sear images into my mind that I couldn’t erase. I know I’ll have to go back eventually to investigate because her killer is still out there, but not today. Today, I have to focus on the pack and on Michael.

  I am on autopilot for the rest of the ride home. My mind blank, either out of sheer exhaustion or in response to the stress from the last few days. When I get home, I go to one of the top cabinets in my kitchen and pull out my box of herbs and some seasoning. I’m not into the whole wiccan thing like my Grandma was, but there are a few herbs that all wolves need to have on hand: lavender, chamomile, and, surprise, cayenne pepper. The three are great for relaxing the muscles, which is pivotal in avoiding or reducing the pain that comes with the forced change. Tensing up only makes it worse.

  Remembering that I still don’t have blueberries or other healthy goodies, I inwardly cringe. Berries are also helpful, but most importantly, they help with the taste. I gather my handy little discount blender and the apple juice— no orange juice here because OJ will kill you. I pour the four ingredients into the blender and turn it on. The concoction takes on a brownish-red color. Just thinking about drinking it makes me want to gag, but I know it’ll come in handy later. I pour the mixture into a thermos before carrying on with my day.

  While I have the time, I pull out my phone and call Mason, my boss. He quickly answers after two rings. The guy has had the hots for me since my interview, but he’s too awkward and professional to do anything that would make me uncomfortable.

  “Tala?” he says a little too quickly and a little too excitedly.

  “Yes, it’s me,” I say, holding back a chuckle.

  “W-what can I do for you?”

  “I’m going to be taking some time off—”

  He cuts me off, quickly falling into a stricter tone, “Company policy is that you must give at least three weeks’ notice before taking vacation ti—”

  “It’s not vacation. My grandmother passed away, so I’ll be taking my three days of bereavement for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I’m not yet sure when we’re having the funeral, but I’m not going to be in any shape to work for the next few days.” I manage to keep the emotion out of my voice, but lack of emotion likely says more about my current mental state than tears would.

  It takes Mason a second to respond. “O-of course! Whatever the company can to do support you and your family in this difficult time. Please let me know if you need more time or if there is anything else—”

  “Thanks, Mason,” I say quickly before he can wish me further condolences or ask how I’m coping.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Talk to you later,” I say and hang up. Good God! I sigh. That took more out of me than I thought it would. I’m not sure if it’s normal or not, but the thought of well-wishes, condolences, and sympathy makes me want to retreat. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want people to try to understand. Maybe it’s rude. I suppose I should be genuinely grateful for the support, but those kinds of emotions feel so far out of reach. There’s a way people portray loss, and it’s nothing like this. In films, people cry and cling to those around them; people come around and say just the right words. The funeral comes and they move on, but I’m only beginning to realize that it’s nothing like that. I want to scream until my throat bleeds. I want to rip apart the person responsible, and yet… I want to shut off every creeping feeling associated with her, but I can’t. I’ve never felt so lost and empty before.

  Sure, I’ve lost people before. My grandfather, Earl (Grandma’s second husband), died when I was ten, but my grandparents had divorced before I was born. He lived halfway across the country in Nebraska. I remember being sad when he died, but we were never close. He sent me cards on my birthday, and Mom took me and Michael to see him for a couple Christmases, but that was the extent of my relationship with him. It wasn’t the same. With Grandma, I feel like part of me died with her. I don’t know what’s normal. I don’t know how I am supposed to act or what the socially acceptable way to mourn is, or if there is one to begin with.

  Grandma wasn’t exactly the poster child for social propriety herself. She lived most of her life as a vagabond orphan. Her parents died when she was a kid, and she had no other family. There wasn’t much of a foster care system back then, so it was easy for her to run off and find her own way. She went through a wild phase and partied quite a bit which resulted in her having Uncle Carl when she was seventeen, but she wasn’t sure who the father was. She got married to her first husband, Gregory, shortly after, which resulted in all of my Grandmother’s kids, except for Aunt Ruby and my mom. While I always respected my Grandmother’s “fuck ‘em all” attitude, it’s also one of the reasons I’ve never pursued a serious relationship (if you don’t count Robbie, the guy who was my high school boyfriend for six months). Romance is fleeting. People fall in and out of love all the time, like Mel with her Aaron guy. One day he wanted her, the next he wouldn’t answer her calls. There were at least three guys my Grandma fell for before realizing it wasn’t worth it. My own mother couldn’t stay in a relationship. Maybe it’s just my family. I can’t even mourn right.

  But I can’t dwell further. My crazy family needs me. The pack has to come first. The pack has to come first. My phone vibrates. It’s Ricky, likely to ask about his plan to hunt down the other pack. I decide not to answer. Maybe that’s a dick move, but I can’t deal with the Ricky situation right now. I decide to call Uncle Carl again. He picks up after a few rings. “Hello,” he says.

  “Hey,” I respond. “I realized that we still need to discuss the plan for tonight.”

  “Okay,” he says. “What did you have in mind?”

  “I’ll take point. There’s always the possibility that the other pack could attack, and I wouldn’t want anyone else in that position. Could you take the rear?”

  “Whatever I can do to help. That’s what family’s all about.”

  “Thanks, Uncle Carl.”

  “Anytime.” We say our goodbyes and hang up. I really do need to give him more credit. I’ve called the guy twice today, and it’s not even two. He really does put the family first. I decide to keep that in mind. Maybe I can eventually share all of my concerns with him. A little trust goes a long way, I know this. Grandma drilled it into me— or tried to— for years, but it has never been my strong point. Knowing something and feeling it are two different things. I’ve opened up more to Ricky than anyone— Ricky of all people— and now that seems to be biting me in the ass. Would a leader share everything that I know?

  I want to be alpha. I’m not the kind of person who has ever cared much about status or popularity. I sure as hell didn’t care about the social “hierarchy” in high school but being alpha— it matters. It’s the one thing that I have never doubted my ability to do. Sure, I’ve technically never held the position, but I was born to do this. Grandma certainly thought I could do it, and she delegated several of her duties to me. I also can’t help but admit that maybe leading alongside or under Uncle Carl wouldn’t be so bad. He does let everyone use his back yard, hi
s acreage, and everything else whenever we need them. He has resources and money. I used to think he overcompensated for not knowing who his father is. It seemed like he went out of his way to show Grandma that he was successful, like getting approval from the parent he did know would somehow make up for not knowing his father. Several of my aunts and uncles have joked about him this way too. All of them know their fathers, but few have stayed connected. It doesn’t seem to have affected them much. Maybe Uncle Carl really has been so available to get Grandma’s approval, but he has been available for everyone. He’s allowed us to use his land at a moment’s notice. I’m not positive he’s really vying for the position of alpha. Yet, I know he does deserve it. He’s never shown any real interest before now, but his statements at the meeting last night made me assume he wanted to be alpha.

  Or, maybe, he was just genuinely concerned, Tala. Not everyone has an ulterior motive. The last few days have me on edge and questioning everything and everyone. I could lie and tell myself that I am just trying to play it safe, but I feel like I am going a little insane. I need to stay focused on what’s in front of me, on preparing for tonight and ensuring everything goes smoothly.

  I should head over to Mom’s to talk with her and Michael about what he can likely expect. He’s a member of the pack, and someone has to guide him through his first change. The circumstances around my first change were less than ideal, but the change itself wasn’t awful. It wasn’t painful or drawn out like most wolves’. Lizzy and Ray had shared how excruciating their first changes had been. I don’t envy what they went through that first time.

  The drive to Mom’s goes by quickly. Before I know it, I am knocking on Mom’s front door while opening it before she can say, “Come in.” The scent of tomato and basil, along with the warmth of steam, envelops my senses. The slight moisture in the air clings to my skin. I hear Mom frying something. When I enter the kitchen, she’s moving back and forth. There are three boiling pots of penne, shells, and spaghetti. Meanwhile, she alternates between stirring a giant mixing bowl full of red sauce and a yellow cheesy-looking concoction. In the iron skillet, she’s browning ground beef.

  “Mom?” I say, a little surprised. She looks like she’s cooking for an army.

  She jumps before smiling. “Goodness, Tala! You scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry! What’re you doing?” I ask.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I thought that maybe all of you would be hungry tonight, or after tonight?” Mom sighs then turns away to move the beef around in the skillet. “I needed something to do, I suppose.” She turns back to look at me with a closed-lip, reluctant smile.

  “I guess I’m not the only one who’s been in need of a distraction,” I reply, returning the sad smile.

  Mom nods. “It’s been hard. And it’ll get worse before it gets easier,” she says before changing the subject. “I suppose you’re here to talk about Michael?”

  “Yeah,” I say, shifting gears to focus on the easier topics. “We know it is highly likely that Michael will change tonight, so I want to prepare him for what he’s going to go through. For a lot of wolves, the first change is hard, painful even. I’ve got something that can help. It’s important that he knows what to expect and understands how to make the change easier on his body. On the off chance he doesn’t change with the rest of us, he needs to know how to proceed.”

  “So, you plan on taking him out into the woods with the rest of them?”

  “Yes.”

  Mom doesn’t say anything, but the concerned look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know.

  “I know you’re worried, but I’ll be with him the whole time. He needs to do this.”

  “What if he’s not one of you? What if he doesn’t change? What then?” Mom’s voice gradually grows louder as she speaks, but I do my best to maintain an even tone.

  “I doubt that will happen, but if it does, Michael will not be in any danger from the pack.”

  “And what about those animalistic instincts you all have talked about over the years? What if that takes over, he runs, and one of them can’t help but chase him?”

  “Mom,” I say, taking her hand. “It won’t. We haven’t seen it yet, but everything is telling us that Michael is a wolf. And we can’t risk him changing for the first time in public. It’s too dangerous. The instinct is more likely to overcome a new wolf, and in that form, even without being aggressive, he could accidentally hurt someone. And you know Michael; he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if that happened.”

  Mom just nods.

  “What’s going on?” Michael asks from under the arch that connects the kitchen to the living room.

  “Nothing,” Mom says.

  “I heard yelling,” he insists as he raises his eyebrows.

  “We were just talking about Grandma,” I lie. “But I’m actually here to talk to you.”

  Michael instantly tenses, but his eyes go wide with excitement. I can only imagine the anticipation he’s feeling. “Okay,” he says. “Let me get my boots!” He dashes down the hall before I can reply. Of course, he’d get his boots; that’s what I always did. When he was younger, every time I’d put them on, he thought I was going to the woods.

  I turn to Mom, “I’ll look after him; I promise.”

  She nods then gives my hand a quick squeeze before I turn and follow Michael to the back of the house. In his room, he’s drug most of his closet out into the center of the floor. An old ball, a set of trading cards, some underwear, and various old toys are strewn about. Michael’s hunting boots are set neatly on his bed, along with a green BDU that he uses for his airsoft gun battles. Michael digs in his closet and doesn’t notice me.

  As I clear my throat, he jumps and bumps his head on a shelf in his mess of a closet. He turns and looks at me as he stands, black socks in hand. “Hey,” he says.

  “Hey…” I reply as he continues to set out his would-be wolf gear. “Michael, you know that you don’t need all of this stuff, right?”

  He shrugs. “Yeah, but I just want to be prepared. Ya’ know, in case the other pack tries to attack us.”

  I want to lie to him and say there’s no way that’ll happen. Even though I think it’s unlikely, I know it is a real possibility. I sit down at the foot of Michael’s bed and pat the spot next to me. He raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks, as if this is some sort of overly sappy cheese fest on the family channel.

  I offer my best devious smile. “Really.” Michael rolls his eyes dramatically before sitting beside me.

  “Look,” I say. “I don’t want to downplay it to you. The other pack attacking is a possibility, but it is very unlikely. If they do, you are to stay next to Ricky.” Immediately, part of me wants to take that back; I’m not sure if I can trust Ricky. Instinct tells me that he knows more than he is letting on. But does that mean he really killed my grandmother? My gut says no. I am conflicted, but no part of me thinks for one second that Ricky would ever harm Michael, so I continue. “Besides, that airsoft gear won’t help you.”

  “But I could change back and—”

  “And what? Tell the others to hold off the attack, so you can spend five minutes dressing? Michael, that’s not how it works. It’s a full moon; you can’t change back until it’s over. You’ll want your boots, because prior to the change, we’ll be walking, but you want something you can quickly slip out of.”

  Michael’s face turns red before twisting into a look of disgust. “Wait, you had said that the pack changes together.”

  “Yeah?”

  “So, I’m going to see half the family naked?”

  I can’t help but laugh. “I mean, technically, yeah, but we’re usually too focused on our own change to notice anything else. And then we’re wolves, so we’re covered in fur.”

  “But after? I have to see Uncle Carl’s saggy ass? And no offense, but I really don’t want to see you naked either.”

  Of all the things he’s worried about! It’s not really the p
ossibility of death; it’s seeing his sister’s boobs. I suppose no one ever discussed those logistics with him before. “Again, we are usually focused on our own changes. If you do see anyone…” I pause, thinking of our change. “Well, it’s not like that. We’re all used to it. If it makes you feel any better, as a born wolf, you’ll be able to feel when the control of a full moon begins to wane. You may be able to control when you turn back, but it’s likely you’ll change back when the turned wolves do. That kind of control takes practice. I usually choose to remain a wolf long enough to scoop up my clothes and go behind a tree.”

  “Okay. Just don’t look if—”

  I put my hand up. “Trust me. I won’t.”

  Michael releases a breath.

  “Here’s the thing— and I’m sure you’ve heard some of the wolves talk about it before, but it’s different when it’s you changing— you need to be prepared for some pain. The first time is the worst. Your body will instinctively want to resist, because you are not in control. Try to remain calm, relaxed. The more you tense up or try to resist, the more it’ll hurt.” This is what the others told me. My first change happened quickly and seemed very natural. I gave no resistance. “Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “If you don’t change, don’t panic. Everyone in the pack is an experienced wolf, we’re not going to chase you or come after—”

  “I didn’t even think about any of that.” Shit.

  “Okay, well, good. That’s good... So, if you don’t change, you’ll want to walk back from the woods to Uncle Carl’s and call mom to come get you. We leave our phones in the cars.”

  Michael nods and sits quietly.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah,” he says quickly, giving me his attention. “I just can’t believe this is it. I just hope I turn.”

  I smile. “Me too,” I say and give him a tight, sideways hug. “We should probably get going. Get your boots on and change into something comfortable.” He nods, and I head back to the kitchen where my mom is still frantically cooking. I knock on the archway so I don’t startle her. Again. She turns her head toward me, but her body still faces the stove. She still has that worried and sad look in her eyes, and it about kills me. It’s hard, because I realize that I do want Michael to be like me. I want to share this experience with him, but Mom wants the exact opposite. “We’re going to be leaving soon,” I say.