by Tamar Sloan
“Nah, you’ve got better things to do with your time.”
“Okay.” Tara draws the word out in that slow way that says she’s not convinced.
But Dana is my new ally. “Come on Tara, let the girl have some peace and quiet. We’ll give you a call later?”
I nod, hoping they think it’s tiredness that has me sagging rather than relief. Tara lets Dana tug her toward the door, glancing over her shoulder. I nod, pulling up a smile as I follow them.
“Call me if you need anything. Cheesecake, chocolate, a chat.”
Talking is the last thing I feel like doing right now, and I think cheesecake could make me vomit. I stretch that smile a little wider. “Sure.”
Dana gives me an I’m-glad-everything-is-fine smile in return. “Bye, Eden.”
“I’ll catch you later.”
I close the door even though Tara is still looking at me over her shoulder, then turn to rest my back against it. All the strength I’d mustered to keep up my happy façade runs out and I sink, not slowly, but quickly, jarring me as I collapse in the hallway.
All the chaos that’s been churning in my head slows. The blurry, indistinguishable fears and worries become crystal clear.
It all makes sense.
Noah’s turmoil. The secrets. Never telling me that we’ve impossibly, amazingly bonded.
What should have been the announcement that gave my dreams substance, instead has robbed me of the ability to stand. My greatest fear, the only truth that could steal the possibility of a future, is real.
My fear that he was choosing.
Because he was.
Noah chose me.
But I can’t come between him and his pack, his future as an Alpha, the family that is his roots. If he chooses me, he can’t have children…he could even be banished. It’s the one choice I won’t let him make.
I sit there, back against the door, and watch the decision coming toward me. It’s big and black and it’s going to hurt. There’s a possibility I won’t be able to find all the pieces after it hits. And I shatter.
So I do the only thing I can.
As that train of pain bears down on me, getting darker than black and bigger than is possible to survive, I step aside. Yes, I leave behind a shell, a ghost, but that barely breathing husk doesn’t feel, doesn’t endure the impact as she decides.
That shell can do what needs to be done.
27
Noah
“Did you talk to her?”
“We had a lovely time, thanks for letting me in the door before you asked.”
Mitch pushes himself up from the honeyed timber bench beside our front door; it creaks ever so slightly as the folded piece of cereal box beneath the front leg expands. He puts a hand on the door and stops.
“Well?”
I frown, my first in two days. His seriousness, along with the door blocking, is starting to tick me off. “We talked.”
“And?”
“What's with the front porch third degree?”
The arm stretching to the door drops a little. “Dad wants to talk to you.”
No kidding. My eyes shoot to matching blue. “You told him?”
“What? No!”
Relief washes through me. “Then what?”
“So, you told her.”
And he calls me stubborn. “We’re doing this.”
Mitch lets out a breath, and his hand slips from the door knob. “Good.”
“Is that Noah?” Mom's voice carries from the other side.
Mitch opens the door, and I'm folded in warm arms and the faint smell of charcoal. The scent of childhood, the smell of love.
“I only left yesterday.”
Mom pulls back, fingers ruffling my fringe like she always has. Those brown eyes seem to know that a lot has passed in the past twenty-four hours.
“Dad’s outside.”
I head out to the thinking chair, curious, maybe a little nervous. The backyard has been washed clean by the downpour. The lawn Kermit-green, the trees bigger, a deeper shade...Hulk-like. Dad is there on the slightly sideways wooden bench.
His head turns slightly as I approach, although he knew I was coming minutes ago. He faces the trees again as I sit and wait.
And wait.
I’m not sure what for. Am I supposed to say something?
“Noah...”
I realize something unsettling, a feeling like this bench isn’t as sturdy as I thought. Dad is at a loss for words.
“There were two attacks in the reserve today.”
Now that Dad has found the words, I kinda wish he hadn’t. But once he’s started, it doesn’t stop.
“All lone hikers. No serious injuries, one sprained ankle from running. All claiming it was by a massive wolf.”
My hands ball tight, not sure if I should say it. “Three.”
“What?”
“There were three.” I suck in a steadying breath. “Eden was attacked.”
Air gets sucked in beside me, pulled in through closed teeth. Held. It's only once it’s back out that I continue. “We were coming back, I was getting firewood. Eden managed to calm him until I got there.”
Dad shoots up, all of a sudden his whole body straight. He turns, face tense, eyes tenser. “And?”
I frown, arms bracing beside my legs. “Eden stepped in before it got out of hand.”
Dad steps forward, arms coming up like he wants to grab me. But they drop as he takes a step backward. His voice is quiet when he asks, “Did you draw blood?”
I stand, too, confusion deepening the frown. “Why?”
“Did you draw blood?” This time the question is deeper, harder.
“I...I don’t think so.”
“You have to know, son. Think. Did you draw blood?”
I want to ask why, why so urgent, so intense? But the tense face has me rewinding the tape on those moments in the woods, going through each scene. I’d wanted to, and I probably would have if it wasn't for Eden. But I didn’t.
“No.”
Dad’s eyes close, his head tilting to the sky for a brief second. I decide it's my turn for some answers, so I ask again. “Why?”
Those blue eyes, my Phelan pack heritage, open and come to rest on me. They are steady, serious, and make me more nervous than they should. Dad takes a step forward, his hands coming up to grip my shoulders. With the speed of an Alpha Were, possibly because I never see it coming, his hands grab my shirt and yank.
The cotton tears and opens like a chasm. The vulnerable skin below, and its tattoo, practically glow in the light they hardly ever see.
“Because if the Prime Alpha draws the blood of another Were, he drains them of their power.”
I step back. And step back again. What?
But Dad hasn’t finished. “They become human only.”
I want to take another step back. Actually, I want to take a million steps back. My too-full head can't wrap around everything he just said. What question do I ask first? Do I really want to know?
It really comes down to one. “How did you know?”
Dad holds up his hand, ticking each finger off as he reels off a list. “You didn’t change at sixteen—that’s not a Precept, but it wasn’t normal. Overtaking at the full moon run. You weren’t flashing your bare chest any minute you could like every other young Were.” Those blue eyes sharpen. “Eden.”
Involuntarily, my hand comes up to my chest, trying to reunite the tattered material. “You knew!” There’s an accusatory note in my voice. I can’t help it. “Why didn’t you tell me?” The note stays; I’m too worked up to hide it.
“The Prime Alpha is a choice that was made for two people thousands of years ago. It’s a big ask, almost too much to ask. You’ve only just turned eighteen.”
Dad takes a step back, like this may be too much for him, too, but his eyes never leave mine. “But we haven’t been afforded time. This is getting serious, Noah. Weres are exposing themselves, attacking each other and now humans. There’
s more than just Seth greedy for power. We need the Prime Alpha.”
I swallow, finally acknowledging it. “I think you're right.”
Dad’s head shoots up. “You've done nothing but fight it.”
A sheepish shrug tugs at my shoulders. “Change kinda sucks. Things seemed fine.”
“Kurt was the first to show us it wasn’t.”
“I see that now. I've realized the Prime Alpha is about our laws, but it’s more than that.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Seth’s got it all wrong.”
“Yes, he does.”
“Sure, wolves are powerful predators, but they are about keeping the balance. Humans have the power to actually make that happen. And we’re both.”
“We need a Prime Alpha, Noah.”
The air leaves my tight chest, but I suck it back in along with a little extra. We need Eden. “I know. Eden and I decided last night.”
“So she knows?”
I sit back on the thinking chair. “She’s willing to have a future.” Shrewd blue tells me he’s seen evasion too many times. And for some reason, I feel guilty. “Not yet.”
Dad’s hand on my shoulder feels a lot like the weight of responsibility. “We need the Prime Alpha.”
Bloody hell, I heard him the first time. I stand and mirror his gesture; he hasn’t seen what I’ve seen, know what I know about Eden. “I’ll talk to Eden this afternoon. This is all going to work out, Dad. I can feel it.”
His piercing eyes, wise and watchful, study me for long seconds. He nods as he squeezes my shoulder. It compresses the air from my chest, and I acknowledge the relief I feel that I have his support.
The Phelan grin tickles at the edges of his eyes. “Sorry about the shirt.”
I shrug, the ragged edges flapping in the breeze. “It’s cool, although Mitch might not be.”
Dad shakes his head as he realizes it wasn’t my shirt. “You might want to hide it where you put your Mom’s carrot cake.”
I grin. “Except that’s where Mitch put the sunglasses you thought you lost…after he accidentally stepped on them.”
Dad shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Go get changed. Once you’ve talked to Eden, we’ll figure out what to do about the Weres that attacked the hikers.”
I nod, keen to find the one that attacked Eden for a whole host of personal reasons. Figuring out why they did it was going to be the first.
Inside, I head up to my room, grabbing another curtain for my chest, hoping Eden’s showered and rested—the talk can’t wait until tomorrow. It’s time she knew. I smile as I pull my shirt down. Not long now. The attacks, the talk of shedding blood, will be over. Eden and I will be bonded. I can finally show everyone what my heart has been bursting to howl from the highest peak for too long now.
Creaks from the stairway snap me from my thoughts. I know those light-footed steps.
It’s only when Eden is in the doorway, her face as pale as death, that I realize I never felt her coming. I must have been really caught up in my thoughts.
“Hi.” Her voice sounds hollow. I freeze in a way that would make Orin proud. I hold my chest, my breath, my flipping heart still. Nothing.
I. Don't. Feel. A. Thing. “What's going on?”
“I’ve figured it out.”
I play dumb as the doorknob her white knuckles are gripping. “Eden, I know that Were scared you but—”
“I know, Noah.”
My mouth opens a little. My chest opens like a chasm.
“I know about…us, and what it means.”
What? “I was going to tell you, Eden.”
“I understand why you didn’t. And it's okay. I get it.”
I step forward, ready to show how amazing we’ll be, what this can mean for us and for everyone.
“This isn't going to work.”
Everything in my body freezes again, denial streaking through me. “No.” I try to move again, but for some reason I can’t. “This isn’t what I want.”
Eden steps back, her eyes a flat, slate green. “I know, me neither. But what you’re asking, I’m not willing to sacrifice. I just can’t do it.”
The fight leaves my body, actually, I think it suffocates and dies. It chokes under the despair that Eden’s words spawn.
“You can’t do it,” I whisper, a hollow echo of Eden’s empty voice.
Eden steps back, not that it matters. The feeling of nothing, the absence of anything, has created more distance between us than I ever thought possible. “It’s too much. I’m sorry.”
With those words, the only words that would have stopped me from arguing or following, she leaves.
As I look at the empty doorway, the timber framing nothingness, as I feel the hole that was just hacked out of my chest, I still can’t find the ability to move. When playing out how this would end, in all the scenarios I ever imagined, this is not one I could have conceived. That Eden would find out then choose out.
That there would be no bonding.
No Prime Alpha.
I didn’t see me standing in my room alone, struck dumb with pain, watching her walk out the door.
That there would be no Eden.
28
Eden
I spend a lot of time watching myself. I feel sorry for the girl who sleeps too much, who eats without tasting, who moves through a world she doesn’t look like she belongs in. I feel sorry for her, but there’s not a chance I want to be her.
Even though I haven’t been at school, Alexis hasn’t cottoned on. Possibly because although we were roommates before, we’re strangers now. Worse than strangers. We’re two people that used to know each other, were supposed to mean something to each other, and now can’t stand to look at each other.
Possibly because there’s been no tears.
I roll over in bed, looking at my clock. It's after nine. I need to do something about the school situation. I pick up my phone and dial.
“Good morning. Jacksonville High School.”
“Hi Mrs. Marple, it’s Eden.”
“Hello lovely, I haven't seen you all week.”
“Ah, yeah, something’s come up—”
“Oh dear, anything I can help you with, dear?”
I smile a hollow smile. Nothing I want shared in the staff room. “No, we’ve had a family emergency, and I have to go out of state. I won’t be back, possibly before exams.”
“You do sound...off dear. That's fine; it’s only a couple of weeks. Shall I email your work to you?”
“That would be wonderful, Mrs. Marple; I appreciate it.” It’s amazing how much a well-behaved, regularly attending, high-achieving student can get away with. “Thanks, I'll see you at exams.”
I hang up, ignoring how I’m going to get legitimate paperwork to back up my ill-defined excuse.
I dress without care, Caesar watching the slow movement of my ghost town body. He doesn’t move forward, just sits and watches, like he knows how fragile I am. I promise myself I’ll take him for an extra-long walk when I get back.
I climb into the car and drive, realizing I need a destination. I’m not going to school, and I can’t stand to be at home. Even the reserve is riddled with memory land mines. So, I head to the one place that holds the least connection to him, and them.
Wyoming State is much quieter than the open day, which is just what I’m looking for. Avoiding the possibility of eye contact, I head to the memorial gardens. I wonder whether part of me is looking for Orin, but I’m not sure whether even he’s safe for my tightly held equilibrium.
If there were anything to soothe, the memorial gardens would do it. Their gently winding paths, the healing colors of nature wrap around me. My disconnected brain appreciates this would be a good place to go to heal, and I’m relieved I don’t need it.
I walk the many little gravel tributaries. Each one opens out to a rounded bud of vegetation, flowers, and beauty. Each one holds a small plaque, memorializing someone who managed to make something of their life. Most of the p
ockets of garden are empty, but despite the gift of solitude each one offers, I keep going. There’s a restless energy buzzing through my limbs, a fortress of numbness that seems to need movement to keep its walls up.
I round the bend of one of the gardens on the east side to find I’m not alone. A lone body in a Wyoming State blazer, tall but somehow stooped, overlooks the garden. I step back, not wanting to intrude and not wanting to be seen.
The shoulders tense, straighten. Shoulders that wrench air into my lungs. Shoulders I recognize and don’t want to. Silently I retreat, my fragile stranglehold on numbness knows I can’t be here.
But Were hearing has picked up on my intrusive footsteps and he turns, surprise lifting his brows. “Hello, Eden.”
I don’t respond. I can’t. Seth is not someone I can talk to.
Seth doesn’t move, but I can see his mind working. He looks at me, takes in my silence. I don’t know what he sees; the anesthesia in my mind stops me from going there. But it seems he sees something because his face changes, morphs first to understanding and then to something else.
Pity. I take another step back, almost at the mouth of the walk I shouldn’t have taken.
“I would have warned you if it would have made any difference.” I step again, so close to returning to blessed ignorance. “But like me, you thought you’d be different, that maybe the rules wouldn’t apply to you.”
Energy sizzles through my legs, drawn to the exit. Every cell in my body knows I don’t want to have this conversation. “Goodbye, Seth, sorry for…interrupting.”
I turn, but Seth hasn’t finished. “How close do you think you got?”
I pause, stiffening. Too close. Never close enough. “It doesn’t matter.”
Seth looks back at the garden, down at the silver and black plaque that sits on its rim. “Actually, it does. It’s kind of like an explosion, the closer you are, the deeper the wound, the more pieces there are to find.”
All of a sudden I’m not so sure he’s talking about Emily. Legs that defy my mind return to the circle. I follow his gaze.
Adelle Channon
Mother and Activist.
Passionate advocate, relentless campaigner.