"The pack still isn't yours," she said. "I've taken it the old way."
I limped toward her. By now, I was aware that the other wolves had begun crowding around. They had abandoned the dead hunters and had caught sight of the drama near the edge of the house. They would want to know who was going to win this last round. I wanted to know who they would follow when it was over. Did they want the old way or did they want democracy?
I swallowed repeatedly at fluid that didn't seem to want to go down. I was aware of Jeb standing behind me, of Franco circling around to hover over Alma. Artemis was surrounded, whether she wanted to believe it or not. An almost manic look came over her face as she scanned the ever growing crowd.
"Take her," she said to the closest wolf. Gerald, I realized. He hung his head when she caught his eye.
"You tried to take ownership the old way," I said. But you lost."
She glared at me. "Everything you are, you owe to me. I made you strong. Look at you. Beaten and battered, and still you come at me. That's my blood. That's my training. I'm so proud of you, Shana. I've lost, yes, but I lost it to someone stronger than me. I never thought you could do it, yet here you are."
The mania disappeared and in its place I watched pride take over. In an instant, I was a child again in her arms, just suffering from a terrifying session with her shushing me, stroking my hair. So proud. She was so proud of me. I felt my feet take a halting step forward toward her. I almost reached out for her. Jeb called my name. I looked over my shoulder at him.
His face was clear of expression, but he was shaking his head. And then my mother was talking again and she sounded so sad. I couldn't stop myself from looking at her. My arms reached out of their own accord, something deep within wanting that embrace.
"You cried all the time," she said. "Do you remember that? I had nothing but a squalling thing at my breast and every time I looked down at you, I knew that you could be more. You came from such a good line. I was so proud of you and worried for you at the same time." She was crying now, and I wasn't sure if it was grief or worry for her own hide that made the tears come. "You are all I had. A century of trying and losing child after child. And then finally you. I wouldn't lose you. I would make you strong. My girl. My only girl. I just wanted you to be strong."
She looked so bereft. Something in my chest whimpered.
"Take her to her rooms," I heard myself saying but it might as well have been coming from down a deep well. "Make sure she's comfortable."
WHAT'S MINE IS MINE
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I probably remembered that my mother still had the key to her suite of rooms. It was just that in the confusion and relief of the end of the chaos, I just didn't think of it. Or maybe I did, and I wanted her to slip out from beneath my grasp. I certainly wasn't going to execute her. She was my mother, after all. And as complex and convoluted as that relationship was, it was just too distasteful a task for me to be the one to make that call. I think the entire council was relieved. We met the next morning to debrief and to discuss what to do with my mother. When I had to divulge the news that she had escaped, I could have sworn Gerald let go a sigh of relief. No one wanted to exterminate the last of a bloodline, especially when the last of the bloodline had coursing within it as undiluted a strain as could be found. I hated the foul taste of eugenics in the thought, but I knew the shifters were hesitant to end a line as old as Artemis's.
Still, I wasn't sad to see her go.
I couldn't exactly put Jeb on the Council, but I made him stay as a guard on the inside when I walked both Alma and Rena into the Council room. It wasn't full moon as it usually was for our meetings, but it was midnight and the half moon shone into the windows with enough illumination to give some sense of import to the meeting.
This time I didn't take a seat but stood next to Jeb at the door while the rest of the counsellors assembled around the table. I noticed that none of them sat either. They stood with fingertips on the surface as though they expected me to pull out a handgun and shoot them all where they stood.
I could have. I didn't win the pack this time by vote. It was done in the old way, and they couldn't dispute what they themselves had sanctioned. I knew they would respect my lead, even if I planned to rule by vote. I now had the right to either execute or banish them if I so chose. They had all betrayed me to my mother, believing that the old blood and the old ways were something to be revered.
I might have won the role the old way, but I would rule it mine. Democracy was democracy. They had the right to choose prejudice if they wanted. I might not agree with it, but they had the right to express it. That didn't mean I had to let them off the hook just yet. Let them agonize over what would happen to them. Maybe they would give careful thought to what tradition and old blood had brought to them.
I looked them all over as I entered, giving each one a full moment of my hard-eyed gaze.
"We still have a problem," I said, striding around the room, following the windows as I walked behind each one of them, touching the backs of their chairs lightly. Only ten of them remained. Two of them had fallen during the battle and waited even now for cremation. I heard Jeb shuffle behind me and imagined he was making sure he had me in sight every moment.
No one said a word. Instead, they stood rigid and expectant. I made a full circle and came up again next to Rena. I took her by the wrist and lifted it, stretching it forward so that they could all see the tattoo she wore.
"There is a family of hunters," I said. "But these men we came up against here on these grounds were not those. At least not all of them."
I nodded at Rena, giving her leave to speak.
"The family's reach is vast," she said. "And they work much like a pack does. They have each other's backs. They keep to their own. I know because I was one of them."
I expected a collective gasp at the news, but these wolves were battle-hardened and had no doubt heard much worse news over their tenure. To their credit, they merely followed Rena with her eyes as she let go of my hand and went over to each one of them, letting them study the tattoo.
"Those hunters who came with Check, weren't from the warbrood clan. They were raised by some sort of voodoo by Check to do his bidding. This is the tattoo of the hunters. They are every bit as dogged and ruthless as the stories say. "
She lowered her gaze to her tattoo as though she couldn't meet a single eye. "It wasn't Alma who brought them. It was me. I imagine they search for me still."
Gerald cleared his throat. "You are safe with us," he said, pushing past his comrade to take Rena's hand in his. I could see the compassion in his gaze as he looked at her and remembered his youngest granddaughter had no doubt been saved by Rena in the RV. "Whatever you were before, you are Beo pack now. Not a hunter."
"Agreed," I said. It was what I was hoping for, after all and I'd primed him for the sentiment before we struck the meeting. I nodded at him and turned on my heel to face another wolf.
"We still need to be prepared. We won't live in fear. But we will live in awareness. We can't let prejudice and bias weaken us. If it wasn't for Jeb, a human man, my alpha mate, who knows where we would be now."
"Nestled in mother's bosom," Alma interrupted," and blissfully oblivious."
I smiled at her. Though not primed as Gerald had been, she had delivered my sentiments exactly.
"Jeb is one of us as well," Gerald said, and this time he glared at each counsellor around him, daring them to disagree. To my surprise, all of them nodded without hesitation. They hadn't lost their racist inclinations, surely, but Jeb had at least earned their trust and loyalty. It was a start.
I stepped near Jeb, letting the ever-present fragrance of licorice envelop me, revelling in the smell of him and the feel of his warmth.
"We would've been lulled into a false sense of security under Artemis's rule," I said to the room. "And when the hunters – the real hunters – did come, Beo pack would have been sitting ducks."
"But we had a mystic," Ger
ald said. "Certainly he could have –"
"He had power over his own," Alma said. "That's all. His magic was dark and filthy." She hung her head as she said this. "And he and Artemis had no plans of keeping any supernatural who wasn't pure."
I put my arm around her shoulder and squeezed. "Plus we have Alma now." I said. "She has true power. And she is ours." I smiled as I looked down at her, feeling as though I had found something that had been lost a long time. "Beo is her pack now too, pledge or no pledge."
I barely had the words out of my mouth when the rest of the Council assented. One after the other, they gave their yeas and as they left, they patted Jeb on the back as they filed out, all receiving a genuine, even heart-stopping grin. I wondered if they felt as mesmerized by him as I did. Probably not. My thrall under his gaze was entirely lust-laden and when he flicked his gaze to mine as the last wolf left the room, I had the feeling he would force me over the table and take what was his as I'd take mine.
And in a pack that was unified and whole, with democracy and compassion serving the loyalty that ran in our blood, I knew we had the time to savour each moment together.
***
EPILOGUE
Turned out the room was a dark and quiet one. Alma had no idea when she stepped off the motorcycle and entered the run down shack what she would find when she entered. She only knew it was the pre-ordained meeting place. Some back woods red neck cabin out in the middle of nowhere. So she was relieved when it didn't smell of pig shit and dirt floor. Instead, a waft of scorched candle wax met her nose when she creaked open the door and stepped inside. It was clear Artemis had extinguished the flame when she'd heard the motor. Couldn't be too careful. But then, mother was always so damn paranoid. It got tiresome at times. There were barely enough explanations to make the woman feel safe enough, barely enough sufferings to make her believe her will would be followed, no matter what. And there were plenty of those. Alma nearly wasn't over the last one, and even then only because she'd been nursed by that Rena woman. She felt a bit guilty about that, but she let it slide quickly. Couldn't have mother questioning her loyalty. She was old but she was still sharp.
Artemis was even now standing in the middle of the room and it made Alma startle. Mother should have been lurking in a corner, all the better to unsettle her when she came, but that was the thing about Mother. She couldn't be trusted to do what was expected, and that made the woman doubly tricky to manage. A glint of waning sun from the window and cast a fairy on the wall and it was only as Alma saw it that she realized Mother was clenching that damned locket in her fist again, letting it swing free in the dust motes that caught the same light. Alma refused to look at it. She didn't need to see the thing to know that inside, snugly wrapped into a soft coil a bit of hair was trapped, a small reminder of a daughter she couldn't hold fast in her fist in the same way.
"Why didn't you warn me?" Artemis demanded. "Why sacrifice your father like that?"
The locket swung free of Artemis's hand and sailed across the space, striking Alma in the temple. If she hadn't turned in time, it would have caught her in the eye.
She held up her hands, surrendering. "It was the only way. She took me by surprise. Grabbed me. She was about to find out, so I gave her a different version. One where Check's power was the threat, not mine."
A mumble, begrudging. The flash of rage was ending. Alma stooped to lift the necklace from the dirt and pushed it into her pocket. She imagined the silver hair that would be curled into a fetal ball inside the well of it, and her fingers clenched over the metal before she pulled her hand free. Her core trembled as she waited for her mother to speak again.
"Fine," Alma says. "Did you at least do what I asked?"
"Of course," Alma said.
"Show me," Alma stretched thin fingers forward, seeking contact. It was only when they touched down on Alma' temple and she felt the cold viscous liquid on them that she realized Artemis had already pricked her fingers. Waiting. Always waiting with a new demand.
It was easy enough. The magic of an original alpha line made for potent magic. So much more potent than joining with a human blood or with diluted werewolf blood. It was undiluted and it tasted like cotton candy and honey roasted nuts at first. As the power coursed over her, it shifted, became more mature and seasoned. She knew when she had found the heart of the magic because it tasted of raw steak and wild mushrooms, lending it the darkness of earth and the bite of fire and smoke. Her hair rose on her arms, and her heart quickened. She felt the flush of desire claim her, joining with the old power the way a lover would, beckoning it close to fill her.
And it did fill her. Her sex was wet with it. She surrendered, letting the bliss take her. The escape of magic pulled at her, sweeping her elsewhere. Images swirled around her. Slipping knives between ribs, chanting over the limp bodies so they rose as hers. Running headlong through a forest. Cutting the binds of a broken man as he lay like an upturned spider on the floor of the homestead. Throwing up a barrier just as Jeb was stepping toward her as she waited for him in the woods.
Then the sight of his bare skin, reminding her so much of the ecstasy of magic that she nearly forgot what she was supposed to do. It had taken an eternity for Shana to connect to the visions, but she had finally succumbed. The visions could take hours or seconds so there hadn't been much time for Alma to do the thing. A quick blade across her breast, letting the blood dribble free. Careful to keep Shana connected as she brought Jeb's lips to her own breast, feeling the pleasure that tugged at her sex as he suckled. She felt like a water balloon about to burst as his tongue flicked over her nipple, the blood leaking down, pooling at the corner of his mouth. She was drenched in want and she swayed beneath the magic, waiting for the dribble of fluid to find his tongue and when it did, her tissues came alive again, jolting her the way a lover's touch might.
She sat gasping from the effort to hold the connection as the pleasure took her, as she ground her breastbone against his cheek, forcing more of her fluids inside him, taking him, owning him. She choked out the words of spell as though she were being drowned beneath the liquid pleasure and she shuddered when the last sound moved through her lips.
Then she broke free and the two of them lay spent on the moss. She ran her hand across his midsection, savoring the feel of his muscles beneath her palm. And then she wiped his mouth clean of her blood and stood. It was hard to leave him there.
She didn't so much as look back at them as she crossed through the barrier. She couldn't
She was ashamed of it now. She hoped her mother wouldn't know that. It was hard enough letting her mother sense the moment of climax and the completion of the spell.
"He doesn't remember?" Artemis said when the vision ended.
"Not one thing mother," she said.
"So he's mine?"
Mine. Not ours. Not a means to their end, but her mother's property, like she herself had been for so many years. Alma wasn't sure she liked the tone. It was a greedy one. Her mother had always been greedy. Always demanding and selfish.
She took one long look at the woman who had never fully realized what power slept so close, who had used it to her own ends rather than respect it and laud it. She saw only hatefulness in the stance, only ugliness in the delicate line of throat, and that was she Alma knew. The time when she was subservient to Artemis had ended.
She let one hand lift. A lazy, almost hesitant movement until the other hand joined it in the air above her head. Then, the power came easily. It was, after all, borne in the blood of the old line, and the sulking, quivering energy wanted badly to reconnect with its source. All she had to do was let it find the vein. All she had to do was let it go.
Her mother looked surprised at first, when the power touched her, but then when the energy reached out to her and curled around her throat, her face went slack Like a river finding its ocean after a long period of drought, a sigh bubbled up through that lovely throat and escaped those lips.
"Mine," Alma said as she watche
d her mother tumble to a heap at her feet. "He will be mine, not ours. All I have to do is will it."
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WHO IS THIS THEA CHICK? Thea writes what she calls left-of-mainstream fiction at her desk in Nova Scotia with her black lab at her feet and miniature gargoyles to protect the space and the muse. She always has a cup of tea going or going cold. No matter what genre she writes in, it's always slightly off kilter from the regular (mainstream) offering.
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