Cyan grunted as though he was bored of the subject, but his eyes remained fixed ahead and his brow furrowed as he struggled to calm his emotions. Hazel would probably make her a fine mate. He couldn't afford to start thinking of April as anything other than a free agent. She wasn't his. He had no right to resent this man for anything.
"Psst, over there!" Hazel hissed suddenly, swatting the length of his bow against Cyan's chest to stop him in his tracks as he pointed into the fog ahead. "Behind that drift, the one with the two trees. It's big, might be a wolf or a deer."
The hair on the back of Cyan's neck pricked up, and he hunkered down with Hazel behind a snow-covered boulder. "A feral?"
"Not on this side of the mountain. They'd have to come right through our camp or walk for miles the other way to get here. It'll be a wild one."
"Wild wolves are still dangerous," Cyan said as he drew an arrow from his quiver and notched it against his bowstring. He squinted through the fog and falling snow, but he couldn't make out what Hazel had been pointing at. The stretch of ground in front of them was steep and littered with jagged rocks, and getting any closer from this direction would be slow and dangerous.
"You take the shot, I can't see through this snow," he said.
"No, you can do it, you need the practice on live targets."
"What if I miss?"
Hazel shrugged, giving him that thin smile again. "Maybe your wolf can chase it down."
Cyan narrowed his eyes and looked back in the direction of the phantom creature, edging up on the balls of his feet until he made out a shimmer of solid movement through the swirling snow.
"There," Hazel said, "you see it? It's barely moving, it can't have noticed us yet."
"That's because we're upwind." Cyan braced his feet and straightened up, drawing back the bowstring and sighting along the shaft of his arrow. It was a clear shot, even in the poor visibility, but something about the way the animal was moving gave him a moment's pause. "I don't think it's healthy, it isn't standing up right. It's not even on it's feet."
"Well, put it out of it's misery, then!" Hazel urged in a hushed whisper.
Cyan took a deep breath, lining up his shot again. He didn't like killing wounded animals. It wasn't in the spirit of the hunt.
But that was his wolf talking. When he was hunting for the Highland Pack, all that mattered was the meat he brought back to the table.
He exhaled, and let the arrow fly.
The creature screamed.
The sound rang in Cyan's ears like shards of glass. It had been a human scream. A woman's scream. His fingers still ached from the tension of the bowstring, and it wasn't until a second sob of pain filled the mountain air that he looked over at Hazel in shock. The other man was frozen in place, his eyes fixed on the dark shape that was now writhing on the ground in agony, a shape that was beginning to look more and more like a person by the second.
Cyan braced his bow against the rock and hauled himself over, shifting into his wolf form without a second's thought as he let his natural reflexes find the nooks and footholds that his human body would have missed, covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds while Hazel was still struggling to scramble up over the boulder. The jagged rocks beneath his paws dug in painfully as they broke through the deceptively soft covering of snow, but he ignored the discomfort as he darted up the slope towards where the woman lay. She was curled in a fetal position, groaning weakly as she clutched at the arrow protruding from her side just below the shoulder, blood seeping over her gloves and insulated jacket as she writhed in pain. Her eyes flew open as she caught sight of Cyan, filled with terror at the sight of the hulking black wolf bounding towards her. Before she could scramble away he shifted back into his human form and fell to his knees in a flurry of snow, gripping her by the shoulder with a firm hand.
"Don't move. The arrow might have gone deep, you'll only make it worse."
The woman looked up at him in disbelief, her dishevelled blonde hair peppered with snow as she shook her head weakly. An uncomfortable nausea began to tug at Cyan's stomach. She wasn't a werewolf.
"Don't worry about that now," he said in response to the question in her eyes. "Take your hand away, I need to see the arrow."
She moved her trembling fingers away from the wound, and Cyan pressed down her padded jacket to see how deep it had gone. She cried out in pain as he probed gently with his fingers, seeing whether he could feel the arrowhead beneath her skin. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found that the tip had barely passed through the soft flesh around her ribs. It hadn't gone in far enough to damage anything important.
"You're okay," he said, "just hold still, don't try to pull it out." He gripped the arrow as close to the tip as he could manage and snapped off the shaft, trying to be as gentle as possible, but the girl still whimpered as the wood cracked and the sharp tip moved inside her. "Do you have friends nearby? Anyone who can help?"
She didn't respond, her eyes vacant and her expression wracked with pain. She was pale and shivering, and when Cyan pressed the back of a hand to her forehead her skin burned with fever.
"It wasn't just the arrow was it," he muttered as he checked her over a second time. Her clothing was scuffed and caked with snow, and a nasty bruise showed on her chin when he brushed her hair aside. Dried blood clung to a tear in her jeans near the back of her leg, though it was impossible to tell what might have caused such an injury. Cyan took her face between his hands and tapped her cheek lightly, trying to bring her back from the brink of unconsciousness.
"Do you have anyone else nearby?" He repeated, hoping the gravity of his words got through to her. Her eyes flicked up to meet his for a second, red and filled with tears, and she shook her head faintly. "Alright, then you'll have to come back with us. Try and stay awake."
"You can't bring her back to the camp," Hazel panted as he struggled up the slope behind them, coming to a halt standing over the pair. "She's not one of our pack."
"I know," Cyan said, "and she isn't a werewolf either. She won't heal up from this on her own."
"What happened?" Hazel glanced over her battered body.
"Maybe she took a bad fall when she was out hiking, I don't know." He grit his teeth. "No wonder she was crawling around like a sick animal." Cyan gripped the girl around the shoulders and hefted her into his arms, rising to his feet with a grunt of exertion.
Hazel took a step back. "We should leave her here."
"I'm not leaving her to die after I shot her! What's wrong with you?"
"She saw you change out of your wolf form, didn't she?"
Cyan glared at him. "You'd let her die to protect your pack's precious secrecy?"
"What if she has friends nearby? What if they come looking for her?"
"She said she didn't." Cyan stepped past him back in the direction of the camp, but Hazel caught his arm, fixing him with a piercing stare.
"There are only two things that can happen to a human once they come to our camp, Cyan," he said softly. "Either they become one of us, or they never leave. Those are the rules."
"Then you're going to make an exception," Cyan growled. His wolf had stirred the fire within him, and he was in no mood to be subject to the Highland Pack's whims, not when an innocent person's life was at stake. He yanked himself free of Hazel's grip and broke into a jog as he skirted around the steep slope, his jaw set with determination. The girl seemed to have lost consciousness, but he could still feel her breath against his neck. He was angry at himself for taking the shot, angry at Hazel for encouraging him, and angry that his companion would even consider leaving someone to die for the sake of his pack. That wasn't what a good leader did.
As much as he had tried not to get involved, this was one step too far. Maybe the Highland Pack needed someone to start making the decisions they were too afraid of making for themselves.
* * * * *
April kicked the snow off her boots as she stood outside the cabin door, hesitating for a moment as she
raised her hand to knock. There was nobody in the pack she could talk to about the things that bothered her deep down, and the time to tell Ingrid had since come and gone, but there was still one person she could rely on to at least listen and answer her questions honestly. More than anything, though, she could trust this person not to share any suspicions she might have with the rest of the pack. She needed guidance right now, and a voice other than Cyan's to help her decide on what to do.
She knocked lightly on the door and a muffled series of grumbles answered her. She knocked again and heard a curse, then the door creaked open to reveal Harriet's wrinkled, scowling face. The old woman squinted through the snow for a moment, muttering under her breath, then her eyes brightened at the sight of April, and she smiled. "It's about time you came to see me, girl! I've barely spoken to you in weeks."
April returned the smile and leant in to give Harriet a hug. "I know, I'm sorry Grandma. I'd like a talk."
"Well get in then. Don't make me stand in the cold, it kills my knees this time of year." Harriet ushered her into the cosy little cabin impatiently before tugging the door shut behind them.
Harriet was the only person in the pack April ever referred to as a family member, and even then she only called her Grandma in private. It had been their little secret ever since she was a child. Ingrid had never been Mother, but Harriet had always been Grandma, and she'd always provided a sympathetic ear whenever April needed it.
"You getting used to life without your friend, then?" the old woman said as she hobbled back to her heavily cushioned rocking chair and sat back down with a sigh.
"My mate, you mean," April replied, taking a seat of her own on the other side of the crackling hearth. She fiddled with the tip of an ornate hunting bow propped up against the wall and took a deep breath, preparing herself for the conversation to come.
"Oh, don't pretend. He was your friend. I know you didn't want him as a mate."
April looked up in surprise. "You did?"
"You wouldn't be the first," Harriet grunted. "Not in this family, at least."
April flushed. "But I couldn't do anything about it, could I? It didn't matter what I thought, I had to do what was best for the pack. I still do."
"You do what you have to, girl, but don't end up wasting away half your life like I did. Make sure whoever you end up with is someone you care about this time."
April frowned. "I did care about Harper..."
"You know what I mean." Harriet waved a hand in exasperation. "I miss the poor boy too, but he wouldn't have made you happy. You were always a bit too wild for him."
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about," April said. She wanted to get off the subject of Harper. It still made her throat tight and her stomach queasy. "Do you think... do you think Ingrid will make me find a mate soon?"
Harriet grimaced. "Make you, eh? So you don't want one?"
"I don't know. Maybe. I don't even know if I'm ready, and if I was—" She bit her lip. "I don't think the others would approve of my choice."
"Oh, you've got your eye on someone? Why wouldn't they approve? Is it another girl?"
"No, Grandma." April shook her head. "I mean, I can't say. But if I'm honest with Ingrid and the others about it I'm afraid of what they'll do."
"Huh. So it is another girl, then."
April rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Perhaps it would be better if Harriet thought whatever she wanted to think.
"Well whoever it is, girl, you don't let the rest of them bully you into living your life with someone who'll make you miserable. Goodness knows I could have done with someone to give me that advice when I was your age. I'm just glad I had the sense to realise it before it was too late."
April nodded slowly. It was common knowledge amongst the pack that Harriet had been the only one of them to ever leave her mate for someone else. It had happened before April was born, but she was sure it was one of the main reasons for the animosity between Ingrid and Harriet. Had it not been for her grandmother's good sense and cantankerous nature, she might well have lost her place as one of the pack elders because of what she did.
"But that was different for you," April said. "You'd already had your children by then, and people respected you. I haven't even been mated yet. I'm no one." She sighed. "I'll be punished if I go against everything they expect of me."
"You will." Harriet nodded. "But once it's done, you'll be free. I'm not going to tell you what to do—if there's one thing I know it's that I'm sick and tired of people doing that—but you have to decide what you care about more; the respect of your pack, or your own happiness."
"I don't want to have to choose."
"Tough." Harriet have her a hard look, but there was sympathy buried in her gaze. "I knew what they'd do to me when I left my mate for Jolecia, but by then I was more than ready for it. I took those lashes, and I laughed!"
April winced, imagining her grandmother bound to the crooked post at the edge of the camp. Would she be able to endure that? The judgemental eyes of her entire pack focused on her, and the animosity that would follow? She wasn't as resilient as Harriet. How much was her personal freedom really worth to her?
"Did it hurt?" she said softly, looking up at her grandmother.
"More than anything in my life." She reached up to rub her shoulder. "And I've still got the scars to prove it."
"But how could we do that to someone?" April blurted out, her eyes prickling with emotion. "I know it's bad to break the rules, I know, but would they really do that to me? I couldn't just stand by if it was me having to watch them hurt you, or Blackthorn, or Ingrid, or anyone!"
"That's what I thought, too," Harriet said with a grim note in her voice. "But it happens. Most werewolf packs don't last more than a couple of generations, but ours has been around since my own grandparents were alive. It's because we have rules, and punishments. You know none of us are cruel, but it's not the decision of one person to tie someone to that post and do what needs to be done. Everyone might stand by feeling sick while it happens, but they all know it's for the good of the pack. Thank goodness it barely happens once every couple of decades."
"I wouldn't just let it happen," April said bitterly. "I can't stand feeling this pressured. I wouldn't even be talking to you about it if it weren't for..." She trailed off and shrugged, looking down at the carpet.
"Pressure is what keeps our pack together," Harriet said. "But how much did that bother you before you were on the wrong end of it, eh?"
April remained silent, and Harriet chuckled, leaning over to squeeze her hand.
"You can still have whatever you want, girl, you've just got to want it enough to pay the price, like I did. Besides, you're going to be an elder yourself when I'm gone. It's about time you started making decisions."
"I don't think I'm ready."
"Nobody does, but you won't know until you try."
April squeezed her grandmother's hand, afraid of the possibilities opening up before her. The idea of standing up for what she wanted—defying her pack and following in Harriet's footsteps—terrified her, but beneath the terror there was a tingle of excitement at the prospect of what might await her once she came out on the other side.
Or maybe it was all just childish madness.
She was about to respond when the muffled sound of raised voices reached her ears, some kind of commotion stirring up the camp outside.
Harriet cursed and dragged herself out of her chair despite the obvious discomfort it caused to the old woman. She shuffled to the window and looked through the shutters, squinting in the direction of the meeting area.
"What's going on?" April said.
"I don't know, but it looks like everyone's got something to say about it. Go grab my stick for me, or Ingrid will say something stupid before I can get there."
April helped her hobbling grandmother down the path towards the meeting area where a thick knot of people had gathered, their bodies pressed in tightly to create a wall around whatever was the c
ause of the commotion.
"What are you yelling about, damn it?" Harriet barked, forcing the press of bodies aside with sharp jabs of her walking stick, elbowing anyone who protested out of the way before they could continue with their objections. April followed in her wake, apologising to her disgruntled pack members as they stood aside for their elder, grumbling and rubbing the bruises left by the old woman's stick.
What could have gotten them riled up like this? She hadn't seen the pack react to anything this strongly since Cyan's arrival and Harper's death.
April slipped through the crowd along the path carved out by her grandmother, and gasped in surprise when she caught sight of Cyan kneeling at the centre of the throng. For a moment she panicked, her heart leaping into her throat as she imagined their secret meetings coming to light. What had Cyan done? Had someone seen them?
Then she noticed the unfamiliar woman lying on the log bench in front of him, her synthetic yellow jacket stained with blood. She wasn't one of their pack.
"What's going on?" she said. "What happened? Who is this?"
Cyan glanced up at her, the anger in his eyes softening for a moment, but it was only a split second before he turned back to Ingrid and Hazel. He was obviously in the middle of a heated debate with the pair.
"What does it matter who she is?" he said. "She'll die out there without our help—and I don't care what your rules say about outsiders, you don't let people die for your own peace of mind!"
"There could be others with her, Cyan," Ingrid explained patiently, but it was clear from her expression that she was just as conflicted about the matter as the rest. "We should let humans look after their own, just like we look after ours. It's too dangerous to keep her here. What happens when people come looking for her?"
"She said she was alone."
"And you believed that?"
Cyan glanced back and forth between Ingrid and Hazel. "What happened to you people to make you so afraid of the outside world? I've seen what happens to a pack when it only has eyes for itself, and it isn't pretty."
Broken Moon: Part 4 Page 2