by SJ Himes
His mind was spinning. He didn’t understand anything, least of which was why his father’s boss would kidnap him and throw him into a cage naked. He grasped onto what he could, and stammered out, “Wolfkin?”
The shadow leaned forward. Eyes glowing with a fierce inner light, and elongated, sharp teeth peeked over the man’s thin, wide lips; his mouth oddly shaped. Thick brown fur grew along his cheekbones and down his neck to his shoulders. “Aye, little human. Wolfkin. Your kind might call us werewolves.”
He screamed, the sound thin and full of terror. His eyes rolled back in his head as he fainted.
What The Great Mother Decrees
Caius opened the door, the wind howling and sharp as it tore through his clothes. The evening sun was long hidden behind the deep gray clouds, twilight losing its grip as the hour sped toward full darkness. He could see, the gifts of his kind allowing him to navigate where humans would be handicapped by the deepening shadows.
He walked down the path, the White Wolf’s cabin soon disappearing at his back as he wound his way along the mountainside, taking the route to the visitors’ cabins further back among the trees. Ice crackled under his feet, his boots snapping the thin layers covering the gravel and stones. Any wolfkin in the area would hear him coming. Hiding his approach to where his new-found grandson and Caius’ Heir were staying was impossible once he took the final bend in the path to the cabins. There were several cabins along this path, some as old as the park itself, some far older than even that. He reached the blown out and blackened shell of one cabin, and he paused for a second, taking in the scent of sulfur and soot. This was the place bombed last week by one of the traitors at his son’s insistence. Claire, daughter of Andromeda, nearly killed Caius’ son, Heir, grandson, his Clan’s Speaker, and his Heir’s First Beta. All for the unrequited love of another of Caius’s worthless sons.
Caius snorted in displeasure, and took the path deeper into the snow-covered trees. Spring was only a few weeks away, but winter in Maine was unrelenting, the temperatures hovering below freezing and snow coming at least once a day. The last heavy storm happened just hours before Caius and his fellow Greater Clan Leader, Heromindes, arrived in Baxter last week. It was that same storm that covered the attack of Roman’s misfit band of traitors and Simon Remus’ group of mercenaries. Luckily Kane, his Heir, had his tactical team already in place in Baxter, and they defeated the humans at the park gates. Andromeda easily and quickly took out Roman, Caius’ son and the great traitor they’d been searching for for twenty years, and Luca… Ghost…took care of the exiled traitors, deep in the woods.
Caius and Heromindes, along with Hero’s cousin Gabriel, under the watchful eye of Andromeda, had gone the evening after the battles to see the killing ground in the woods. Gabriel recounted, in halting words and averted eyes, the tale of how they’d been ambushed by unknown wolves, and Luca, who now went by Ghost, killed the ambushers in a storm of lightning that came from the air around them. Gabe told them all, disbelief and some fear building in their expressions, how the lightning avoided touching Gabe and Gerald, instead dancing around and through the attackers. Burnt and decimated corpses littering the ground gave credence to Gabe’s tale, the scorched earth and fire-damaged trees were an indicator of just how much power was unleashed. An astronomical amount of shamanic magic had left several wolfkin nothing but ashes, charred flesh and bones, in a matter of seconds.
Caius stopped, just in view now of the cabin where Kane and Ghost had been holed up the last few days. Ghost flat-out refused to allow Kane to remain under guard in the cellars of Andromeda’s cabin where Roman was currently being held, and Caius privately agreed. Whatever discontent lay in his heart towards his oh-so-perfect heir, Caius did not believe that Kane forced a bonding upon Ghost. Their gift, the one they shared, did not work on shamans. And regardless of what Heromindes thought, no matter of proper training or technique was responsible for the shamans’ immunity to the Voice; that was a gift they were born with, that flowered when they came into their roles as keepers of the faith and the magics of their kind. Kane was innocent of using the Voice to force Ghost into a bonding, and Caius had seen a few soulbonds in his long life. He knew the difference between a regular mating bond, a forced bond, and the even rarer soulbond.
The most recent soulbond he saw was that between his late daughter, Marla, and the long-missing son of Gray Shadow, Josiah.
Just thinking about Marla and Gray Shadow in the same thought was enough to make his heart pound painfully, his eyes shutting as he clenched his fists and fought back the tears. His daughter was dead. And Gray Shadow…. his heart was long dead, too, no matter how strongly it beat in his chest.
He blinked back tears, refusing to give into the pain, but what he saw when he looked again at the cabin was enough to stagger him.
The pair silhouetted in the big window in front of the cabin made his heart pound even harder. The large alpha was curled around the smaller shaman protectively, care and affection in every long line of Kane’s body. Pain tore at Caius, the image enough to pull up long-denied memories of another place and time, of a hidden glen in the Old World, where two young male wolfkin first found love of their own.
A love that back then meant death. And it was a similar love that now threatened the life of his Heir and his grandson.
“What is it, little wolf?” Kane asked, powerful hands coming around his naked waist and a pair of soft, warm lips kissing his bare shoulder. Ghost leaned back into Kane’s heat, enjoying the warmth of his mate’s smooth skin on his back.
“Grandpa Caius is outside, and he’s just staring at us,” Ghost replied, not really caring what his grandfather was doing in that moment, since Kane’s hands were wandering south and finding interesting places to stroke and squeeze.
Well, they had been.
Kane straightened and put his hands back on Ghost’s waist, and Ghost sighed in frustration. Hiding away with Kane in their cabin while they waited for something called the Tribunal to happen was, to Ghost at least, a respite from the stares and whispers from Red Fern wolves. The cloying worry from the Black Pine members who tried their best not to let Kane or Ghost go anywhere alone, as if they would be attacked, was equally frustrating. And perhaps they might be, if Roman weren’t locked up, Claire under guard, and Simon Remus confirmed to be living very publicly in a faraway place called Augusta. The human doctor Kane knocked unconscious at the gates was under guard as well, and Ghost would stay far away from that man, considering the only time they’d met Ghost was nearly incapacitated by drugs and his human packmates were almost murdered.
The Red Fern patrols had caught the scents of several wolves that came a short distance into the park. They were unable to find traces after the storm swept through, erasing any signs of where the strangers may have gone, or their identity. Andromeda was of the opinion they were the remnants of Roman’s wolves, and Ghost agreed. He caught sight of them occasionally when he lay in bed at night using his Spiritsight, seeing how far he could reach with his ability. Little stars, sickly in muted shades of color and light, flickered here and there amongst the slumbering pines, but they quickly faded away, lost in the subtle glow of life in Baxter.
“Get dressed, Ghost,” Kane said, stepping back, reaching for his sweats that lay across the couch where they had been thrown earlier when Kane was teaching him what he meant exactly by rimming. “I think he wants to talk to us, and doesn’t want to see his grandson naked with another man.”
Ghost peered back at the lonely figure standing silently in the shadows while random snowflakes fell around it. Impatience was not what Ghost saw in the Clan Leader’s body. That was pain, but not the kind caused by physical injury. It was a pain Ghost saw in the older wolves, a pain that seemed as old and original as the mysterious lilts in their voices. For some reason, Ghost knew that Caius carried that pain with him every day of his life, and from his own memories, the Alpha’s pain was there for lo
nger than Ghost had been alive. Kane’s few words over the last few days about Caius and his demeanor was enough to cement Ghost’s suspicion that Caius carried an old wound in his heart.
What pain predated the loss of his grandfather’s best friend, daughter, and grandchildren?
“Pants, now,” Kane said with a grin as he smacked Ghost’s ass. Ghost jumped, mock snarling at his mate, catching one-handed the cotton pants tossed his way.
Caius was walking up the path now, and Ghost pulled on pants just as the greater alpha reached the door. Kane opened it before the clan leader knocked, the Heir stepping back with a respectful nod as Caius entered. Caius gave Kane the barest flicker of his dark eyes, taking in Kane’s half-naked state before zeroing in on Ghost. His grandfather’s regard was searching, seeming to miss nothing, but he let the inspection slide off him, as impacting on his nerves as leaves falling over his furred back in autumn. Caius was at times stern and remote, then he would see moments of pain in his dark eyes. Eyes, now that Ghost was looking at them directly, that were much like Kane’s. Wondering at that for a moment, Ghost gave his grandfather a small smile in welcome.
“Hello, Grandpa Caius,” Ghost said, and Caius gave a him a slight twitch of his lips, as if being called grandpa was unusual in some way for the older wolf. Perhaps it was, since from what his Uncle Gerald told him of his family, none of Caius’ other grandchildren were left in Black Pine, the rest choosing to leave after the tragedy almost fifteen years prior. Gerald, Kane, and now Ghost, were the only kin Caius had left in Black Pine territory.
“Hello, Luca, Kane,” Caius said, tone quiet, but power rumbled under the surface of his words. Ghost arched a brow and smiled when Kane huffed in small irritation at Caius’ use of his old name. Caius frowned, but stepped further inside, letting Kane shut the door. Caius was wearing nothing but boots, a thin shirt, and dark blue denim pants, snow had collected on his lower legs from the blowing drifts. Their kind were rarely bothered by the elements. Older, more powerful wolfkin like Andromeda could withstand arctic temperatures in nothing but thin layers.
“Have a seat, please,” Kane gestured to the small kitchen table, and Caius nodded, somehow now at a loss for words. He sat in one of the two chairs at the table, while Kane took the other. Ghost prowled around the outside of the room, the kitchen area and the living room one open space in the front section of the cabin. Caius watched him, as did his mate, but Ghost was more interested in the shifting dynamic between the two greater alphas.
Caius was exhausted, worn down by that old injury on his soul that Ghost could sense. Yet the Clan Leader was powerful; his sorrow and grief didn’t diminish his strength at all. The way he moved, the play of muscles under his shirt and across his tall frame, communicated quite clearly that Caius was still a wolfkin male in his prime.
Ghost turned his attention to his mate. Kane was as tall and powerfully built as Caius, and the vitality and subconscious confidence that poured from him was both unsettling and reassuring. Lesser wolves moved around Kane like a river would a mountain; in some few, he drew them in as a moth to flame. He’d asked Kane about it, and all his mate would say was that it was the charm of an alpha—they either frightened or appealed to the wolves under their care. Ghost remembered as a child how he was drawn to Kane, wanting the older male’s eyes on him, smiling at him in approval and affection, and a part of him understood what Kane meant.
Side by side, the two alphas were similar yet vastly different, dark haired, dark colored eyes, golden skin. Caius spoke with an accent, and the longer he spoke, the more obvious it grew. Kane had no accent, aside from something Cat, his human beta packmate, said was a New England drawl. Ghost had no idea what that meant at all, and just nodded at his human, while Glen, his human alpha, laughed fondly at his mate.
Kane was young by wolfkin standards, forty-four years of age, and from what he’d picked up in the last week or so from the betas of Red Fern, Kane was one of the youngest Clan Heirs in the world. Burke, another greater alpha and Kane’s lieutenant and the Black Pine Speaker, wasn’t much older at forty-nine years of age. Caius was old—so old that he’d come over from the Old World, leading the Great Exodus of wolfkin clans over two hundred years before. Ghost knew, from the thrumming power in the older wolfkin’s soulstar, that his grandfather was far older than even that historical marker. Caius was ancient, though Ghost had a feeling he was not as old as the formidable leader of Red Fern, the only female Clan Leader in the world, the female beta known as the White Wolf. Andromeda was an old friend of Caius’—she, Caius and Gray Shadow, Ghost’s other grandfather, had long been a triad of superior strength, bound by iron-clad ties of friendship and a mysterious history.
One that was now strained by the loss of Gray Shadow in an act of betrayal nearly fifteen years prior. Ghost could see, could sense, the ache and the horrific loss of the venerated shaman in Caius—it was a loss of love and companionship that Caius carried with him still. And it had warped his emotions to such a degree that Ghost was learning to hear past the words he spoke, listening instead to the true emotions underneath. Caius was a wounded animal in so many ways, and he was in denial in regard to what that pain was doing to him.
Caius was on the edge of ruin, his future clouded by grief and pain.
“What can we do for you, Sir?” Kane asked, and Ghost pulled himself from his observations. Kane and Caius faced each other across the table, both males’ expressions closed off, thoughts hidden. Ghost sensed wary curiosity from Kane, and from Caius, that same tired pain, but now it was layered beneath the stony resolve of what Ghost reasoned was the mantle of leadership.
“Decisions need to be made,” Caius began, fingers of his right hand idly scratching the table top. “About many things. Some are more urgent than others, but we are out of time, so choices must be made now.”
“Out of time?” Ghost asked, tilting his head to one side, eyes locked on his grandfather. He paused, seeing the minute tension around Caius’ eyes, the way he held his shoulders. A faint whisper threaded through the air in the silence between them, and Ghost listened. Wordless, yet still conveying a sense of urgency. Kane reacted, though he hid it well, and Caius showed no sign of having heard the whisperer. “Someone is coming. Someone or something is coming, and you wish to act before you can’t anymore.”
“Damn shamans,” Caius grumbled, exasperated, but without malice. Caius gave him a narrow-eyed glare, and Ghost grinned in response. He was not intimidated in the least by his grandfather, though everyone else treated him with caution.
“Who is coming, Sir?” Kane asked, maintaining his respectful composure. Caius gave Ghost one more glance, then returned his attention to his heir.
“The first members of the Tribunal are arriving soon. I just got word that Greater Clan Leaders from Dread Claw, Birch Grove, and Red Wraith Clans are arriving, as early as tomorrow. They will be bringing honor guards and some of their advisors.” Caius’ words were calm, but the tension around his frame was telling.
“You mean they’re bringing in greater alphas,” Kane said, mouth in a grim line. “An honor guard is easily six greater alphas, and that’s per Clan Leader.”
“Yes.”
“Why not the Clan Leaders alone? Why honor guards? What were they told when notified of Heromindes’ request for a Tribunal?” Kane was angry, each word layered in frustration. “These clans are our allies, and they’ve never traveled across borders in such numbers outside of a gathering!”
“If they are allies, why are you angry?” Ghost asked, interrupting before Caius could speak. He paced forward, yet skirted around the table, eyes locked on Caius. His grandfather, for all their blood connection, was still an alpha. Ghost respected his power, yet was not afraid of it—but he would also stay out of reach. Older wolves in the wild would snarl and snap at younger, impetuous younglings. Not that he expected such from Caius, but caution was wise.
Kane made a noise in
his throat, half-strangled snort and half a sigh. Ghost gave his mate a quick grin, but went back to watching Caius. “Why are you angry at those you would call friend?”
“Luca—,” Caius began, Ghost quirked a brow at his grandfather, who shook his head and corrected himself when he spoke again. “Ghost, they are bringing honor guards. Almost twenty greater alphas who do not answer to me, in the company of my peers. In a gathering, there are many greater alphas, but also a hundred times more betas to temper the imbalance of power that results when greater alphas congregate in too large of a group.”
“What he means, little wolf, is that there is potential for aggression, fighting, frayed tempers, and extreme violence. Red Fern is all betas, but they are not enough to even out the rough nature of so many dominant personalities in one space, especially if the situation is tense already,” Kane said, reaching out for Ghost, taking his hand. “I don’t think the clan leaders would bring wolfkin guards with control issues, but we see problems like this during gatherings, too. Better to be prepared.”
“Andromeda reigns in Baxter,” Ghost stated, squeezing Kane’s hand but still watching Caius. “She will allow no violence to spill out amongst her clan.” Of that, Ghost was certain. She would never allow her people, her family, to be in danger. Andromeda was power and authority personified—she was the White Wolf, clan leader to the core. For a female, unheard of—for a beta, even more so. Though Ghost had his doubts about her beta status. “And why tense—because Kane is charged with blasphemy?”
Caius blanched at the word, and Kane’s hand tightened on his, almost painfully. Andromeda came to them the day before, warning Kane of the pending charges of blasphemy. Apparently, the clan leaders, Heromindes leading the way, discussed the bond between Ghost and Kane and decided Kane was guilty of two violations of Law in one occurrence—using the Voice to force a mating bond on a shaman.