Silver Wolf Clan

by Shanley, Tera

  Morgan groaned, a tortured sound, as she clenched into herself and spasmed. Before he could change his mind, Grey took the stairs two at a time. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone observing his first Changes. The best he could do was give her privacy from prying eyes.

  Lana had fallen asleep in Marissa’s arms by the time he walked back through the front door. She followed him to an upstairs bedroom, carrying the sleeping child. The room boasted a king sized bed and plenty of space for them to sleep comfortably. He took a sleepily smiling Lana from Marissa and tucked her in.

  “Thanks,” he said, “for everything tonight. You’re a tough kid.”

  Marissa nodded shyly and left him, likely to try and find sleep.

  Lana opened her eyes just enough to ask about Morgan.

  “She’ll be away for a little while, but I’ll take care of you until she gets back,” he told her.

  Lana sniffled a while and fell asleep facing him, her cheek resting against her tiny hands. Big Bad Wolf indeed. If that baby girl asked him to jump, he’d ask how high.

  He woke to the sound of muffled footsteps and the bedroom door creaking open. Wade peeked his head in, put a finger to his mouth, and motioned for him to follow him. Grey slid out of bed as gently as he could and met Wade in the hall. Lana didn’t stir.

  “Is she all right?” he whispered. “What’s happened?”

  “I’m not sure, and we figured you should know about any changes. Follow me. There’s something you need to see.”

  Chapter 9

  Morgan had been trying to ignore the man who leaned against the wall opposite her cage, but unrelenting instincts wouldn’t let her lose sight of him for more than a couple seconds. Although he was familiar, she wasn’t ready to acknowledge anything or anyone until the anger ebbed. She couldn’t even pinpoint why she was so enraged or a constant rumbling growl came from deep in her chest. Or why she was already making plans that included maiming anyone who was stupid enough to unlock the door to her prison. Her body was sore, her throat hurt, and she desperately needed a drink of water to satisfy what felt like a small desert in her mouth.

  Strips of fabric lay in shreds beside and under her, and her lip bled freely from catching it on a spring when she’d ripped the bare mattress in her holding cell to bits. The man had come in shortly after her rampage to observe.

  The way he stared, with his arms crossed and shaking his head every few minutes, as if he’d never seen a wolf before. If only he’d give an outlet for her slow simmering fury by putting an arm in the cage or, at the very least, a finger.

  A musky scent drifted through the sizeable room. She lifted her head to test which direction it came from. Another wolf was close.

  She stood on wobbly legs. The cage a few feet from hers lay empty. Cage number three held the source of the familiar smell. A dark furred she-wolf in it huddled against the furthest bars. Short, dark brown, blood-matted fur covered her legs and face. The longer hair on her body was lighter brown and matched her muddy brown eyes. She was hideous.

  The bitter stink of fear wafted from the wolf, and Morgan went berserk, charging the cage and roaring. The smell was dizzying, enraging, consuming. She needed to kill the wolf. Face stuck as far as it would go out of the bars, she gnashed her teeth. She knew that wolf.

  She tired quickly, exhaustion pulling at her shaking legs, and plopped onto the cold, concrete floor. Why did she feel so weak? At a strange sound, she twitched her ears, and lips pulled back, prepared to fight.

  The door opened, and the man who’d been watching her straightened. He met a tall man with a scar down his face. She’d tried to bite him, and satisfying as coming so close had been, she would have to try harder the next time.

  She twitched toward another familiar smell as another man walked in behind him. A rush of feeling and emotion she couldn’t understand flooded her as she watched him. He stared at her, worry wrinkling his forehead. She might’ve known the man, but she hadn’t sorted out what he meant to her. Not yet. She lifted her lips back and growled softly.

  A tall man with fair skin, he was lean and strong looking. He had messy light colored hair with a tendency to fall forward over his eyes, which were golden. They glowed unnaturally over his high, angled cheekbones. An undeniably masculine creature, but what were a wolf’s eyes doing on a man’s face?

  She turned her back to them to search for a hiding place while they talked in hushed voices. Lying behind a piece of shredded mattress large enough to cover most of herself, she left only tail and back legs exposed to their stares.

  A deep timbred voice sounded, and she jerked her head up, ears alert. Wolf-Eyes spoke quietly to Scar Face.

  “She’s beautiful,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like her.”

  Human words didn’t hold much meaning. Sure, she understood them, but as soon as she heard them, she batted them away because she simply didn’t care about what the creatures said.

  “No one has seen anything like her for hundreds of years,” Scar Face drawled slowly. “She’s a silver wolf.”

  “Morgan? Are you okay?” Wolf Eyes asked, drawing closer to the cage.

  She tried to look bored, and sighed heavily. He wrapped his fingers around one of the bars and leaned his face toward her. The smell of worry was pungent. She lunged, but he drew back just as she snapped at the bar. Damn, he was fast. He shouldn’t have been able to move in time. Disappointing, but she postured and snarled. She was a very patient hunter.

  A combination of horror and devastation played across the man’s features. He lifted his nose into the air, sniffing once, as if instinct drove him to do it. Strange.

  “What the hell is she doing here?” he blurted out.

  His wave of anger was startling, and as she shied toward the back of the cage, Scar Face answered him. “It’s the only thing we can do with her right now. Everyone is safest while she is in the cage, including herself.”

  “You put Alexis in the same room with her? You would protect Alexis after what she did to Morgan?” he said, voice rising in anger. He brushed past the other two men, shaking with fury and stood in front of the cage occupied by the other wolf. Wolf Eyes glared at the ugly brown wolf and she huddled with her head down in the back of the cage.

  Well, well. It was possible she liked this wolf-eyed man after all. The enemy of an enemy was a friend, and all. It was the same sentiment for wolf as for man. She lolled her tongue out the side of her mouth in a wolfy grin as the she-wolf cowered under Wolf Eyes’s glare. Raw power emanated from him, which made Morgan’s fur stand straight on end. What a confusing and interesting creature he was turning out to be.

  “She needs water,” Wolf Eyes barked as he headed for Morgan’s cage again. “Where do I get it?”

  “I don’t know if it is such a good idea for you to get that close to her cage again,” said Scar Face, taking a step toward him.

  Wolf Eyes turned around. “I’ll be the only one to feed her until she Changes back. Am I clear?” He clenched his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said in a gentler tone. “This is hard for me. Please try to understand.”

  Scar Face nodded and pointed toward a sink at the far end of the room. Wolf Eyes filled a bucket with water and hoisted it to her cage. There was a built-in water bowl in the front corner. He was either very brave or very stupid to get so close to her again, but she stayed in place. Her gift for him terrorizing the ugly she-wolf.

  “What happened to her face?” he asked as he finished pouring water.

  “She cut it tearing up the mattress, I think,” Scar Face replied.

  Wolf Eyes leaned his forehead on an arm draped over the bars of her cage. The corners of his eyes tightened slightly. She cocked her head. What did he want from her? As suddenly as he’d come, he turned and left, followed by the other two men.

  She paced the cage as claustrophobia began to settle over her bones again. Paused, she listened for him to come back but was rewarded with hollow silence. A howl of mou
rning ripped from her as she staggered under a loss she wasn’t equipped to understand.

  * * * *

  When the howl tore through the barn and filled the night sky, it was all Grey could do to stay upright and not drop to the floor and join her song. His guts were being ripped out. How could she not have recognized him? He tensed every muscle against the pain. He couldn’t lose it in front of Dean and Wade.

  “What’s happened? What’s wrong with her?” he asked. “Even during my first Change I knew who I was. Does she blame me? Is that why she tried to attack me?”

  They stopped under a huge cottonwood tree off the dirt road leading from the barn to the main house.

  “Grey, we need to talk,” Dean said.

  Oh, how those few words created such a snaking fear in his gut. Something was wrong.

  “Did you see her coloring?” Dean asked.

  “Yeah, she was white. I mean, not the dirty blond, but like snow. And her eyes...I’ve never seen eyes like that.” Purple. A pale, unsettling light violet. She was fiercely beautiful. “What does it mean?”

  “You’re still young, and haven’t been around many werewolves. White is a natural color for gray wolves out in the wild but not for a werewolf. There are no white werewolves. Well, I guess now there’s one,” Dean corrected himself with a half-smile and a shake of his head. “Legends about a silver wolf clan riddle our history from centuries ago. They describe wolves that looked like Morgan does. She’s special, Grey.”

  Okay, so she was special. That much was obvious from the first moment he’d seen her, but what would her coloring mean? How important would it be to other werewolves? To the other packs?

  Wade bit his bottom lip and stared off into the dark. “Who do we tell about this? Do we notify the Old Ones or tell the other packs?”

  Grey dipped his chin. “Who’re the Old Ones, and why would we need to tell them about Morgan?”

  Wade leaned against the trunk of the old tree. “The Old Ones are a council of five older werewolves, chosen by the packs to handle justice and make sure werewolf tradition and secrecy are upheld. They’re the ones who hold Summit every year. What do you think, Dean? Do we need to tell them right away?

  Dean frowned. “What if she’s a breeder?”

  A loaded look passed between the two men.

  Fists clenched against the urge for violence, Grey said, “Breeder. What does that mean? What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Grey, don’t talk to anyone about Morgan until we’ve figured things out. I have a library of werewolf lore, legends, and history in my office. We can start there. Try to learn about what is happening to her, but until we figure out what we want to tell people and call a pack meeting, don’t talk to anyone about her. We have to keep her safe. Do you get what we’re saying to you?”

  Wolf pushed. He knew about keeping her safe. Nothing would stop him from making that happen. The men wouldn’t give up any more that night no matter how badly he wanted it. That much was obvious from their steady, unflinching gazes. They’d tell him less if he pushed, so he nodded instead.

  The first rays of sunlight brushed the horizon as they trudged to the main house. By the time they’d walked through the front door, the house smelled of bacon and biscuits and heaven. Rachel scrambled a huge pan of eggs on the stove. Bacon sizzled in a skillet beside her.

  Lana sat on the counter, playing with a spice rack. She wore one of Rachel’s extra aprons. It swallowed her, but the girl didn’t seem to mind. Cartoons danced across the television screen, and Marissa lay snuggled up on the couch with a down blanket.

  Grey picked Lana up and tossed her in the air. “How’s my girl this morning, huh?”

  She giggled then turned a serious expression on him. “Where’s Morgan?”

  “Morgan’s out for a little while, but she’ll be back soon. She’s sick, but already getting better. Everything’s going be okay,” he said, hugging her tightly. If only he felt as confident as he’d sounded.

  The rest of the wolves trickled in, attracted to the smell of breakfast. The fastest way to gather a pack was to stick food on a table. As Grey poured orange juice into glasses, Logan cleared his throat behind him. He and Brandon stood in front of the refrigerator, fidgeting, staring at the ground as if the grout between the tiles was the most interesting thing they’d seen in their lives.

  “Look, we messed up, man,” Logan said. “We wouldn’t have ever attacked Morgan if we were in our right minds. The blood…we’re sorry.”

  Even if the attack were still fresh and infuriating, he of all people knew how impossible pulling away from a potential kill was. “Don’t worry about it. The blame’s with Alexis,” he said.

  Lana sat in his lap during breakfast. She probably felt clingy and insecure because Morgan wasn’t around, but that was just fine by him. He needed to be close to her too. As soon as everyone had seated themselves, Brandon asked if Morgan was okay. Grey pursed his lips. Best to let Dean handle this one.

  “She’s doing well. She’s already Changed,” Dean said, to the relief and surprise of the group. This news was the best anyone could hope for after the night before. Her options had been death or Change after what Alexis had done. “That being said, no one is to go into the cage room or around the barn. There’re complications, and you’ll see her again when she’s ready. She doesn’t seem like she’s in any hurry to Change back, so she needs space to deal with all of this. That’s an order,” he said firmly, and looked them each in the eyes.

  The pack dispersed throughout the day. The danger was over, so they headed back to their own lives outside of pack property. Dean, Wade, and Grey cleaned up and met in the library to start the search for literature on silver wolf legends. They found nothing in the first three hours of scouring every page on every ancient-looking text on werewolves.

  Some of the literature echoed true, but most seemed to be myth. Surprisingly, werewolf lore and culture were actually rich, spanning hundreds of years.

  “That’s why we keep these old books around,” Dean explained. “Sometimes we get a new wolf who needs to see and read this stuff to understand the life they’ll be living. Most alphas keep copies and original books they’ve collected through the years so they are available to their pack if they need them.”

  Wade tried to find information on silver wolf clan legends on the computer, but found a modern group of internet gamers under the same name and little else. After they’d studied every one of the bookshelf literature, Dean moved the shelves aside, revealing a four foot wide metal safe door. He unlocked it and pulled out more ancient looking books, then handed them to Grey and Wade to stack on the huge desk they’d been reading around. “We keep this stuff locked up because if someone came in here and read any of the books on the bookshelf, they’d think, okay, wolf fanatics. The literature in the safe screams something darker is going on in this house, though.”

  The books smelled of age. Even though they looked to be well preserved, the dampness of old pages and aged ink scents lingered on the ancient texts. The first had an ink block drawing of a fearsome wolf-like creature. Its front paw rested on a bloodied human body and it lifted its head to the night sky, howled at the moon.

  He ran his fingertips over the cover. If nothing else, it promised to be an interesting read.

  Marissa eventually brought lunch in, so they didn’t have to leave. She set a tray of cold cut sandwiches and a pitcher of lemonade on the desk and as she walked out, Grey glanced up and thanked her. She nodded and smiled shyly and then left. Dean looked at Grey like he’d grown a third eye.

  “What?” he asked, amused at the shock on Dean’s face.

  “Oh, nothing. Except, Marissa never talks to anyone, much less big scary sasquatches like yourself,” he said with a half grin. “I’m pretty sure just yesterday you were scaring the crap out of her.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m meek as a church mouse,” he said, twirling a pencil absently. “I
t’s probably because I’m the only other guy around here, besides you two, who isn’t trying to marry the poor kid.”

  Dean snorted his agreement and went back to reading. “Okay, here it is. I found something.” He put his half-eaten ham sandwich on his plate. “It says here the silver wolf clan legend hails from seventeenth to early eighteenth century France. The bulk of the stories originate from a family named Dubois. The family ran a huge winery and also a glass making shop. Only family worked there and no visitors were allowed on the property. The population numbered in the hundreds at one point…yada, yada.”

  He skimmed, looking for information more relevant to their situation. “Okay, it was said that the Dubois family was actually a huge clan of werewolves unlike anything anyone had seen. The wolves’ coloring varied only slightly, but all of them were white, and the females had light blue or light purple eyes. Legends say these were the only genetic werewolves because the females were sometimes able to breed and bear children. Such an emphasis was placed on breeding, their numbers became too great for the winery to sustain. Because of this, silver wolf clan females branched out and moved away to other packs to breed and bear children with mates they’d chosen. Most of the offspring still carried the Silver Wolf coloring. Each Silver Wolf female is said to have been coveted and respected because of the offspring she could potentially have. Due to the breeding years being lengthened and gestational cycle only being nine weeks like a regular wolf, a Silver Wolf breeder could bear many children, which boosted the population. Sometime around their peak numbers, humans caught wind something unnatural was going on at the winery, and they started watching it. The idea of the werewolf was common in France at the time, and when the humans realized what they had, they attacked the winery, burning and killing most of the silver wolves. Men, Woman, and children, all murdered.”

  They were silent for a few minutes then he read on. Eyes wide, he leaned forward. “Listen to this. At the time, vampires—yep, I said freaking vampires—were struggling to assimilate to a changing world and had been watching the silver wolves’ numbers, as the vampire numbers were way down. They couldn’t move on them because they didn’t have enough man power, so when the humans attacked the winery, wiping out most of them, vampires were given the order to find any and all remaining silver wolves and kill them. This included the females who’d moved to other packs and their children. Vampires murdered entire packs to make sure they were rid of every last silver wolf, so they would never have to worry about vampires and werewolves being so unbalanced again. Son of a bitch,” Dean said as he closed the book. He rubbed his eyes.