Glory Reborn

by Sherry L. Brown

  Chapter 5

  Here was the answer. A way to provide an exceptional life for the baby inside of me. I feel tremendous guilt over dupeing an innocent man and waver back and forth on the merits and pitfalls of telling my intended that I am pregnant and the baby is not his. I take a deep breath and watch in the reflection of the mirror, my sister, Justice, roll a large strand of my hair onto the barrel of the curling iron. Her beautiful face is focused and intent. Seconds later she releases the curl and smiles in satisfaction as it falls into place over my shoulder. Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

  “See,” she says, “perfect.”

  She is taking the outward sign of my nerves as proof that I am experiencing the normal cold-feet that all brides do. My nerves are far from the normal pre-wedding jitters. I am pregnant; and not getting married to the father of my baby. No, that relationship was over before I even had a hint of what was growing in my belly. A mere few weeks ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago. I feel the tears gathering in my eyes.

  I will not cry. I will not cry.

  Justice has worked so hard on my makeup.

  She is studying me in the mirror.

  “Hey, are you ok?”

  I force my lips into a smile.

  “Yes.”

  My one word answer doesn’t seem to satisfy her though.

  “Glory, you don’t have to go through with this. We can figure something out.”

  Her words, while supportive, are not true. I have to go through with it. This is an arranged marriage. It is expected – and ordered - of me. And, there is also a little problem that in seven months would be a bigger problem if I don't have a husband.

  I shake my head and reach back to grab Justice’s hand.

  “No. It’s fine. I like Grayson. He’s…”

  I falter for the right word to describe this man I am going to marry. We’ve only met once before this day – our wedding day. He is tall, but most men are compared to my five-four height. He has green eyes, and is very well built; muscular and with dark brown hair. He’s also the alpha of the neighboring werewolf pack.

  In an effort to solidify positive relations between our pack and his we are getting married. I found him to be serious and intense - understandable since he is a young alpha at only one hundred and thirty four years old – comparatively speaking most alphas are between two or three hundred years old when they take over leading a pack. Funny, that I thought of Nick as ancient has a very human early-thirties. But Grayson at over a hundred? Seems normal for our kind. Older sure, but...not out of the norm.

  My father had been the alpha of our pack until about ten years ago, when our current alpha killed him in a challenge to lead the pack. Some packs have more modern politics, but ours is firmly ensconced in the old ways. It is terrifyingly frustrating that all males in the pack are stuck thinking this is the wild west. No rules, might is right and the strong rule the weak. Guess it’s a byproduct of living for hundreds of years as werewolves do.

  My mother is the Machi of the tribe, a mix between a priest, shaman, and nurse. Fortunately, It comes with a good bit of influence in the pack. Unfortunately, she is also a little eccentric. Hence my name, Glory, and my two sister’s: Justice and Independence. Independence had been a surprise. She is almost four years old, and obviously since my father died ten years ago, she is also my half sister. She is now sitting quietly in a chair off to the side. Her head is bent down, and she is concentrating on twirling the end of her sash in he little hands. Her hair is golden, and she is the flower girl in today’s little melodrama.

  I stand now that we are done with hair and makeup. No point in delaying the inevitable. I give myself one last glance in the vanity’s mirror and pluck my bouquet off its surface.

  “He’s fine,” I finally finish for Justice.

  I turn and reach my hand out to Indy, just as the door swings open and my mother walks in. Before I can register her intent, she is in front of me with a face flushed in fury.

  Her hand flies up and connects to my cheek. It wasn’t a hurtful slap. I am more shocked then hurt.

  “You slut,” she shouts.

  Justice runs behind her and shuts the door frantically. She runs interference between us.

  “Mother!” Justice whispers loudly. It’s a chastisement, whether for slapping me or saying “slut” in church – I don’t know.

  I am speechless. I never know what unexpected things she could be accusing me of. Physical and verbal abuse is sadly par for the course with her. Even more so since my father has passed.

  She continues undeterred by being in church or Indy and Justice’s presence, “A no-good, bastard, human? It’s a fucking baby, Glory!”

  I cringe at the string of expletives. I hate her calling Nick that. A human. He is. That may be why I love him. Fresh pain in my heart. And how does she know?

  Justice turns questioning eyes on me.

  “So what, Mother? You’re still getting what you want. I’ll marry Grayson, and in seven months you’ll get a grandchild.”

  Her eyes bore into my own. A cruel smile turns up one side of her face.

  “You think it’s that easy, huh, girlie? Got it all figured out?”

  I don’t answer her, just sit back down at the vanity. I fan my face hoping the redness will dissipate by the time I walk down the aisle.

  I’ve changed so much in just one month. I’ve grown up and I’m getting out. She’ll no longer have a hold on me, and I think Grayson will protect me. Protect my baby. Because that’s what she’ll be: mine.

  Chapter 6

  He’s not that much different then Nikolaj. I study him from the doorway. A man - no more. Well, maybe a tad more, but for my purposes all the same.

  “Are you coming in Glory? You are more than welcome to.”

  I step into his study. His space. I could do this. I cross to his liquor cabinet.

  Grayson’s house was set up so completely - a week after being here I still feel like a guest -not the lady of the house.

  I pour us both a measure of whatever is in the decanter. Is it scotch or whiskey? I’m not sure and for my purposes it doesn’t matter. I bring both glasses with a measure poured neat in each over to him at his desk. Bringing my side in close to him.

  I set the glass down at his hand, and he pushes a fraction back from the desk, turning to me with a raised eyebrow. His knees brush my side.

  “I...um...just thought...we could get to know each other a little more.” I rush out. I sip from my own glass cough a little at the burn that goes down my throat. I press my lips together, embarrassed about my goof.

  “Don’t like scotch?” Grayson asks while reaching for his own glass.

  “I’ve never had it before.” I admit. I lean my butt against the desk, crowding him, but hoping closeness is the first step towards seduction. Or liquor is the first? I’ve confused myself now. I stare down into the golden depths of the liquid, afraid to meet Grayson’s eyes. He’s an alpha, he could very well see right through my ruse.

  “I meant what I said the night we got married, Glory. Not until you’re ready.”

  “And if I’m ready?” I somehow find the courage to lift my eyes to his. In them I see puzzlement, maybe the spark of doubt.

  “Are you?” He fires back at me.

  I don’t answer, but turn and set my glass on the desk behind me.

  Spinning back to Grayson, I step so that our knees are touching. He leans back in his chair- a natural reaction to give me space. His knees fall open and I step between them putting my hands on his shoulders. I can feel the tremble in them, and hope he can’t.

  His hands come up and take my own in his grasp.

  “You’re not. And it doesn’t matter…” He sighs and stands so that now I have to tilt my head up to look at him.

  “...I’ll protect the baby. Claim it has mine. You don’t have to worry on that score, Glory.”

  I suck in air and shut my eyes. Shock all around. He knows? He’s willing to claim it as his own? The kindn
ess is my undoing. I’d so rarely been on the receiving end of such since my father had passed away. Hot, fat tears bubble behind my eyelids. I open my eyes and they roll down my cheeks.

  “Sit down. Don’t cry.”

  I drop down into his seat, wiping the tears off the top of my cheek.

  “I’m sorry. I just don’t…”

  “It’s fine.” He leans his butt against the desk and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

  “Listen closely, Glory.” He turns his head to me.

  “We entered a contract together for mutually beneficial reasons. Protection for you. A mother for my son for me. Continued prosperity for the pack.” He pauses. His gaze pins me. “Possible future offspring for the both of us.”

  I can’t deny him. I nod my head once in acknowledgement. One day. Not today. I can worry about that after my baby is born. One thing at a time.

  Chapter 7

  “How could you? How can you keep your secrets to yourself? Am I not worth it? Was she not worth it?” I hurl the accusations at my mother in whispered tones, aware that Independence is upstairs having tea time with Justice.

  The fury within me, it’d only replaced the denial when she confirms it. Confirmed that waking up in a pool of my own blood meant death. Death of my baby. My baby girl. I knew it with a force - undisputed.

  “It’s better this way.” She doesn’t look up from where her hands knit and purl. Wrap the yarn around her finger, thread the needle through the hook. I want to yank that soft, innocuous material from her fingertips and strangle her with it.

  “Better this way?” My voice has gone strange. Furiosity simmers beneath the words. I’m barely keeping it together.

  Stabbing pain erupts in my abdomen.

  “Errrgghh.” I grind out the growl low within in my vocal cords. I mean it as a warning to her. She takes it as one.

  “There are secrets you are not ready for, Glory-girl.” I’m too angry, too frustrated to deal with her secrets. I rip her knitting from her hands just as I imagined in my head, but throw it to the ground instead of stabbing a needle through her jugular or winding it like a rope around her throat.

  The burn of hate feels good in my hands. The action, albeit petty and small, gives me some satisfaction. I want to surrender to the madness. I want to wreck her life. My hands ache with the pain of holding back. I could unleash like I have never before. I can feel my muscles, coiled and ready to spring. The power is flooding my body with anticipation.

  “NEVER. CALL. ME. THAT. AGAIN.”

  Glory-girl. Like some sort of affectionate-term. The truth is, she may be my mother in biology only. Had she ever shown me anything other than difference? A scrap of affection? Love? A hug?

  All my memories are of my father. Tucking me in at night. Making me a sandwich. Teaching me how to ride a bike.

  No, from her all I got where obscure folk tales, muddled hocus pocus and dire warnings. I’d managed to piece together some knowledge of herbs from her, picking up scraps of information that actually have legitimate uses. But how I had to scrape and beg for that.

  I slam my palms down on the small coffee table.

  “I drank the tea! I didn’t shift! I took prenatal vitamins. I did everything right!” I yell at her.

  “Hmph. You think human vitamins work for us?” She sneers.

  “It was worth a try! You hold your secrets to your bosom tighter than a priest with a confession. You are the only woman within a pack to have given birth - successfully - within the last twenty years! We are dying out! What do you hope to gain by keeping it all to yourself?”

  “Power.” Her eyes don’t waver from mine.

  She holds the knowledge. It’s a simple equation, so clichéd. Knowledge equals power. I had never viewed her as one to be so ambitious. But just like that a light clicks on, and so too does my brain. I see her now. It fits. She did not gain the high respect and position within the pack by being helpful or a symbol of fertility. No. She has wielded and withheld as she’s seen fit to guarantee her lot in life. Envy like I’ve never felt before wells up in my gut. She’s controlled her destiny her entire life. I could hurl an entire tomb of questions at her, so thirsty I am for her knowledge. With it, I could control my own life, make my own decisions. No longer a pawn in men’s games. In alpha’s games. In nature’s path. No. It’d be my own path.

  If I had her knowledge.

  Resentment settles heavily in my heart. Spite. Rage. And finally the futility of it all.

  A small effervescence in my belly bubbles up my throat and past my lips into a giggle. Then my lips pull back into a smile-laugh, and I give a hearty chuckle.

  I swallow my temporary madness to alleviate the question on her face. “Oh. Mother. You’ve doomed us all.”

  Her eyes narrow. She’s trying to figure out the validity of my words. Have I gone off the deep end? Very likely. I drop down into the wingback chair opposite her. I shake my head and trail a finger over the flower pattern on the arm. My anger has fizzled to grim realization.

  Werewolves are either bitten or born. Born wolves are the elite among us. Or so the powers that be would have us believe. They hold the status in such high-esteem. I haven’t seen much discernable difference between those bitten and born except attitude. All alphas are born.

  Fertility rates among wolves are very low, should one of us become pregnant, the chances of full-term birth? Less than fifty percent, I’d guess. The majority of our kind are now bitten rather than born. And human females don’t survive the change. They just don’t. So, fewer and fewer female wolves plus very desirous, dominating males? It’s been our world and it’s been a difficult navigation for peace.

  My mother and us, a freak, yet precious, anomaly. It’s what made her so powerful, made her sought after. She gave birth not to one female wolf, but three. How? The entire race will die out because she has hoarded her secrets.

  That’s why my marriage to Grayson happened so quickly. He believed he could create a dynasty through me. He knew I was pregnant before making the offer. Something tells me he knew. I laugh a little at my own foolishness. I was so naive!

  I believed his reasoning of needing a mother for his son! I believed also, that his altruistic nature had partially prompted the marriage. That he knew what a target the four of us living together was. And that he wanted to protect us. And marrying me was one of the only ways he could do that. The secondary reason I believed he offered marriage - was the esteem having a female in his pack would bring. One of mother’s old wives tales said that having a fertile female mated to the alpha brought bounty to the entire pack. That in some synchronicity all the females in the pack would then become more fertile.

  The fire crackles and pops.

  “You want the knowledge?” She breaks our silence.

  I stand up, suddenly disgusted beyond any reasoning.

  “You can keep your knowledge. In fact, I’ll add to it. You’ve not only made our lives a certain hell - we’ll always be in danger thanks to you - but you’ve made us an endangered species. With no hope but extinction.”

  Chapter 8

  Two years later…

  The last word I said to her. Extinction.

  Her coffin goes into the ground with the softest thunk. None of it matters when we’ll all be in the ground.

  How had she even? We are supposed to be partially immortal. Living to five hundred or so. Well, the oldest werewolf I’d met is four hundred and twenty six. He is of sound body and mind. Strong even though he looks to be a very old human seventy. Wrinkled skin. White hair.

  I shake my head at the stupidity of it all. She couldn’t come off her high horse long enough to give us anything. I have no idea who her parents are. Does she have any siblings? How old was she exactly?

  God, is she even really dead? What if she was in some weird shaman suspended state? Should we have cremated her? Gray took care of all the details. I’d been apathetic.

  The only things pulling me out of bed in the past two years are Mar
c and the garden.

  Now there’s Justice and Indy. Seventeen and five. Babies.

  I take a deep breath. For a moment the smell of wet earth, rose, and pine wood float in my nose. Usually comforting smells, they seem to turn my stomach this afternoon.

  I grip Indy’s hand in my left, Justice’s in my right.

  My sisters. What hope can I give them? What protection?

  A breeze blows back the hair from my face. I look from that coffin in the ground to the clearing sky.

  Just throws in a white rose; it lands with a decided thunk. Indy tugs my hand and holds up the white rose in it to me.

  I take it from her, and throw it. It lands perfectly on top of Justice’s, making an ‘x.’

  I turn away from this whole macabre scene, done more now then I ever was before.

  I lift Indy up onto my hip when she slows. She puts her arms around my neck and lays her head on my shoulder. She’s small for going on six, and her innocent love brings with it a rush of sadness.

  This is what it would feel like to hold my own child. Comfort her.

  Small spindly limbs wrapped around my neck. Hanging on. Warmth.

  If she had lived. I take a deep breath, smelling Indy’s sunshine and laundry-soap scent.

  I set her in the booster seat of the car. Bump into Justice as I back up after I fasten all the buckles.

  “Hey.” I close the door car door. Stopping the wind from blowing into the vehicle.

  Justice sweeps me up in a hug.

  “Grayson says you can come stay at the house for a few days.” She says.

  I physically feel the ‘but’ coming. My eyes search for him over her shoulder. He’s standing with Rick, and an eight-year-old Marc somberly at his side. Soaking up what it means to be alpha. When Gray turns, he catches my eye and gives the subtlest shake of his head.

  Damn. I had believed in him. He’s strong, capable. An alpha to the core.

  Disappointment settles in my gut. Followed by anger. It burns. She did this.