But first I needed a shower, and then I planned on curling up in bed with my sexy not-a-demon, who hopefully was no longer a fire-spewing oversized T-rex.
Chapter 22
Sylvie
“I can’t rejoin the pack, Da. I want to lead, and I want to run a pack with different rules.”
Clinton had said this same thing on Monday, but this time it was said with a pleading instead of demanding tone of voice. He wanted his father to understand. And he truly wanted his blessing on this.
“Why can’t you just come back? We’ll work on those things you talked about, and I can give you some added responsibilities.”
Dallas went on to suggest different things Clinton could be in charge of, while I sat back and just listened. If either one realized we were behind the giant fire-breathing dinosaur, neither mentioned it. As expected, the town had rallied to the cause. Some had made early morning trips to bring lumber and building supplies from stores on the other side of the wards, and there was now the equivalent of a barn raising going on up on Heartbreak Mountain. All of Accident’s diverse residents were chipping in, some helping build, others providing food, and others organizing clothing and household supply drives to replace what had been lost. We were all coming together as a community, and I had high hopes for the future of werewolves in our town.
If only these two stubborn Dickskin men could agree, that is.
“I’m not rejoining the pack,” Clinton said with a bit more firmness. “It’s not going to happen.”
There was silence, and I held my breath, worried that this whole thing was going to unravel, and we’d be back where we started.
Dallas sighed, running a hand through his silver hair. “Okay. I’ll accept that you’ve got your own pack. I’ll even let anyone in my pack go join yours without penalty, but you can’t stay on the mountain.”
That was huge. Huge. But Clinton didn’t see it that way.
“I can’t take my pack outside the wards and have any kind of life,” Clinton protested. “Exile isn’t any kind of compromise.”
Dallas waved his hands. “I don’t mean exile. Your pack can stay in Accident, just not on Heartbreak Mountain. I got money set aside for you, plus you got what your mother left for you. Buy a few acres and start somewhere else inside the wards. I hear there’s land to the east for sale.”
“The marshes?” Clinton scoffed. “And how the hell am I gonna establish a pack on two acres? That’s not enough to build on, let alone anywhere to run or hunt.”
“There’s some land on Savior Mountain,” I told the pair. “The wards encompass about fifty acres up there that no one’s owned since that group of elves left twenty years ago.”
“There.” Dallas nodded. “You could have your pack there. Fifty acres is a decent size.”
“You’ve got thousands of acres,” Clinton countered. “And yeah, fifty might be enough to have a compound, a small bit of livestock and a few gardens, but not enough for any sort of hunting.”
“I want this to work, Clinton, really I do, but I can’t allow your pack to take a portion of our territory. I can welcome you back, or I can give your new pack my blessing if they’re set up elsewhere, but I can’t split off part of our pack’s lands. They’re not mine; they belong to the pack. They belong to all the werewolves, and they’ve been pack lands for two hundred years. I can’t start dividing things up because my son wants to go off on his own.”
I blinked, suddenly realizing Dallas’s position. I’d been thinking he was just being greedy and stubborn, not wanting to share his mountain with his son, but now I understood.
And now that I understood, I had an idea.
“Heartbreak Mountain belongs to all the werewolves of the pack.” I waited for Dallas’s nod. “And that includes Clinton and the wolves that follow him. They’re part of the original pack, so they should have an ownership interest in the mountain as well.”
“They do, but I can’t start splitting up the mountain,” Dallas argued. “It sets a precedent. The territory belongs to all the werewolves as a group, not each one individually owning a few acres.”
I nodded. “I get it. Just hear me out a minute here. What if a portion of Heartbreak Mountain could be designated as protected land—as land that all werewolves in Accident regardless of pack have an equal claim to. It could be a sort of preserve that is open to all werewolves during the full moon,” I suggested. “Clinton can establish his pack elsewhere, but during the moon, you all can come together to hunt on land that’s set aside as a werewolf national park.”
Dallas screwed up his face as if I’d just forced him to eat a lemon, but Clinton appeared interested in the idea.
“It would heal a lot of wounds, Da,” he said. “Us all coming together each full moon, just like old times, hunting on the land our ancestors have hunted on for hundreds of years, keeping the traditions and the old ways. Each month we’d be remembering where we came from and giving thanks to those who took a chance on a bunch of witches and made the mountain their home.”
It was the most stirring speech I’d ever heard from Clinton. I felt so proud of him, knowing how far he’d come in just a few months from the angry, rebellious, asshole of a werewolf he’d been to a leader of his pack.
“Okay, but our pack gifts it to conservation,” Dallas stated. “There’s a ceremony, and it’s very clear that my pack is the one that is gifting this land in honor of our traditions and past.”
“You get all the glory,” I agreed. “But I’m letting you know right now that gifting a portion of the mountain into conservatory means it’s open to all werewolves. It’s a place where they can all come during the full moon and hunt, regardless of what pack they belong to…. regardless of whether they’re with a pack or are a lone wolf. You must welcome Shelby and Stanley there during the full moon as well. I don’t care if you speak to them at all the rest of the month, but during the full moon, all differences will be put aside, and werewolves will come together in peace and fellowship to honor their past and their traditions.”
Even the mention of Shelby and Stanley didn’t dim the gleam that had come into both werewolves’ eyes. Dallas was imagining the glory. Clinton was seeing a glimmer of hope that his pack could be allowed to thrive and not be completely isolated.
“We will assist Clinton in buying the land for his pack,” I told them, “but I need to ask that you give them two months to begin building.”
A shadow crossed Dallas’s face. “Everyone is going to think I’m weak.”
“He helped the pack when he didn’t have to. He sent scouts ahead to warn you all that a monster was coming. He and his wolves slowed the attacker down and gave you time to ready yourselves. They stayed and helped you fight. They offered to house your displaced people, to help you rebuild.” I held out my hands. “I don’t think anyone would believe you weak for giving them a few months to make the transition.”
Dallas nodded. “Guessing you’re right. Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Two months.” Clinton frowned. “I’ll do my best, but is there room for an extension if we can’t quite get the place bought and moved out by then?”
“As long as you don’t take two years, I might be a bit reasonable,” Dallas drawled.
“And when it’s not the full moon?” I asked. “It’s going to be hard on folk if they’re forbidden to talk to or even look at each other most of the month, then make nice for three days.”
“If I’m forgiving Clinton, then I can’t demand others do different,” Dallas admitted. “I’m thinking each werewolf needs to make their own decisions on whether they feel it’s right to socialize with wolves of another pack or those who are lone wolves. No matter what they decide, I’ll make sure my people know they gotta be polite and welcoming during the moon, though. Best behavior. Treating all werewolves like guests during the full moon, even if they still hate someone’s guts.”
I guess that was as good as it was going to get for the time being.
“Then let’s
seal this as a vow,” I told them, pulling a paper out of my notebook. I’d jotted down what the pair had agreed upon as a sort of contract. It might not look too professional, but if a handwritten note worked for Temperance Perkins and the others who’d originally made up the town of Accident, then it would work for us.
Dallas and Clinton both read over my chicken scratching, then took out pocket knives, jabbing themselves in the thumb and making a blood-print next to their names. I signed my name in a more traditional manner, with an ink pen, then informed both of them that I’d have copies delivered by this evening.
We had a deal. We had peace. And all it had taken was a little bit of deception and theatrics on our part. There was still a lot that needed to happen to make sure that things went smoothly between the two packs, but I was giddy with excitement over what had been accomplished here today.
Clinton had his pack. Dallas had his pride. And Shelby and Stanley would have the opportunity to socialize with other wolves as well as hunt together on the lands they’d grown up on.
I left the meeting and walked back to my house, and for the very first time since I’d died, I didn’t feel drained or tired.
I was good. I was more than good. Healing. Happy. Falling in love with a sexy demon who made me laugh and rocked my world. I picked up the phone and called over to the diner to order some carry-out and looked up as I heard my front door open.
There stood Eshu, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pizza in the other. Beside him was a bottle of rum and a box from the butcher shop that I would bet contained a quarter of beef.
“Better put that in the freezer before it thaws,” I told him.
“Later.” He leaned forward and kissed me. “First we celebrate with rum and wine and pizza. Then sex.”
“How about sex first, so I’m actually sober?” I laughed.
He set down the wine, put the pizza box on top of the meat box, and gathered me into his arms. “A much better idea, my brilliant, beloved couch-witch. Come with me to bed. Or to the couch. Your choice.”
I laughed, grabbed his hand, and hauled him off to my bedroom.
Life was good. Life was more than good. And I only had to die to realize it.
* * *
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Also by Debra Dunbar
Accidental Witches Series
Brimstone and Broomsticks
Warmongers and Wands
Death and Divination
Hell and Hexes
Minions and Magic (2019)
Fiends and Familiars (2019)
Devils and the Dead (2019)
White Lightning Series
Wooden Nickels
Bum’s Rush
Clip Joint
Jake Walk
Trouble Boys (2019)
***
The Templar Series
Dead Rising
Last Breath
Bare Bones
Famine’s Feast
Royal Blood (2019)
Dark Crossroads (2019)
* * *
IMP WORLD NOVELS
The Imp Series
A Demon Bound
Satan’s Sword
Elven Blood
Devil’s Paw
Imp Forsaken
Angel of Chaos
Kingdom of Lies
Exodus
Queen of the Damned
The Morning Star
* * *
Half-breed Series
Demons of Desire
Sins of the Flesh
Cornucopia
Unholy Pleasures
City of Lust
* * *
Imp World Novels
No Man’s Land
Stolen Souls
Three Wishes
Northern Lights
Far From Center
Penance
* * *
Northern Wolves
Juneau to Kenai
Rogue
Winter Fae
Bad Seed
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my copyeditors Erin Zarro and Jennifer Cosham whose eagle eyes catch all the typos and keep my comma problem in line, and to Renee George for cover design.
About the Author
Debra lives in a little house in the woods of Maryland with her sons and two slobbery bloodhounds. On a good day, she jogs and horseback rides, hopefully managing to keep the horse between herself and the ground. Her only known super power is 'Identify Roadkill'.
For more information:
www.debradunbar.com
Debra Dunbar’s Author page
Hell and Hexes Page 17