Lunaria (A Soulmark Series Finale), page 10
"Jax isn't a traitor," I strike back, a surge of defiance puffing up my chest. "He's my frie—" I stop short of the word friend, feeling a sharp pang in my heart.
No, not friend, and most assuredly not more than a friend. Not in the way I had come to hope over the course of the past few days in his presence. All those charming grins and sweet words hadn’t gone beyond the surface for Jax, but for me…
"He's my family," I croak, though there is a bleak quality to my words. Carrie's smirk thins.
"The Stormrow Clan used to be his family, and he abandoned them for a dead man. Do you honestly think he has any loyalty to you?" My chin quivers, but I incline my head with a sureness I don't feel. "How about a wager then? Hmm? If your Jax proves loyal to your brood... I won't let his old brethren kill him. If he proves false—as I'm sure he will—you give up those pretty little wings of yours. We have the beasts hanging in the study upstairs."
"What?"
The air in my lungs completely depletes as I gape at her in horror. My blood runs cold.
Carrie's eyes alight with triumph.
"Oh, come now, you've nothing to worry about. He's your family, isn't he?"
It takes me several moments to respond, my horror placing me in a stupor. When I resurface at last, I lick my lips, hesitant to agree to Carrie’s lurid scheme. "Yes, but—"
"Well, then, it's settled. How exciting! I do love a good wager."
Ill tidings swell inside me. There are no words of protest adequate enough to reject Carrie's bargain. A prickling sensation scratches across the expanse of my wings.
"Tell me, what was it like living with witches?" Carrie seats herself on the table's edge. Smugness radiates off her, dissolving my horror, and rousing my anger.
My response comes through gritted teeth. "Lovely."
"We've encountered them a number of times in our little forest campaigns and skirmishes," Carrie treads on as she feigns interest in her nails. "They've got such spirit, but sometimes it's difficult to tell just how many are out there. They do like their illusions and tricks when we face off. Tell me, how many fighters does the coven employ?"
My teeth sink into my tongue. Carrie lifts her eyes to me and allows the golden streaks to splinter through.
"Don't forget what happened the last time you failed to answer me, fairy."
A copper taste warms my mouth as I bite down harder. Inhaling through my nose, I search for the right answer that won’t betray the Trinity Coven.
"They're large enough to hold their own," I tell her, swallowing the small amount of blood that's collected in my mouth. "They're certainly stronger and smarter than a bunch of hired magicians," I add, tossing my shoulders back. My conscience groans at my sass.
Both of Carrie's brows pop up at my bolstered tone. "I suppose their brand of magic does read false to someone like you. After all, your connection is intrinsic whilst theirs is owned through patronage. Still... I've never witnessed magic quite like what you and your friends can conjure and wield. It's effortless. The Stormrow's have been working day and night to understand it these past few months."
"We are born—"
"Yes, yes," Carrie waves away my explanation. "Your friends told me all about your kind. Born of the earth. Born of the bark. Blah, blah, blah."
I shrink back at her callous interpretation and earn a gold-stricken glower. Carrie outstretches a hand to me expectantly, palm up. I do not automatically place my hand in hers, and she slants her head meaningfully toward it. With great regret, I slide my hand atop hers. Carrie twists our hands, reversing their positions with ruthless force.
"I heard about your conversation with your friends." With her other hand, the she-wolf pushes up the double layer of sleeves hugging my arm. She lets her fingertips ghost over the pale flesh of my forearm and follows the winding path of some intraflora vine. Goosebumps ripple across my flesh. "Did they get to explain the siphoning process in full to you?"
Instinct prompts my next move, a sudden, violent, jerk back as I try to rip my arm back. Carrie holds steadfast. The girl who mourns her father is gone. The woman who must play second to her soon-to-be husband is back to prove her power. Carrie’s pointed nails cut into my skin. Anger, hot and stout, rides on the back of the trepidation that rages through me.
"I think it's despicable what you've done to my friends. They're innocent!" I give another yank, but it is useless and garners five cutting pricks around my wrist. “I don’t care about your traditions either, they’re awful and unjust.”
A short hum vibrates from her lips as she stares me down.
"Our traditions are our greatness, and your friends are weak," she says matter-of-factly. "They're lucky we've spared them a worse fate for their ineptitude and yours."
Carrie unfastens her glorified claws on my next effort. I hit the back of the chair with a thud and wince as my elbow knocks back into the armrest painfully.
"My friends are worth ten times you and your wolves. Their hearts are pure and good, and they have more integrity than your pack that's built on lies and false agendas!"
The room migrates quickly into a cold stillness. Carrie straightens and smooths the wrinkles from her fashionable outfit. She does not hide the disgust in her eyes, nor do I.
"Is that what you think?"
I offer no hesitation. "Yes." The word hisses past my teeth and tongue. This time my conscience utters no protest.
Carrie laughs, her hand coming to rest on her abdomen as she flings her head back. "Oh, you've no idea how refreshing it is to converse with someone who would dare speak to me with such imprudence." Carrie settles her laughter, but her heartless smile lingers. "My father taught them all long ago what happens when they dare try." Her smile widens. "Now it’s my turn to remind them what I’m capable of and what strength lies behind the Wselfwulf name. I do hope you’re ready for what I have in store for you, fairy."
Chapter 6
I'm hustled from the house with my feet scarcely able to keep up with Carrie's purposeful stride. Only half on, my coat hangs perilously from my elbows. Carrie doesn't bother to don any outerwear. She marches from the house and straight to the barn. The frigid air rushes past my parted lips with the frantic pacing.
The anticipation of the unknown is frightening, but in the sinister grip of Carrie, it is utterly terrifying. No good can come from this. I should never have spoken out.
I should have been smarter.
Squeezing my eyes shut to curse myself, I stumble immediately. Carrie doesn't bat an eye as I continue to struggle to match her tempo. All the while, her fingernails bite ruthlessly into my upper arm.
A grave sense of foreboding overshadows me as we walk past the barn. My sight darts from the red-painted timber to the uncharted area beyond. As we near the end of the barn, shouts fill the morning air.
They are not the cries of distress I have mentally prepared myself to bear witness to, but those of celebration.
People are cheering... my brow furrows as I reluctantly cast a glance at Carrie. She is blank-faced as she marches us along. I may as well be a dog on a leash for all the attention she pays me.
The building that emerges from behind the barn is unlike the others I've seen thus far. The two-story structure reminds me of a cottage with its white-washed walls and green shingled roof. It's quaint, charming even, and hidden completely by the barn and other metal building.
My heart quivers. I don't trust the inviting exterior, not one bit.
"This is Trammel House." Carrie flicks her wrist at the house. "Forty years ago, it was rebuilt and extended, due to an increase in the pack's numbers."
Two men linger near its entrance, idly smoking. Upon seeing us, they put out their cigarettes and straighten. The double-doors are opened once we reach them. Each man bows their head subserviently to Carrie as we make our way inside the semi-crowded house. A few heads turn in our direction as we enter, and their reaction to our—or, more precisely, to Carrie’s—arrival is instantaneous. Afterall, I have little faith this pack would yield a path for me.
Carrie guides us confidently forward, and my breath hitches at the number of bodies able to fit inside the hollow cottage. Shoulder to shoulder, men and women stand. Up above is a vaulted ceiling accented with glossy wooden beams, but that's not all. The second floor of the cottage boasts a wraparound gallery where people crush together just the same as below. A massive cheer swells around me almost drowning out the yelp issued by some animal. Carrie stops, and so I turn my attention back ahead of us. Without hesitation, my breakfast threatens to spill. I slap a hand over my mouth. I cannot take my eyes away from the terrible scene ahead of me.
It’s a shallow pit, located some five yards away from the doors we just entered. In the pit are two wolves. Their fur is matted with blood and sizable incisions. The smell of it churns the contents of my stomach, making the urge to vomit higher still, but the crowd goes wild.
"I can't—"
"Oh, don't be such a wimp," Carrie cajoles. The heartless chill of her sapphire eyes rests heavy on the side of my face as I watch the dogfight in horror. "Trammel House has a rich history to the Wselfwulf pack. It was first built as a means to keep order in the chaos brought on by the moon's curse. Our ancestors used it to help the pack find their confidence after losing touch with their wolf spirits and keep their sanity. It gave those who needed an outlet for their frustration and fear a place to channel their energy in a constructive and supervised way, without causing undue harm to the pack at large. We survived, unlike other packs that fell prey to raving fury and madness from the great loss.
"The Wselfwulf pack has always been formidable, but Trammel House saw to it that every man and woman knew how to fight both mentally and physically since its genesis." Carrie inhales through her nose, body relaxing as oxygen fills her lungs. "Above all else, this house's most significant contribution was giving us back our lycan identity when we thought it all but lost."
Another cheer swamps the cottage.
The black wolf arrests the other by its neck, forcing it onto its back. The opponent, whose gray pelt is damp with blood, kicks its legs in useless defense. When it finally goes limp, and the whites of its eyes are on display, the black wolf unlatches its teeth from its neck. A triumphant howl pierces through the air, echoed by human impersonations.
"One might say, Trammel House fights are the foundation of the Wselfwulf pack," Carrie continues. "So, you see, there's no reason to be frightened. Although, the scent of it wafting off you is enticing."
A smugness is intertwined with her words. I swallow and am irrevocably drawn back to the scene before me. Watching the blood pool from the fallen wolf's neck is oddly hypnotic. It's as if the blossoming red wishes to make a halo around his head, and if I look away for a single second, I shall miss it all.
I send a private prayer to the earth to lie soft beneath the wolf to provide a modicum of comfort.
"Stay right here," Carries whispers in my ear, her lips snatching at my lobe in a fleeting, stinging movement that makes me wince and shrink away.
She tosses a laugh over her shoulder as she hops down into the round dugout. The victorious wolf shuffles back to make way and then begins to shift.
I've seen a multitude of beasts shift from one form to the other, some deadly and dangerous like the rokama to man, and others as mild as a spring breeze like the dedré flio, a small wood thrush-like bird, to a dedré fiss an even smaller fantail guppy-like fish. Though the creatures of my homeland make such transformations appear effortless, this animal's metamorphosis is vulgar.
Each movement is exaggerated.
Each crack and pop sicklier than the last.
His facial features rearrange to a grimace that portrays his deep satisfaction. This wolf's eyes are only for his alpha.
I shudder at the sight of him. In his human form, his body is ravaged by claw and bite marks that bear pink muscle and tissue among the scarlet blood. Yet, despite his wounds, he stands tall, chest proudly flexed and his member—my cheeks go aflame—is half erect. A small amount of bile enters my mouth as I shut my eyes and press my hand more firmly over my mouth. How could anyone find pleasure in such violence? Are they all mad?
"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up, one more time, for today's victor, Cayden Fiore!"
Genuine excitement and delight light up Carrie's face. She stands before her people beaming and glorious as the mob of Wselfwulfs hoot and holler in the battle's wake. Carrie prowls the perimeter of the pit until she is at Cayden's side. Cayden stares at her with pure lust. She sends him a seductive smirk and squares off with him.
"Cayden Fiore, you have proven worthy of advancement by defeating a lycan ranked higher than you." The audience releases a simultaneous ah-oo. The two-note syllable is profound and resonates across my skin. Cayden kneels. "May the Moon Goddess bless your strength and double it." Another ah-oo resounds. "May the pack look upon you with respect and admiration." Ah-oo. "I charge you to serve this pack with honor—oderint dum metuant."
A coarse shiver walks up the back of my thighs and lower back, only to end between my shoulder blades with a haunting, prickling sensation. Carrie offers her hand, and the victor takes it with reverence, bowing his forehead to it before kissing her knuckles.
"Oderint dum metuant," he repeats readily with golden hue eyes. Cheers ascend as he straightens, both fists lifted in triumph over his head. Both Carrie and Cayden are given helping hands to exit the merciless cavity of earth, leaving the wolf on the ground to shudder in its defeat. Its hollow stare bores into the low wall as its chest rises and falls with tremulous effort.
The crowd disperses without further ado. Congratulations are hollered overhead, and excited chatter follows the lycans out into the morning cold. I do not move from my place, so near the pit's edge, for I cannot tear my eyes away from the fallen.
This is no way to live.
The thought brings with it a resounding heartache for my home, so deep that I feel it from the tips of my wings to my toes. Honor is not earned this way in the Hollow Woods. Not on the toppled back of one's brethren. The closest form of such a despicable act, I’d seen only in the rokama who hunted fairy for sport.
My hand at last slips away from my mouth to tug my coat close against my body.
"... and these disgraced wolves... They allow themselves to be ruled by their baser nature, much like the rokama we cull from our packs."
My sight lingers over the men and women who pass me by without a glance. Some sport smiles and happy grins, others stoic facades. Carrie spoke of overcoming the raving fury and madness that divided and destroyed other packs, but hadn't their reliance on Trammel House split them in the end too? Were these men and women not mad in their own right for taking pleasure in hurting one another? The world moves out of focus around me as the heat of lycan bodies dissipates from the room.
"... and these disgraced wolves... They allow themselves to be ruled by their baser nature, much like the rokama we cull from our packs."
"... much like the rokama we cull from our packs."
I shake myself from Adrian's vehement rebuff last night before I can dwell too much on it. Still, my face twists in uncertainty, lips slanting downward.
"Why so glum, little fairy? Were you not entertained by the quarrel?" Carrie's smile is full and bright.
"I—" The words I mean to say succumb to my shock, and before I can dispel them the defeated wolf regains my attention. Its body shudders then cracks and bends and seizes in pain as it shifts to its human state. A choked gasp makes its way out of me as I recognize the injured man. Deval.
"Ah yes, your transporter. He hasn't been featured in the pit for some time. It's good to keep them on their toes and show proof of their worth to their brothers and sisters. Cayden's choice, Deval Mangal, was appropriate and well made." Carrie makes a disapproving noise that vibrates along her trachea. "He isn't the lycan he once was. How disappointing."
My jaw slips open at her casual disdain. I’ve spent little time with the man, but he’s been the only wolf to show even a sliver of remorse and empathy to me. It stings to see him punished. Carrie nears at a leisurely pace, invading my space until our noses are separated by a mere inch. With a sharp pull at my coat, I stumble into Carrie. She laughs, her breathy amusement tickling the hair at my temple as she fastens the zipper all the way up to my chin. My teeth grind together.
"Follow me, little pet."
She pats my cheek with crisp force before striding to the back of the building. She nearly knocks me over into the bloodied arena as she passes. Breath I did not realize I was holding in tumbles from my mouth in a frenzied pant as my fingertips brush over my scalded cheekbone.
"Don't keep me waiting, fairy,” she calls over her shoulder, striding to an odd platform located at the other end of the building.
I ball my fists at my sides. The collar around my neck has never felt so onerous, as I try to choke down my loathing. With concentrated effort, I trudge after Carrie's swinging hips.
The journey isn't far, but it feels like miles as my anger and horror entangle. Carrie stops before the odd raised platform. Ropes line its circumference, wrapping around each corner post for security. At first, the structure befuddles me. A memory crawls to the surface of my mind as I place it at last. It’s a boxing ring.
"Are you sure you don't want to learn to fight, Luna? At least, defend yourself?" Callie asks, her voice awash with concern. "I'd be happy to teach you. Every woman should know basic self-defense."
Callie's attempts to teach me self-defense months ago linger in my mind. I withhold a shuddering sigh as regret eats away at the back of my mind. I should have taken Callie up on her offer.
"Good morning, Lunaria."
I startle back to reality, my feet melding into the ground as I come to a standstill. Noah stands ahead of me with Carrie at his side. Her arm wraps possessively around his back while her other hand perches on her hip. Noah cocks an expectant eyebrow at my silence. I shift back as my heart beats wildly in my chest. Alone with the alphas... this cannot be good.
