Lycan Legacy (A Soulmark Series Book 5), page 41
It won’t be me.
Because Atticus is right again. I have a boundless source of strength at my disposal. My pack mates wouldn't hesitate to bend a knee in a generous offering of what power they have to give. Whereas my mother takes from her wolves and drives them to the ground.
This makes all the difference, for my mother will always take. But not I, I offer myself up to my pack bonds and call out for their might even from so great a distance.
And slowly but surely, they respond.
“No,” I say once more, shoving my mother back with a triumphant growl and prowling forward into her stumbling retreat. “No more.”
“Winter!” My father’s brash call is cut off by Atticus’s fist. My father topples into my mother, an animalistic noise tearing from his throat in a rebuke to the slight, though he does nothing to defend himself.
“No more power plays. No more of your twisted games,” I breathe harshly. “You will get us the ingredients of the tonic or have someone fetch the witch or sorcerer who did it. Now.”
“You will regret this,” Mother promises darkly. She trembles at my order. “Margaret, go to my study and fetch the parcel from Claudette.”
My mother’s sister, June’s mother, is quick to act on the orders. She rushes from the room and out of sight. The room waits in a tense reprieve for her to return.
As for me and mine, we stand tall.
There is power in my body unlike any I’ve experienced before. It brings every hair on my body to stand and makes the wolf inside me howl for more. For this triumph is not only mine but one for the entire Adolphus pack. An unspoken acknowledgment ripples through the pack bonds and brings even more strength to our pack.
Aunt Margaret returns. She passes the small parcel into my mother’s waiting hands, then scampers to the back of the gathered ranks. Margaret is one of the fluctuating wolves.
Mother’s chin juts up with defiance as she thrusts the parcel onto me.
“There will be consequences, Winter,” she whispers, her sights slanting in the direction of June none too subtly.
“You aren’t going to do a thing, Mother,” I snap back, my voice thick with authority.
The wolfish gold begins to seep from my mother's eyes, kowtowing to my command—and my alpha’s will. From far away, his immense power bolsters me. His desire to put this pack in its place thrums through me like a storm on the verge of mass destruction.
“There will be no retaliation. No claims of fault or slander of my pack's name,” I continue on, my voice hard and unyielding. “And when we’re done saving your pathetic hides, don’t get any ideas of sending your lackeys after us. From this moment on, we are beyond your reach.”
Father glares hot daggers at me. “Mind your rank, girl.”
I let my upper lip curl back. “My rank is far above anything you could hope to achieve,” I bite back savagely. “And one last thing. There will be no more shackling these wolves to your pack. For too long you’ve kept them confined with the promise of retribution should they dare leave. To themselves and to their loved ones.
“If any so choose to leave with us tonight… there will be no penalty. No wolf should be made to lick after the heels of an alpha whose love they’ll never have. You’ve disgraced this pack,” I say, my emotions keeping my delivery tight and cutting. Even as a mix of torrid relief from years of steeped anger threaten to spill hotly over my cheeks.
I take in a steadying breath, making sure to level them both with a flat, disappointed stare. “You’ve ruined the Blanc name.”
Mother’s almost unable to rip her gaze away from mine. Her lower lip trembles slightly as she keeps her head held high. My father’s pale face is thoroughly flushed.
Neither of them says a word.
A faint shift in the room’s power dynamics ripples over all of the wolves who are present. Instead of showing deference to my parents, with either their heads bowed or necks bent submissively in their direction, they direct it to us—to Atticus and me.
My chest rises up as I roll my shoulders back and step away from my parents. Steadfast fingers splay across my lower back over my soulmark. A dizzying warmth spreads all the way down to my toes as I place myself back at Atticus's side where I belong. And then my eyes search out the only person who matters to me amongst the Blanc pack.
“June?” I say softly.
I stretch out my hand to her, ignoring the strangled growl my father emits.
“June, please. It doesn’t have to be this way. You don’t have to stay here and be used.”
She looks nervously at Jeffrey before tossing a scared look her mother’s way. “Mom?” she whispers. Her gaze darts back and forth between the two of us.
Margaret stays silent. Her face is ashen and unreadable as the room waits for her answer. Then a new growl lets loose in the grand foyer as June is yanked roughly into Jeffrey’s side.
“Don’t be absurd, Margaret. The contracts have already been signed. The girl is mine.”
Jeffrey’s outburst makes the room stir uneasily. No matter how formidable his rank may be, it is unwise to speak to any girl’s mother in such a way. Margaret's husband, Thomas, flanks his wife’s side.
“Go with Winter, Juniper,” he commands, his eyes flashing gold.
“Dad?” June shakes visibly, weakly attempting to dislodge her arm from Jeffrey’s hold. Her tears come pouring out to no one’s surprise. “Dad, I—”
Her words cut out with a startled cry as she is thrust back. Tripping over heels far too tall for her doe-like legs to manage, June falls to the floor. She stops mere inches from one of the miniature cedar pine trees. Her slim and slightly gangly form spread callously along the marble floor.
Several gasps tear through the room as Margaret sprints to her daughter and Thomas barrels toward Jeffrey. No one expects the little pine to begin to shake violently. It’s porcelain white pot cracks down one side, then another, before it falls completely to pieces as the pine’s roots reach out to June.
June lets out a shriek, attempting to scramble back. She does not succeed.
Whereas the rest of the gathering watches in fear, releasing their own sounds of terror, I turn sharply to stare at Luna. Her glamour flickers in and out of effect as she concentrates on her task. When my gaze inevitably returns to June a second later, the roots are tentatively supporting her efforts to stand.
Margaret reaches her daughter's side at long last, tugging her away from the plant's wandering roots and into her embrace.
“It’s okay,” she says hoarsely, pressing a kiss against Juniper’s head as she stares wide-eyed at the docile pine. “Come along, Junebird. We’re leaving.”
Nobody, not even Jeffrey, stops them as they stride toward our small group. Thomas follows resolutely at their heels, having left Jeffrey without a mark of retaliation, in favor of joining his family.
“Anyone is welcome to join us back in Branson Falls,” Atticus reiterates once they are safely in our circle. He turns his eyes to my parents, and I feel his body stiffen beside me. “Winter’s terms stand, and if you wish to break them or further interfere with our pack, my alpha will take it as a declaration of war. If you wish to dispute our terms, you may take up the issue with either our sorcerer or fairy.”
As Atticus delivers his last line, the foyer reverberates with the sound of breaking porcelain and the rustling of roots.
No one says a thing.
And yet, as we stride from the room clumped closely together, the sound of footsteps follows hurriedly behind us. I stiffen, prepared for an attack by either my mother or father, but the steps come from fear-struck wolves pursuing our escape. I pass them a reassuring smile, watching the tension slip slowly from their faces as they reach us.
“You can’t do this!” my mother shouts at our retreating backs.
“Of course, we can,” Jax calls back, unperturbed as he spins his bo staff leisurely. “Just watch.”
++
I am in shock. There is no other way to explain the rolling blankness of my mind as my feet blindly lead our growing group to the golden birch tree. It’s located three blocks over, at the very end of the neighborhood near the Marster’s house. June is a whirlwind of questions. She spits off too many hows and whys and whats for me to keep up with, but I don’t have to. Atticus patiently explains what is happening and our next plan of action.
He advises everyone who wishes to follow us back to Branson Falls to leave and pack their things. When none immediately go, he warns them our orders might not stick for long once we leave the Blanc territory. Those who don’t get out now might not get the chance later.
Several run away at his advice. Their phones press against their ears as they dictate the happenings of what occurred and order their families what to do and pack. Others stay to see our efforts made.
June included, and her mother.
As our ranks decrease and then swell with curious interlopers watching our progress, I lean more heavily into Atticus’s side.
“You were amazing in there, Winter,” he murmurs to me when June begins directing questions to her mother. Toby’s name is rattled off at least four times before Margaret gives a reluctant sigh and peels away from our group with June in tow. “Winter? Are you all right?”
My answering nod is weak enough that Atticus stops our advance to turn and face me. His hands plant themselves on my shoulders and anchor me back to the earth.
“It worked,” I say breathlessly. Atticus replies with a gentle smile. His eyes scan our small crowd momentarily. “It actually worked.”
“Of course it did,” he teases, stepping closer and pulling me into the hug I didn’t know I needed. I wrap my arms tight around his middle, pressing my face against his broad chest and breathing in his familiar scent and the leather of his jacket.
My rankled nerves settle further with each drag of breath.
“Winter?” A brief pause is given for me to pull back and look into his beautiful blue eyes. “We’re not done.”
This time, my answering nod is stronger than before, but by no means has the full shock of events slipped away from me.
“I know,” I respond, taking another step back and giving a firmer nod. “Let’s go. It’s just up ahead. We can send a copy of the ingredients to both Xander and Diana while Luna does her thing.”
Atticus’s smile warms like the dawn, though around us the world fades to dark with dusty navy hues thanks to wayward clouds. When we reach the ancient tree, its ashy branches quivering in the breezy early dusk, we stop. I turn, expecting to see only half the number of who walked out with us.
I am wrong.
There are at least two dozen wolves in total. Some are from my parents’ home; the others are the curious interlopers who wandered from their homes to be part of the commotion. They all wear the same solemn face, but there is no mistaking the curiosity and hope that burns in each of their eyes.
“I want to remind everyone of what Atticus said earlier. We can’t guarantee the commands we laid upon my parents will hold for long. For those of you who wish to leave this pack and join another, or even be on your own, now is the time to go,” I state plainly.
None make an attempt to leave, though there is a rustle of feet and shifting of facial expressions into something less somber and more determined.
I sigh and turn to face Atticus. He guides me forward to where Jax and Luna stand before the tree. Luna’s cheeks and nose are a brilliant scarlet, despite her layers upon layers of outwear. She casts worried glances between me and Jax, bringing my own worry to the forefront.
“What is it?” I ask softly.
Luna shifts uncomfortably, folding her arms around her stomach. “He wants to do things differently than we planned.”
“What?” I hiss, glaring pointedly at Jax as Atticus echoes my sentiments with a low growl. “We’re not changing the plan—”
“We are,” Jax states, the epitome of cool and collected. “Because we don’t have time to do it the way we previously planned. I can’t guarantee a speedy analysis of Luna’s interpretation of events along with the witches. Hell, it could end up taking days.”
“How long have you known?” Atticus asks, his voice flat.
Jax shrugs, that infuriating grin sneaking up onto his lips. “Let's just say I had a sudden feeling. What would be better—far better—is allowing me to piggyback off of Luna’s conversation.”
“What does that mean?” Luna asks as tears threaten to spoil her vision. “He keeps saying that. Why are pigs going to be involved?”
Despite myself, I have to bite back my own grin at her naive response. But instead of Atticus or me jumping to offer an explanation, Jax steps between us to stand directly in front of Luna.
With a delicate sigh, he takes off his gloves and raps his staff against the ground twice before abandoning it in favor of giving his complete attention to Luna. The staff stands at attention without his hold.
Jax reaches out and brushes the back of his fingers against Luna's jawline, all the way up to smooth back her hair. The action knocks off her hat, and Luna's eyes widen. After a moment, her tears vanish as Jax continues to stroke her hair back. She stares at the handsome sorcerer, mesmerized.
Although I cannot see Jax’s expression, I can only imagine what devastating smile he levels at Luna to raise such a blush to her cheeks.
“It means, gorgeous,” Jax purrs, “that I want to be a bystander in your mind as you talk to the tree. I’ve already memorized what notes the witches took… but hearing what you do directly from the source would be best.”
A stuttered breath tumbles past Luna’s parted lips. “Will it hurt?”
“Only a pinch, gorgeous. I wouldn’t do anything that would cause harm to the divine creature before me.”
Oh, dear God.
“Enough flirting.” Atticus places a hand on Jax’s shoulder and pulls him a step away from the fairy. But Luna makes a small noise of protest, her love-struck gaze unable to be torn away from her flatterer.
“I’ll do it,” Luna agrees. “As long as it doesn’t hurt too bad.”
Jax shrugs out of Atticus' grip, moving far faster than I expected him too. He is swift to guide Luna the remaining steps to the tree’s trunk, whispering reassurances in her ear.
“You needn’t do anything different. I’ll merely stand behind you and place my hands as they were moments before upon your crown. Does that sound all right, gorgeous?” Luna nods, her focus torn between her task and the charming sorcerer. “Have at it then.”
As Luna places a hand against the rough bark, Jax does precisely as he promised. His fingers comb through Luna's hair until they reach her temples, and he allows his palms to cup her skull.
“Omnis helos, banos.”
His head tilts back to stare at the sky as an eerie wind begins to curl around our feet. Luna makes no sound of protest or any indication of discomfort other than a slight pursing of her lips.
The scene is an uneasy one to watch. The magic Jax pulls from the air around us makes my skin sickeningly tight. My heart beats faster as fever itches at the nape of my neck. Atticus drags me into his side, and the sensation of discomfort alleviates some.
The gathered wolves watch the happenings in a tense reprise. Our shared anticipation draws the group closer together.
“What’s taking so long?” someone whispers from the back.
“We should go before someone sees and reports us,” another voice says, this one closer to the front.
The whispers and doubts continue to rise. They pull at my heartstrings for the position I have put them in. Once again my good intentions have turned awry. Before I can tumble down a path of self-doubt, Luna lets loose a terrible gasp and stumbles away from the tree.
Jax is there to steady her. He tucks her against his chest but keeps his head held high as his own senses return to him. We wait with bated breath for either to say a word—to say or do anything at all.
I don’t expect Jax to speak, not with the way his jaw is clenched so tightly that it makes a vein throb near his temple.
“I know what to do,” he says. His words are delivered in husky notes, but I also hear their breathless quality and am filled with trepidation.
The magic recedes from the air. The act is reminiscent of some phantom touch drawing away from my skin. Though it brought about discomfort moments before, I cannot deny the odd hunger I have for its return.
I eye Jax with renewed skepticism. Whatever magic he deals with is far different from the witches. His isn’t elemental… it is primal and pure energy. Addicting in its own twisted sense of pain and pleasure.
“What do we need to do?” Atticus asks as he signals Keenan forward to collect Luna. She goes into his embrace, trembling like a leaf and her breath coming in short bursts. Keenan makes a soft whine in his throat, rubbing her arms gently to calm her as he walks her farther away from the group’s prying eyes.
Jax motions us forward with a jerk of his head, retrieving his staff and meeting us halfway.
“What do you know regarding the reversal of spells and hexes?” Jax asks, his hazel eyes ablaze with their intensity. I spare Atticus a glance, noting we wear the same troubled expression across our brows. “Fear not, friends. I merely wish to gage your knowledge so I may better explain what needs to occur next.”
I sigh and watch my breath cloud before me. “My understanding is… limited. From what the aunts explained, certain components of the original hex must be present in the spell that reverses them. Like the full moon and tree.”
Jax nods, his gaze still smoldering. “Anything else?”
“You need to know the words of the hex, and what hex belongs to which curse, the lycan or the soulmark.”
“Very good,” he mutters and rubs his hands together briefly. “We have two of the components necessary for both curses already—the moon and tree. Just as your witchy friends gathered.”
“And you were able to learn the hexes from Luna’s… conversation?” Atticus asks.
